#I think I answered that terribly out of order but my brain is spinning

[pencilofawesomeness]

Hi! I just binge read your How To Raise Your Dragon Slayers AU and I need to inform you that I have accepted it as my new canon. I like that you make sure actions and events have consequences and things don't just happen in a vacuum. The worldbuilding you are doing is just something and my inner nerd is just thrilled that the magic makes sense. Your characterizations are also fantastic and you can easily believe that a character would have turned out this particular way if things went differently.

But anyway, I'm rambling...

I know it's still some time away but I can't wait for your Edolas Arc! This surprised me because, I'll be honest, it's very much not my favorite. Mashima wasted a fantastic opportunity for some character development and foreshadowing, in my oppinion. On that note, some questions:

Does obscura work in Edolas? Does etherious? As one is the opposite of ether and the other vibrates in a frequency between the two, so to speak. That would be great, just to have a scene where some poor sod goes "You can't use your magic here! You're useless!" and Natsu and Mira go "Oh no! What a tragedy!" and wreck them.

I never understood why some member of Fairy Tail didn't just grab Mystogan like a baby koala and drag him home with them. It's obvious he didn't want to be there and he already made a life for himself in Earthland. Moreso in HTRYDS. He actually interacts with other people, however little, and even has friends and a twin! They would definitely miss him.

On that note, I dearly want Jellal and Myst to pull a Parent Trap sort of thing and pretend to be the other. Or at least have someone yell out his old name to get Mystogan's attention and Eathland Jellal answers because Myst hasn't answered to that name in years.

Will Acno be there? How will Edolas mess with a being of pure ether? That would be interesting to explore.

Will Natsu talk with Edolas Natsu about their respective brothers? After the Zeref reveal I was always mad they didn't include at least one scene where Edolas Natsu asks Earthland Natsu how his brother is or at least have a board with deceased/ex-members of the guild with Zeref on it in the background or something... It would have been great foreshadowing.

Will we get some Porlyuska backstory? I always wondered how she ended up in Earthland.

Not really Edolas Arc related but after my latest reread it's been bugging me. Is Zeref possessed by Anksheram? The Larcade POV with the red eyes sorta hinted at it, what with Zeref having memory lapses and the weird dark amusement during the whole deal. And the whole question of how he new some cultists were trying to resurrect Apopis on a different continent in the first place. Seun *did* know about it when he was finally kicked out of Rogue. And Loke said that that was one of the ways to survive for a god. Your Author's Note on chapter 23 of Demon Tails sorta did too with the "when I talked about 'fighting gods' in the series summary, I was dead-on serious" part. And there was a comment somewhere that you hoped that the series will end with fighting Anksheram. (Or was it someone else and I'm just mixing things up? Anyway)

Hope you're taking care of yourself! And take all the time you need with the writing. A hobby is supposed to be fun. Good Luck!

Ohoho HELLO! WELCOME!

I'm so glad you've been enjoying HTRYDS! And yes! Edolas arc! No lie I'm pretty excited for that one too because I get to go off the rails and make everything better and worse simultaneously lmao. Gonna be a big cast but also that's because it's going to be a whole family endeavor and I am h y p e d.

As for the magic, this isn't a spoiler for the arc or anything but it's not that Edolas is opposite to Earthland. It's functionally the same thing, except, unstable and also to the left. Imagine the same chart, except somebody corrupted the image and then slid it to the side so it looks like an overlap but it's not actually an overlap. Hence the magic being exceedingly harder to grasp in Edolas than in Earthland, though not impossible. And why certain medication and items can jumpstart that grabbing process and let Earthland mages use their magic. Gonna suck for some of them though. Like Acno lmao. Luckily he doesn't need magic to be a tank. Oh and obscura is a similar principle—exists just fine but to the left. Etherious is the fun one because it's already the directionless filler stuff so actually that one is nearly the same. (I've got a reason for this magic system and it's wild but idc I had a lot of fun with my worldbuilding and I wanted Edolas and its insanity to make a modicum of sense and I think I've got it.)

To that note yes yes a thousand yesses Porlyusica is getting backstory. I am so ready for it. Soooo so ready.

And yes!! The foreshadowing! That's what I've been saying! Edolas had a lot of opportunity to account for the fact that Natsu, Gajeel, Wendy, Sting, and Rogue were from four hundred years ago and shouldn't exist in a modern parallel unless there were modern interferences but nahhhhh that was brushed to the side. Same with family, like with Zeref!

Speaking of family yeah no Mystogan got robbed. Luckily I love Mystogan a lot and I ain't gonna do him dirty. (Also this arc will be ample opportunity for Mystogan and Jellal getting to work together in fic and I'm also super hyped for that.) But yeah no self-sacrificial tendencies do run strong in FT but the theme is that somebody else stops them so I'm making sure this theme stays intact XD

Also I've hinted at this enough so I don't think it's much of a spoiler but yes we are going to fist-fight Ankhseram. She's lurking around Zeref but there shall come a day, a finale-shaped day, where we gonna fist-fight her. Because yes I have expressed that I wanted that in canon and I am a simple woman. I know the opportunities I have given myself >:)

[hockeyboysimagines]

Drinking alone

Warnings: Alcohol, some sexual content, vomit, fluff, angst.

This was supposed to go somewhere in the middle chapters, of All good Boys, but I wrote it first, as in before I wrote anything else and forgot it even existed. I only just found it so I figured why not post it. Let me know if you like it🤍

Hallie sat at the bar staring at the shot glass the bartender had set in front of her, as she had been for the last five minutes.

“Are you planning to actually drink that or-?”

She looked up to find the bartender smiling at her while she polished a glass with a bar rag.

“I’ve never seen anyone stare at a shot for so long. Well except the AA people. They come in now and again, order something and stare at it, and then leave. But this doesn’t feel like that. So it must be about a guy.”

Hallie smile a little “Am I that obvious?”

“Kind of. The only time I see pretty girls so sad is when it’s over a guy.”

“I don’t like him. I hate him.” The bartender stared at her until she sighed “No I don’t.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I want to hate him. I should hate him….why don’t I hate him?”

“I couldn’t say without knowing him, but if he’s causing you to drink then I’d say it’s the opposite. I’d say you L-“

“No!” Hallie slapped the bar and shook her head “Don’t you dare say the L word.”

The bartender started to laugh “Okay I won’t say it. But based on that reaction alone I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

“Ugh! You sound like everyone else I know.” Hallie finally picked up the glass and downed it, nose scrunching “That was terrible. Give me another one.”

As the minutes turned to hours, Hallie kept drinking, hoping that the alcohol would make his stupid face melt from her brain. It did not work.

If anything she felt more inclined to think about him than ever. While her senses had been numbed, her thoughts now moved freely without boundaries. She fiddled with her phone as she sipped a drink, scrolling through her contacts until she found his name. She hit the call button and heard it ringing until he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey. Just wanted to let you know that I’m mad at you.”

“What the hell did I do?”

“You know what you did.” She hiccuped loudly and coughed “You’ve disrupted my whole life. I was doing just fine until youuuuu came around.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Am I drunk? Yes obviously. Who are you my dad?”

“Where are you?”

“None of your business.”

“You have no idea where you are do you?” He sighed on the other end of the phone, and shook his head.

“Ha…no I don’t. I’m so tired. I gotta go though. Byeeeeee.”

“Hallie don’t-“

But she’d already hung up and was back to sipping on her drink. After a while she felt warm, and her vision got cloudy but she felt so relaxed sitting there at the bar, no one bothering her or stressing her out. Until she heard it.

“Hallie?”

She turned slowly, eyes closing and opening again before she focused on him. She was trashed.

“What the fuck are you doing? Ever heard of alcohol poisoning?” He looked a little mad, which she’d seen before, but never directed at her.

It wasn’t like her to be this irresponsible. In fact, while he could remember her drinking he had never actually seen her drunk. But tonight she was so drunk he wasn’t even sure she knew who he was.

“What are you doing here?” She asked squinting at him.

“You called me remember?”

She blinked and shook her head “No I didn’t.”

“You did. I think it’s time to go home-“

“No way I’m having fun!” She smiled and closed her eyes spinning on her stool. She downed the rest of the drink that was in front of her.

He caught the eye of the bartender and frowned “Ever heard of ‘your cut off’. What’s the matter with you?”

She shrugged and turned away. He threw up his hands and looked exasperatingly up at the ceiling.

“Have a drink with meeeee.” She said, slapping his arm and pointing at the stool.

“I think you’ve had enough for both of us. Let me take you home.”

“Haha! You wish!” She jabbed a finger in his chest and giggled.

“Good lord-“ he mumbled as she continued giggling.

“Alright fine. Take me home!” She stood suddenly and almost fell forward, but he caught her around the waist. She looked up and waggled her eyebrows at him.

“Take your opportunity to feel me up now.” She slurred loudly. Several people glanced at him and he felt his face get red as he attempted to help her out of the bar. The air was frigid, and he was hoping it would sober her up a little.

“Where are we going?” She asked from his side as they made their way down the street.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Nooooo let’s do something fun!”

“Your already having too much fun. Here’s my car.”

“I don’t wanna go home.” She whined head falling back. As it did it caught too much momentum and she almost fell back with it. She hiccuped again and steadied herself “Let’s go to your place! “

“Okay fine we’ll go to my place, don’t hit your head when you get in.” He steered her towards the passenger side door.

Hallie gripped his arm as he opened the door, squeezing it and looking up at him “Damn. Have you been working out?” Her hand slid down his arm, across his chest and down his abdomen, sending a shiver along with it.

“What are you-“

“You’re so hot.” She slurred, hand still resting on his abs.

He was taken aback for a second. She was either drunk and not thinking, or she was drunk and thinking too much. Whichever one it was, it was amusing to say the least.

“Okay Hallie let’s just get you home.” He chuckled a little, maneuvering her into the front seat of his car. As he made his way around the front he heard music explode from his speakers and a loud “Woo!”

It was going to be a long car ride.

To his surprise though, she turned the music down when he got in and was quiet for a while while he drove. She had her eyes closed, head against the window and he thought she might have fallen asleep, until he parked in front of his apartment, and she coughed and sat up “It’s so hot in here I’m getting nauseous.” She peeled her jacket off, and then her sweatshirt, and turned to him looking him dead in the eye, before she pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her only in a bra in the passenger seat. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair was a mess, and her eyeliner was smudged but he’d be damned if he wasn’t getting totally turned on. He’d thought about her naked in a multitude of ways, in his car included, and for a minute he was ecstatic his real life fantasy was happening, but then he realized he was parked on the street, which wasn’t secluded.

“Hallie what the hell are you doing?” He picked up her shirt and handed it back to her “Put this back on.” He looked everywhere in the car but at her. While the weather was cold, it was Friday and there was enough people around that someone could walk past and see a half naked girl in his front seat. HIS. That would definitely make it to twitter and would involve a lot of explaining to his mom.

“I don’t want to. I’m hot.”

He had never seen her in anything but work clothing and he was really trying not to stare but it was hard “I agree but people will see you.”

“Ugh. Fine.” She pulled the shirt on, backwards and made to get out, half standing before falling back in it again. He helped her out, noting that the apartment was dark through the window, thankful that Noah wasn’t home. Getting her up to the apartment was a nightmare, she kept falling and laughing, and he was exhausted by the time he got her inside. He held her up with one hand and turned a lamp on with the other. He felt her hand on his arm and turned to find her alarmingly close to him. Before he could speak or move, she slid both hands under his jacket, pressing herself up against him.

