#I made his lips extra pink and moist because reasons

[mad-aims]

Local goth cryptid, wants local book hoarder cryptid, to notice him.

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Six)

AN- Two chapters in one night... hope you like them! Soft Holmes Brothers scene at the end because, especially after the Eurus situation, the boys truly do love and care for each other! Not proof read either of these yet so apologies if there are mistakes!

Word Count- 4405

The younger brother's eyes had flicked over you both only momentarily, the tiniest flick up of his lips at the side of his mouth that disappeared so quickly it could have been misinterpreted for a twitch.

"Ever the delight, Sherlock." Mycroft spoke, standing straighter, his chin poking up a little higher. Sherlock glanced over his posture and rolled his eyes.

"Oh for God's sake don't start that Mycroft. Had I blamed you for everything I can assure you I wouldn't have bothered opening the door, don't make it so obvious that you care about my opinion of you- it's embarrassing for both of us." And with that he spun around and headed up the stairs to 221B, leaving the door to the flat wide open and disappearing into the bathroom.

"Well that was.."

"Easy? I told you that you shouldn't worry." You nudged Mycroft into the building before ascending the stairs.

"Sherlock Holmes, possibly the only man in the world to forgive somebody for nearly killing him in a heartbeat, but held a 6 month grudge when I took the last custard cream from the biscuit jar when I was 12.." Mycroft muttered, making his way into the flat and sitting beside you on the two seater sofa. John walked into the room from the kitchen shortly after, a tray of tea and biscuits in hand as he said his hellos.

"Figured I'd stick the kettle on when you said you were on your way.. Greg shouldn't be long now." He gave a smile, taking his place in his own armchair. "How have.." He glanced at Mycroft. "How have you been? He won't admit it, but Sherlock's been worried about you." Mycroft took a breath, sending a polite smile in the direction of the army doctor.

"Doctor Watson, I can assure you that I am fine and have been perfectly well looked after." His eyes flickered to you for a moment and then back to the doctor. "I presume the pair of you have held up well as I haven't heard any reports of gunfire towards the wall for a fair bit of time." John grinned, casting his eyes over to the smiley face on the wall that had thankfully been left alone.

"Good. Yeah, uh, things here have been.. good.. too." A blank stare matched with a more thoughtful raise of lips. ".. Very good, actually.."

"Catch." Sherlock came stalking into the room, a damp flannel thrown in Mycroft's general direction which he caught expertly, not allowing a single moist patch to appear on his clothing.

"And this is.."

"A flannel? Christ Mycroft has trauma affected your brain cells that much?" Sherlock quipped, flopping down into his armchair and lazily holding his hand out for his tea that was a mere few inches away from his fingers. John placed the mug in his hand without thought or argument, his fingers brushing over Sherlock's slightly before moving away. A biscuit soon followed, John holding out the digestive while Sherlock partly opened his lips, and shoving the food between them. It was your turn to raise your brow now, but you didn't say anything, instead just nudging Mycroft with your knee to make sure he had seen it too. Of course he had. "It's for your face, Y/N's lip balm is all round your mouth and it's making me feel a bit sick." John's eyes widened as he looked between the pair of you. You shrugged your shoulders and smiled, Mycroft simply sweeping away the slightly pink balm from underneath his lip and folding the wet cloth back up to place on the side. At least he hadn't picked up that you did it on purpose. Before anybody else could speak, the sound of someone bounding up the stairs filled the flat.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms Hudson let me in an- what did I miss?" Greg stood breathless at the door, satchel slung over his shoulder and a carrier bag in his other hand, staring at the apparent awkward glances shared between half the room. You stood from the sofa and headed over towards him, swiftly wrapping your arms around him and placing a small kiss on his cheek to say hello. He made his way into the room and perched on the arm of the sofa closest to Mycroft, casting another look at everybody when his question still hadn't been answered.

"Nothing of importance. Mycroft and Y/N have obviously decided to stop moping around each other like lovesick teenagers and finally admitted they've been infatuated with each other for years.. Now you're all caught up, can we get these papers sorted out so I can be more productive with my time?" Sherlock huffed.

"Nothing of importance? Don't be an arse Sherlock, that's excellent news." Greg clapped Mycroft on his shoulder and shot you a toothy grin. "Declaration in the park was it? Might be a good enough reason for me to not punch you for closing off St James'.." John's eyes widened more, if it were possible.

"You just.. closed off St James'? Can you even do-" The look Mycroft shot John made him cut his sentence short. "Right, yeah. British Government." He nodded, standing to go fetch Greg a coffee (yourself and Mycroft still held a shared judgement against Greg and his hatred for tea) and continuing to ask questions about your newly confirmed relationship. Mycroft sat awkwardly through the encounter- briefly talking about his emotions in front of you was one thing, a whole flat full of people was entirely different- so you gave his knee a quick squeeze and answered for him. "Who bit the bullet then?" John sat down. "Christ I know I mistook the pair of you being together when I met you, so surely these two have been waiting longer for you to get on with it." Greg grinned, nodding in agreement at John's assumption. Sherlock, on the other hand, stay lying on his chair completely unphased by the conversation going on around him.

"To cut a long story short, we were watching telly, I said Stephen Fry was a bit sexy, Mycroft informed me that he used to get told he had a slight resemblance to him, I realised I'd stuck my foot in it and had a ramble.. Went from there. Nothing too exciting, sorry." You left out the parts where the night before you had handled a broken Mycroft to the shower, how he had gripped onto you, how you held him as you slept. You also left out the way he had allowed himself to cry, how you held him while he wept- and, for that, Mycroft was incredibly thankful. Sherlock probably knew though, somehow, in his Sherlock way of knowing things- but he was either too kind to announce it to the room, or didn't care enough to waste his breath.. probably the latter.

"That's disappointing. You've mentioned about fancying Stephen Fry for years, this could have happened ages ago." John teased.

"Nothing compared to Hugh Laurie though. I'm pretty certain that I'm straight but I'd let him-"

"The papers!!" Sherlock's shout cut Greg's ramble off, making the silver haired man jump and grab his satchel, handing out the reports in a way that reminded you of a teacher with test papers.

"Right, yeah. Sorry. Basically the proper forms aren't ready for another week or so so these are just a few basic questions- nothing too in depth yet since I wanted to give you guys time to... yeah just basic for now." Mycroft chose to read through all the questions before answering them, whereas Sherlock  hastily scribbled his response to each question as he went along- the smaller details in the Holmes brothers' differences are always interesting to stumble upon. As he held the page in his hands, you carefully leant over to have a glance at the questions, your hand resting lightly on his shoulder and your cheek resting just against your fingers- blissfully unaware at the 2 sets of eyes openly staring at your movements, and the one set that watched from the side. Greg was right, in a way, the questions definitely weren't as overbearing as they could be- but that doesn't mean it was an easy task. The questions targeted Mycroft a lot more than it did John and Sherlock, asking things about scenarios and situations that had occured before they were taken, how long it had been since they had any contact with Eurus prior to that evening/ what they discussed, and a few basic questions about any incentives Eurus may have had, and anything that aided her into her plan. Of course the papers weren't labelled with the sister's name, they were generically printed and typically handed out to anybody involved in any kind of criminal behaviours, but that didn't make it seem any less like these were questions that targeted Mycroft in particular. Mycroft took a deep breath and laid the papers back onto the coffee table in front of him, pulling a pen out of his pocket and beginning to write. In this moment you had noticed the small bounce of his left leg, a movement only ever shown by him in times where he had a particularly stressful day at work, or a troubling encounter with his brother- it was a movement that let you know his brain was running a mile a minute and he felt a little more overwhelmed that usual. Without making a point of it, you move your right hand to rest on his mid thigh, allowing your thumb to rub small shapes into his leg to show your support.

Turning your gaze to the rest of the room, you noticed Greg's eyes on you, a grin on his face that practically stretched to his ears. You rolled your eyes at him, using your other hand to flip him off and smiled.

It had taken just under two hours in total for the boys to finish completely (well, an hour and twenty minutes for the Holmes siblings, an extra forty minutes for John whose brain simply didn't work as fast as theirs to convey the information on the paper). The time had passed fairly quickly, with yourself and Greg not wanting to disturb the silence and instead just drinking your hot drinks and stealing a couple of biscuits from the tray. You gave Mycroft's leg one last squeeze before sitting back against the sofa, stretching a little after finally getting out of that position.

"Thanks again for getting this done today." Greg spoke, taking the papers in and putting them in a plastic folder. "I'd better be off anyway, get these filed in." He stood, heading for the front door and tripping over the carrier bag he had brought in with him earlier. "Shit, yeah I almost forgot." He picked up the bag and handed it to you. "Got your coat, and I may have accidentally read your mind if you had been talking about Stephen and Hugh.." You dug through the bag and grinned as you pulled out the box at the bottom.

"You, Gregory Lestrade, are a bloody legend. God I could kiss you!" Your boxset of 'A Bit of Fry and Laurie' rested in your hands and you showed it to Mycroft, beaming at him. His lips raised at your reaction, showing a small glint in his eye, as you explained how now the pair of you would have to binge watch it since Mycroft had never got round to watching them before. Greg barked out a laugh.

"I wouldn't. I don't fancy being hunted by Mycroft's secret services." Mycroft let out a small laugh himself. And with that, Greg was gone and left the flat to the four of you once more.

***

You hadn't stayed at the flat long before you all made your way to Angelo's restaurant, even managing to convince Mycroft to just take a cab rather than bothering his chauffeur for a 5 minute journey.

"Ahhh Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson!" Angelo greeted, pulling the aforementioned men into an awkward half embrace, half headlock. "Back again so soon? I shall get your usual table set up, grab some candles. Anything for you!" The pair of men awkwardly shifted out of the hold and Sherlock offered a smile.

"Not today Angelo, we need a table for four if that suits your capacities here?" Sherlock peered round at the tables inside.

"Of course, a double date, very lovely to see! Come, come!" He led the four of you inside, you grinning at Mycroft at Angelo's casual mentionings of Sherlock and John's usual 'romantic' set up. You were all ushered inside of a small booth and handed menus, the benches were small but tolerable, your thigh just brushing against Mycroft's, him offering a shy smile at the close contact. "You stay here, I'll get to work on those candles. Just for you, Mr Holmes." Angelo spoke again, clapping Sherlock on his shoulder and disappearing into the back of the restaurant.

"He's.. uh.. a bit enthusiastic sometimes." John spoke, his cheeks burning a little at the memories of previous encounters here.

"Quite. Seems a pleasurable fellow." Came Mycroft's response, glancing over the menu. It had taken no time at all for the restaurant owner to appear back with a handful of small tealight candles in glass jars, and a single flower resting in a vase to lay on the table, taking everybody's orders and leaving once again. Then as the food turned up, Sherlock began to prod at the chips on his plate with his knife.

"What are you doing? Eat your bloody food, Sherlock." John quipped, elbowing the man to his side.

"Don't want it.. whoever decided that dessert was only customary after a meal? I'd much rather wait." John gave Sherlock a look and he spoke again. "Don't give me that look, this was your idea. Who even suggests 'late lunch' as a valid meal time? It's impractical. I didn't eat breakfast because we didn't get out of bed until well past the respected breakfast hour.." 'We'.. you didn't press. "So I had a sandwich at lunch which has ruined my appetite for this. Then I'll be hungry again later, but later than dinner time because of how late this lunch is." Sherlock childishly squashed his chip with his thumb. "It's just ridiculous.. they keep adding new names for new meals at new hours, I feel like we're becoming Bobbits."

"Hobbits, brother mine." Mycroft corrected, the faintest smile playing at the side of his mouth as Sherlock's words sounded alarmingly like the ones he had told you only this morning- it was nice when they just got along.

"That's what I said."

"No, you said Bobbits."

"Boys!" John warned, and you broke out into a small fit of giggles.

"We really can't take you anywhere, can we?" You chimed in. Sherlock just huffed, stabbing a chip and eating it as John gave him a stern look. It was quite sweet, actually, watching them be all domestic. By the time you'd finished your meals, yours and John's plates were clear, Sherlock's leaving only a few chips and a mouthful of burger as he found, after starting to eat the food, that he really enjoyed it and wanted more. Mycroft, on the other hand, had managed to leave little over half of his spaghetti bolognese, making comments about the pasta being far too rubbery, or the sauce being too thin, crossing the cutlery over in the centre and making a dismissive comment about making something to eat when he got home- you all knew he wouldn't.

Sherlock had practically jumped for joy when Angelo came out with a tray of chocolate fudge cake, offering slices around the table which you all, bar Mycroft, accepted happily.

"I shan't spoil my appetite for when I get home." Was his small excuse, raising a hand to prevent Angelo from spouting his claims that he had the best cake in London and that he must have a piece, and instead asking for a coffee. Without words being spoken, John cast his eyes over to you and you offered a small sad smile. Nobody had told John of Mycroft's past, but he was a doctor and always knew when signs were displayed. You had taken an extra fork from Angelo just in case and took a small bite with your own fork, unable to let out the (embarrassingly erotic) moan that had escaped you.

"Christ he wasn't lying, this is incredible." You praised, taking another small piece on the second fork. "Mycroft please give it a try." You offered your hand out towards him, the sliver of cake resting on the tip of the fork's prongs. He looked over at it, his mind telling him to give it a go, at the very least because it had been offered by you, but the image of himself in the mirror this morning came back to mind. He declined the offer and you sighed. Mycroft truly did love cake, and any sweet things, so it was heartbreaking for you to see him turning it away because of the thoughts that ran through his brain. Sherlock had already cleared his plate by this point and stood up abruptly, hoisting his coat back over his shoulders.

"I'm going to go out for a cigarette, care to join me Mycroft?" He had asked, walking past the table. Mycroft creased his eyebrows into a frown.

"Sherlock, the pact? I haven't smoked for three years."

"Neither have I, let's go." Sherlock spoke back quickly, hoisting his brother from the booth and taking the pair of them outside. You raised a brow at John who simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I stopped questioning the pair of them and their motives a long time ago." He reasoned, the pair of you turning your heads to see the two Holmes boys outside resting against the restaurant's window.

"I try my best to.. they just still fascinate me." You spoke back, your eyes lingering on Mycroft a little longer before turning back to the table.

"So.. you and Mycroft. Going well?" John asked, his mouth raising in that side smile he often displayed when he was teasing somebody. "I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen Mycroft Holmes smile in a non-threatening way, and over half of those were from since you walked into the flat earlier. I think I can only just about count on two hands times where he's pulled an expression that isn't stoic and emotionless."

"Yeah.. I didn't expect it to happen, if I'm completely honest with you. We've spent so many years just avoiding the subject, but after.. Eurus.. I don't know. It flicked something in Myc that made him regret not doing something about it sooner." John nodded, understanding where you were coming from. "You also don't give him enough credit. Everybody just assumes he's this 'iceman' persona, but it's all a front.. I've watched him laugh so hard that tears fall from his eyes, he's one of those people who throws their heads back and lets out an absolute belter of an infectious laugh. I've seen him get angry at the telly if I came over and some stupid reality show came on the telly.. He shouted at Kim Kardashian once on there for some reason or another. I've stayed up all night with him after he had gruelling days at work, him offering to do the same for me if I had a bad case and couldn't sleep. And then, very recently, I watched him cry." You continued on. "Mycroft Holmes is one of the most emotional, caring people I've ever known, he is just incredibly particular at who gets to see it. You're a doctor, John. You know how experiences in life can shape one's emotional stability, how it alters their mental health. Had you grown up without very many people being kind to you, you'd be scared to let somebody else in too." You finished.