“Wanna make out?” She whispered against his neck, tongue sliding over the exposed skin that wasn’t covered by a hoodie. It was just enough to turn him red, which didn’t happen often, and make his hair stand on end.

“Tempting, more than you know, but no I don’t wanna make out.” He tried to gently peel her off of him. He knew as he did it there might never be another chance of her making any type of advances towards him, but it just wouldn’t be right.

“Booooooo.” She said sticking out her tongue “Your borinnnngggg. Your always trying to get into my pants every other day, and not tonight? What gives?” She tipped her head up to look at him and pushed out her bottom lip.

“What gives is your drunk off your face and I’m not going to take advantage of you that way.”

“But I really want you to.” She whined gripping the front of his sweatshirt and leaned forward lips connecting with his throat again.

“Hallie-“ he warned trying to gently push her off by the elbows. The absolute last thing he wanted was to turn her down, especially since he’d been trying for so long to even get her to admit she even liked him. This was alcohol talking, not Hallie and it would make him feel worse to know that tomorrow she would regret it.

She made a noise somewhere between a whine and a gag, as she attempted to pull him down lower by the neck of his sweatshirt until he was even with her face. In an instant she seemed to sober up momentarily as she stared at him. This was the closest he’d actually been to her, and now that he could see her face up close, he realized he had he been missing out.

“Matty.” She said softly, eyes burning holes into his. Before he could stop himself he leaned forward and kissed her. It wasn’t like when he kissed her in the bar, or when he tried to kiss her when he was drunk. It was heavy, the kind of kiss that made you weak in the knees. The kind of kiss you have someone when you liked them. It felt right. He threaded a hand through her hair as she pushed her jacket off and tugged at his sweatshirt. His brain was screaming at him to stop, knowing how inebriated she was and that she would wake up tomorrow and probably hate him for it, but he just couldn’t. He’d waited so long, forever it felt like, and now that he was kissing her he never wanted to stop.

She pulled his shirt up, and moved to unbutton his jeans, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on her lower abdomen.

“Touch me.” She breathed out, head falling forward, hair spilling over her shoulder. But before he could she stopped, turned pale, and vomited right over his arm and on to the floor. She looked horrified and covered her mouth.

He took an immediate step back and held her at arms length steering her towards the bathroom both stumbling as he hurried.

“Bathroom bathroom bathroom.” He said frantically, steering her into the bathroom and flipping the light switch on just as she started gagging again.

She fell forward, almost hitting her face on the side of the toilet, had he not caught her and threw up again. He grabbed her hair, wrapping it around his hand as she continued to throw up. She gasped and sat backwards looking over at him.

“Don’t look at me.” She moaned swatting her hand in his direction. If he hadn’t been so focused on keeping her hair off her face while she threw up he might have laughed “I don’t want you to see me this way.”

“Get a grip Hallie. I don’t care about this.”

She sat back and closed her eyes, before opening them and looking at him with a small smile “You know. Sometimes you can be really sweet.”

“Only for you.” He pushed a strand of hair off her face.

“Oh stop. That’s not true.”

“Kinda is though.” He said with a shrug. She frowned.

“Really? You’ve never been this nice to another girl.”

While this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have while he was in a bathroom with her and she was throwing up he felt the need to be honest. Especially since she wouldn’t let him get this out when she was sober.

“I’m nice to a lot of girls, but not like I am to you.” He pulled a washcloth from the bathroom drawer and wet it, leaning forward to wipe off her mouth and forehead.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“I do. But you shouldn’t feel that way about me. I’m not good enough.”

He leaned down to look at her “First of all, don’t ever say that about yourself, and second of all it’s me who isn’t good enough for you.”

She shook her head sadly “No it’s me. Trust me.” He head lolled to the side and her eyes closed “You deserve someone who can give you what I cant.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

She pushed herself up and crawled over to him on her hands and knees “I can’t love you. You know that right?” She was peering at him through mascara smudged eyes, and looked almost like she might cry “I want to though, but I just cant.”

“Well I could love you. So I guess that’s good enough.”

She opened her mouth to speak but immediately turned and started throwing up again. He started rubbing a hand across her back, when he heard her crying “I’m so sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being such a bitch all the time. And for being this drunk. And for throwing up everywhere oh my god ew.” She threw up again, and cried some more.

“It’s okay Hallie really.”

She sat backwards wiping her mouth and sighed turning to him “I wish I could have met you earlier.”

“What do you mean?”

“I could have loved you before. In another life. Maybe even in this one.”

“Well since you won’t remember tomorrow. I’ll say this now. I love you in this life. Right now. And I think you love me too, you just won’t admit it.”

She looked dumbfounded for a few seconds before she nodded “I think your right.”

His heart felt like it might explode, even though he wasn’t sure she meant it. It could be the alcohol talking, but it could be her being truthful.

“I think you should try and get some sleep.” He helped her up off the floor, catching her as she stumbled and handed her an extra toothbrush, assisting her in brushing them. He eyes were opening and closing and she was slouching a little.

“Im so tired. Can I sleep here?”

“Of course. I’ll get you into bed and sleep on the couch.”

“Pffffft. Don’t be ridiculous. Just sleep in bed with me. You’ve seen me almost naked now anyways.”

He felt his ears get hot “I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“Why not!?”

“Do you promise to keep your hands to yourself?” He asked leaning down to pull a shirt out of his drawer.

“Do I have to?” She mumbled, taking the shirt and attempting to pull hers over her head. It got stuck several times before he reached over to help her, sliding the shirt over her head, fingers brushing against her waist. He felt her shiver as he instructed her to raise her arms above her head and he slipped a new shirt over them. She stared at him for a minute, mouth slightly open before she smiled “Your kind of beautiful you know.” She paused and her smile got wider “In like a really annoying way.”

“There’s Hallie.” He laughed pulling the T-shirt down over her head “Feeling better?”

She nodded and closed her eyes “A little.”

He followed her to the bed, helping her shed her leggings and tucked her into bed, before getting changed himself and sliding in next to her. He listened to her breathing for a second, assuming she was asleep, and settled in.

She turned over, facing him and her eyes opened “Hey. I meant everything I said Matty.”

“Even the part where you love me?”

“Especially that part.” She stared at him, unblinking for a long time before she said softly “If I wasn’t drunk, would you kiss me right now?”

“I would. Ask me again tomorrow.”

“I won’t be like this tomorrow, so I’m asking you now.”

He leaned forward and kissed her very lightly, pulling away from her just as she started to move her lips, but she pulled him forward again.

“Hallie-“

“Don’t. I might never do this again. Just let me.”

She pulled herself forward, tugging him over her, mouth moving against his. This was all wrong, not how he planned it, but as she said there might never be another moment like this between them. When they broke apart her eyes slid closed.

“I love you.”

He felt for a second like he wanted to cry. Both because he loved hearing those words from her, but also because he was only hearing them under the effects of alcohol. He wasn’t sure which hurt worse.

He didn’t say it back, partially because she fell asleep but also because the first time he said it, he wanted her to be sober and aware so she knew how he really felt about her. He would keep those words locked away for another time when they meant more. When she actually understood that they weren’t just words. He sighed and leaned back in bed, arm coming up behind his head.

He most likely wouldn’t sleep, as his mind was racing a million miles an hour, thinking about her, the kissing, and her confession about loving him in the bathroom. While he knew he annoyed her, he had always been sure that she loved him at least a little bit. She wouldn’t put up with him if she didn’t. But to know that maybe it was a lot, made him feel good. Great even. But it also made him sad to know that it was her who was preventing it from happening. He’d always thought it was his own fault that Hallie wanted nothing to do with him, but it was actually she who had convinced herself she didn’t want to be with him.

He wouldn’t tell her about any of it. He’d keep it to himself, for a rainy day, a lonely night, a time when he needed to remember something good. He also didn’t want to embarrass her, so it would be a secret that he would keep and she would forget.

He heard her sigh and turn over in her sleep, head resting on the pillow near his shoulder. He closed his eyes and wondered if she was dreaming about him, like he dreamed about her every night.

[thekinkyleopard]

Hot for Teacher

Part 6

A Remi and Levi Non-Canon Fic Series

⚠️Content Warning⚠️

Sic fic, fluff, caretaking

Author’s Notes: I haven’t forgotten HFT I just haven’t had the brain power for it, however I think I have a good idea for how this chapter will go. I didn’t realize I screwed up the time line order, I thought I’d be on p9 but I’m only on 6 :^) LOL so I got a bit overwhelmed. Enjoy! @aller-geez Owns Remi and did the cover art as always!

Description: Professor Levi is out with, you guessed it, the cold he caught taking care of Remi. The wolf feels terrible and offers to take care of the educator at his own place. Problem is, it’s not suitable for anyone to be living in.

Levi woke up two days after caring for Remi and realized just where he went wrong in his ever so mundane and unexciting life. He was sick. Sicker than a dog. His whole body ached and his throat tickled. “Uhhggg…” he grumbled weakly as he turned over to see he was awake 20 minutes before his alarm was set to go off. There was no way he could go to work like this. He was going to have to cancel class.

He sat up, his world spinning, and feeling worse for wear, grabbed his phone and opened up his school emailing system.

“Hello Class, it seems I have come down with some sort of virus. I will be unable to attend class today and probably not Thursday either. Therefore, no class at at all this week. Enjoy the free days, I won’t be collecting your assignments; so take it as a free extension as well. See you all next week. -Sincerely, Professor Anderson.”

Levi laid back in his bed, slumped over and ready to let this cold take him into a 12 hour coma. However it wasn’t but 3 minutes after he sent the email, his phone started ringing. “Who the hell…”he sighed coming to and looking over at the screen of his phone. It was Remi. Figures.

“Yes?…Snnddff…” Levi answered the phone with a hoarse voice and a sniveling nose.

“You’re sick,” the voice on the other side sounded stern, cold almost as if he wasn’t pointing something out but in-fact stating it, with aggression.

“Yes…” the educator trailed off, unsure of why the other would be so, irate with him in this moment.

“Come over, let me take care of you,” pushing aside the fact his favorite white and black haired male hadn’t said a thing to him, but instead he had to find out through a class announcement, he got right to the reason he called.

“That would be…super weird..” the other hesitated now, his voice trailing off before he actually thought about the suggestion.

“Why?” Remi asked perplexed now, what could be so wrong about a student taking care of his ailing professor? It wasn’t a crime! Was it?

“Because, don’t you live with other students?” Truthfully, he didn’t know a whole lot about the student’s living situation. Lots of his students lived in dorms or in houses with other students.

“Nah, I live with some dudes I knew from my old middle school…they don’t go to college, and that’s all I can really say,” that was suspicious, and immediately the cat found himself more than intrigued. However, he respected the other’s wishes and didn’t press any further.

“Okay…well my house has privacy,” The professor stated a very real fact for them both to consider, seeing as he was sick as hell and would require peace.

“Mine does too! They’re gone for the week…come on, come over…” truthfully, Remi hated leaving his place. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to say yes and immediately take care of Levi where it was logically more convenient, and not to mention nicer. It’s just, leaving his place didn’t guarantee safety. He lived in a trap house. To spite his pompous father, which had advantages but disadvantages…no rent but often the people coming and going…would steal from him. He also wasn’t allowed to leave, unless for short trips, when the roomies were out of town, which albeit rare, but it was serious business. He was the only one protecting the house, and all the goods hidden inside it.

“I don’t know…..SNndFf..” Levi considered it but ultimately felt nervous. What if someone from school saw him pop in? How many people lived near by that attended his course? He bit his lower lip, sweating profusely he groaned. “I don’t feel well enough to drive….” Trying to come up with another excuse.