"Sorry.. I didn't mean it to come out in a bad way.. I just meant.. It's nice. Seeing Mycroft acting like that, it's.. nice." He apologised. You waved it off. You knew John didn't mean any harm.

"Mycroft and I are old news anyway.. What about you and Sherlock? When did that surface?" You asked, beaming at the deep red John's face had become as he choked on a sip of his drink. "Oh come on, don't act like that. We've all been waiting for this one to happen since you moved in."

"I.. I don't know what you-" Glaring at him, he stopped himself. "Yeah fine, okay. When we got back to the flat that night we went into the front room and Sherlock lost it. I'd never seen him anything like it before, he just.. he just sobbed into a heap on the floor." He explained, the nervous tapping of his fingers against his glass trying to distract him from his eyes watering. "I didn't know what else to do, so I scooped him up and put him in his bed. He begged me to stay with him and I did. Then he apologised to me, for dragging me in all of that mess, for almost getting me killed and he just wouldn't stop apologising.. So I stole the stereotypical movie move and kissed him. Just kind of went from there. I think that night made us realise that beating around the bush all these years wasn't helping either of us, and the thought that we could have lost the other only a few hours beforehand woke us up." He coughed, his voice breaking slightly.

"God look at us.. All the people in the world and we've landed with the Holmes'" You grabbed John's hand from across the table and laughed. "Makes you feel quite special though, doesn't it? That, equally, there were all the people in the world and they chose us?" John grinned, giving your hand a squeeze.

"Could never tell them that though, their egos would go through the bloody roof."

***

"They're talking about us." Sherlock mused, breathing in the London air.

"It seems people do little else." Mycroft returned, casting his glance to you smiling with John at the table.

"She really does like you. I've spent years deducing everything about her to make sure she wasn't a secret Russian spy sent with the motive to kill you." The younger spoke playfully. "You could have eaten the cake."

"Hmm?"

"The cake. I know you wanted it, but you're going back to how you used to be. Now that you're together, you're nervous." Sherlock's voice was nonchalant, simple observations, which didn't ease his older brother at all. "It's pointless. She's entirely infatuated. I thought the childish doe eyes disappeared after being attracted to somebody for a few weeks, but she still looks at you like I look at a triple homicide."

"Resulting to similes now?"

"You need to stop that too. Dismissing it whenever somebody is trying to be... kind... to you. That's just annoying and not a good defence mechanism for insecurities, like a mask made of clingfilm, it's too obvious." Mycroft didn't speak in turn and Sherlock huffed. "She worries for you, she seeks for you to be comfortable in trialling situations, her eyes do that little light up thing every time you open your bloody mouth. Since standing here she's looked over 3 times and smiled to herself seeing you stand here with me without us arguing. I caught her 4 times on the way to the cab from the flat looking at your arse and your legs in that damned suit. You don't have to worry about anything with her- the way she looks at you is so lovesick it makes me queasy."

"And you know this how, Sherlock? Or is this another one of your cruel schemes to embarrass me?"

"Because, Mycroft, it's the same way you've looked at her for as long as I can remember you knowing her. Jesus, Mycroft, I haven't seen you smile this much since we were children.. before we did everything that led us to believe we were any better than anybody else, that we deserved more than sentiment. And it's the same way I.. the same way I look at him." Sherlock's eyes now locked onto John.

"Always did say there would be a happy announcement between the pair of you. Good to see I'm correct once again." Mycroft mused. He remained stoic, but his brother's words were whirring in his brain, leaving him in a state of shock at the curly haired man even displaying this form of kindness towards him.

"You told me once that caring isn't an advantage. But these last few days, no matter how short it has been, have already led me to believe that caring is perhaps the greatest advantage of them all. And I strongly believe you feel the same way, no matter what bull you make up to argue against it." The pair of them watched through the window once more, the image of you and John laughing at whatever joke had been shared between you. "We both have wasted many years fighting against this, and I don't want you to screw yours up. Y/N will remain by your side and feel the same way towards you, whether you wear a bin bag, lose your job, put on weight- she's in it for the long haul. She's spent so many years pining after you that she deserves the best from you and to be happy. And you, brother mine, have been through enough with not good people; you deserve the happiness too." Sherlock trailed the last sentence. It's incredibly rare for them to show it, but Sherlock and Mycroft would always have a particularly close bond, they've been through too much together not to- and so times like this were precious to them. Mycroft simply let out a small cough, reaching his arm over to rest on his younger brother's shoulder to give it a quick squeeze, before patting it twice and letting his arm rest back by his side.

"Sentiment appears to be dwelling well on you." Mycroft spoke, heading back to the door of the restaurant to head inside, holding it open for his brother.

"As it is on you, brother. As it is on you."

[alwaysbetterthanrevenge]

Vanilla Cupcakes- D.M X Reader

‘’I wish I didn’t like sweets as much as I do. I wish I didn’t get carried away sometimes.’’ - James Cordon

‘’I don't ever want to be considered some vanilla sherbet kinda guy.’’ - Scott Storch

Please reblog and tell me how you feel, I would really appreciate it!!

She was a half-blood true. Her mom was pure as pure as the driven snow blanketing Hogsmeade every so often. Still, her dad was a muggle-born true he was a wizard even as wizardly as he was even with the fact he possessed a wand and, of course, carried the power to make it work his blood was tainted, and he carried that taint to his daughter leaving her stained and laddered.

She found herself having the understanding of being a ladder, not quite physically, but to be reasonable mentally and emotionally was all it took to engulf her wholly. People would climb all over her to get to where they all yearned to be. They would erode her tender metal and disturb her metallic grey paint with the soles of their shoes. The ladder needed repainting and perhaps a screw or two to be tightened carefully back in; after all, they were the ones who damaged it, but even with screws and tins of paint in their hands, they declined. They always declined.

She met Draco Malfoy, and no, he didn’t repaint her. He scarred her further. She was raised to appreciate all life had to offer. She was accustomed to the outside world, the muggle world, and did she love it. It was her escape from microwaving her frozen extra cheese and pepperoni pizza to looking up anything her beautiful mind could think of. Still, the one thing she enjoyed oh so very much was vanilla cupcakes. They were pure pleasure. Dainty, creamy and moist, not unduly sugary and have a heap of buttercream. She always fetched them from the tiny bakery on the outskirts of England; it was a family-owned bakery. The cushiony velvet perches lined throughout the bakery with a luminous pink coloring the walls. They constantly had a variety of options cookies and cakes perhaps if you feel up for it, try marzipan or a scone, but she loved their vanilla cupcakes. She adored them so much, so she brought one to Draco for a try, and he loved it, and she loved the milky white mustache the buttercream glazed his upper lip with, to be just, it resembled his light blonde hair. From then on, she reminded him of vanilla cupcakes sweet and desired warm and soft she’d laughed when he told her that. But now, everything was different.

‘’You’re dirty. You have filthy blood. You’re a mudblood. It’s plain and simple,’’ he calmly announced looking up at her.

‘’Yeah, and you knew that seven months ago before we started our relationship, Draco’’ she justified.

‘’I was reckless; I didn’t think of the bloody consequences that would pursue’’ he sighed.

‘’You made fun of me for five years, Malfoy. Forgive me for believing you knew what you were getting into,’’ she retorted.

‘’Oh, so I’m Malfoy again?’’ he asserted with a sneer.

‘’Well, it is your last name Malfoy, is it not? I’m pretty sure your family wanted to keep it so bad, isn’t that’s why all of you are bloody inbred ’’

‘’DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE SAY THAT TO ME, YOU FILTHY..’’

‘’FILTHY WHAT MUDBLOOD? IT’S THE SAME OLD SAME OLD WITH YOU, DRACO. ISN’T IT TIME YOU COME UP WITH SOMETHING ELSE?’’ you shouted.

‘’Get out’’ he declared.

‘’What?’’ she raised a question.

‘’Get out’’ he reiterated.

‘’But..’’ she struggled to elucidate...

‘’GET OUT I SAID GET OUT’’ he screamed.

With that, she promptly fled the Slytherin common room.

Truthfully, he didn’t want her to go. He wanted her to hang around and clutch him tell him it was all okay because he was plummeting fast since he received the horrendous dark mark allotted upon him. But he wasn’t the same. Still, even then, she accepted him and soothed him advised him that all was okay, and for a mere moment, he believed her, but how could he? He was entrusted with a tremendous assignment. Honestly, he detested the sappy-aged man, and he aspired for him to surrender from his stance at Hogwarts, but he doubted assassinating him was the only way. Draco couldn’t bear the thought of her getting involved in his task any more than she already was because she’d go to the grave if it meant protecting Draco, and he knew that. So, he kicked her out. He didn’t even let her pack up her stuff or change out of his quidditch jersey; he knew he’d regret what he did, and he knew he’d show it, and she’d see it on his face. It wouldn’t be too difficult to convince him to let her help feed him happy scenarios that would never happen. He knew better, so he kicked her out. Walking to the drawer, he took out the only vanilla cupcake left and slammed it against the wall because he could only think of her and all their memories hidden behind some whisked milk and eggs. He’d never be able to eat another one without thinking of her. that was the scar she left on him, torment in the form of a cupcake.

She ran and didn’t stop running until she found the room of requirement. She went in there. It was her childhood bedroom. There were memories of her as a baby enframed against slices of glass sitting down on her bed. Her heart was breaking. She was sobbing as she hastily came to realize that possibly he didn’t prefer cupcakes as much as he used to anymore; he might now incline toward cookies or ice cream with luscious raspberries on top. Still, it wasn’t long before he abandoned her with a vanilla stain on her craving heart.

[halcyonstorm]

I'm so sorry this prompt took me a long time to start, but once I started, I finished it in three days. I loved writing this prompt so much. I hope you enjoy. Warning: Angst, Major Character Death

The title is: The Most Beautiful Flower (For You) (click to read on ao3)

If heaven was a place on Earth, it would be in Italy. When the gentle waves of the Tyrrhenian sea kissed the Mediterranean coastline, the cool water splashed against the very pregnant gardener’s feet, as well as the powerful Duke, the father-to-be. The bright, hot sun beamed from across the ocean as it submerged beneath the waters. Suddenly, the gardener felt a sharp pain in her stomach, causing her to groan loudly.

“It’s time…” She whispers harshly, beginning to place her hands on her knees.

It is ironic, though, how the scariest human to roam their city was born on such a beautiful night. The child’s father, the Duke of Smeraldo City, shouldn’t have impregnated the beautiful woman who tends to his castle’s garden daily, but he did. His wife, the Duchess, was infertile. This angered the Duke, causing him to have a secret affair with the gardener, a poor yet beautiful woman who he met with daily and eventually fell in love with. The Duke was scared. He didn’t know how or when to deliver a baby. He was smart, but he was smart in politics and economics, not childbirth. She sat down on the white sand behind a large rock, hidden from the rest of the world. He didn’t have time to bring her to a clinic. She opened her legs, ready to push. The Duke was ready. He patted her forehead dry of the sweat that had beaded up. He noticed then that she was extremely cold. This confused him; It was warm outside, almost too warm for the evening. She should be warm. She was starting to breathe heavy, her screams of pain becoming more breathless with each push.

With each push to expel the baby, more and more blood came out of her, staining the white sand dark red and black. It horrified the Duke. He was falling for this woman. He felt worse that he had no idea what to do to help her. When he saw the head, he cried out in joy, almost forgetting about the mother’s condition.

“You’re almost there! You got this,” he encouraged. His mistress looked ghostly pale with more sweat dripping down her face. She doesn’t look good. He noticed her neck pulsating. With three more pushes, the woman couldn’t scream any more; she was too exhausted. She was losing too much blood. The baby came out, crying and whining. The Duke was happy, extremely happy. All he wanted was a child. That happiness was short-lived, though. When the Duke wrapped his child up in his button-up shirt, he noticed his mistress hadn’t spoken a word. In fact, she was still… too still. He narrowed his brows in confusion and face contorted to worry. He placed his newborn down in the cool sand and quickly scrambled to place his ear to her chest. No heartbeat.

That is how Levi was born.

-

His father was scared he’d be caught by the Duchess, so he locked his child away in a tower on the outskirts of Smeraldo City. His father would come to visit him weekly, often having a maid tend to Levi in his place. Levi grew up hidden away in that castle. The castle, although extravagant, was torture for Levi. He hated it. It was a huge, tall tower made of cobblestone and vines. Levi had this aching, empty feeling in his chest when the maid would leave for the night. He described the feeling to her, and she explained to him it was “loneliness”. He never knew the feeling, but it was all that he felt when the sound of his shoes tapping the floor echoed as he walked down the dark, empty corridor at night. The lack of affection caused Levi to grow cold. He began to despise his maid, too. He was just her job, after all. Her extra chore. One more task to complete for the Duke of Smeraldo. When his prestigious father would come to visit, it was mainly to just apologize for avoiding him. It was a constant cycle. “I’m sorry,” he’d say, then proceed to do just that for another six months. Some nights, he would go to Levi’s castle to scream at him. “You are the reason she is dead,” he’d complain to Levi. The truth is, the Duke wanted a child. That child; however, was not Levi. Levi’s raven black hair and piercing grey eyes were too similar to his mother’s, causing the Duke to avoid Levi as much as possible. Levi despised his father. Whenever Levi’s maid/replacement mother came to visit him as a teenager, she always kept her distance. She’d stay on the far side of the room when she tended to his laundry, avert her gaze when he looked at her, and keep their conversations short and brief

“Why must you keep your distance from me?” Levi would ask.

“Because you are ugly,” she would reply. It didn’t hurt Levi’s feelings. He didn’t care about his appearance. He had no one to show. He was truly and utterly alone. Sometimes, the maid would come to his castle with a man. He wasn’t sure about many things. When he saw the man with her, he decided to watch them. He would wait around the corner from the maid’s bedroom, waiting and hearing what they’d do. When he’d leave her quarters, he’d press his lips to hers. Levi realized at that moment, he wanted a maid too. He wanted to feel whatever the fuck they were feeling. He decided to ask her about it.

“Why does that man press his lips to yours?” Levi asked as he stared at the stone ceiling in his bedroom. The maid was hesitant before replying. She realized she never taught him about those feelings.

“Because we are in love,” She replied plainly, sitting on a chair in his room, still keeping herself a safe distance away from the ugly and scary man. “We are close friends. Over time, we fell in love.”

“What is love?” Levi asked.

“Love is… complicated. It’s a feeling of deep affection... and it can be applied to anything or anyone. With a person, it is the feeling you get when you’re excited to see someone and enjoy their presence, but it’s also dangerous. Falling in love means you can get hurt, too. The person you love may decide they want to be with someone else, or they lose that feeling. Or, they may never feel that way about you at all…” She spoke from experience.

“Love is stupid,” Levi determined. “Why do it if you’re going to get hurt?”

“Love isn’t a choice,” she debated. “It can be, like the Duke and Duchess.” Levi perked up, the hairs on his nape erect.

“The Duchess isn’t my mother?” He asked. She hesitantly shook her head no. “Then who is?”

The maid told Levi about his mother, the gardener. She told him how his mother would sing to her belly every morning and evening, read him stories, and share her life stories with him. Levi smiled at this. From what the maid told him, his mother truly loved him, unlike the Duke. Learning about his mother inspired him to pick up gardening. He began by binge-reading the gardening and plant books in the master library. During the weeks, he would wear his black hooded cloak and mask and head into the town’s market. There, he found a stall that sold flower seeds of all kinds from Italy. The first seeds he bought were that of oleander flowers. He remembers from his book that they stood for “caution” and “destiny”. It is destined that he must be cautious around others, and others must be cautious around him. He was horrifying to the everyday civilians, and the shrieks of horror kept him cooped up in his tower for months until he finally got the courage to go into town again.

In those few months, his flowers began to sprout. The flowers were all he thought about day in and day out. They were his only joy. These were the first moments he felt “love”.

When Levi turned 22, his garden was blossoming into something extravagant. There was a dainty, white archway at the beginning of the trail that led to the tower. Inside, there were fields of white lilies -the flower of Italy- blooming in early April. As he walked through his garden, he bent down next to a budding cyclamen flower. It was a small pink flower, surrounded by its family. The family’s flowers were dark pink at the roots, becoming lighter in color towards the end of the petal. They opened up and out, allowing the sun to help them grow. He gently grazed his finger over the petals, feeling its velvety smooth texture.

“At least flowers can’t hate me,” he’d reassure himself. He placed his hands on his knees, standing up. With his bucket of soil and the packets of seeds laying on top, he found an empty patch of grass. He started to dig with his small shovel. Once he reached an area where the soil was moist, he opened the package and sprinkled the seeds inside. The seeds claimed to be for a Juliet rose. One that stood for love and beauty. He knew of love and beauty. He was standing all around it.

For hundreds of yards, the castle’s courtyard was filled with flowers in intricate patterns that were only visible from the top of the tower. Flowers that formed flower shapes, circles, lines, and everything in between. The bees had three hives attached to purple wisteria trees. He loved those trees the most. They were tall, old trees that were by his side ever since he could remember. The trees were almost like his grandparents, watching him take his first steps and speak his first words. Now, they take in his music when he hums a tune as he waters his flowers and console him when he vents about his father. He liked to walk through his garden and visit the wisterias. He would use the tips of his fingers to caress the petals between his fingers. He loved wisterias the most.

He woke up the next morning slumped under a wisteria tree, the purple tree creating a cool shade that enveloped his body from the warm sun. The grass beneath him was flattened by his body. He scrubbed it vigorously to help the grass stand upright again. Then, he stretched his arms above his head, groaning loudly. He stood up, using his watering can to hydrate the flowers as he walked through his garden. When he got to the rose bushes, though, he noticed some flowers were missing. He furrowed his brows, crouching down to examine the damage. One, two, three, four… Four roses were missing. They were intricately plucked from the bush, as if the perpetrator had planned this. Someone stole from my garden. His jaw clenched tightly when he realized this. How dare someone steal from me? He asked himself. He spent years and years tending to his garden and perfecting it, and now someone was trying to take his one and only joy away.

That night, he hid close to the rose bushes. He hid behind a tall vine of bougainvillea flowers. The beautiful pink flowers were bright as the moonlight shone on them. They hung over the tall, stone wall that encompassed his garden and the tower. As he lay in wait, he admired the beautiful leaf-like petals of the flowers. They were soft, rich, and pure. He was proud of his garden. He was reminded why he was waiting again, his blood boiling.

That night, the suspect did not show up. Nor did they show up for the few nights he guarded the garden. This person was sneaky. The person knew Levi was watching them, lurking, waiting to catch them. Levi caught on fast to this cat-and-mouse game. After a week of no luck, he decided to wait in his tower. He peered over his balcony one night and looked down at his garden. The white lilies blew in the cool spring breeze, They were hard to view, considering the moon wasn’t as bright. It was in the waning gibbous phase, darkened on its right side, bright on its left. It hung high in the sky, looking smaller than it did just a week ago. Levi was broken out of his trance when he heard a soft rustle in his garden. Levi glared out the window and off the balcony, peering down below. There, he thought. There they are. It was a girl. The girl had dark hair, wearing what looked like a piece of white cloth that draped over her lanky body. She had crouched down next to the rose bush, starting to tug. Levi decided to go downstairs. He grabbed his dark cloak and mask on the way out.

By the time he had gotten down to the garden, she was walking away, four more flowers in her hand. Levi was enraged. He felt his blood start to boil. Why is this girl stealing from me? Does she think this castle is abandoned? How would the garden be so well managed if it was? How dare she steal from him, stealing from the only thing he truly cared about. She walked slowly through the forest, talking to herself. She would ramble on about her mother and father and money. Levi was puzzled. She was talking as if there were someone standing right next to her. Maybe she knew he was there? No, he thought. She’d freak out. She’d never come back. Levi’s frown turned into a wide grin, a new idea popping in his head. He, unfortunately, thought of his plan too late. They had arrived in town. As Levi followed her to the marketplace, he kept asking himself why she stole from him. It was still booming at 2000 that night. The market was filled with stalls and tents. A lull of chatter hummed through the town as he followed the girl. He saw her stop at one specific stall and go behind it. She spoke to a tall man who looked to be her father. He shared the same brown shaggy hair as her. He gave her a wide smile as she handed him the flowers.

“I was only able to get four,” The girl explained to her father. “These ought to make us a lot of money! Then we can buy shoes!” At that moment, he realized both her and her father were barefoot. Levi felt a pang in his chest.

“Indeed, my love. Thank you,” her father said, kissing her forehead. Levi was taken aback. She wanted to sell his flowers? Is that what love looks like?

“These flowers are beautiful,” She said, recalling the scenery in her mind. “The garden has all different types! It’s breathtaking. I wish I could go during the day… but I don’t want to get caught.”

“Yes, that’s best,” he explained. “Hange, see what other types of flowers are there and see if any are worth selling.”

Levi felt his heart skip a beat when Hange complimented his garden. He was able to get a better look at her face. She looked about his age and had half her hair tied up in a messy knot. She had a hooked nose that fit her face perfectly. Her eyes were gleaming when the glow of the string lights hit them. He couldn’t describe how he thought she looked. It didn’t bother him that his heart was racing in his chest or how his palms were sweating. He didn’t know how to describe her, but he knew he wanted to see her more.

When he went home, he found a small rectangle piece of wood, a thick stick, some nails, and a hammer. He grabbed a bucket of paint and wrote the following on the rectangular piece of wood:

Be mindful of the thorns.

He went back downstairs to the garden to stake it into the ground after hammering it together. He wanted to see the girl again. He didn’t want her to hurt herself, though. He didn’t want to give her any measly excuse not to come back to his garden. She liked it. She complimented his garden.

-

“I think a ‘crush’ is the term you’re searching for,” the maid answered. She looked down in her lap. Levi felt his face go red.

“A what?” He scowled.

“It’s like… when you’re attracted to someone. When you enjoy seeing them and being around them…”

“I thought that was ‘love’ in your book.”

“Having a crush and being in love are different,” she began. “Love is developed over time. Eventually, a crush turns into love if you let it linger.” Levi shook his head fast.

“No, no,” he muttered to himself. “That can’t happen. I can’t love anyone.”

The maid stood up, stepping towards him. This was the closest she’s been to him in a long time. He looked up at her as he sat on the bed.

“Everyone is worthy of and deserves love. Even you.” When she spoke, he truly felt she meant it.

-

Two days later, Levi was in his tower waiting for Hange. Around 1945, she arrived on time. As she walked through the archway, she saw the sign right away. He heard her speak it aloud. She let out a short laugh. Her short laugh was like a loving punch to his gut, taking his breath away. It was so… crush, he determined. She didn’t stop and crouch at the rose bush like he predicted. She waltzed through his garden, careful to avoid stepping on his flowers. He heard her hum a tune as she danced through his garden. She took his breath away time and time again. She was as beautiful as the garden around her. She stopped humming when she noticed the oleander flower patch, right against the tower.

“Caution,” she said softly, careful not to rouse the garden keeper. Too late, though, but she didn’t know that. Levi was shocked at her statement. She knew why he put them there. The flowers rustled in the wind as it picked up. She crouched down to pet the flowers with the back of her index finger.

“These truly are beautiful,” she said to herself. Levi felt a smile creep up on his face. She looked up to the sky. “Why must I be cautious?” she asked herself. “Anyone who can create such beauty mustn’t be someone to be cautious of.” When she spoke, Levi had a thought cross his mind. Maybe I can show her myself. It was a silly thought, and Levi didn’t entertain it too much longer than that moment.

Another week passes by and the moon’s light is slowly diminishing each day. A new moon is coming. How will Hange know which flowers to pick? Levi thought of a solution. He grabbed his handy hammer as well as some string lights and secured them around the archway leading to his garden. On the ground, he stuck little lamps into the ground that radiated a white light. This way, Hange can come even when there’s a new moon. He also created a sign: The orchids are very loved. He loved his orchids so, but they were better off to give to someone who needed them. Orchids were rare to find and plant in Italy, and Levi had spent years and years trying to find the perfect technique to grow his lovely purple orchids. They were his favorites; he loved their long stem with the flowers that hung over the edge. He loved admiring the flowers up close, getting a very detailed view of the veins of the vibrant flower petals.

The moon was just a crescent in the sky when Hange came next. She wandered through the garden, not a care in the world, admiring the blooming flowers. She paused in her waltz when she saw his sign about the orchids. Her eyes shifted from the sign to the orchids. Indeed, they are beautiful, she thought to herself. She crouched down with her small shovel and pot and began to dig them up. This surprised Levi. The last few times, she picked the flowers with her hands. Now, she is preserving the flower’s life by relocating them to her pot.

“These sure are beautiful,” she said softly to herself. With the hustling and bustling of the town across the town, he wasn’t able to hear her. Again, he felt a pang in his chest when he imagined her seeing him for the first time. Her terrified face, her hands trembling in fear. He couldn’t scar her like that. He was too ugly, too brawny, too unworthy of being loved that he couldn’t dare to even consider revealing himself to her.

The next flower he wanted to draw her to were the gardenias. Now that she knew about flowers, he wanted to show her all he had to offer. He enjoyed seeing her in his garden. She talked a lot; he felt as if he were talking to her. She started staying for longer periods of time, which Levi enjoyed. He wondered if she even knew someone tended to the garden. She must, he thought. She sees your signs, right?

The gardenias were in a bushel next to the white lilies. He enjoyed having all the colors coordinated. Red when someone first walks in, met by rose bushes. Towards the castle were the oleanders of all colors, but mainly pink. That is where the bougainvillea’s were too, hanging from the castle window and wall surrounding the garden’s perimeter, as well as having their own bushel below. By his wisteria trees were the violets, orchids, periwinkles, and bluebells. The white flowers were blended with the purple and blue flowers. The white flowers included the lilies and gardenias, as well as jasmines. He loved the look of the small, delicate gardenia flowers climbing the wall surrounding his castle and garden. They had beautiful, rich white petals and a bright yellow center. He didn’t want to show them for his usual reasons, but in order to make a move. Gardenias stood for secret love, as well as a confession of sorts. After seeing her white cloth in the gardenias, he realized his crush was developing into something more. He decided to make another sign and placed it by the entrance: Open at dawn.

Hange seemed to understand his messages perfectly. One early afternoon, Levi was tending to his violets when he heard a familiar rustling. He didn’t have his cloak on or his mask. He was totally and utterly exposed. He quickly gathered his things and hid behind a grand wisteria tree. Please see me. Please don’t see me. She noticed footprints in the damp soil by the tree.

“Your flowers are beautiful,” Hange said aloud. “You have been a great help. I’ve finally gotten my own shoes!” She chuckles and glances at her covered feet. “I am trying to figure out a way to repay you…” You don’t have to repay me. I don’t mind.

“There are stories that a monster lives here,” Hange began, sitting down and leaning her back against the same wisteria tree Levi was hiding behind. “Is that supposed to be you? The person who plants these beautiful flowers?” Her words cause Levi’s cheeks to redden. She looks towards the bluebells. She sits up and kneels to admire them.

“Bluebells…” she murmured. “Gratitude. Everlasting love. I feel gratitude towards your everlasting love for this garden.” She giggled to herself. “Ah, I’m rambling nonsense. I should get going. My father will be worried. I hope you don’t mind if I take some flowers.” Take as many as you need. She walked through the garden. There was a sign next to the white gardenias as she walked towards the exit.

You’re lovely.

-

Levi was proud he was helping Hange and her family. From the sound of it, they were doing better. They were able to afford clothes for their bodies and provide two meals a day. She explained it was only her, her mother, and her father. She explained how her family loved her very much, and Levi believed her. He yearned for a love like that. He yearned to be loved at all. A foolish and childish thought ran through his mind. Could she ever love me? Does she love me? How could she love someone she’s never even seen before? Levi decided he must show himself to her. He must make some sort of confession to her. He planned it in the best way he could. He began searching the markets day in and day out to find the seeds to plant the most beautiful flower for Hange. It would be sure to bring Hange’s family wealth as well as help Hange understand Levi’s feelings.

He dressed in his dark cloak and mask and walked through the forest to the market. The smeraldo flower was one of the hardest to successfully grow in Italy. The smeraldo flower seeds were sold for dirt cheap since they were so difficult to grow. Many people attempted to grow said flower, but never succeeded. Once it blooms, it must be carefully maintained in order for them to prosper. He purchased a bag of seeds and headed home. He found the perfect spot in his garden: surrounding the wisteria tree. The purple of the wisterias and the blue of the smeraldos would perfectly blend together next to the violets, periwinkles, and crocuses. He got excited. Once he got home, he started to read about the Smeraldo flowers.

Must be planted at dusk. Must be watered every two days at dusk. Do not tear away dead leaves and flowers. Must be maintained in damp soil. If drought occurs, water daily. Meaning: I’m unable to tell you the truth.

Levi’s heart ached when he read the final line. Hange, he thought. I am unable to show you my truth. He wanted to, but he couldn’t dare to scare her away from his garden. He planned to make a grand gesture to express his love for her. He adored everything about her. She was his Sun.

That night, he went outside to plant his flowers. The sun was kissing the horizon, hanging low in the pink sky. He grabbed his small handheld shovel and began to dig a small moat around the tree. He palpated the soil with his fingers. It’s damp. It’s dusk. It was all ready. He sprinkled the seeds evenly around the moat of the tree and then scooped the dirt, placing it on top of the seeds. He patted it with his hands.

It took the Smeraldo flowers a long time to grow. Almost a year passed before the flowers were blooming. For every two days since he planted them, he watered them. Hange would stop by, chatting up a storm to the flowers before taking some in her bucket and leaving. As Hange aged one more year, she looked radiant. With the flowers to help her eat and dress, she filled out. She wasn’t as lanky as she was just one year ago. One specific summer day, Hange fell asleep in his garden. Her hair was sprawled over the white lilies, her body lying on the grass. Levi took this time to be brave. He walked over to her in broad daylight. He sat down next to her, admiring her face. She looked so peaceful.

“Hange, I am Levi,” he whispered, being careful to avoid waking her. “This is my garden. I am glad to hear you like it.” He looked into his lap then at the lilies. He plucked a lily from the bunch, tucking it behind her ear. Her dark brunette hair looked like melted chocolate scattered amongst the lilies.

“You are the most beautiful thing in this garden.”

-

Around 1700, Hange woke up. She noticed her pot was filled with beautiful gardenias. Levi filled it for her while she slept. Hange smiled softly.