“I can come get you, my roomie left the keys to his car I can borrow it s’long as I don’t crash it,” the professor could almost hear the other’s body vibrating with pure excitement, so he sighed outwardly and shook his head.

“Alright…fine I’ll get my things together snnnddff…and we can go to yours this time,” he sounded defeated but he could just blame it on the illness coasting inside of him. He knew what he had done just a few days prior would come back to haunt him, terribly.

“Sick, okay, I’m gonna get the keys I’ll be there in 10,” before the educator had time to respond the wolf had hung up and he was met with the small chime that comes from the end of a call.

“Ugh, this dude is gonna get me into some serious trouble…” he sighed before shaking his head back and forth. Which only caused the brain in his skull to rattle around which made him swiftly grab at both sides of his temples, squeezing lightly. “Hnn…” he groaned in agony before taking a deep breath. He could do this.

His body slid its way out of bed and he managed to throw some underwear and his toothbrush into a backpack before he had to sit on the bathroom floor and hang his head, unable to keep it up. “Almost…done…” he sighed, out of breath though he had managed minimal progress. Was he really almost done? Nah, but in his soul, he truly was. Dragging his body back up off the floor he sighed, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and shoving them in his bag as well. That’s really all he needed for clothes right? He snuffled loudly, sliding his hand under his nostrils and leaving a shiny wet trail across his hand he grimaced. “Ugh Ew…” quickly he turned to grabbed a tissue off his nightstand and proceeded to wipe his hand clean, as well as his face. “I don’t know what I expected,” he shook his head again, slower this time, before realizing he needed to load up on meds.

Trying not to move too fast, or shall he pass out but, made haste into grabbing the medications he would need at the student’s abode. Tylenol, Motrin, ibuprofen, Nyquil, Dayquil, cough drops, mucinex…ear plugs, eye drops, anything really you might need for a mysterious virus. His backpack was now properly stuffed and he couldn’t be bothered to fit more if he wanted to. “Okay I think that’s good…” his lidded eyes blinked slowly as they scanned over his zipped up bag.

His phone suddenly went off, the ringtone he had set for Remi made him much more eager to answer. “You here?” He immediately asked, almost delusion-ally excited to spend more quality time with the student, but trying to keep it under wraps. He didn’t want it giving the other a big head.

“Yeah just pulled up,” he sounded much more casual than the first time they had spoken that day.

“Okay I'll be right down...' hanging up the phone before gathering his bag over his shoulder, he made sure he had his keys, all the electricity was off and the house was properly secured. Even though his head was pounding and he felt like he had been set on fire he was burning such a hot fever, he had to make sure things were in order for him to be gone. Who knows how long he'd be held up in Remi's place.

“Coo'…” Remi shot a quit answer before hanging up the phone, waiting almost equally as impatient and excited as the other. He took a deep breath, almost nervous, he'd been inside the professor's home. It was incredibly nice, well kept, modern....while where he lived was...falling apart, trashed, unmanaged. He knew it wasnt his fault it was like that. Any time he tried to take it by the balls and maintain order or cleanliness, he was either shot down or it was just destroyed within minutes of cleaning. It was just best he only focused on his own space. Least there was only one person to blame when that got messed up. He shook his head and bit his lower lip, despite the nerves he was determined to show the other man, he could be reliable; that the professor could count on him to be an equal partner.

Levi came toddling slowly to the vehicle and opened the passenger side door sliding his bag in first and awkwardly crumpling around it in his seat. "Hi," he sighed looking over at the other with an exhausted expression written all over his face. Remi clicked his tongue, shaking his head back and forth before he ran his fingers through Levi's slightly dampened locks of white hair.

"Hey there....sorry I got you sick," the raven haired man's lips slanted in disdain, he was genuinely upset with himself for having gotten the educator ill, but couldnt help but notice just how cute he looked. The tip of his nose was red and irritated from the constant rub of a tissue, his eyes were glossy and his cheeks were just slightly pink from the fever. Remi tried not to make it so obvious that his heart was racing through the cavity of his chest as he finally got an in person look at the cat.

"It's uhm....it's Huh'..." his nose tickled, and teased, he could feel an inevitably large sneeze approaching. He crooked his elbow while he settled into the car and covered his mouth. "Huh'TSCHHhiew!" he blew into the fabric of his hoodie. Remi, from the driver seat, doing his best to focus on the task of getting them safely back to his house, blushed brightly as he heard the other’s soft, yet audible explosion.

“Uh, Bless you there, kitten,” he smirked trying to remain that same calm, cool and collected man he usually projected himself to be. Levi also blushed now, just slightly embarrassed to be seen in such a state, perceived while ill. It was a new feeling, his ex wife tended to sleep at her mother’s whenever he had gotten sick in the past. It was, refreshing? That the wolf was so incredibly eager to take care of him and essentially was going out of his own way to prove that. Despite that he really didn’t want to, the educator wound up having to wipe his nose using the back of his sleeve, sighing deeply as he did so.

“Thank you…” he responded to Remi, trying to hide behind looking out the window after having cleaned his face quietly. He didn’t want to bring too much attention to himself, however, the more he tried to hide it, the more obvious it was. The wolf found it almost impossible to keep his eyes on the road, feeling like he was missing out on something extremely important all whilst the cat tuckered himself into a ball within his seat.

“Of course, we’re uh, almost to my place , promise,” hoping to reassure Levi who’s eyes fought to stay open the longer they were in the car, losing the battle through every second, yet his eyes snapped back open whenever the car jolted. He slowly turned his head , looking down, Remi had placed one hand at his thin thigh, gripping it with a loving force, and rubbing the space gently with the pad of his large thumb. The gesture, though small, sent the cat’s heart into a thudding frenzy, his cheeks turning red again. He looked away, biting his lower lip.

It was almost an awkward car ride, Levi hadn’t anticipated the other to be so…quiet? Where was the cocky know it all he was used to? This was interesting. As they pulled into the driveway of a home that would make anyone walk a little faster, Levi began to regain full consciousness.

“So, we’re here…it’s not the nicest and like…before you go in you need to know that MY space is clean, but there ain’t shit I can do about the rest…trust me I’ve tried,” shaking his head with shame he let out a deep breath, almost nervous he would be rejected for the state of his humble abode. Levi didn’t even care if they were going into a wet cave at this point he just knew he didn’t want to be conscious anymore. Nodding gently to show he at least acknowledged what the other had said to him, they slowly made their way out of the vehicle and into the house. Clinging to his backpack Levi almost felt cured of his eternal drowsiness, the place was filthy. Cans, bottles, everywhere, like they’d had 15 house parties in a row and didn’t clean up. He shuddered to himself trying to keep his thoughts inward and not make the other feel bad for his living environment. Remi just took the educator by his hand and led him through the pathway of clear floor amongst the garbage and misc. clutter.

“My room is down in the basement, it’s the only room that actually locks but….it’s always fucking cold, and I often forget to lock the bitch so I’ve had my shit nicked a few times,” the wolf sighed deeply with irritation, he really only had himself to blame when it came to him getting swiped on. It was every time he’d get overly excited to get to school, only to leave his door unlocked. He’s lost quite a bit this year.

Levi followed the wolf silently down the basement stairs to a relatively relaxing space. Freezing? Yes, but he noticed a large comforter and a few spare blankets nearby so, it probably wouldn’t be too bad. Tapestries and different posters strewn about the walls of the space. Remi had a large king sized bed, a dresser, space for a couch and coffee table, as well as a mini fridge. It really was almost like a small studio down in his bedroom just no bathroom or kitchen. “Home sweet home, make yourself comfortable,” he encouraged the other as he took his bag off his shoulders for him and set it nicely on the ground. Being in this space you would think that it was a completely different spot than upstairs, like you almost half expected a house as equally comfortable as his room was waiting on the other side of the door. That would be wishful thinking.

Levi shlucked his bag off his shoulders with the help of the other and when he got to his hoodie, he realized that the scent from the rest of the house had lingered within the cloth there. As the fabric pulled over his head and across his nose it caused a sudden series of explosions out of him. “—hah’ESHHh‘uh!!…S-sorr— H'ptschu! Hh’Etshu!” He suffered at the fate of foreign smells wreaking havoc upon his nasal cavity. “God that’s so embarrassing…” he whimpered as he realized a line of snot was dripping down his overfilled nose. Practically panicking as he looked around for a way to clean himself up.

“Hey, don’t worry…” the black haired male quickly grabbed a couple tissues and stepped forward, bringing his clothed hand to the other’s messy face, with gentle motion he wiped the sticky mess from Levi’s agitated flesh, looking over the other’s tired eyes with adoration. It caused the educator to feel incredibly small beneath his gaze, almost wishing he could cut the distance with a desperate kiss…but they both remained as they were. The larger eventually finished his task and pulled his hand away, tossing the tissue into a nearby waste bin. “All good to go,” he smiled at the other. Levi blushed softly, before he felt his lips pull up into an involuntary smile as well, unable to place the fluttering inside his chest.

“Thanks…” the leopard cleared his throat grateful for the other’s attention, but very much not used to it as he felt the tingles of butterflies overcome him. “So I just…slide in here then?” The professor felt out of place, almost awkward, this was new for him…giving responsibility to someone else, allowing himself to be vulnerable.

“Yeah, just make yourself comfortable however you need…did you bring meds and stuff?” He asked curiously, picking Levi’s bag up off the floor to almost silently ask if this would be their location. Levi nodded simply in response, stripping himself down to his boxers and his standard shirt before he crawled into the large blanket and sheets, slightly shivering from the cold temperature of the basement. “Have you taken anything yet?” Remi once again speaking to Levi, but looking through his bag, taking out the aide he had brought with.

“No nothing yet…sDnnFf,” he snuffled loudly while he watched the other organize his things into the side table of the bed.

“Okay so then I’ll give you some nyquil, and mucinex and hopefully that should help clear you up at least…and get you some rest,” the wolf didn’t know much about medications or taking care of someone, so most of the things he was doing, or planned to, he was also googling on his phone.

Can you mix nyquil and mucinex?

Yes. They contain different ingredients. Just don’t mix Mucinex DM with Nyquil.

Cool. He wasn’t trying to overdose his professor on cold medication by accident. Dosing the medication correctly he brought it carefully to the ailing male. “Open up,” he smirked with a tablespoon of nyquil. Levi rolled his swollen cerulean eyes before opening his maw lazily, almost squinting to brace for the nasty taste of the meds. “Good boy,” something about that made the educator vibrate and burn within his spot on the bed. If he wasn’t terribly ill…that might have made it impossible to deny the student any longer. He gracefully swallowed down the medication and smiled when the spoon left his mouth.

“Thank you,” Levi wiped the sides of his mouth now, groaning as he laid back to get comfortable again.

“Hold on, you gotta take the mucinex too…” Remi reached over to grab the other’s hand, both of them freezing in place as it dawned on them how touch starved they were even if it had only been a few days since they last seen each other.

“S-sorry…” Levi cleared his throat before sitting back up carefully, the wolf chuckled shaking his head softly before grabbing the pill and handing it to the smaller male. The white haired man popped it into his mouth and Remi was quick behind him with a water bottle. It had been on his night stand for a few days but it hadn’t been opened or even the seal cracked so, he knew it was still a viable option.

“Don’t be sorry…” brushing a few strands of white hair away, that had been stuck to the educator’s clammy forehead. “I like taking care of you,” he smiled softly, the softest the other had ever seen him truthfully. Levi blushed brightly, as if his face wasn’t red enough. He nervously looked away unable to keep eye contact anymore as he felt the embarrassment rise within him. He was so used to being the one in charge, it was always so foreign when he was with the dominant student.

“You do?” Levi asked the raven haired male shyly, before the wolf gripped the other’s chin softly in his index and thumb, bringing it over to face him again.

“Absolutely…it’s times like these that I can show you what you’d be getting if you just chose me,” his voice smooth, Husky even as he exposed his truth.

“You know I-…” Levi started, again trying to speak logically, but then was suddenly cut off by a much more solemn Remi.

“I know…humor me? Just tonight?” He almost sounded like he was due to break, his heart not wanting to be reminded of their particular situation, and how often the professor rejected him.

“Ok—HET’Shhh’eu, h-Hh’Etshu !!” Yet again, cut off by the sudden force of an irritating tickle becoming a full fledged release. It didn’t give him much time to cover but he flung his head to the side and sneezed outwardly past Remi’s face, a fine mist barely skirting past the other’s surprised features.

“Bless you, kitten,” he smirked bringing his index up to wipe at the leaking mess from the ailing one’s nose.

“Thanks…snNdDff….” Reaching over for one of the tissues in the box at the night stand, Remi presented it then to Levi, who took it gently in his hand. As he rubbed the soft material against his aching nostrils, his glassy ceruleans looked down, between himself, they crossed over and Remi couldn’t help but feel his breath catch at the base of his throat.

“No problem….” He sat there almost stuck solid as he stared openly at the other tending himself. He bit his lower lip while another blush fell across his cheeks. The cat looked up, and noticed the other intrances upon him…he cleared his throat.

“Feelin’ kind of sleepy…” yawning, trying to avoid eye contact, the other baring down on him was almost too much to take. He’d never, felt so admired. He had to keep remembering and reminding himself of their structure, he couldn’t let his guard down…but he was so weak to resist.

“Oh, yeah, of course…tuck in, I gotta uhm,” he swallowed harshly before swiftly coming to a full stand, coughing slightly to clear the air. “Study,” nodding seriously, he looked about Levi’s snuggled up body and the area next to him to make sure he had everything he would need. “Let me know if you need me, ok?” Remi smiled sincerely at the smaller of the two, tenderly caressing his flushed and warm freckled cheek. The leopard almost melted under the simple gesture but instead buried himself deeper within the comfort of the bed. Nodding his head slowly in response to the last thing Remi had to say.

Remington stood there for a bit, waiting to make sure the other fell asleep before he returned to his small corner desk. A dinky collapsible lamp that was gorilla glued to the wall, pointed downward upon an array of papers, utensils and books. He sighed quietly trying to keep himself from being too loud in his distaste for the dive he was about to do. Sliding regrettably into his uncomfortable fold out chair, he began to mull over the last place he was at in his process.

An hour went by of silent concentration from Remi, the educator having fell fast asleep, hard as his lips gapped open and he drooled slightly out the side of his mouth. Normally he was a much prettier sleeper but, when he was ill it was pointless. He snored gently, the sound almost comforting to the student, a reminder that he wasn’t here alone for once. At some point he couldn’t stand that his back was facing the ailing man, so without a sound, he got up, turned his chair and faced the other as he slept, scooting a bit closer to the bed than the desk itself. He just longed to be near the man, he bit his lower lip, he would do anything for him if he was being completely honest with himself.

He shook his head gently and returned to look at the book within his lap, letting out a disappointed exhale before returning to his obligation. He knew if he wanted Levi to take him seriously, he was going to need to pass and graduate. Prove to him he was capable of growth, and being his equal. Regardless of how the two started.

Levi stirred, rubbing at his nose sleepily without lifting his eyelids, he tightened his grip upon the corner of the blanket and shoveled it around his chin tightly. His nose wiggled despite the previous nudge. It frustrated him, though still asleep, he could feel a building agitation prickling beneath the canals of his sensitive and reddened nose.

Remi had immediately picked up on the other’s distress, hearing the blanket shuffle. His emerald greens glanced over to stare intently at the sickly man. He cocked a brow while he watched closely to the way the other’s thin brows furrowed with retaliation and his bridge crinkled with defiance. The wolf stood up slowly, setting his book aside before he walked over to the small man, who’s eyes were still squeezed shut. He ran his calloused hand through the strands of hair peaking out of the blanket shield. “It’s okay, kitten,” he cooed the male smoothly, his voice gentle, kind. Immediately the educator’s face almost softened before his whole body jolted, contracting inside the blankets.

“HDGXNT!” Muffled by the fabric of Remi’s down blanket, but the wolf smiled rubbing the pad of his thumb across Levi’s heated forehead.

“That can’t feel good, muffling them like that…” he spoke with that same reserve of patience and care. The leopard sniffled gently, his nose being free, compared to his mouth hidden by the material. Without opening his eyes, the professor slid the blanket down his gapping maw, wet and glistening around the edges of his lips from the humidity behind the blanket. Remi swallowed nervously, trying to remain the same, calm, capable man he had been this entire time.

“Eh’ehTSHU!! huh’TSCHHhieww!!” He finally released the demons from within him as a fine cloud of salivic spray drifted through the space before dissipating completely. Remi sucked in a deep breath as he watched the other’s slicked mouth explode so openly now in front of him. ‘In due time Rem…nows not the moment…’ he thought inwardly to himself before rubbing the pad of his thumb gently through the other’s dampened eyebrow.

“That’s gotta feel much better, hm?” He gave the other a gentle smile, and finally those lidded, glossy ceruleans he loved so much, peered up at him though his eyelashes, in the same instance, his arms unveiled themselves and he reached outward for the other.

“I’d…feel beddar ib you came here?” The black haired man almost stood frozen, stunned that the other was craving…him. He blinked his green orbs a few times before he nodded gently.

“You’ve come to the right place then!” He chuckled as they both worked in unison to make enough room for each other to slide in together like two puzzle pieces. Remi entangled the other within his arms and rested his chin against the top of Levi’s soft head of hair. Running a flat palm up and down the educator’s spine, causing him to groan subconsciously. “That’s it, just relax…I’ve got you, it’s okay,” the words, and the strong arms squeezed around his aching body, made Levi feel like a melting slab of butter. He had never felt more uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time. While he felt like an entire pile of dog shit, this man was practically his knight and shining armor of illness. How did he get so lucky to have his undivided attention? Levi’s face pressed against the other’s slowly rising and falling chest, the beat of his heart faster than one’s rate should be.

Levi flushed, he knew why it sounded like that, as their bodies tangled around one another intimately. He knew he should pull away, try to show some restraint and boundaries but at this point it just felt too good, too right. They laid there until once more, the leopard found himself asleep.

A Few Hours Later…

The educator woke up in confusion, blankets tangled around his thin legs, his back against the bed and body sprawled in different directions, but the most important piece was, Remi was missing. He clasped his lips together, smacking to regain some sense of hydration from the consistent mouth breathing he had been doing. “R-Rem?” He managed through his dry maw whilst he peaked about the room. He noticed it was incredibly dark, normally one wouldn’t be able to see, but he relatively could. What he saw was, a missing Remi. He furrowed his brows and stepped out of the bed.

He shuffled gently to keep his leaking nose at bay while he trailed silently out of the basement and up the stairs. The educator walked in to the kitchen first. No Remi. But there were piles of dishes, filthy, stacked high in multiple columns about the small counter. It was dingy, grungy and musty, it looked like no one swept or mopped in this home since they moved in. A travesty. How was the other eating his meals? This was atrocious.

His heart started to ache within the cavity of his chest as he continued to search the house, catching a glimpse of the occasional skittering bug…he shivered. As he wondered into what he could assumed was the living space, also littered in trash and random hoarded items, a single couch and a relatively nice tv. Regardless of its poorly state, he noticed Remi, passed out on the couch with his assigned book in hand and a half burned out cigarette in the other. Levi shook his head with a small smile. He shouldn’t be sleeping amongst this slum. The cat found a space to sit next to the sleeping man who was half sitting up, half laying down.

“Hey…Rem…” he wiggled the other’s shoulder with his palm. “Remi….” He got a bit louder as he started to find the task at hand to be a bit…challenging. He furrowed his brows and huffed, what was he to do? Taking in a deep breath he slid up and into the student’s lap, bringing a hand up to caress the side of his face gently. “Remi come on, come sleep in the bed…” trying a more audible tone of voice this time, he watched the other’s eyeballs flex and twitch under his lids before eventually they creeped open slowly.

“Hnn…?” He stirred and looked now at the other in his lap, and registered what was happening. He blushed. Brightly. Then stuttered when he spoke. “I-I …uhm…fell asleep s-studying…” he swallowed hard, trying his damn best to not maul the small male alive. He couldn’t believe how tempting this entire situation had been. He had to sneak away when Levi fell asleep, he had to. It was too intoxicating watching his mouth separate and breath openly and obnoxiously with that cherry red complexion. When he had been sure the educator was asleep asleep, he snuck out to the living room, to avoid distraction and was studying out there when he fell asleep.

“Why are you out here?” Levi asked with a frustrated expression and it made the larger feel incredibly regrettable, but also his heart skipped a beat…he genuinely was upset they weren’t cuddling in bed still. That had to mean something.

“I didn’t want to bother you…you were so peaceful, but I needed to read…” he replied sheepishly, and the professor smiled with a tenderness that softened the overall atmosphere of the room. He leaned into the other, comforted again by the sound of his thudding heart.

“Your presence is healing…” Levi whispered against him, whom could only blink a few times into the space ahead of him before looking down to see the other had closed his eyes.

“Yeah?” Asking in disbelief, no one had ever told him that before. Usually they said the opposite.

“Yeah…” he drifted off as his body got comfortable again, regardless that it smelled much worse out here than it had down in Remi’s room.

“Here, lemme get you in bed, Kay?” His glistening emeralds bore down onto the wheezing professor as his labored breathing became a deep sigh.

“M’k..” he responded lazily pausing, inevitably finishing his thought. “Carry me?” He looked up at the man now, making eye contact, they sat there in a comforting silence before Remi’s lips pulled up into a tender smile.

“You got it,” sliding an arm up under the educator’s knees, and supporting his back before lifting them both up and off the couch. Without hesitation Remi made his way back into the bedroom within a matter of minutes; but yet again the cool air hit Levi’s bare legs, he shuddered weakly shoveling himself closer into the wolf’s heated chest. “I know, it’ll warm up in a second when we get under the blankets…”

“Don’t you have a heater?” Levi asked curiously, his voice slightly hoarse as he looked up to gaze at the bottom view of Remi’s face as they walked around the basement to their destination.

“Nah…” he replied dryly while they crossed the threshold of the room and to the bed .

“You can’t keep living like this…” Levi furrowed his brows trying to get the other to give him even a little bit of a gaze.

“It’s only a few more months…” shrugging his shoulders in another solid attempt to push off the squaller he knew he lived in. Was it pretty? No. It had potential, and at least his section of the house was well kept and bug free.

“Okay, then move in with me.” This caught them both off guard but Levi stood by it. Remi now setting the man down onto the bed he made eye contact finally staring him blankly in the face trying to search for a punchline, like he’d been told a joke.

“What?” He blinked in confusion and frankly disbelief, was he hearing what he WANTED to hear ? Or was he hearing it for what it was?

“Move in with me,” he repeated himself sincerely “No wonder you’re always exhausted…this isn’t a healthy or stable environment for you to be in Rem…” looking up at the other as Remi stood over him flabbergasted.

“….you serious?” The student almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing, was he daydreaming? Regular dreaming? No way he was awake right now as he looked at Levi dumbfounded.