“I wish to meet you someday, Levi,” she sighed, standing up then grabbing her pot. As the words came out of her mouth, she wasn't sure how she knew his name, but she was glad she did. The sun was beginning to set. She glanced up at the open castle window before turning on her heel to leave the beautiful garden once again. That night, Levi tended to his smeraldo flowers. They were beginning to bloom, a small baby blue head poking out of the green stem. It made him smile. He created this life.

It took about another month for the smeraldo flowers to fully open up and express their beauty. They were the most beautiful flowers Levi had ever seen. These are sure to help Hange the most. They were a light blue and purple with rather strange petals that opened less and less as they reached the center. They looked perfect surrounding the wise wisteria tree. They were so perfectly fitting for Levi and Hange.

He had planted some extra flowers in a hidden part of the garden just for Hange to take. He wanted her to be happy, so happy from his flowers. His flowers were all he ever knew. He wanted to tell Hange his truth, so so bad. He couldn’t. He couldn’t risk hurting her. All he wanted was for her to be at peace.

That day, he wrote another sign for her. He placed it along the path so she couldn’t miss it.

For you, behind the red camellias.

It took her a day to notice it - so yes, she did miss it. She loved the white flowers so much that she didn’t even venture to the red flower patches to find the smeraldos. She loved to dance and sing in the field of flowers that made Levi want to cry. It made his heart ache. She sounded like a siren; Her voice luring him, tempting him, but he had to try his hardest to resist her. As she had begun to leave that day, she noticed the new sign. Levi was in the garden that day, behind the wisteria. As she wandered behind the camellias, he followed her, peering at her behind the concrete archway leading to a hidden part of the garden. The smeraldo flowers were in a small bunch in a bucket, all ready for Hange to take. She gasped loudly when she saw them.

“Oh my God,” she exhaled. Her fingers touched her lips in wonder. Her eyes were wide. She ran to the flowers, kneeling down in front of them. She admired them closely, examining each vein of each petal and how the blue blended into purple. They were breathtaking.

“These are… extraordinary,” she said, caressing one flower with her hand. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Levi… thank you,” she said his name again. It made Levi’s heart skip a beat. You are extraordinary, Hange.

“When I return tomorrow, I want to meet you,” she said aloud, picking up the pot by its wooden handle. “I know you can hear me. I know you’re nearby. If not, I’ll let the whole world know. I’ll scream it from the top of my lungs so you can hear me. I hear what they say about you in the village. They say you’re scary and that you’re a monster, but I find that hard to believe. You are kind. You are special.” Levi feels tears well up in his eyes, his throat tightening. What is this? He asked himself. “Ah… I am rambling again. Anyways, I will see you tomorrow.” She started heading for the exit. She looked beautiful: she wore a long, white dress with sandals. Please don’t go, he wanted to say. But she left, leaving Levi alone again.

That evening as the sun set, Levi picked bluebells from his garden. He hated to pluck and kill his flowers, but this was for something special. He brought the flowers in a bucket to his bedroom. He sat on his bed with the bucket, using a delicate hand to turn them inside out. His book states, If you are able to turn a bluebell inside-out without tearing it, you will win the one you love. It also states, Wearing a wreath of bluebells will allow you to speak the truth. Levi’s gentle touch manipulated the flowers in such a way to turn every single one inside-out; It took him hours. He was up till the sunrise working to make sure he didn’t rip any flowers. God forbid if anything messed up his chance. Then, he weaved the flower stems together, forming a beautiful vibrant wreath of bluebell flowers. Today, he was going to meet Hange in person.

He slept late that morning into the early afternoon. He jolted out of bed, instinctively looking out his window. Did she show? He didn’t see her. He put on his cloak and mask and went outside. He made sure to put on his wreath.

He waited till nightfall, and she didn’t show. The next day, she didn’t show. The day after that, she didn’t show. The bluebell wreath was beginning to wilt. Levi was starting to worry. He felt this strong urge to go into town. So, he dressed in his usual cloak and mask and followed his instinct. He found her father outside a building talking to a man in a white coat. They looked distraught. Levi frowned. Why is a doctor talking to Hange’s father? Why do they look sad? The doctor started walking with her father down the sidewalk. Levi felt extremely concerned. He walked across the street to the door they came out of. It was unlocked; Levi let himself in.

On the couch, Hange lay. She had a cold pack on her head, covered in blankets. She was sweating but shivering. Levi felt the familiar pang in his chest again. Levi swore Hange didn’t hear him come in, but she did.

“Who’s there?” she called out, coughing harshly. It sounded like she was coughing up her lungs. Levi felt his heart begin to race. He was nervous and scared.

“...Levi,” he replied.

“Show yourself.”

Levi did. He stepped out of the shadows into her field of vision. She gave him a soft smile.

“Come here,” she whispered. Levi did. He kneeled at her bedside.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his face still completely covered.

“I got robbed,” she said, coughing harshly again. It made her wince in pain, a small “ow” escaping her lips. “They stabbed me.” She exposed her abdomen, blood seeping through the bandages on her upper left abdomen. Levi was too sad for words. His brows furrowed, lip quivered, eyes wide.

“I am going to die.” Levi felt his heart ache in his chest. His throat tightened again. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

“Please, Levi,” she whimpered. “Let me... see your face.” Levi was like putty in her hands. He melted, seeing those rich beautiful hazel eyes looking at his face but at a black mask, unable to recognize any features. Levi slowly reached for his mask, untying the strap behind his head, letting it fall to the ground. That was the first and final time Levi got to look into Hange’s eyes. Hange gave him a sad smile. She reached her hand up to touch his cheek.

“You... are the most beautiful person... I have ever met,” She said, barely audible. Then, her hand fell from his face, her facial expression drooped. She was gone. Tears fell from Levi’s eyes uncontrollably. He tightly placed his hand on his mouth, sealing any sobs from escaping it. He wanted to admire her more, but he couldn’t. He had to go before they believed he killed her, delivering the final blow. He brought a white lily with him, her favorite, and tucked it behind her ear once more. He closed her eyes, pressed his lips to her forehead, as best as he could remember from his miniscule experience. Before he left her for good, he spoke.

“I will keep planting flowers for you. Over and over again.”

[pynkhues]

C&C prompts!!!!! someone is sick?? preferably someone who is a horrific patient and it's early enough in that the whole little family unit is still trying to find their footing together and the whole thing's a mess???

Attempting this challenge has been a real reminder that I am no good at short things, haha, but look! 2k isn’t too bad for me????? 

(I hope you like it 😘)

Set in The Center & Circumference Universe.

(Early in the relationship, as requested ;-))

-

It goes like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

She sneezes and it ain’t some cute little ladylike nothin’ sneeze neither. It’s some loud, fucked-up-sinus, mucous-mouthed thing that echoes around the warehouse and makes everyone stop working, and shit, even Demon looks taken aback. Rio bites his tongue, gaze sliding from him back to Elizabeth, who suddenly stands up taller to meet his look, squares her shoulders, and he has the sudden, vivid memory of Jane doing this at the foot of their bed last week.

“What?”

And yeah, Jane had said that too.

Elizabeth though, she’s got this indignant edge to her voice that means she’s getting defensive, like her hair ain’t frizzing at her sweaty temples, like her skin ain’t flushed, peaked, her eyes ain’t starting to water, and he’d known it this morning before she’d left ahead of him for school run, but okay - - maybe he’d let himself believe her. Maybe he’d let her bat those baby blues at him, let her distract him by leaving the top couple of buttons undone on her ugly floral blouse so he could see the flushed curve of her breast, let her tell him - -

Rio works his jaw, huffs out a breath.

“You said you were good.”

“I am good,” she says right away, voice a little too loud, like he won’t hear the hoarseness that way and when Rio squints at her, she flails out a wobbly hand. “It’s allergies.”

He pops an eyebrow at that.

“In July?”

Behind him, Demon snorts on a laugh, and he sees Elizabeth’s focus snap to him, her own jaw rock, the flush at her cheeks deepening. She shifts her weight, side-to-side, and that ain’t good either, because she looks halfway to wobbling too far and topplin’ over, but still, she blinks.

Takes too long to blink.

Like her eyes close and she doesn’t entirely wanna reopen them.

She does though, just enough to glare.

“Not all allergies are seasonal,” she says, and her voice cracks a little at the end, and he can see it – how much she needs to sit down, and he’s of half a mind to get her arm over his shoulder and drag her over to a seat, but also is she really tryna play him like this?

It’s the latter thought that wins out, because - - whatever. He’ll catch her if she passes out.  

“So it ain’t got nothin’ to do with last week?” he asks, and shit, it’s like some game of chicken, because Elizabeth firms her look, wets her lips, tilts up her chin.  

“I’d tell you if it was.”

And this has pretty clearly proven she wouldn’t, but still, Rio rolls his shoulders back, and turns on his heel, starts walking again to the meeting room in the back where they’re supposed to be hearing a pitch from some new associate, because fine, if this is what they’re doing, it ain’t no skin off his nose. And okay, maybe they set up in the meeting and he spends most of the time watching her, because her skin’s less flushed now and more paper pale, and maybe she wobbles a little in her seat as she trains glazed eyes on the kid pitchin’ them the idea for smugglin’ hormone pills to Cleveland across Lake Erie, and maybe she tries to subtly swipe at her damp forehead as she curls her hair behind her ears and maybe he can hear her swallowing coughs, and maybe he should’ve taken her home before she passed out, but, y’know, he said he’d catch her, and he did, so he can’t really be faulted for that.

 *

 Last week went something like this:

Danny sneezed.

Danny sneezed then Jane sneezed then Emma, Marcus, Kenny, and Rio was vaguely reminded of sitting in front of the TV and watching A Christmas Carol as a kid himself, seeing the ghost of Christmas past, present, future in symptoms across the five of them while he and Elizabeth both wrangled tissue boxes and kiddie aspirin, cough syrup and glassy eyed tears over Frozen, Frozen 2, Wreck It Ralph, Frozen, Moana, Frozen, Zooptopia, Moana, Frozen.

(He might have thrown the bluray of that fuckin’ movie out before Annie came over with extra supplies and cooingly installed Disney+ on their TV, and shit, he’s had a lot of reasons to kill her before, but they all pale in comparison).

And okay, maybe it was a thing, because they were still pretty new to all of this and Rio didn’t need to be as good at math as he was to know that handlin’ five sick kids was gonna be worse than one, but still. He doesn’t think he’ll ever feel as close to burnin’ a house down as he did tryna handle three sobbing, snuffling kids at once, and they’d gotten well and the handover had happened and he’d maybe never been happier to give a mostly-better Marcus back to Laura and see the rest of them (also mostly-better) off to Elizabeth’s dumbass ex, and piling into bed after.

Him and Elizabeth hadn’t even fucked, they’d just collapsed back onto the mattress and looked at each other.

“If you get sick, I’m leaving you.”

He can’t remember which one of them said it.

 *

 It goes something like this:

Elizabeth sneezes.

Elizabeth sneezes and Rio throws a tissue box at her bedridden form as he works on his laptop in the reading chair in the corner, his own legs propped up on the ottoman he’s dragged up from the living room, as he works on the specs for the associate’s Cleveland pitch.

“Your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired, you know that?” she asks him, nose so blocked at this point her voice comes out somehow both hoarse and reedy, and Rio glances up at her over the top of his laptop, biting back a grin.

Thing is, she really does look like hell. The bags beneath her eyes are so purple they almost look like bruises, her skin so pale it’s almost translucent. He’d managed to get her into her favourite, ugliest pyjamas when he’d hauled her back into the house, and she looks comfy, between them and the approximately 800 blankets she’d demanded he pull out to cover her.

She’d sweat the fever out pretty quick, and he’d made awkward but proficient work of takin’ care of her – wiping her brow, feedin’ her flu medicine, and making thin, tasteless soup he somehow hadn’t managed to completely fuck up (then again, the only ingredients had been stock, salt and slivered vegetables) – and hours had gone by and she’d slept and glowered and offered frail excuses, and now - -

Well.

“Ain’t what you said last night,” he hums, clicking through the spreadsheet, and he feels more than sees Elizabeth’s eyeroll in reply.

“I said bedside manner, not - - in-bed manner,” she sniffs, before pulling out a tissue and blowing her nose, and Rio glances up at her red cheeks and wet eyelashes and grins.

“Figured what we did counted more as bed-side.”

And maybe it was semantics, but whatever. It was fun in the moment of it, rememberin’ both their toes curled in this carpet, her body bent like an L atop their sheets, ass up towards him, and - -

“Bed-over,” Elizabeth corrects, and it surprises him enough that Rio barks on a laugh, glancing up at her again, grinning when he spots the subdued but still-a-little-playful look in her eye.

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, huh?”

The look on her face is as close to affectionate as she ever gets, and he shifts a little in his seat, feels himself warm beneath it, as she flops back into their pillows, still snuffling. He can pretty much smell the sweat on them at this point, and he wonders vaguely if he can change the sheets before he slips in tonight, because shit, they are damp, and he’s spent enough time hovering over the kids’ feverishly moist beds over the last week to like the idea of somethin’ a little crisper, when Elizabeth suddenly says:

“You stayed though. So that’s - - you know. That’s some sort of bedside manner.”

His gaze darts up, takes in her pink, mottled cheeks, her crooked nose, her dimpled chin, and her voice was high. Light and airy in that way she ain’t, and there’s a knot between his shoulders when he shrugs.

“Well, we got a mortgage now,” he drawls, eyes skirting back down to the spreadsheet on his laptop screen but not taking any of the figures in.

“A big one,” Elizabeth agrees, like they don’t both know they’ve paid it outright, and Rio hums, willing her complicity in the moment of it, because fuck, if that ain’t just - -

Easier.

And he can’t really think about what that means, not really, but maybe he doesn’t have to, because suddenly Elizabeth says:

“I bet you’re terrible when you’re sick.”

Rio jerks his head up, eyebrows raised, and Elizabeth snuffles, closing her eyes briefly, shuffling back into their pillows. The air around her is thick, her body tired, slumped, but glowing with the sheen of her fevered sweat. He wets his lips, works his jaw, meets her eye.

“You’re probably like the - - the poster child for man flu,” she adds, which is a little rich comin’ from the woman who passed out halfway through a meeting. Rio arches an eyebrow back at her, and somewhere in the pocket of his jeans, his cell buzzes. Somewhere outside of here, he can hear afternoon traffic and a neighbour yell. He can hear a lot of things, but he can’t see anything that ain’t Elizabeth, awkward and beautiful and a straight up fuckin’ mess, sprawled out in their bed.

“You talk to every man who takes care of you that way, or just me, huh?”

And her head jerks at that, neck forcing at an odd angle, shoulder shoving up to suffocate the pillow against the bedhead.

“All of them,” she decides after a moment, and Rio snorts on a laugh, closing his laptop and putting it aside. The knot between his shoulders is settling, and he ain’t exactly taking in the specs anyway (he thinks the deal’s a no-go, but he figured lookin’ it over was the least he could do for the kid, given one of his potential bosses rolled out of her fuckin’ body halfway through his pitch), so he starts towards the bed, planning on folding in directly beside her, when Elizabeth shakes her head, pushing him gently away.

“No,” she says. “I’m not - - I - - ”

She’s fumbling for the words, and Rio looks at her, taking her in all over again, seeing the uncertainty not the set of her, and so he ignores her, returning her gentle shove with one of his own and lying down in their bed, and he can’t explain it. The feeling in his chest when she casts wide eyes at him.