“Dead,” the educator remained calm, steady in his decision. He couldn’t possibly allow him to live like this any longer now that he knew what the other was dealing with. Besides, he had a spare room, it didn’t have to be weird.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” Remi raised a brow, trying to call for a bluff that wasn’t being presented to him.

“Just don’t tell anyone and have all school related things sent to your parent’s address,” it was almost like he was too confident, too prepared. It was odd. Remi didn’t know how to feel or really react but his heart was racing a million miles per minute. Was he in? Or was he just taking pity on him? He still couldn’t be too sure, all he knew was he couldn’t wait to wake up everyday next to the professor.

“Easy enough I suppose,” he finally responded with a sly, sarcastic smirk now spreading across his face as he watched Levi get settled and comfortable in the bed finally as he replied.

“Is that a yes?” Looking up, flattening the blankets around him with his scattering palms.

“Are you, eager for that answer?” Licking his lips, the wolf bore down over him, sitting beside him now, but still somehow hovering.

“….yes…” looking down at his fingers trying not to meet the other’s hardening gaze

“Why? Why me?” He got close, so close his breath could be felt ghosting across the other’s face with anticipation for his answer. This was such a different man than what he was used to all these months. Was he finally warming up?

“You deserve better…you’re a good man, Remington…I just want the best for you,” blushing brighter than his sickly face already was, he looked up to meet the other’s gaze, they both melted. Remi chewed on his lower lip as he searched for a sign, something that would expose that this was all just a dream. Yet, he found nothing but sincerity as they stared into each other.

“…okay,” he responded shortly, almost as if he was holding his breath.

“Okay?” Levi questioned the other. He was usually so gung-ho, so quick, where was this sudden spout of insecurity coming from? He couldn’t get a proper read and it was frustrating in itself.

“Okay, I’ll move in with you,” Remi finally said more clearly that it made the smaller beam, but slowly, and in a gentle gesture.

“Okay,” he replied trying his best not to vibrate where he sat.

“So like, just for the rest of the semester or…?” Trying to clarify that he didn’t over stay his welcome in the next coming months.

“Well, we can cross that bridge….you should probably have a job before I go kicking you out at any point,” The other chuckled softly, with a slightly hoarse wheeze to it.

“What a thoughtful landlord,” Remi winked, smirking down at the other with playfulness.

“Landlord? Oof…” the white haired male shook his head slowly and couldn’t believe what he was really getting himself into. Yet, here he was, practically bouncing in his seat to set ahead into the future.

“You just love having control over me don’t you?” Again, the student teased the professor, but this caused Levi to slightly jolt and snap his gaze up to look Remi in the face again.

“Wh-wha!!! I!?” But cut off by a booming laugh emitting from the wolf’s chest.

“I’m just joking, relax kitten!…” he reached over to caress his softened freckled cheek, reassuring the man he was just being silly. “Besides…I know it’s only because of the control I have over you,” winking at him now with a cheesy smirk spread across his face.

“Uh?? What control? You don’t have control over me!” Rolling his bagged ceruleans, the other was clearly still exhausted from his illness but he couldn’t break himself away from the playful conversation between them.

“I don’t huh?” His glowing emerald eyes glared almost animalistic-ally now while they traced the other’s features slowly. He zeroed in on the professor’s blushing face, his chaffed nostrils and chapped lips. Holding back the demons within him to not have his way.

“N-no!” Sticking out his pale colored tongue, which snapped Remi out of his soon to be problematic behavior, and remembered that Levi was still ill. He rolled his emerald greens and shook his head.

“Fine, I’ll give you this one…but you need to rest up more…” The student now sounding much more stern, it made the educator tingle, and his flesh raised in bumps. He tried to push it aside and ignore it by changing the subject.

“Okay, but when I wake up again….can we order some pho? I’ll pay…I just really want some seafood soup…” he smiled shyly up at Remi who could only smirk at the other, crawling into the bed beside him and enveloping the cat in his arms.

“Absolutely we can, and I’ll pay…don’t even try to fight me on it,” he pushed his forehead to the other’s clammy one, emphasizing he meant business. Levi let out a small giggle before yet another prickling tease started to crawl through the walls of his nose, causing his whole body to tremble and shiver.

“Hey, you ca—Eh-TSHU!!” He covered himself by pushing his mouth into the wolf’s chest. The space now slick with mess and sick. He didn’t mind, in fact, Remi couldn’t help but chuckle at the other’s weakened disposition running his hand through those messy white threads of hair. He was just too cute…too delicious. He thought of the many different ways he could use this to his advantage but all instead he chose the long game. He would have the other, certainly, but not like this.

“I don’t think you have much a choice there, kitten,” leaning over he kissed the professor on the top of his head before whispering gently. “Just relax…you need to rest,” snuggling closer together. Levi almost forgot he was fighting against his own desires as he lost himself within the other’s tenderness, and care. He had never had anyone in his life treat him so gently before, with so much consideration. All he could do was nuzzle closer into the crook of the other’s armpit and nod his head in agreement, sniffling and snobbling, the sounds echoing off the walls before they eventually silenced, and he fell back asleep.

To be Continued…

Author’s Notes: Howdy yall 😀 did you enjoy this chapter? I know, it’s another slow one with no smut, but I loved writing all the fluffy bits and them bonding closer together. It’ll really make these next few chapters juicy as they build a bond in this series, and when they finally FOCK 😈 thanks for reading and being ever so patient with me 🤧🙌🏻 below is a piece done by @aller-geez 😍😍 she owns Remi!

[belovedblabber]

the locked tomb! or if someone already asked, dragon age!

Thank youuuu for asking!

Favorite Male Character: It's John, we all know it's John. I stand by my cancelled wife <3

Favorite Female Character: I legit do not know how to answer this because that list is, so long and frequently neck and neck but today while zoning out I ended up thinking about Harrow and had a resurgence of how much I adore her so I'll say Harrow rn!

Least Favorite Character: I'm not sure honestly, I don't really think I have one? Maybe currently Paul just because we don't know them very well yet and also I'm so mad to have lost Pal and Cam so let's go with Paul

Favorite Ship: This is another tough one oh god. I love Harrow/Gideon, and Harrow/Ianthe, and Gideon/Ianthe in a 'gay sex won't fix this situation in fact it may make it worse but I think we should give it a shot anyway' sorta way fghj. Idk if that last one is a ship or a 'I think they make each other worse and I love that' thing. Also between Gideon/Harrow and Ianthe/Harrow I like. Gideon/Harrow more in terms of just pure shippines, I guess? I want them to be happy and kiss but I'm aware that may be a tall order. I'm terrible at answering ship questions especially with this series dfghj. Also the entire dios apate trio situation is just the absolute tastiest although I've been thinking a lot about John and Augustine in particular lately I think just because that's where my brain is kicking around atm. I love them, obsessed with that fucked up lil' jaugustine dynamic it makes my brain spin

Favorite Friendship: Gideon and Palamedes, I know we didn't get to see much of that dynamic but what we did see was so sweet and I love it. Also Harrow and Palamedes. I LOVE Palamedes he's up there as one of my fave characters

Favorite Quote: This one is just cruel I have so many I legit cannot pick. But currently I have the whole quote that ends in "Something will satisfy them eventually, but nothing satisfies me. Nothing" stuck in my head and am wanting to draw smth from it so I'll just go with that, John that was sooo sexy of u babygirl. (Also "Is that the truth, or the truth you tell yourself?" "What is the difference?" said God'" hit me like a sack of bricks the first time I read it and continues to do so. But I also have so many other fave quotes asdfg, I just need to leave it off here or I'll write a novel length list of them).

Worst Character Death (if any): This one is ALSO hard but I will say that the one that shocked me the most was honestly Jeannemary. After that it was hard to rattle me although oh god Gideon's death at the end of GtN did have me crying

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment: When I read the NtN preview on amazon and saw that it opened with a John thing and I got so excited that I shrieked out loud alone in my dark room and then messaged my partner rapid fire while literally vibrating and then was so jazzed that I couldn't sleep. Because I'm a freak.

Saddest Moment: How do I pick? The one freshest in my head is the creation of Paul because OUCH

Favorite Location: Canaan house, I love the vibes in a way I can't articulate

[arrowflier]

do you write AUs?

because i wish you'd write a fic with magic 👀 either with both or only one of them having magic ❤️

Oh, dear sweet anon. You'd never guess it from what I've been posting, but AUs are my bread and butter, and fantasy my genre of choice. I just don't do as much of it because I care more about getting it right, and it's so much harder to convey in short glimpses.

So thank you for this, and here goes nothing!  Might not be the type of magic you were thinking, but it’s where my brain ended up.

Milkovich Magic

When he's just a little boy, Mickey Milkovich is the chattiest kid on the street. He stands out front of their rundown house and waves at people passing by, tells them stories, wishes for them good things. His father hates it, but his mother thinks it's lovely. She sits next to Mickey in a broken lawn chair, taking turns smiling at her son and at the strangers and neighbors passing by, waving Terry away when he comes too close to interfering.

But she never says a word herself, unless it's to Mickey.

Until one day, when Mickey sees a family walking down the street, and waves frantically at two boys around his age, one with fuzzy brown curls, one with bright red locks. The bright boy turns toward him and smiles, and Mickey feels something shift inside himself.

"Momma," he calls back toward the house. "Did you see?"

"See what, Mikhailo?" she responds, voice oddly cautious in a way that Mickey has long since become accustomed to.

"That boy," he tells her, feeling light and happy. "He's going to be my friend."

The air shifts as the words leave his mouth, seeming to swirl around him. He shivers as it strokes against his skin, leaving a line of goosebumps in its wake, and takes a shaky breath, thinking of the boy's shy smile.

"Mikhailo, no!" his mother cries, stumbling from her seat to fall on her knees at his feet, clutching his arms with claw-like fingers. He snaps out of his thoughts and stares down at her, terrified, as the feeling leaves him.

His terror grows when his father slams open the front door and yells, "What did the boy do now?"

His mother's eyes are wide and scared on his face, but her voice is calm and firm when she answers.

"Mikhailo has done nothing," she states simply, and his skin begins to tingle again. "You noticed nothing," she adds, and Mickey watches as his father shakes his head and wanders back inside without so much as a backwards glance.  Then the air is still again.

"Come, Mikhailo," his mother says next, "that's enough for today." And he follows her up the broken steps and into their home, mind whirring, trying to make sense of what happened.

“Words have power, little one,” his mother whispers to him later that night, as they sip hot chocolate in the kitchen after Terry goes to bed. The air smells of milk and burned sugar and his mother’s perfume, and her voice wraps around him like a hug, pressing her words into his skin.

“We have to be careful,” she speaks quietly. Her hand is still warm with the heat from her mug when she brushes his hair from his face, lets her palm rest on his cheek. “When the things you say become the truth, you have to choose your words wisely.”

“Like when I say you’re pretty?” Mickey asks with childish innocence, and his mother laughs, a soft tinkling sound like windchimes in the rain.

“Not quite,” she tells him with a gentle smile. “It takes intent, too.”

“Intent,” he repeats dutifully, then asks, “what’s that?”

His mother’s voice drops even further, serious and firm. “It’s the desire to make change, Mikhailo,” she says, “and it’s dangerous. You never know what path that change might take.” She sounds sad, like she does whenever his father comes home, loud and stumbling when he shoves through the door in the middle of the night. Mickey doesn’t like it.

And he doesn’t understand, either. He’s too young. Too new to the world to see how change could be a bad thing. So he agrees, like a good son does, and doesn’t argue when his mother presses a kiss to his head and sends him off to sleep in a haze of lavender and chocolate.

A few months later, when he hears his father yelling from the next room, hears the crash as his mother hits the floor for the third time that week, he dares to speak aloud the words struggling to escape his heart, despite her warnings.

“Mama is safe,” he whispers to himself in the darkness of the room he shares with his baby sister, who’s curled up against his side, face still wet with the tears that sent her into sleep. “No one can hurt her anymore.”

He knows he got it right when he can feel the wish leave him, a heavy weight lifting from his chest as his desires take form. He can feel the air, heavy with intent, as it brushes over his skin, as it moves like a summer breeze through the open window above his head, bypassing the locked bedroom door. He’s suddenly more tired than he thinks he’s ever been when it’s gone, and he falls into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years, comforted by the knowledge that he had put change into the world.

The next morning, he wakes to his sister sobbing and pushing loose fists into his chest as she tells him that their mother is dead.

After that, he stops talking so much.

---

When Mickey is eight years old, he's the quietest boy in class. He gets a reputation as a troublemaker, refusing to answer questions or make friends, no matter the effort that others put in.

Eventually, they stop trying, and he's glad.

Until a new boy shows up, and almost ruins everything.

His name is Ian Gallagher, and the first thing Mickey notices as he walks into the room for the very first time, a worn backpack hanging from his skinny shoulder, is his hair.

It's bright red.

And Mickey remembers the day he learned what he was, the day he started down the path that killed his mother, the day that he declared to the world that the redheaded boy would be his and the world started to listen.

He wanted nothing to do with him.

So of course, Gallagher sat right behind him, and tapped on his shoulder, and asked him for a pencil. And try as he might, Mickey could not muster the intent to make him leave.

It probably wouldn't have mattered if he did, he thought. The damage had been done years ago.

But he does manage to speak. And he hears his own voice for the first time in ages outside the confines of the bedroom he still shares with Mandy. It's rough with disuse, lending an edge to his words that never used to be there.

"Ask me again, I'll stab you with it," he threatens, then stops, eyes blown wide and fearful by his own statement. But the rush of air never comes, nor that strange tingle, and all he can feel is the tickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck.

He's so relieved he could cry.

"Are you ok?" the Gallagher boy asks, and Mickey tries to snarl, to make him back away.

"Shut up," he orders. And then he spins back around in his seat to hide his grin.

Because he can talk, after all, without causing terrible things. The trick, he knows now, is just not to mean it.

---

When Mickey is fifteen, he's loud and brash. He throws words around like they're meaningless, because to him, they are.

They have to be.

And it's working out fine, really. As long as he swallows down his feelings, keeps them locked up tight in his chest, it doesn't matter what words leave his lips.

Until, one day after school, he finally loses control.

And of course, it's because of Ian fucking Gallagher.

Because Ian keeps trying to be Mickey's friend, and Mickey knows it isn't real. He knows what he did. So when Ian joins his little league team in 4th grade, Mickey gets himself thrown out. And when Ian tries to partner with him for the 6th grade science fair, Mickey gets himself suspended instead. Every year is a new attempt, and every year, Mickey manages to shut it down.

He's ready to do it again on the first day of their sophomore year, when Ian calls his name outside the old brick school building.

"Hey, Mickey!" he tries, waving gangly arms to catch his attention. "Mickey, over here!"

Mickey studiously ignores him, like always, until he hears the smack of books hitting the ground.

"Whatcha callin' him for, eh?" comes a voice Mickey recognizes as one of his cousins. There's another rough sound, and a curse as Ian himself is pushed to the ground. Mickey's cousin laughs.

"What a pussy," he snickers. When Mickey turns around, his cousin waves him over with a wicked grin. "Ey, Mick, you know this guy?" he asks, not waiting for an answer before he nudges Ian in the side with a dirty boot. "He keeps callin' for ya, think he's got a crush or somethin'."

Ian's face is red, and his jaw is clenched, but he looks away when Mickey catches his eyes. He looks embarrassed, and maybe sad, and before Mickey knows what he's doing, he speaks from the place he always keeps under lock and key.

"You're gonna leave him alone," he rumbles, a breeze picking up behind him. "You're never gonna touch him again." A few leaves flutter at his feet as his intention builds. His cousin doesn't notice, but Ian does, and Mickey finds himself staring into emerald green eyes as he says, "You noticed nothing," just like his mother did all those years ago, and lets the words go.

His cousin blinks at him, suddenly lost, then down at Ian. "The fuck are you doing down there man?" he asks, and almost offers a hand before awkwardly pulling it back. "Eh, whatever," he mutters, and stumbles off to join the line for the bus.

"What was that?" Ian asks breathlessly, and Mickey shrugs, thumbing his nose. Inside, he's horrified by his slip, but all he says is, "nothing."

And scared or not of how it felt, that rush of cool air tingling against his skin as he spoke, he can't deny it felt good.

It feels even better when Ian smiles.

---

When Mickey is seventeen, he has a friend, and he thinks he might have to stop talking again.

Ian is around all the time, now. They sit together at school, and hang out at the Gallagher house on weekends. They go to movies, and baseball games, and tell each other everything.

Well, almost everything.

And deep down, Mickey knows what this is. He told the world that Ian would be his friend, and so he is. It's nothing more than that.

But when Ian starts talking about the guy he's seeing, starts blowing Mickey off to spend time with him instead, it still makes Mickey's heart hurt.

Somewhere along the line, between avoiding Ian and letting his life revolve around him, Mickey had started wanting more.

It's in those moments, sitting on the sofa with their thighs pressed together, the strawberry scent of Ian's shampoo lingering in the air around them as he waxes poetic about the restaurant his boyfriend took him to, when Mickey fights himself the most.

It would be so easy, he knows. So easy to open his mouth and let the words out. Ian, he could say, you love me. You want me. Leave him, Ian. Be with me instead.

He doesn't. He wouldn't. But he could, and knowing that kills him.

Instead, he starts pulling back. Cancels plans before Ian can. It hurts, but he does it, because Ian deserves to be free from the wish Mickey made when he was a child.

Ian notices, of course he does. He ignores it, mostly, until the night Mickey opens the door to find him standing there, sweaty and scowling.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks Mickey immediately. "Why are you shutting me out?"

Mickey swallows. "Don't know what you're talkin about," he lies, wishing desperately that it were true. He feels a zing of power go through him, but there's no escape for it; his words don't work on himself.

"Bullshit," Ian accuses, stepping over the threshold to bring them chest to chest. "Just tell me, Mick," he urges. "You know you can tell me anything."

"I can't," Mickey offers breathlessly. "I really can't, Ian."

It doesn't deter him; if anything, it makes him angrier. "What's gonna happen if you do, huh?" he challenges, shoving Mickey back until he hits the wall.

And Mickey can't take it anymore.

"I don't know!" he shouts, tearing at his hair. "I don't fucking know, Ian, ok? I've been trying not to say it for so long, I don't know what will happen if I do!"

It takes the wind out of Ian's sails; he visibly deflates. His eyes turn soft, instead of angry, and there's a quiver in his voice when he asks again. "Tell me what, Mickey?" he whispers.

Mickey won't say the words. Instead, he surges toward Ian and presses their mouths together in a rough, clumsy kiss.

It lasts only a moment before Ian pulls away, and Mickey tries not to die inside.  Forces himself not to fix it.  But a second later, there's a beaming grin on Ian's bruised lips, and he's saying, "is that all it was?" and leaning in again.

---

When Mickey is nineteen, he has a boyfriend, and he says what's in his heart.

They’re alone in the Gallagher house, a rare enough occurrence already, and they’re tangled together in Ian’s tiny single bed.  “Ian,” he whispers when they part for breath.  “Ian,” he moans as that mouth trails down his neck and behind his ear, pressing kisses in its wake.  “Ian,” he cries out as he clenches fingers in bright red hair, holding on for dear life as they rock together.

“Fuck, I love you Mick,” Ian murmurs against his heated skin, and Mickey stops still.

It takes a minute for Ian to catch on, another for him to pull back, eyes questioning and nervous.  “Is that okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.

Mickey licks his lips, and tries the words out himself, like a dare.  “You love me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Ian’s own.  

Nothing happens.

There’s no shift in the air around them, no new goosebumps beyond the ones Ian caused himself.  There’s no weight in Mickey’s chest trying to get out.

There’s just Ian.

Ian, with his copper hair shining in the light from the window.  Ian, surrounding him in the scent of strawberrie shampoo and sweat and cheap cologne from the corner store that he only wore when they were together.  Ian, who was watching hi, waiting, biting his red bottom lip and trying not to move.

Mickey laughs, and pulls him closer, kissing him again, feeling Ian smile with relief against his lips.  “You fucking love me,” he repeats, just because he can.  The words can’t change something that’s already true.  “I fucking love you too,” Mickey says.  

And he does.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 2: Fire

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: You wake up somewhere strange *again*. This time your underground and greeted by Liu Kang. For some reason you trust him, but why?

A/N: Have I mentioned I’m a huge fan of the slow burn? Whoops. I’ll let you guys know when the paths are branching between Lao/Liu. Thanks for reading and hope you keep enjoying! Also, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

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Warm flames flickered off brown-gray stone walls. Other than the burning flame to your right, the room was small and dark. There was no door and you could hear movement somewhere beyond its opening. I’m underground, you thought. The air smelled musty and it was so dry that your nose burned. Underground and maybe in the desert. You closed your eyes again quickly.

In your mind’s eye you pictured the small purple flower Kung Lao had given you in your youth. Frail and rare. Many flowers had grown in your hometown but purple had been a new and exotic color. You’d always been fond of it afterward. You’d never gotten the chance to tell Kung Lao that. For a time you had kept it pressed between the pages of your favorite book as a memorial to the boy who had been your best friend. You hadn’t thought about the flower in years. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him.

The details of what happened were fuzzy. You remembered the fight in your shop and remembered waking up to the face of Kung Lao. It was still insane to think that the boy you’d thought dead was, in fact, alive and in good health. It was even crazier to think that he’d been the one to save you from the fire in your shop.

You shook away the memory lest it return you to the darkness of unconsciousness.

You were, again, in an unfamiliar bed but things were vastly different. You’d been cared for and changed into a modest dressing gown, judging by the soft but coarse material. This had likely been done by a health professional. You were certain that Kung Lao must have brought you somewhere to be helped. Then again, most hospitals you knew of weren’t underground and they certainly didn’t use these types of gowns. It wasn’t a hospital gown, more like the type of gown that would have been worn for bed in ages past. Long and thin, but warm. You pictured it off-white. The one you wore had no sleeves, most likely for ease of access since you’d been injured.

You had to decide if you should panic or not. If you looked around and saw a medical professional or Kung Lao then you would remain calm. If you didn’t then panic seemed the way to go. Opening your eyes again, you were relieved that the world didn’t spin and you weren’t nauseous. But there was no doctor and definitely no Kung Lao.

There was a different man in his place, unfamiliar, shorter in stature, his gaze focused on something other than you. He was dressed mostly in black, no sleeves (which seemed the fashion of this underground wherever), and a red sash tied around his middle. His demeanor was calm and quiet and in his left hand he clutched a string of prayer beads. His skin was dusted with soot or grease, you couldn’t tell. He looked as though he had been handling charcoal for hours. He was also surprisingly muscular.

And handsome. You wouldn’t deny that you’d admired him. His brow was knit with concern and as you shifted, he turned toward you. Brown eyes met yours with genuine concern and he held a hand up defensively. “Take it slow.” His voice was soothing but this was all too familiar.