“What?” he grunts, and she opens her mouth once, twice, says:

“I - - Dean - - ”

Her mouth clamps shut.

She stares at him, and Rio stares back, watching her mandible clench, her lips twitch, her bambi eyes blink. After a moment, she shakes her head, wriggles down in the bed.

“You’ll only have yourself to blame if you get sick.”

Rio snorts.

“Darlin’, we both know I probably already got it.”

She rolls her eyes then, but keeps wriggling down until they’re eye level again, and Rio leans over, just enough to hook a finger beneath her chin, flick it up over the dimple there, and he watches as her tired eyes glaze over or - - maybe not. Maybe they’re just overtaken somehow. By somethin’ that just makes her look at him in a way he still ain’t used to. Naked almost, open and tired and warm.

“Probably,” she agrees quietly, and she turns into him. Rio’s fingers lift from her chin to brush over her wet lips.

“’Sides,” he tells her. “Where else would I wanna sleep?”

Like they don’t have at least five other bedrooms in this house.

Like there ain’t the promise of something warmer, cleaner, fresher, safer somewhere in this house, but he don’t want it.

This is his bed.

She’s his - -

“Fine,” she says, pointedly closing her eyes, and Rio does the same, and maybe he pretends he doesn’t notice the way she shuffles – ever so slightly – closer before they both fall asleep.

 *

 It goes something like this:

Rio sneezes.

Rio sneezes and Elizabeth fuckin’ laughs.

[ground-todo]

face masks — scenario

PAIRING — todoroki shouto x gn!reader

GENRE — fluff, fluff, and more fluff

WORD COUNT — 1.6k words

It was a normal friday evening. As soon as class ended for the day, everyone was quick to go do their own things. Some people like Midoriya and Bakugou would keep on training until before dinner, some people like Mina and Uraraka would lounge in the common room while talking about anything random, then of course, there are people like you and your boyfriend todoroki who would isolate yourself from the rest of your classmates and hang out in your dorm room. Well, everyone sure has their own way with life.

You and todoroki were just watching some netflix show on your laptop while cuddled up to each other on the bed. Of course, you two changed into comfier clothes before all that. Todoroki preferred to be seated on the bed, leaning against the headboard to support his head and back. While you were somewhat in the middle of laying down and sitting beside him, your head on his chest and the laptop on your lap. Well, you were in that position but then you suddenly and silently got pulled gently to sit you in his lap, his arms snaked around your waist and his chin on your left shoulder. This wasn’t the first time it happened but it surely did made your heart flutter and cheeks turning pink because, this man known to look and sometimes act cold to the world is being all cute and lovely to you.

Your boyfriend looked confused at your question. Didn’t you see him wear one that one time he got sick but still went to class? He thought maybe you forgot so he would just have to remind you again. “I have, remember that one time I caught a cold but still went to class wearing one so I wouldn’t infect anyone?”

You giggled at his answer and todoroki just got even more confused with the way you reacted. You tap his nose then turned your head to look at him. “No, silly. Not that kind of face mask. Oh, I know!”

There were other types of face masks that he doesn’t know about? Now he just got even more confused. Before he could even ask you what you were talking about, you paused the show you were watching and placed the laptop on the side of the bed then quickly slipped out of his hold. Where were you going now? Why are you leaving him now? All he could do was follow your movements around the room and sit on the bed with the most confused puppy expression he could make. It looks like you finally found what you wanted to get and brought it over to him, holding it up showing the packets in your hand proudly.

“We’re going to try these on!” You say with a grin. Todoroki couldn’t help but smile and agree at your cuteness at how you want him to try new things with you. “Y/N, could you tell me what we are going to do with those?” He asked, standing up to kiss your forehead out of habit.

“You know how you always put moisturizer on your face before going to sleep? This is going to be the same thing, but more fun!” You answered with a grin. Truth be told, you only have one reason you want to try this out with him after getting the idea: seeing how he would look like with a moist sheet on his beautiful face. “I’d love to try it with you, love. Just tell me what to do.”

With that, you pull him to your bathroom and tie your hair up so it wouldn’t get in the way and get wet. “First, we have to wash our face!” Todoroki was a gentleman to have you wash your face first with warm water, and while waiting he decided on tying his hair that was covering his forehead to match you. When you finished washing, Todoroki grabbed you a towel for you to slightly dry your face in, but you weren’t expecting him to look cute with his hair tied up and all. A blush dusted on your cheeks. Todoroki took a mental note of this to tie his hair up more to see your blushing more.

Todoroki then washed his face like you did while you look for an extra towel for him to wipe the excess water glistening on his godly beautiful face— “Thank you, love.” Todoroki smiled at how you looked dazed, taking the towel you were unknowingly handing out to him then he pressed a kiss on the crown of your head.

Darn it! You weren’t supposed to be this flustered! You didn’t think he would still look so heavenly even before you put on the face masks! How is he turning you into complete putty in his hands?! The answer: you were whipped for this man named Shoto Todoroki.

After that, you two had stepped out of the bathroom and told him to sit on the bed. You ripped open the packet containing the face mask and carefully lined it up with his face, making sure his eyes, mouth and nose were sticking out of the holes made for it. Todoroki got surprised with how cool the sheet you were putting on him was.

‘This is illegal’ you thought. How could he still look so good with a face mask?! It was so obvious that god was playing favorites in distributing beauty. This man right before you got it all!! You definitely had to take a picture. So you take your phone from the bedside table and quickly snap a picture of your boyfriend.

“What are you doing?” He asked with a confused expression. You just smile and shook your head as an answer though. “You should lay down, so the mask wont slip off your face.” You say and take the other packet to put in on yourself, but before you could even open it, Todoroki’s hands held yours and took the packet from your hold. “You put one on me, so at least I should put yours on for you.” He says, tapping the space beside him so you could sit down. How could you say no? Of course you sat down next to him and watched as he tore open the packet and try to unfold the face mask.

“It’s so slime-y” he blurts out loud while carefully opening up the mask.

“It’s supposed to be like that, babe. That’s supposed to be the moisturizer.” You giggle, watching him struggle. Eventually, he got it opened and carefully placed it on your face, caressing every curve to fit it perfectly.

Now it was his turn to look at you with aw, but it didn’t last long because you covered your face with your hands out of embarrassment. “You look cute.” He says with a smile, flustering you even more. You don’t even look nearly as good as him!

“This should stay on for at least fifteen minutes.” You changed the topic, pulling out your phone to set a timer. “So we can cuddle now?” Todoroki asks, pulling you to sit on top of him again, careful to not get any of the face mask residue on your hair.

“Yes, we can cuddle now.” You answered smiling, but careful to not rip the mask on your face.

—

Mina knocked on your door before opening it, surprised it wasn’t locked “Hey Y/N it’s time for di— -nner” You and Todoroki who still had face masks on were just about to go to the bathroom to tale them off. The three of you looked at each other with a surprised look trying to process what was happening.

“Dinner is ready you two! Clean yourself up and get downstairs and eat dinner with us!” Then she turned around to head back out.

“Leave some beauty for the rest of us too.” Mina mumbled under her breath pouting, before you or Todoroki could ask what she said, Mina had already left. And the two of you continued your way to the bathroom to wash your face.

“We should go down now and eat with everyone else.” You say to todoroki while drying your face. Todoroki nods, leaning in to peck your cheek.

“Your face feels softer.” He noted, making you blush, bringing your hands to touch his cheeks and pinching them slightly. “Yours too.”

“But you know what else is softer, love?”

“What is—“

Todoroki then suddenly leans in to close the gap between your lips, connecting them in a quick kiss. He pulls away and smirks, then answers your unfinished question “your lips.”

It’s safe to say that you were bright red and Todoroki just laughs at you, pulling your hand to head on downstairs. Everyone was curious on why you looked like a tomato, and why Todoroki looks so smug.

(Everyone besides Kaminari who gave todoroki a thumbs up and a smirk. His pick-up line lesson with the electric user must have paid off well)

A/N — I couldn’t add a ‘keep reading’ option so I’m sorry about that D: but hope you like this mini scenario with our favorite icyhot boy!! sorry for any typos I might’ve made!!

[sage-nebula]

VLD - If The Way Is Hazy

Notes: I’ve been rewatching old seasons of The Great British Bake Off lately, and that, plus my cravings for Keitor, created this. This takes place in my Paradigm Shift alternate reality series, and it takes place before “Revolutionary”, meaning that Keith and Lotor are not a couple as of yet. However, it doesn’t take place too long before that fic, so the tension . . . is definitely there.

I wrote the vast majority of this on my phone before bed, so please excuse any typos. 

One day after taking possession of the Castle of Lions, Keith and Lotor decided to try their hands at baking.

They each knew how to cook, a bit. They had to learn when they first left Revender, because it was either that or starve. Acxa had remembered approximations of her grandmother's recipes, and other lessons, and she---as much of a lost kid as they themselves were, at the time---had done her best to impart her fragmented knowledge on them. But cooking was different than baking, and it was especially so when one had access to a full kitchen. They hardly knew where to start.

But they did want to start, or at least try, because Lotor knew Keith had a sweet tooth even if Keith wouldn't say so, and both of them wanted to surprise Acxa with a recipe she hadn’t found for them. So that brought them to the kitchen, and the ingredients, and an old recipe for a cake-like dessert Lotor had found in a book that looked older (and was nine times more valuable) than his father.

The bake itself was . . . an experience.

First they had to make the batter for the "sponge" (which Keith hoped was another word for cake, and Lotor said that it was, but he said so in a way that told Keith he was trying to convince himself as much as Keith). On paper, this was simple. In practice, they were covered in flour in ticks, and Lotor's hair cascaded over his shoulders and into the mixing bowl every time he leaned forward. On the third swing, Keith decided he had enough and took a knife to his own apron strings. The strip of fabric freed, he reached for Lotor's hair.

Lotor stepped out of reach. "What are you doing?"

"Your hair's in the way," Keith said. "C'mere, let me see."

This time, Lotor remained still as Keith swept swept his long hair back, his fingers brushing Lotor's cheeks and jaw as he did so. It was difficult to get all of it; there were a lot of annoying little strands at the base of Lotor's neck Keith couldn't get no matter how hard he tried. But he finally managed to tie most of Lotor's hair back in a messy ponytail, and stepped back to admire his work.

His powdery fingerprints, courtesy of the flour, were spattered across Lotor's jawline.

"Oh, uh, oops. Here, lemme---" Keith tried to wipe his prints away, but only succeeded in smearing more flour across Lotor's skin. He frowned. "It's getting worse."

Lotor's lips curled in a half-smile. "You know, I am not the only one with hair in my face."

"Wha---hey---!"

Lotor swept Keith's bangs up and off his forehead. Predictably, they fell right back into place. But judging from the flour all over Lotor's hand, Keith had a good idea of what was now on his forehead.

Lotor grinned. "We're two of a kind, now. A matched set."

Keith tried to bite back his own smile as warmth prickled beneath his skin; he wasn't so sure he succeeded. "C'mon, we've gotta finish making the sponge."

The recipe called for rucharies (a type of fruit) to be "suspended" in the sponge, whatever that meant. Lotor dropped a few in wholesale, while Keith chopped the rest.

"Are they meant to be chopped?" Lotor asked.

Keith shrugged. "We can get more of them in this way."

Lotor considered this, then nodded. "A fair point."

Once they were chopped in varying sizes, Keith haphazardly tossed the rucharies into the batter. That was when he and Lotor simultaneously realized three things:

One, they had yet to pour the batter into the baking pan.

Two, they had yet to locate the baking pan.

And three, they had forgotten to preheat the oven.

"Why does it need to be preheated? It's an oven. It's going to be hot," Keith grumbled, fiddling with the knobs as Lotor searched for a circular cake pan.

"Why must the cake be round?" Lotor asked, his voice a bit muffled with how he was leaning into the pan cabinet. "These are the questions that drive us."

Keith snorted a laugh.

Lotor found a circular pan and they poured the batter in before the oven finished preheating. Keith, not one to waste time waiting, declared the oven heated enough and put the cake in.

"There must be a reason recipes insist on preheating," Lotor said.

"It's heated enough," Keith insisted. Lotor smiled.

Making the icing was a bit easier than making the batter, but a moment of distraction led to Lotor accidentally tapping an icing covered spoon against the side of Keith's head, which caused a glob of frosting to get lodged in his hair. Both reached for it simultaneously, their fingers combing together. All they succeeded in doing was smearing it.

"It isn't so bad," Lotor said. "Pink rather suits you. It looks like a fashionable highlight."

Keith made a face at him just a tick before he swiped a fingerful of icing and ran it down a lone lock of hair that fell across Lotor's face.

"There," he said. "We match."

The surprise that had overtaken Lotor's expression fell away to muted laughter.

The icing made, all they had to do was wait for the cake. The recipe hadn't givem them a baking time, and so they were left seated on the floor in front of the oven, watching through the little window on the door.

"Think this'll be a disaster?" Keith asked after a bit.

"With you at the helm? Absolutely not."

Keith raised an eyebrow. "I've never baked a cake before."

"No, but your instincts are impeccable. I have no doubt."

Keith looked down, and toyed the fabric of his pants between his fingers. After a moment, he asked quietly, "Why do you have so much faith in me?"

Lotor hummed. "Why do you have so little?"

Keith's head snapped up, his eyes wide, to find Lotor staring steadily back at him. He hastily looked away again. "I---I don't."

Lotor hummed again, but didn't reply.

Keith cleared his throat. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You never answered my question." Keith looked back, and this time his stare met Lotor's, unwavering.

Lotor was silent for a moment, resting his cheek against curled fingers as he studied Keith. Finally, he smiled softly. "You've never given me a reason not to."

Keith's breath was shallow in his chest. No words could reach his voice.

Eventually, they took the cake (and it was a cake, not a bath sponge, to Keith's relief) from the oven. Keith immediately set to applying the icing, which turned out to be a mistake; it started melting the moment it touched the cake.

"Perhaps we should let it cool before we apply any more," Lotor suggested.

Keith huffed a sigh, but dropped the knife. "Yeah. Sure."

The waiting game was painful. Keith only lasted ten doboshes before he gave up, and with Lotor's help patched in globs of icing wherever there was a hole from the frosting melting off before. And once it was done, they called the girls in to try their creation.

Ezor's eyes were wide as she surveyed the kitchen, and Zethrid asked, "The hell happened in here?"

Keith gestured to the counter in front of him. "Cake."

The girls made their way over, Kova hopping from Narti's shoulder to the counter once he was near enough.

Acxa frowned. "It looks . . ."

"A mess," Zethrid said bluntly.

Keith scowled, and crossed his arms. "It's covered, isn't it?"

"What happened to the icing?" Ezor asked, and without waiting for an answer she skimmed a finger along the top and popped it in her mouth. She beamed. "Mmm, yummy!"

Keith smiled as Lotor said, "There was a bit of an incident with a warm sponge, but we resolved it to the best of our ability."

"You mean you covered the mistakes with more icing?" Acxa asked.

"Precisely."

Kova yawned loudly, and when she had their attention, Narti raised her hands and signed, "It is the taste that counts, and Ezor said the icing was good. Shall we try the rest?"

Zethrid swiped the knife off the counter, and grinned broadly as she said, "Oh yeah. Let's cut this sish."