A strange bed and a stranger next to it after having fallen unconscious. He was telling you how what to do and how to feel. Again. Not a chance! On the small table next to the head of the bed there was a bowl half-filled with water and some medical tools. The tool closest to you was a hook used for stitching up wounds. It wasn’t the best weapon but it was all you could reach. You sat upright quickly, snatched the hook, and moved far enough away from the stranger that you had room to breathe and could better gauge his intent and reactions.

But you had moved too quickly and suddenly there were ten of him as the room spun. You thought you might puke if he got any closer. That would get him away from you, probably better than the needle would. Much to your surprise, he laughed with the subtlest of smiles. The smile radiated more from his eyes amidst his worry than it did outwardly. “You’re surprisingly fast for someone who has been in and out of consciousness for over a week.”

“A… a week?” You stuttered and forced your vision to focus on the blurry version of him smiling in the middle. Thankfully, your brain obeyed and the room stopped spinning. He didn’t seem to pose you any threat. You could tell just by his smile. A smile that made him all the more handsome. The time that had passed was not important so you didn’t wait for an answer to your initial question. “Who are you? Where am I? And where is Kung Lao?” Those three things were at the top of your list now that you were thinking clearly. There were a hundred other questions you had about Mortal Kombat, the dragon mark on your back, and other realms but you figured those could come later. Dealing with the here and now; that was the right way to do it.

“I am Liu Kang.” He bowed his head, holding up his prayer beads as he did. “You are in Raiden’s Temple where the Order of Light gathers to protect Earthrealm. Kung Lao is off on an errand at Lord Raiden’s behest. I assure you that he did not wish to leave you but had little other choice.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, you leaned against the cool stone behind you. Answers, finally. “I’m Y/N. Thank you for answering my questions.”

“Kung Lao mentioned you would likely be defensive.” Liu Kang gestured to the bowl on the nightstand. “I have been caring for your wounds. I do not usually tend to the sick but I promised my cousin that I would see you were cared for.”

“Cousin?”

“Kung Lao. He is my brother. Not by blood but by bond.”

That was a relief. At least this complete stranger had a connection to the other near complete stranger that you’d met the last time you’d woken up in a strange place. Wait… hadn’t you gone blind? Setting the hook back down on the side table, you patted your face in search of a mark or wound that would have caused that. There was none. Liu Kang’s eyes were sparkling in amusement.

“The last thing I remember is losing my vision.” You explained.

“Yes, about that.” Liu Kang moved the hook back to its original place. “The men who attacked your shop were vicious and cruel warriors. They were gifted but squandered their gifts to satiate their greed, a thing that can never be sated. You did the world a favor by stopping them. However, the blades that wounded you were coated in a rare poison. It is lucky that Kung Lao found you and could bring you to us for treatment. The blindness was a temporary side effect of the poison.”

“Poison?” This was wild. That morning you’d been stocking your shop and had taught a class of ten-year-olds. Now you’d been attacked, killed a few men, and had been poisoned. Wild. You supposed, in reality, it had been over a week ago and not that morning. Whatever. You decided to take the blows as they came. Deal with the problems and insanity as it happened. It was the only way to keep a clear head.

“It took many days and much prayer but we bled the poison from your wounds. Now they should begin to heal.”

“I’m still stuck on the poison part of this story. Really? Who does that?”

“You must be very resilient, Miss Y/N. Even the mightiest of warriors poisoned so terribly would submit to death. You are a fighter.”

“Thanks… I think.”

Liu Kang bowed his head again respectfully. He was easy to talk to, you weren’t sure why. You’d been careful around Kung Lao but you found yourself immediately not careful around Liu Kang. There was an instant connection to him.

“I was ill as a child. It made me more resilient to sickness, perhaps.” You had been ill but it had been the kind of illness that parents sent their children away for, the kind where they couldn’t explain how their child saw or did things beyond their understanding. It had made you terribly sick and weak. Why were you telling him this? It’d slipped out of your mouth without permission from your lips.

“I have not met many who would credit childhood illness for their resilience.”

“Perhaps I’m more stubborn than most. I’ve been told I have thick skin. The kids would tease me for being different. I was told that I would never be strong. I would never catch up. Never be normal. I didn’t like that word, not even as a kid.”

“Which one?”

“Never.”

That subtle smile again. Damn, it was attractive.

“I’m sorry.” You laughed with an apologetic bow of your own. Your head spun and you mentally cursed your politeness. “I didn’t mean to say all that. It just slipped out.”

“It’s no problem. I would like you to continue your story if you would.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

“I assure you that I’m not merely being polite.” There was something genuine about his words, as if he considered them carefully before he spoke. Perhaps Kung Lao had warned him about you. Or perhaps he was just careful. Your first instinct had been to jump at them both. It was their every right to be defensive but you couldn’t be blamed either. “How did you overcome your illness?”

“I fought. I worked harder than most did just to be on the same level as everyone else. I grew out of my sickness with age and thanks to my hard work I became stronger than most. After that I dedicated my life to teaching others to become strong, to be more than the ‘never’ we’re told we’ll be.”

“Admirable.” Liu Kang seemed as relieved as you had been upon discovering he was not there to hurt you. Maybe he’d been worried about your intent too. “It is nice to have another worthy of their marking.”

“The dragon mark?”

“Yes.”

“About that…”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“Kung Lao said something about being chosen because of the mark but I’m guessing that the mark only came to me because I killed those men. Am I right? It had to belong to one of them. It’s less like I was chosen and more like… I stole it.”

“Yes. Did Kung Lao tell you? He said you wouldn’t understand.”

“I assume that he would have told me but then I went blind. As you can imagine, I no longer cared much about the mark after that.” You laughed and so did Liu Kang. His laugh was quiet and genuine. It made you smile far more than should have been allowed. His joy was as comforting as the flickering light of the candle on the side table. “I didn’t have the mark that morning. I can only assume that was when I got it. Weirder things have happened so it was as good a guess as any.”

“Your intuition is remarkable.”

“What happens next?”

“For now you heal.” Liu Kang gestured to your arms. The gauze wrapped around your forearms was stained with blood even though the dressings looked fresh. You didn’t feel any pain. Either you’d been given good drugs to deal or adrenaline was protecting you. “You are in no condition to begin training. Lord Raiden has been told about you. I am keeping him informed on your condition.”

“So, you’re my babysitter.”

“I prefer caretaker. But yes.”

“If it’s been a week and I’m still bleeding like this then I have a feeling it could take awhile to heal. Can I learn more in the meantime? About any of this? I don’t want to just sleep and sit around doing nothing. I don’t know anything about this place and I know very little about the Order of Light. And I definitely don’t know anything about this mark or Mortal Kombat.” Liu Kang seemed surprised, but pleasantly so, as if this were something he’d greatly desired to hear.

“You really want to learn more?” He smiled brightly. You nodded. “The masters have trained me for years in matters of Mortal Kombat and the protection of Earthrealm. I would be happy to teach you if you would allow me.”

“I would be delighted to have the company, Liu Kang.” You very much meant that.

“I have some work to do around the temple but we can start this evening.”

“Perfect.”

Next Chapter >>

[earliebirb]

for better or for worse

My dearest friend Alle ( @iam93percentstardust​ ) sent me this prompt a lifetime ago. I’m sorry for taking such a long time, but this fic turned into a 5K fic (which is longer than anything I usually write) because my brain kept giving me Ideas. Alle, I know this is probably not what you expected, but I hope you enjoy reading it anyway.

for better or for worse

steve/tony, au: no powers, hurt/comfort, getting back together, 5815 words

(54 from this list)

Tony wakes to the sensation of his head pounding and his ears ringing. He groans, stirring on the bed and burying his face into the nearest pillow. 

The ringing persists and Tony squeezes his eyes shut, willing the noise to go away and—

Oh. That ringing is his doorbell. Someone is ringing his doorbell. 

Tony sighs, glancing at the clock on his nightstand before groaning again when he realizes that it’s ten minutes to seven. In the morning. What kind of lunatic is visiting him at this hour?

He gives himself a couple more seconds to stay on the bed, cursing his own self for being awake. For a brief moment, he is tempted to just ignore whoever is standing on his porch in the hopes of making them eventually go away. 

The doorbell rings again and he lets out another long sigh. Slowly, he sits up on the bed and immediately regrets the decision to do so as all his muscles start aching all over, the kind of all-encompassing pain he only gets throughout his body when he is really, really sick. He feels like crying from the pain. 

The second he hears the sound of the front door being unlocked, however, he instantly freezes. His blood runs cold, adrenaline numbing his pain for the moment, his senses alert in shock.

Quietly, he gets to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. God, this is the worst time to fight off an intruder. Not that there is ever a great time to have someone illegally entering your home, but it’s early in the morning, and he’s sick, and alone, and—

“Steve?” 

Steve jumps, turning to face him with his blue eyes wide in surprise. Either Tony is sicker than he thought or Steve is really standing right there, a few steps away from the front door, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Tony. I’m— Sorry. I tried calling you but I think your phone is dead, and I tried ringing the doorbell but—”

Oh. It really is Steve. With the threat of imminent danger gone, immense relief and pain ambush his senses simultaneously.

“—you didn’t answer the door, so I used my key. I’m so sorry. I know it’s really early in the morning, but I was about to leave for a meeting and I tried to do a final check of the blueprint of the exhibition only to find the file corrupted. The only other copy I have of it is the hard copy I had left here, so I—”

Tony’s knees feel weak. He frowns as he squints, because why are there two Steves in front of him? 

“—panicked and I drove all the way— Tony?”

Tony tries to take a step forward, but he wobbles unsteadily. The floor is moving, and the walls are spinning, and oh wow look at the ceiling—

“Tony!”

***

When Tony comes to, his ears come around before the rest of his senses. 

His eyes are still shut. As he slips in and out of slumber, he manages to catch snippets of someone’s voice in the distance. 

“...Yeah, um, I’m actually calling to let you know that I won’t be able to make it to the meeting today…”

“...I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’d leave if I could, but I can’t…”

“...Family emergency. We’ll just have to postpone the meeting, or I can just send scans of the blueprint via email, and have Peggy handle everything…”

“...Okay. Just give me a call and let me know…”

Everything is silent for a while. When Tony’s eyes eventually blink open, he finds himself back in his bed, his body tucked under the covers. The door of his bedroom is ajar and Tony stares at it uncomprehendingly, his brain still struggling to make sense of his current situation.

As if to answer the questions floating around in his brain, the door opens inwards and in walks Steve, a glass of water in hand. He pauses when he sees Tony staring back at him. 

“Oh, you’re awake. Good.” Steve smiles. He pads over and sits down on the edge of the bed, setting the glass of water down on the nightstand. He cups Tony’s elbow carefully. “How are you feeling?”

Tony blinks. So that wasn’t a dream? Steve is really here. 

“Why are you here?” Tony croaks. Steve’s face does something complicated at that before eventually settling with another smile, soft and reassuring.

“Don’t worry about that right now. How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Tony answers honestly, sniffing and grimacing at his unpleasantly congested nose. The lopsided smile Steve gives him sends a wave of longing so strong, it feels like a kick to his heart.

“I figured,” Steve says, voice hushed. He opens his mouth to say something else, but his phone rings right that instant. Steve fishes the phone out of his pocket and holds it up to his ear.

“Hello? It has to be today? Okay, don’t panic. It’s going to be okay. I know, I know. I told you, I can’t. I really, really can’t.” For some reason, Steve’s gaze flits briefly to Tony at this before drifting away. “I told you, Peggy knows the blueprint inside and out. We’ll just have to leave it up to her. Tell the rest of the team I’m sorry, okay? Uh-huh. Right. If we get a second meeting, I’ll join you guys then. Okay. Mm-hm. Alright. Thanks a lot, Sam. Bye.”