Despite her boistrous tone, she sliced through the cake cleanly, separating a slice from the rest. Acxa raised her eyebrows as she peered inside.

"Most of the rucharies are suspended," she said.

"Really?" Keith leaned over as well, staring inside. "How can you tell?"

"They're all through the cake, see?" Acxa prodded at them with her fork, and Keith blinked.

"Oh. Got it."

"Too bad the bottom's all soggy," Zethrid said, poking the slice with her fork. "It's soaked through."

"Wait, wait," Ezor said, before Keith could protest, "what'd you say their bottom was?"

"Soggy."

Ezor was shaking, her cheeks puffed with barely surpressed laughter. "So they've got a soggy bottom?"

Acxa rolled her eyes as Zethrid snorted and lightly bumped her fist against Ezor's shoulder.

"How can it be wet?" Keith demanded. "It spent all that time in the oven!"

"Not enough," Acxa said after swallowing her bite. "It's underbaked."

"What?"

"Did you dry the fruit out before putting it in?"

"I'm afraid not," Lotor said. "But we did chop them."

"If the fruit was moist, that explains the . . . soggy bottom," Acxa said as Ezor broke into another fit of giggles. "The extra moisture came from the fruit. But it's still underbaked."

"Fine, we'll put it back in the oven," Keith said.

"You can't do that, the icing'll melt!" Ezor said.

"It already melted once!"

Narti tapped Keith's arm, and when he looked her way, she tilted her head consolingly in his direction as she signed, "The flavors are still very good, Keith."

"Just a shame about the bake," Zethrid said.

Keith bit out another sigh between his teeth, but before he could say anything more, Kova smacked his front paw on top of the cake.

"Kova!" Ezor cried.

"Gods damn it, cat!" Zethrid said.

Kova, thoroughly unperturbed by their anger, set to licking the frosting off his paw.

"See? Kova likes it," Narti signed, her tail swishing in happy curls behind her.

"Well, at least someone does," Keith muttered.

The cake, underbaked as it was, was unfortunately inedible. The girls filed out of the kitchen, Narti bodily carrying Kova away, and Keith poked at the paw print Kova left behind with a fork. After a tick, he smiled bitterly. "Guess you were wrong."

"About?"

"To have faith in my baking."

"I'd hardly say that." Lotor reached over and swiped some frosting off the cake with his finger, licking it as Ezor and Kova had before him. "This is delicious. Ezor, Narti, and Kova were correct."

"It's underbaked. And---"

"The rucharies that were suspended were the ones you chopped. Mine were at the bottom." Lotor smiled when Keith looked over to meet his eyes. "Your instincts were on the mark. We only need to refine our technique."

Keith looked back at the cake. He almost felt like smiling, but he held it back. "Yeah, well. We can do that next time. If---If you want. To do this again, I mean."

Lotor's smile didn't fade. "I would very much like to."

Once again, Keith felt a surge of warmth. His heart was drumming an arrhythmic beat, and as it had before, his breath felt too weak in his lungs. They were alone in the kitchen. As much as he was aware of the heat, the charge, he was aware that they were alone. They were . . . he could . . .

Keith dug his nails into the countertop, and his teeth into his lower lip. No. He couldn’t.

He cleared his throat.

“We should probably get this cleaned up,” he said, and motioned to the mess all over the counter, cake included. “So we can all eat dinner later.” 

He glanced back out of the corner of his eye to see that Lotor was still staring at him, his eyes burning just as before, but now his lips were pressed tightly together. 

After a tick, Lotor nodded. He turned away as he took a deep breath through his nose.

“Quite right. I wouldn’t dream of leaving the kitchen in this state. It’ll start with the ingredients, if you’d like to handle the cake?”

“Sure thing.” 

Silence fell as Lotor began to put away the flour and eggs, and Keith carried the inedible cake over to the bin. Something in his chest dropped as the cake slid off the pan and into the trash, but even as he squeezed the edges of the pan he knew it was less about that, and more about . . .

He stole a glance to the other side of the room. Lotor was neatly stacking the non-perishables in the pantry, his back to Keith. His hair was still tied back with the strap from Keith’s apron.

He thought . . . he was probably imagining it, but for a moment, Keith thought that maybe . . . maybe he was wrong, and Lotor also wanted . . .

He shook his head.

It didn’t matter. He was imagining it. And even if he wasn’t, they had a revolution to win.

He carried the empty cake pan over to the sink, and once it was in, turned on the tap.

[kirawritesaboutevanstan]

Gross and stinky together

A/N: Hiya! I am desperately trying to write a series that has been haunting my mind for the last few weeks, but I just can't seem to get it right, so out of frustration, I decided to write this instead lol. Because I am a mess of a human being and I tend to procrastinate. I also realize that most of my fics so far take place on a bed and I am not even sorry about that. 

Summary: A heatwave has attacked New York, and you are struggling with dealing with it. I don't know how to write summaries. I suck.

Warnings: Mentions of sex and body parts, no actual smut. Just making out. Maybe a swear word or two. Too many commas and shitty grammar. Sorry. 

Word count: Around 2300. 

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Reader 

Interested in reading more of my stories? Well you can find more right here

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(Gif is because he is all sweaty but so hot. Okay, honestly I just wanted to add it, no other reason lol. I don't own it, credit to the owner.)

43° the thermometer reads. You groan and skip around your apartment trying to find a cool spot. There is a heat wave going on in New York at the moment, and you are not happy about it. Being a person who is forever boiling the heat is just too much for you to handle. You enter your living room and fall down on the couch. But the room is like a sauna, so you quickly leave the couch again. The leather seat sticks to your skin as you lift your butt of it, making a loud tearing sound. Not sexy at all. You grimace and gently rub your exposed butt. You quickly decided not to wear any pants  Ending up in a pair of deep red lingerie panties and a loose black t-shirt.

You shuffle into the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab a drink. The cool air hitting your skin is so lovely you fall into a blissful trance. But it's interrupted by the loud beeping from the refrigerator complaining about being too hot. You grab a cold ice tea and close the fridge door. The refrigerator begins happily buzzing away cooling itself down again. “Selfish bastard” you mumble to the fridge, jealous of it being able to cool itself down and staying cool but not wanting to share it with you.

You shuffle into the office, but turn around instantly when you feel the even hotter air hitting your face. You groan out loud. “Why is this damn apartment so freaking hot?!” you complain out loud. Perhaps a cold shower will do the trick?

You march into the bathroom. Undressing, stepping in under the cold water. Moaning blissfully, your eye closing in content as the cooling water runs down your overheated body. You stand in there for a long time, before deciding it’s time to wash your hair. As lovely as this is, you have to get out at some point. You gently rub the shampoo into your scalp. You choose to use your cooling mint body wash as well. When you are all nice and clean, you step out of the shower, still feeling nice and relaxed. Thinking what a good idea this was.

Well, that is until you walk out of the bathroom and try to dry off. You dry off your body with the towel, but because it’s so hot, your skin just won't stay dry. Your own sweat mixing with the water from the shower. After a few minutes of frantically trying to dry off. You groan loud, a guttural groan and throw your arms up in frustration. The towel falls to the floor. And you fall down on the bed, face down and just lay there. Entirely and utterly naked, head first in the pillow. After a few moments, your lungs scream for air and turn your head to the side. You lay there, having given up altogether. Still, your skin keeps being moist.

20 minutes pass and your body are finally dry. But you know that if you dare to move, you will sweat again. So you just lay there.

You must have fallen asleep because you open your eyes the light outside isn't as bright as it was earlier, but still as hot. You got woken up by the door opening and closing. A voice calls out. It’s Sebastian, your boyfriend coming home from a day full of interviews.

‘’Y/N? You here?’’ You raise your head a little to yell out ‘’In the bedroom’’. You hear shuffling around and footsteps coming closer. You hear Sebastian’s voice outside the door says as he appears in the door. ‘’What are you doing in the bedr-?’’ He stops talking mid-sentence when he spots you on the bed.  Completely naked. His eyes are wide with surprise as he stares at you. Taking in the sight of your exposed body.

‘’Y/n, why are you naked? I mean, not that I am complaining. I love when you are naked, but I'm just wondering. Why?.’’ He chuckles as he stares at you, amusement and confusion on his beautiful face.

You turn around to face him, now resting on your back, as you lift up on your arms, you glare at him, brows squished together, a slight crease between them. ‘’It’s too hot! I can’t be anywhere without melting. I can't wear anything without it sticking to my skin. It’s boiling everywhere… The only place I can even stand being is in here. On our bed. Not moving and naked.’’ You complain as you make an exasperated sound as you fall back on the bed, spreading out your arms in a dramatic way to demonstrate your point. ‘’I'm dying Seb’’ you finish off theatrically, voice low and weak.

He laughs out loud at your exaggerated actions, his laughter booming in the room.   ‘’You are such a drama queen.’ He chuckles, as he looks at you and you glare at him. ‘’I am not a drama queen. It’s just too hot’’ you complain. He chuckles again, the sound makes a pack of butterflies flutter around your stomach. He walks over to the closet and starts to undress.

Your eyes follow his movements, studying his actions and body. He is wearing that green leather jacket you love on him. You do however wonder how he hasn't melted away in that thing. A black fitted t-shirt underneath, white pants and white socks. Seriously, how is he just fine with wearing that much clothing in this heat?

‘’How are you just fine wearing that?’’ You ask him, putting extra pressure on the word that, he turns his head to look at you. ‘’What do you mean? Do you not like my outfit?’’ He asks you, a little frown on his gorgeous face of his.

‘’I love your outfit. You look hot’’ You reassure him, and he grins at that. ‘’I’m just saying, it's boiling hot. I can't even wear clothes, how can you wear long pants AND a leather jacket? I mean, are you even human?’’ He laughs out loud again, and pulls off his shirt, grabbing the back off and pulling it off. The way only guys can do. God, it looks hot when he does that. You feel the butterflies again.

‘’You really are very dramatic..’’ He winks at you with a smirk on his face, and you inhale sharply. He heard that and only grins wider. His eyes squinting, nose wrinkling a little, teeth showing. He has the most amazing smile. You feel the heat rise on your face, damn it, please don't sweat face.

‘’The rooms I am interviewed in usually have air conditioning. And it’s always turned up too much. I didn't want to freeze, so I kept it on.’’ He explains as he pulls off his pants, his socks already gone.

You turn your head, looking up at the ceiling as you sigh. ‘’I wish we had air conditioning’’ You sigh, looking up at the ceiling dreamingly.

He crawls down on the bed next to you. You turn your head to look at him, your breathing stops when you notice his state. He is completely naked too. Your eyes grow wide as you stare at his exposed body. You must look like a deer caught in headlights as you stare at him. He is gorgeous. His chest broad and defined beautifully. Short dark hairs covering his chest, not having had to shave them off for a role in a while. Which made you happy, you happened to love his chest hair. His abs look to be cut in marble, hard as a rock, but his skin is always so soft. His arms are long and muscular. The veins raised slightly. His legs and thighs are long and thick, the muscles outlined perfectly. You can’t even describe his... manhood. You just can't stop staring at it as your mouth starts to water a little.

‘’Sweetheart, you are staring at me..’’ He whines, feeling a bit nervous at the intense look in your eyes as you take him in. Your eyes leave his manhood and lock with his steel blue ones, his cheeks flushed, as are yours. You have only lived together for two months but dated for about 2 years. Still, you can't get over how beautiful he truly is. You are always taken aback whenever you see him naked. His body has changed a lot over the years, mainly because of the various roles he has had, and you’ve enjoyed every single one of the changes. Whether it was when he bulked up for Civil War or slimmed down for Jeff in I, Tonya. You even liked the mustache he had rocked, you thought he looked hella cute with it. You were convinced that no matter how he changed his appearance you would still find him just as gorgeous.

‘’Sorry’’ You mutter, and he smiles at you, his cheeks still pink. You lean into him, your body moving to rest half on top of his chest. The lower half of your body nestled between his legs. Your breasts are on his chest. Your right-hand reaches to stroke his scruffy cheek, a light stubble covering his soft skin. You move your hand so that your palm rests on his cheek.  Your thumb just next to those glowing, icy blue eyes, that has a soft look in them. Your left hand resting on his pec. He moves his head closer to yours so that your faces are mere inches apart. You can feel his warm breath on your lips. His hand resting on your back, gently caressing your flushed skin. His other arm underneath his head.

‘’Hi pretty bird’’ He says, his voice soft. You smile at him as you just lay there looking into each other's eyes.

‘’Hi Bass. I’ve missed you’’ You whisper as his eyes look down at your lips. He makes a humming noise and leans in, finally closing the distance between your faces. Both of your eyes shut. His lips are warm as he presses them ever so softly against yours. His kiss is tender and so gentle.

The butterflies in your stomach are now having a full on rave down there. You kiss him back, a little bit more eagerly than his soft kiss. You can feel him smile at your eagerness. He learns his head back a little, his lips leaving you. You whine, and you shift your body, getting closer to him. You press your lips to his again, annoyed that he dared to remove them in the first place. He kisses you back, and this time his lips aren't as gentle. He hums against your lips, you can feel the vibrations on your lips. It sends a shiver down your body, he stops kissing you and moves his head back so that he can look at you.

‘’Are you cold?’’ He asks confused. Instead of replying you just kiss him hard. Not wanting to stop kissing him again.

He pulls you into his chest, realizing what you want. Your body now resting on top of his completely. You can feel every bit of him underneath you. His hands are on your hips, gripping your skin hard. You moan, when you feel his shaft twitch against your mound. He mimics your moan, as his hand grips your hips harder. Your tongues now playing with each other. You feel your body heating up again and internally curse the warm air again. You pull your lips away from him, and this time he whines and tries to kiss you again, but you just giggle and move your head further back. ''What's wrong?'' He asks, his eyes staring into yours but they keep shifting down to your lips.

'' It's too hot, I will start sweating again.''

''Who cares? Kiss me again'' He tries to lean in again, but you move away from him completely this time. Removing your body from his, he whines again and tries to grab you, but you have already jumped off the bed. He stares at you, eyes dark and his shaft leaning against his stomach.

''Come back to bed y/n, please. You have made me all worked up, and then you just leave me, 'S not fair sweetheart'' He tells you, and you smile at him.

''I can see that, but it's too hot to make out'' He huffs and jumps off the bed.

He walks over to you and grabs hold of you, you giggle and try to escape his grip, but you are powerless. He turns your body so that you are facing him, your bodies touching again.

''What's wrong?'' he cups your face, and you place your hands on his chest. You smile gently at him, and he cocks his head waiting for you to reply. ''I don't want to sweat on you... I would get all stinky and sweaty and gross. not very sexy.'' He scoffs and strokes your cheeks.

''Don't you be embarrassed about sweating. Let's go back to bed and continue what we were doing and not care about the sweat. We can be stinky and sweaty together. I don't care, all I care about is your body on mine. We can take a shower afterward, let's just go back to bed.''

You giggle at his words and kiss his mouth. He kisses you back instantly and holds onto your back. He takes steps forward, making you walk backward, and you feel the bed on the inside of your knees. He pushes you so that you fall on the bed and you gasp in surprise. He is on top of you instantly.  His mouth kisses you everywhere he can reach, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your flushed skin and you love it. He moves upwards, and his face stops just in front of yours. His blue eyes are almost black as he stares into yours.

''Lets gets all gross and stinky baby'' He says as he attacks your mouth and you just let him do whatever he wants with you. Until you, two indeed are a gross, stinky and sweaty bundle of limbs.

fin x 

Don't be shy to leave me feedback, even if its just incoherent noises. I will love you forever if you do x

[murphysannie]

⭐︎ shadowhunters au mondays ⭐︎

    ↳ week one: coffee shops

title: flowers and pearls and pretty girls

pairing: clary/izzy

rating: G

summary: or, the ‘we’re not dating but you’re always my #1 cheerleader when im coming up with new flavours and toppings for cakes and let me try things out on you, what do you mean this menu is entirely composed of all your favourite stuff? coincidence!’ au

[read on ao3]

“Clary?” 

Izzy drops her bags down in a heap as she calls to her friend, piling them around the leg of a table in the bakery’s front of house. 

“Out back!” comes Clary’s reply.

Izzy winds her way through the various tables, tub chairs and couches sat in the front of the shop. It always looks weird after hours, with everything dark save for the light from the street and the glow of the kitchen. Clary’s usually in there working on her new creations, which makes it a sure bet that if she’s late for something, that’s where she’ll be.

Biscuit started off as Jocelyn’s coffee shop library, where customers could come and peruse the bookshelves for something free to read while they had their drinks. Then Clary had got into pastry school, and Biscuit morphed into a bakery too when she moved back home after graduation.

Izzy peeps through into the kitchen. Sure enough, Clary’s there, leaning over a cupcake with a piping bag in her hand and a look of concentration on her face. She has a smear of icing sugar on her cheek and her fingers are stained with food colouring. She smiles when Izzy steps into the room.

“Two secs and you can try it,” Clary says before Izzy can speak. She finishes piping — Izzy moves closer and sees a two-tone rose design on the top — and places the bag down with a flourish. Clary pushes the cake towards Izzy and nods.

“You just finished it,” Izzy protests, though the cake looks amazing and she hasn’t eaten since lunchtime. 

Clary jerks her thumb behind her. “I made a dozen, so losing one won’t hurt. It’s just a trial run anyway.”

Izzy relents with a smile and picks it up. “It’s almost too pretty to eat,” she says, half sighing. 

Clary laughs. “Hm, well, I can’t resist pretty things,” she says, and then her eyes dart away, a dusting of pink settling across her cheeks. Heart skipping, Izzy watches Clary as she busies herself with clearing up her workspace. That sort of sounded like…? 

But it wasn’t. The two of them are just friends.

“What is it?” Izzy asks, peeling away the cake case.

“Red velvet with cookies and cream frosting,” Clary tells her. 

Izzy takes a bite and honestly, it feels like she’s gone to heaven. The cake is moist and light and everything tastes incredible. If a little moan escapes her, she’s not responsible. From the look Clary gives her, Izzy reckons some kind of sound did come out, but it’s not a bad look. It’s kind of a…hungry look. Which is oddly appropriate.

“This is amazing,” Izzy says truthfully. She takes another bite and finds something cold in the centre. 

Clary nibbles her lip. “It has an ice-cream core,” she says. “I don’t know if that works? Honestly, it’s not really that practical, but it just kind of came to me in a flash of inspiration. And I mean, who actually bites ice cream —?” She breaks off, raising an eyebrow at Izzy. “Okay, apparently you do.”

Izzy swallows, shrugging. “Who doesn’t bite ice cream? You people are pathetic.”

Clary just giggles and returns to clearing up the bench.

Izzy finishes up the cake and wipes her mouth. “That was beautiful,” she says.

“Thanks,” Clary says, though she still seems a little doubtful.

“Seriously,” Izzy says. “I mean, I might be biased because it was like, all my favourite things in a cake, but I loved it.”

Clary sort of freezes momentarily. “Huh,” she laughs. “Lucky guess, I guess.”

Izzy sends her a weird look. “Clary, you made my birthday cake. You know red velvet is my favourite,” she says, smiling. There’s a beat before Clary smiles too. “Not that I’m complaining,” Izzy adds, pulling out her lipstick to reapply after eating the cake. “I love trying everything you make.”

Clary hums. She seems a little despondent.

Izzy places a gentle hand on Clary’s arm. “Hey, don’t doubt yourself. Your new menu? It’s perfect. Literally, it’s like someone took all my fave things and put them into six different cakes,” she says. “I love it, and so will everyone else.” 

But instead of cheering Clary up, Izzy’s words seem to make Clary’s face fall further.

Clary sighs, then places her hand on top of Izzy’s and forces a smile. “You’re here early,” she says, and the change of subject is less than subtle. “I thought we weren’t meeting the others at the bar till nine?”

Luke’s recent promotion to Sergeant has given them all an excuse to get together — not that they need it — and celebrate, and Izzy’s looking forward to seeing people. She’s been squirrelled away studying for her final med school exams for a long time, so it’ll be nice to see Clary’s parents, along with all their friends.

“We’re not,” Izzy says. She licks her lips. “I just wanted to have you to myself for a bit, I guess. It feels like I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Clary lets out a little huff of laughter. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve just — it’s been super busy around here, and I’ve been doing overtime so Mom doesn’t have to, and…”

“No, I get it,” Izzy says, rubbing her thumb soothingly against Clary’s hand. Even though Clary’s doing what she loves, she has been putting in a lot of extra hours — with a baby on the way and Luke studying for his Sergeant exams, there haven’t been as many hands on deck recently. “My classes have been so hectic, too. We should definitely schedule in some time together, though.”

Clary stares at their hands, then closes her eyes. “Iz, there’s a reason why I’ve been avoiding you,” she says suddenly, and Izzy’s world stops.

“Did I do something?” she asks, heart in her mouth.

“No!” Clary says immediately, shaking her head wildly. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong, it’s all my fault. It’s — I —” She lets out a ragged breath. “The thing is,” Clary says, “I have a crush on you.” She says the last part in a rush and Izzy blinks to try and make sense of the words. 

“And I just, I don’t want this to ruin anything between us, ‘cause you’re one of my best friends and I don’t want to lose you because I made things weird or whatever,” she continues. “So I thought, if I try and spend some time away from you, maybe I’d get over you and then things could go back to how they were before.”

Izzy can’t help staring at Clary open-mouthed. It’s not often she’s lost for words, a witty comeback or a sharp retort dancing off the end of her tongue, but Clary’s confession has rendered her temporarily speechless.

“See?” Clary says, and she pulls her hand away to run it through her hair, face written over with guilt. “This is exactly what I didn’t want, and I just shouldn’t have said anything —”

“Clary,” Izzy says, catching her hand in her own again, “it’s okay.”

Clary sighs and she looks so sad as she glances at Izzy it makes Izzy’s heart squeeze.

“You mean a lot to me, and I wouldn’t let this come between us,” Izzy says, heart beating rapidly as she says her next words, “even if I didn’t have a crush on you too.”

Clary’s lips part and her eyes go almost comically wide. “What?”

Izzy smiles. “I like you too, Clary,” she says.

Clary seems a little dazed as Izzy steps closer to her, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. 

“There’s a chance I might have overcomplicated this,” Clary says, and Izzy laughs. She pulls Clary into a hug and sighs happily as Clary buries her face in her shoulder. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

Izzy squeezes Clary tighter. “We could go to this bar I know of,” she teases. Clary makes a sound somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “I’m not having a first date when my parents are there,” she says.

Izzy hums. “I guess we’ll figure something else out,” she suggests. 

Clary pulls back from the hug but stays close. Izzy reaches up to thumb away the sugar on Clary’s cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” Clary asks.

Izzy smiles slowly, nodding, and the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes is Clary smiling right back at her.

[milkhakyeon]

my heart is still remembering [7kpp day 2; sacrifice]

title: my heart is still remembering

pairing: jasper-centric, kade/jasper

rating: g

summary: it starts to dawn on him that maybe he’s been sacrificing the wrong thing.

a/n: apologies for the super late post! real life has been a pain lately ;-; anyway here's my first 7kpp fic! i only started playing the game three weeks ago so i apologise if they're ooc (i'm taking artistic license with their teenage selves though bc pRECIOUS CHILDREN ;A;)

one of the good things about being a butler, jasper thinks, is that he gets to observe.

he has always liked watching from the sidelines, catching the uncertain waver at the tail end of a sentence or the nervous quiver of a finger. the split second of vulnerability in someone’s eyes. things that no one but him sees.

it is what he is supposed to do, after all. it is his duty, his path, his purpose.

but there are…times. times he wonders why he does the things he does.

times like today.

he gazes at the necklace, lying forgotten at the far end of his drawer.

no, perhaps forgotten isn’t the right word to use. after all, he’d hadn’t been able to truly forget about it. he hates to admit it, but he’d been pushing it as far away from him as he could. but as hard as he’d tried, it hadn’t worked, not really. not when his heart isn’t so easily deceived.

tentatively, he picks the necklace up, fingers brushing over the glass locket. save for the dust that’s settled in a thin film, it’s exactly as he remembers.

maybe that’s the thing. he can try his hardest to block his mind, to force himself not to recall the memories by force of sheer willpower. he’s trained his self-discipline enough that he doesn’t think of him anymore, not unless absolutely necessary. but he can’t control his heart. can’t stop it from twisting painfully when he sees things that used to be special to them. can’t stop it from being drawn to him like a moth to a flame, even as it knows the dangers of playing with fire.

even now, his heart is still remembering.

“found you, kae!”

at six years old, his lips are still unable to enunciate his best friend’s name properly, the word tapering off in a triumphant lilt instead. he’s always been better at hiding than seeking, so victory as a seeker is always extra sweet.

kade shushes him, eye still glued to the tiny crack in between wood panels. jasper pouts, and crouches down next to his best friend.

“what are you looking at?”

kade motions for him to come closer, moving away from the peephole so jasper can see what he’s been staring at.

“do you see it?” kade whispers, voice quick and eager.

jasper’s about to shake his head when a tall, slender girl steps out of a room, dressed in a off-shoulder chiffon gown and heels so high jasper has no idea how anyone can balance in them, much less walk a few steps.

jasper turns to face kade, blinking quizzically. “who is she?”

“doesn’t matter. look behind her.”

jasper peers through the hole again, and this time he sees the man, dressed in formal attire, broad shoulders filling out his blazer nicely.

“see him? that’s my uncle,” kade says smugly, puffing up. “he says i’m gonna become a butler like him when i grow up.”

jasper tilts his head curiously. “you want to become a butler?”

“yeah,” kade nods, leaning against the wooden fence and looking up at the clear sky. “uncle says it’s one of the better, if not the best, jobs on the isle.”

jasper scoots closer, imitating kade and leaning against the fence, though he looks at kade instead. kade turns, and smiles.

“say, jas, how about we become butlers together?”

jasper’s eyes light up, and he nods enthusiastically. kade grins.

“it’s a deal, then.”

before they know it, years have passed, slipping past them like sand through their fingers.

the library is silent, save for the scratching of pen nibs and the rustling of endless sheets of parchment scattered across varnished wood. jasper’s used to silence, especially since it somehow always manages to find him in every conversation he has, so he doesn’t attempt to break it.

kade, however, has never been one for staying still.

so it’s not really a surprise when kade speaks up, baritone voice slicing through the thick silence that had settled over them, though jasper does allow himself to raise an eyebrow at the decidedly unique question.

“jas, do you ever wonder why we're even doing this? why we have to sit for a test that evaluates us on criteria some old hag probably created decades ago?"

for all his incisive remarks, kade has never asked him this before. neither has jasper ever thought about it, for that matter. he has always bought fully into his job, his supposed duty.

“why do you believe so readily in what they tell you? why are we trying to hard to ace a test created to evaluate our worth based on terms they set?”

jasper wants to correct him, wants to defend the values he’s always believed in. but that wouldn’t answer the question, not really. what his friend seeks are reasons. reasons he can’t formulate, reasons he can’t provide. reasons he doesn’t even know.

he knows he has to explain himself, but he doesn’t know how it’s possible to explain something he doesn’t understand.

his mind is a whirl as he tries to piece together his fragmented thoughts into coherent explanations, eyes staring unseeingly at the far end of the table. his pen lies forgotten in his hand, a dark stain slowly spreading where the tip meets parchment.

it takes him a while to organise his thoughts, but he knows kade is used to him and his slow pace by now. after a few long moments, jasper sets his pen down and turns to face kade. looking up to meet his gaze, when—

when kade swipes across his face with ink-stained fingers, laughter bubbling past his lips.

jasper freezes, the sudden streaks of cold moistness on his cheek enough for him to realise what has happened. kade’s eyes have already disappeared behind crescent curves, his laughter a resounding staccato.

he must have stayed silent for very long, because kade slowly sobers up, regarding jasper warily, cautiously, as he leans in closer, raucous laughter subsiding to an awkward chuckle.

“wait, jas, are you mad? i—“

jasper doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence before he reaches into the ink pot and smears the contents on kade’s nose with more speed than he’d thought he was capable of, his lips betraying a small smile.

kade’s lips curl into a cheshire grin, and jasper has about half a second of a head start to leap out of his chair before kade is chasing him around the room, ink on both his hands, ready to be transferred onto pale unmarked skin.

jasper is still no match for kade, only getting a few smudges in for every five or so marks kade leaves on him, but he finds that he doesn’t mind when it ends with kade pinning him to the table, drawing silly patterns on his face as they laugh, clear and uninhibited and blissful.

later, when they’ve calmed down and realised the mess they’ve made, jasper takes kade’s hands in his, gently rubbing the ink stains off with a handkerchief.

“i can do it myself, you know,” kade sulks, eyes looking everywhere but at jasper.

jasper smiles, breath escaping his lips in a soft chuckle. “yeah, and you’ll only rub off the edges of a few stains before you lose your patience and resign yourself to a woeful fate of spending the rest of the day with ink-stained hands.”

kade scowls, but it doesn’t last long, his lips quirking up in a tiny smile by the end of it.

jasper never does manage to tell kade his answer, but he thinks it doesn’t matter anyway, not when they’re happy and content in this moment and that’s really all that matters.

(isn’t it?)

one day during self-study time after breakfast, kade charms his way through a hallway of servants and sneaks into jasper’s room.

jasper’s always had a tendency to unconsciously block out everything when he works, so he doesn’t notice kade until a flash of silver enters his vision and there are hands fastening a chain at the back of his neck.

he looks down to see a clear glass disc hanging on a woven cord, its thin silver rim encircling bits of dried purple and white flower petals.

“sweet pea and white carnations,” kade mumbles, hovering behind jasper even after he finishes fastening the necklace. “wanted to give you some luck before the test.”

jasper smiles. “they’re our birth month flowers, right?”

“yeah.” kade fidgets awkwardly, eventually shoving his hands into his pockets. “yours mean thank you, as well as blissful pleasure. and mine... when white, they represent good luck.” kade pauses. “well, there’s another meaning, but that one isn’t important."

jasper’s known kade long enough to know he won’t be able to get anything more than what he wants to share out of him, so for all his curiosity, he doesn’t say anything, just runs a finger over the glass almost tenderly. “thank you, kae. it’s beautiful."

“yeah, well, it’s nothing much,” kade says, dismissively, even as a light pink dusts his cheeks. “i’m going back to my room. gotta study to beat you."

jasper laughs, calling out “keep trying!” as kade makes a hasty exit, almost crashing into a servant on his way out.

once he’s alone, he tries to go back to studying, but he soon finds the margins of his notes filled with sketches of flowers.

(kade would've thought that on a place like the isle, with all its concealed nooks and crannies, people would find better hiding spots to discuss their secrets. but no, apparently people like to talk in places that aren’t exactly that obscure.

like the small library.

he’s there searching for books on the isle's rules of conduct, because jasper had complained about needing to find and memorise every single one of them, and between the dark circles under his eyes and his appalling tendency to forget to eat kade decides it's a better idea for him to help him out. though he does have a backlog of work from all the times he skipped self-study time to explore the isle, but well. he'll figure something out later.

he's found the fourth book and eliminated the thirty-seventh when he hears muffled voices carrying over, filtering through the gaps between crisp pages on shelves. he can't quite make out the words, so he edges closer, curiosity piqued.

"...this year's trials will be interesting, don't you think?"

"yes, certainly, though i still can't quite understand why ren decided to sign up for the chef trials instead. he'd make a fine butler, if i do say so myself."

gossip, then. kade's about to turn and leave, disinterested in such inane small talk, only to be stopped in his tracks by something a lot more relevant.

"say, talking about butlers, jasper's practically a shoo-in, isn't he? given that he's our leader's descendant and all."

"yeah, of course. how could we possibly not select our isle's golden boy? even if he were to flunk the test, we'd probably still accept him anyway."

the books fall from kade's arms, tumbling to the ground before he even realises he's let them go. then he's striding out of the library, gaze steeled into a hard glare, tension pulsating in his veins.)

seventeen minutes before the test, jasper finds himself allowing kade to lead him to the small pier, a strong hand wrapped firmly around his wrist.

“i need to talk to you,” kade had said, and jasper had allowed himself to be pulled along, like he always had.

they’re back at their usual hideout, a secluded spot on the far end of the beach, where the wind’s rustling both drowns out the surrounding noise and masks their voices from any eavesdroppers. it’s a mystical place, magical even. jasper would question it if not for the fact that the rest of the isle is equally mystical, and he’d end up having to question the entire basis of his existence.

regardless, he likes this place. whenever they’re here, it feels like they’re the only ones who exist, like they’re the only ones who matter.

but they’re not here for that today.

“i’m leaving the isle,” kade blurts, blunt as always. “come with me.”

jasper pauses, looking up at kade. any other person would either have laughed it off as a joke, but he knows kade, knows him well enough to recognise the look in his eyes. the steely determination burning bright behind violet irises.

“why?”

kade laughs, hollow and haunting.

“i'm sick of this isle, jasper. why not? why do you even want to take the test? why do you want to live under someone else’s terms?”

jasper stares, stunned, before replying disbelievingly, “because it’s our duty. you told me that yourself when we were kids, remember? it’s passed down from generation to generation. it’s more than just culture, or tradition, or beliefs. it’s who we are. who we’re supposed to be.”

kade rolls his eyes. “and who gets to decide that? who has the right to dictate how we should lead our lives?”

“this isn’t dictating! it’s what we were born to do. if we don’t do it, who will?” jasper pleads.

“i don’t know. i don’t care. i don’t want to be a part of it.”

jasper lets out a short, exasperated noise. “kade, what’s gotten into you? why are you needlessly rebelling against our beliefs?”

kade scoffs. “and why are you blindly following in your ancestor’s footsteps? acting like some pet pathetically tagging along wherever its master goes.”

“it’s not called blindly following if i know where i’m going,” jasper says, his face darkening. “what are you trying to do, play around? i don’t know who gave you these ideas, kade, but you need to grow up."

the next thing he knows, kade’s punched him, knuckles connecting hard with bone.

the finger jasper raises to his lip comes away bloody.

“you don’t understand me at all, do you,” kade snarls, voice low and caustic.

jasper doesn’t respond, just looks at kade, gaze laced with hurt and disbelief.

this isn’t the kade he knows.

kade laughs scathingly. “well, i’m leaving,” he says, eyes cold and cruel, "since clearly i’m not good enough for you, mr. golden boy.”

then he stalks off without so much as a second glance back, shoulders set in an angry line.

and jasper’s left alone, wind whipping loud in his ears. too loud.

kade doesn’t show up for the test, because he’s kade. jasper aces it, because he’s jasper.

even after the exam ends, the other candidates are still gossiping about the bloody cut on the corner of his lip, about kade’s absence, about how visibly shaken and distracted jasper had been throughout the test. mostly it's about how they must have fought and what must have happened. whose fault it must have been.

all the candidates get a long break as a reward for studying so hard. jasper doesn’t have the energy to deal with other people, so he retreats to his room and proceeds to spend the rest of his time locked in it.

the days pass by in a daze, sunrises blending into sunsets until he can’t tell the days apart anymore. the servants learn to ignore him when they bring him food or take his laundry or clean his room. he doesn’t notice them anyway, his mind far too focused on something else entirely.

then one day kade walks into his room. he doesn’t say anything, just stands in the doorway, so jasper tries to comfort him. tells him that he can still study and pass the test next year. instead, kade scoffs. tells him that he doesn’t even want to become a butler anymore, and leaves without saying anything else.

the memory is so fuzzy that jasper can’t remember whether it actually happened or not, so he tells himself it was a dream, as if that would somehow make it sting less.

he buries himself in endless silence and endless thoughts, and it’s only weeks later when the head butler personally comes to drag him out to begin his butler duties that jasper finally forces himself to leave the safety of his room.

after years of preparation, he’s gotten the position he’s always wanted. but he feels emptier than he’s ever had, eyes blank and heart numb, a walking shell of his former self.

and now, it’s been years since he became a butler.

it’s been years, and the system is starting to crack and collapse around them all.

the worst part is that jasper, bound by duty, can only watch as it happens.

he's powerless to stop it. he shouldn't be interfering, he should only watch and record as is. it is not his place to do anything.

and yet he desperately wants to. wants to help delegates who deserve it, wants to expose the corruption rooted within the isle staff. wants to ask the reasons why the isle is what it is.

but he doesn’t, because these were the exact things kade had been questioning before he shut him down so harshly, and he’d be a hypocrite to bring it up now.

but it’s been years, and jasper thinks all that time has taught him a little about courage.

the walk to kade’s room is longer than he remembers, but he steels himself to continue. he’s delayed this for far too long. he can't keep hiding anymore.

the locket hangs heavy on his chest as he knocks on the door, tentatively at first, then determinedly. swallows his pride because between the two, it’s the thing he’d rather lose.

kade opens the door, and regards him with an icy, doubtful look.

jasper swallows the fear and hurt and regret bubbling up in his throat. reminds himself to breathe.

“kae. can we talk?"

[beepression]

harry potter and the age of consent

It was the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry’s 20th reunion, class of 99, where everyone was of legal and consenting sexual age. The main celebration had just concluded, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered on the world famous Hogwarts baseball field, which was real and canon. Everything in this story is canon. Also Ron’s dad was there because Ron is the type of guy who brings his dad to parties. Of the three (four) wizards present, two (three) were utterly shitfaced. Only Harry remained sober, because he was cool. Another reason Harry was cool: Harry was a Wizard Cop, which given the events of the last two centuries or so was a completely normal profession for a beloved children’s character to end up as. His years of experience on the Wizard force had changed him. Gone was the frail nerdling of Hogwarts past, replaced by a mustached crewcutted hulking muscleman who knew how fuck and had loads of steamy real sex with hot woman females. Years ago he had traded his wooden wand for a standard issue completely heteroerotic foot long black baton, which Harry used to cast cop spells such as “standus my groundus,” “plantus a gunus,” and “racism.” Harry had a bad habit of absentmindedly sucking on the end of the baton but that’s neither here nor there. Harry was sucking on his baton and squinting at his “friends.” He had received a tip from the station that one of his best friends had become a no good narcotics dealer. The station is what Harry called his brain. His vocational training had bestowed on him an almost precognitive level of suspicious intuition. So great was his sense of intuition that Harry accused his ex-wife of cheating on him five months before she actually did it. “Ginny’s dead to me,” Harry found himself whispering. “Did you say something?” Ron asked. “Shut up Ron. I’m looking for criminals.” “Oh, Ginny says hello.” Ron said. “Ginny is a criminal. Adultery is a crime,” said Harry. He kept sucking on the baton even as he talked to it was sort of hard to understand him. “Oh hello boys,” Hermonie interrupted. A button had come loose her top, better exposing her cleavage. None of the men present seemed to notice (save Ron’s dad, but who gives a shit about that dumb ass fat fuck). Hermione gave the boys what Harry called the “crime eye,” which most other people knew as winking. “DO YOU HAVE DRUGS ON YOU?” demanded Harry. “Excuse me?” Another button popped off Hermione’s top. “I think we should play a game,” Ron’s dad mumbled, still staring at Hermione. “SHUT THE FUCK UP DAD,” Ron screamed at his father. Ron’s dad mumbled in agreement and his tiny prick was growing into a somehow even tinier boner. Ron continued, “Guys I think we should play a game.” Hermione said, “That’s a splendid idea. And I think,” the four characters turned to the camera and said in unison, “Since we are all of legal and consenting age,” then Hermione continued alone, “That we play a… fun game.” She gave Harry another crime eye, but Harry didn’t see it. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Ron. He imagined Ron naked, his moist dad bod glistening in the moonlight, his fire red pubes billowing in the wind, his… Hermione derailed Harry’s train of thought. “Ron and I have been looking to spice it up in the bedroom, Harry. Let’s have a little fun,” she said. A seductive smile crept across her face. “I know let us play kick ball.” Ron said. Ron smiled serenely. Hermione stared at him, unbelieving. “Yeah! Kick ball!” Ron continued, ignoring his wife’s glare. “We’re already on the famously canon Hogwart’s baseball field that JK Rowling definitely wrote about in the first seven books, and all you need for kick ball is a rubber ball!” “But where are we going to find a rubber ball at this hour?” Harry asked. His words were garbled due to him deep throating his wizard baton. Hermione caught Harry staring dead center at Ron’s crotch, and smiled. “Don’t worry boys. I can summon… something to play with.” She unholstered her wand and flicked it upwards, uttering an incantation that would probably get me arrested if I put it to writing. The tip of her wand glowed pink and she flicked the wand again. There was an explosion of neon pink light and a POP as her conjuration materialized. Everyone paused in silence for a beat. Hermione had summoned a giant disembodied pussy. It was the size of a small dog and it emitted soft smacking noises as it levitated. Another beat of silence. Ron then pointed at it, and said, “Hey Hermione you have one of those!” Hermione ignored her husband and stared at Harry, licking her lips. Harry was dumbstruck. And disappointed. He had wanted to play kickball with his sexy friend Ron. How am I supposed to have fun with a pussy? Harry thought. And something felt wrong to Harry. Deeply wrong. Hermione had wrapped her arm around Ron’s hip and was attempting to unbutton his pants. Ron didn’t seem to notice but he was absentmindedly shooing Hermione’s hand from his belt. The couple was talking but it sounded like ambient static to Harry. Harry was in the zone; Harry was in the crime solving zone. It came to Harry all at once. He had presumed Hermione to be the drug dealer for reasons that definitely weren’t sexist. But in reality, she was a far worse kind of criminal. The last step, Harry thought, is to get her to admit it. Harry pulled the baton out of his mouth with a pop. He put on a smile and slid up close to Hermione, putting his arm to the nape of her back. She didn’t notice him flip on the wizard tape recorder he stored hidden in his back pocket. “Hey baby,” he said sexily, though accidentally spitting on her. “Hey Harry,” she cooed. “Is that your pussy?” Harry said, and nodded towards the floating vagina. “I think you’ll find mine even better,” she said. “But you summoned that pussy, right?” She gave him a quizzical look, but she was still too in the moment for higher brain function. “Yeah baby, I did. It’s all for you.” Ron was picking his nose. “And do you find that pussy… sexually arousing?” “Oh yeah baby, it’s so fucking hot.” “You’re under arrest.” Harry had Hermione handcuffed in less than second. At first Hermione thought it was part of the game, but then Harry began to give her whatever the British version of the Miranda rights is called (editor’s note: I tried to tell the author that it’s called the Right of Silence but he told me to “shut the fuck up” and I “had the Right of Silence” when I suggested he change any part of his “masterpiece”). “Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione asked. “I’m booking you for possession and use of child pornography.” There was a moment of stunned silence. “Harry, the fuck are you talking about?” asked Hermione. “That pussy is only three minutes old, far under the legal and consenting age of eighteen, and you stated that you find it sexually arousing. Then you tried to distribute it to a wizard cop (editor’s note: again, I tried to tell them they are called aurors in the Harry Potter universe. Again, “shut the fuck up,” “masterpiece,” etc). I’ve got it all on tape.” Harry retrieved and presented the wizard tape recorder from his pocket. “You’re a sick puppy Hermione, and I am so fucking sick of typing out the word Hermione holy shit who thought of this dumb ass name spelled that dumb ass way delete this part later (editor’s note: fuck my life).” Hermione thought for a moment. Nobody could be that stupid or cruel, she mused about the police officer, so it must be his weird way of getting in to the sex mood. “Book me, Harry,” she said, biting her lower lip. “Justice will be done, you sick pervo,” and he swept her to the ground. “Great work Harry!” Ron exclaimed. He went up for a high five. “Thanks Ron.” Harry said. They high fived and locked eyes, staring deeply. Ron made the first move and frenchly kissed Harry on his mustached lips. Harry recoiled. “What the fuck dude? I’m not gay.” Ron said, “Neither am I my man. But if a woman is watching, it isn’t gay.” “If a woman is watching, it isn’t gay,” Harry repeated. “Ron, that’s brilliant!” and Harry returned the kiss, frenchly. Hermione didn’t quite understand her predicament, so she moaned in ecstasy as the two men ripped each other’s shirts off. She got all hot and bothered as they embraced. Their big throbbing boners rubbed against each other and Harry whispered “I can’t believe this isn’t gay,” as he thrusted his fingers down Ron’s pants to Ron’s red hairy butthole and Ron grunted in euphoria. Ron pulled out a baggie of cocaine from his pocket and said to Harry, “Want some?” “Nah man I’m cool,” Harry said, as his lips caressed every inch of Ron’s sweaty body. “Suit yourself,” and Ron took a snort straight from the baggie. Ron then kneeled and yanked Harry’s pants down and just went straight to fucking mouthtown on Harry’s dick. It sounded like a catfish trying to swallow a softball sized jawbreaker. In between gags and moans he sputtered out and repeated the phrase “not gay.” In a single motion, Harry yanked Ron up, bent Ron over, and pulled down Ron’s pants. Harry spat on his hand and rubbed his dick. He took extra care to lube up his lightning bolt shaped circumcision scar, which tingled in pain every time he did something straight like this. Harry’s dick plowed into Ron’s puckering asshole. Harry pounded him as if his dick was on fire and Ron’s colon was made of snow. “UH OH,” Harry screamed, “THE BOY WHO LIVED IS ABOUT TO BE THE BOY WHO BUSTED.” 3 2 1 “THIS ISN’T GAY” they shouted in unison as ropes of wizard cum ejaculated from both of their dicks. * “That was so fucking hot boys,” Hermione said. “When’s my turn?” “Oh, silly Hermione. No, you’re going to wizard jail.” Harry said. Hermione’s eyes went wide. “Forever,” said Harry. Hermione’s eyes went wider. “Ghosts are going to torture you to death,” said Harry, smiling. Ron and Harry high fived again. * Ron’s dad, who the author definitely did not forget about until now, jacked off to completion on third base.