“Do you have to get to a meeting?” Tony asks as he watches Steve slip his phone back into his pocket. 

“Are you warm enough? Do you need more blankets?” Steve asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern as he assesses Tony’s condition.

“No, I’m fine,” Tony says, runny nose turning his voice nasally. He sniffs a few times. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you have a meeting today?”

Instead of answering Tony’s question, Steve leans towards the nightstand to grab some tissues and proceeds to hold them under Tony’s nose.

“Blow.”

Tony leans back with a scowl, putting some distance between him and the tissues. “Steve, seriously, do you have a meeting? You don’t have to—”

“Blow your nose, Tony,” Steve says firmly. He stares at Tony, gaze unwavering.

Tony sighs before doing as instructed. He blows into the tissues until his nose feels relatively clear. Something stirs in his chest at the way Steve takes all of it in stride, not showing even an inkling of disgust at Tony’s sweaty and snotty state.

Then again, he supposes that’s the kind of immunity you develop after two years of marriage.

Would be three in a few months, if they didn’t—

Well. It’s probably for the best, right?

It has been a month since Steve moved out and his foolish heart still refuses to relinquish the sliver of hope that maybe—

Tony closes his eyes.

The fight they had had been of massive proportions, the biggest to date in their relationship, and when Steve suggested that they take a break—Tony still wonders if he was sparing Tony’s heart by avoiding the word “divorce”—Tony quietly agreed to it, no matter how much he hated the idea. Steve ended up moving back to his old apartment, an hour away. 

He didn’t want to imprison Steve in the house—in the relationship—if he didn’t want to be with Tony. 

After all, Tony can only keep Steve for as long as he wishes to be kept. 

“Go to the meeting, Steve.” Tony watches as Steve continues to dab at his nose with the ball of tissues, his hand careful and gentle. Even after blowing his nose, his voice still sounds nasally. “It’s not as bad as it looks. I’m fine, I promise. You don’t have to stay.”

“Drink.” Steve hands him the glass of water, staring him down until he drinks the water. He downs the water in a few gulps under Steve’s watchful gaze. After he finishes, Steve takes the glass from him and sets it back on the nightstand. He glances at the clock, all the while ignoring Tony’s disapproving stare. “Have you taken any meds?”

“No. I thought I’d just sleep it off.”

Steve lets out a sigh, looking disappointed but not exactly surprised. He walks out of the bedroom before returning with a simple peanut butter sandwich and some pills. He gives out strict orders for Tony to have at least a few bites of the sandwich before taking the meds and then proceeds to clean up the pile of tissues scattered all around Tony, dumping them into the trash can. After that, he disappears into the ensuite bathroom for a moment. Tony hears the sink running.

By the time Steve emerges from the bathroom, Tony has eaten half of the sandwich and taken his meds dutifully. After confirming the evidence of Tony’s actions with his own two eyes, Steve looks satisfied.

“Okay. Go back to sleep.” 

Tony frowns. “I just woke up.” 

For a minute, Tony thinks that Steve is going to argue with him again, but he just hums and makes his way to the other side of the bed. He slips under the covers beside Tony and reaches for the TV remote.

“What movie do you want to watch?”

“Steve, please. You don’t have to do this. I know—”

“Sci-fi? Or do you want something lighter? A romcom, maybe?”

“—you have work to do, so—”

“You hate being alone when you’re sick,” Steve interrupts, eyes on the TV screen. “And you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, especially when you are sick. I know you, Tony. I know you’d just end up skipping meals throughout the day because you don’t have an appetite.”

Tony pauses. Steve is still staring at the TV, but he is no longer scrolling through the list of available movies.

“You’re… not wrong,” Tony allows, “but you really don’t have to.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve come earlier if I’d known.”

“What— Of course I didn’t.” Tony shakes his head, incredulous. “After all, this doesn’t have to be your responsibility, considering we’re on a—” —break. 

The sentence is completed in his head, but Tony can’t seem to let the last word fall out of his mouth. Steve seems to hear it anyway, if the way his jaw clenches is any indication. 

Tony clears his throat and breathes through the persistent pounding in his head, inhaling through his mouth. 

“Just go, okay? I’ll be fine, Steve, I prom—”

“I won’t be.”

“What?”

Steve finally turns to face him and takes a few long seconds before meeting his eyes, blue eyes tired and resigned.

“I’m the one who won’t be fine, leaving you here all sick and alone.” Steve’s mouth twists into a small smile, wan and bittersweet. “I won’t be able to stop worrying. Won’t be able to work, or go about my day, or…”

A beat. Steve inhales a tremulous breath, blue eyes wavering as they hold Tony’s gaze. “Won’t be able to stop thinking about you.”

Steve looks down at his own lap, fingers grabbing a fistful of the comforter. Silence stretches out between them. Sitting quietly like this, Tony can almost pretend that nothing has happened, that this is just another normal day of Steve waking up in bed next to him. Married and in love with no threat of divorce looming on the horizon.

Of course, that is before he catches sight of Steve’s bereft ring finger.

Then his heart leaps to his throat and he feels his stomach dropping like a rapidly sinking anchor. He wonders how long it has been since Steve’s ring finger is empty.

He wonders if he should start taking off his own, too. He wonders if Steve wants him to take it off. He feels a visceral pain in his chest just at the mere thought of the ring leaving his own finger, a sharp twinge that has nothing to do with him being sick.

Steve swallows audibly. “Just because we’re on a… break, it doesn’t mean I stop caring about you, Tony.”

Tony clenches his jaw and finds himself wondering if Steve would continue to care about him if they ended up separating for good.

He doesn’t ever want to find out the answer to that question. His eyes dart down to Steve’s ring finger again and he has to inhale to keep his nausea at bay. 

Steve takes a deep breath before turning to face Tony again. Although he is facing him, this time Steve’s eyes are nowhere close to meeting Tony’s, lingering somewhere in the vicinity of Tony’s chest instead. The bright blue of his eyes has become muted, something heavy and wistful diluting its luminescence.

“So you’re right. You’ll be fine without me, but I won’t be. So please, let me stay.” Steve’s eyes flit down to the bed, lightning quick, and the moment they flit back up, he does meet Tony’s eyes. “For my sake.”

Tony swallows, feeling like a hefty weight is sitting on his chest, suffocating him. He has to look away to catch his breath. 

Staring at the TV screen, he says, “Love Actually.”

Steve recognizes the acquiescence for what it is, and turns to the screen, smiling. 

“Love Actually it is.”

They lie quietly in bed, side by side. Despite being sick, Tony feels content in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. He ends up falling asleep somewhere during Colin Firth’s character's awkward meet-cute with a lovely Portuguese woman.

***

Hours later, he wakes up to an empty bed. 

Steve didn’t stay.

He blinks quietly and tries to swallow down his disappointment. It’s a good thing, he tells himself. Steve is busy enough as it is, of course he’d leave after making sure Tony is okay. 

The first thing he realizes when he sits up on the bed is the fact that he feels a lot better than he did in the morning. His nose is still congested and the dull throbbing in his head is still there, but at least his muscles and joints don’t ache as much anymore.

His mouth tastes like something has died inside of it, though, so he makes his way to the door, intending to grab himself a glass of water, and—

Steve is still here. 

He is dressed in something more comfortable now, having exchanged his long-sleeved, form-fitting shirt for one of his own sleep shirts and his jeans for a pair of sweatpants. When Steve moved out of the house, he hadn’t managed to take all of his clothes with him.

Tony would probably never admit this even on pain of death, but he is grateful for that. There have been many nights—most nights—since Steve moved out where he would sleep in one of Steve’s sweaters or shirts. They are all too big for him, but they make him feel safe and comfortable enough to fall asleep because the truth is he has been finding it near impossible to fall asleep without the warmth of Steve’s body pressed up against him. 

Steve is standing by the stove, his back to Tony, stirring a pot of something that is bubbling away nicely.

A stray piece of memory floats into Tony’s head, unbidden. It presses at the corners of his mind, demanding his attention. It is a recollection of a defining moment of their relationship, dated sometime during their first year of marriage. 

Tony had been doing something similar, trudging out of the bedroom one morning and finding Steve in the kitchen instead of at work, where he should be.

At Tony’s perplexity, a fond smile had bloomed on Steve’s face. Tony remembers that it had been snowing outside. Bathed in the late morning sunlight and clad in a cozy-looking, broken white cable-knit sweater that complimented his blond hair beautifully, Steve’s figure had glowed golden.

Behind him, eerily similar to today, there was also a pot of something steaming sitting on the stove and a delicious smell had wafted around the house. 

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. Of course I’m going to stay in and take care of you. Look at you, you can barely stand up straight.”

Tony had blinked and realized that he had been leaning on the bedroom’s door frame for support. “Don’t you have that meeting today? With that… that British man. The gallery owner.”

“Rescheduled meetings are a thing, sweetheart. It’s not the end of the world,” Steve had said, chuckling lightly as he padded over to tuck his arms around Tony’s waist. “Besides, if Merridew does turn out to be an unreasonable man, there are plenty of other galleries in the world.”

Steve had said it so easily, so dismissively, as if it hadn’t taken years of hard work and months of careful persuasion for him to even get to the point he was at. 

“You, however,” Steve then whispered, voice low and sweet as he cradled Tony’s cheeks in his warm hands, eyes staring softly into Tony’s, “I have to take care of. After all, there’s only one Tony Stark-Rogers in the world. Well— The only Tony Stark-Rogers I care about more than anything.”

Tony had made an incredulous face in response, still finding the whole situation ridiculous.

Steve had laughed at Tony’s expression and leaned in to plant a kiss on Tony’s temple, uncaring of the fact that Tony was sick and gross, carrying an abundance of infectious germs.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if my beloved husband succumbed to his sickness in the dead of winter due to my callousness,” Steve had said as he pulled Tony close, body pressed flush against him, chin resting atop Tony’s head. “In sickness and in health, sweetheart. In sickness and in health.”

“...Tony?”

Steve’s voice calling his name promptly breaks Tony’s reverie. Tony blinks and finds Steve gazing at him, eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“Did you need anything?” 

For a few seconds, Tony finds it difficult to form an answer, part of his mind still lost in the memory of the past. Eventually, he manages. “I— Uh. Water.”

“Oh.” Steve proceeds to pull out a glass from the kitchen cabinet and pours Tony some water. He walks over, handing it to Tony. As Tony’s fingers close around the glass, Steve steps closer and presses his palm to Tony’s forehead. His lips press together in a thin line. Tony swallows audibly.

A few strands of Tony’s hair cling to his forehead, damp with perspiration. Using the same hand, Steve sweeps Tony’s hair back, simultaneously wiping the beads of sweat away. 

“Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute. Soup’s almost ready.”

Dazed, Tony nods before heading back to the bed as instructed. 

Steve shoulders the ajar door open a few moments later, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup sitting on it. Quietly, Tony watches his every move. Steve bends down to put the tray on the nightstand, slow and careful. As he does, the pendant of Steve’s necklace—one that Tony has never seen before and just realized Steve’s been wearing this entire time—slips out from beneath his shirt, dangling back and forth from the golden chain hanging from his neck. Curious, Tony leans forward slightly. He squints at the pendant.

When he realizes what it is, his mouth goes dry.

Steve straightens and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. Now that the pendant is properly resting atop Steve’s chest, there is no mistaking what it is.

From a short distance away, Tony still recognizes the inscription that peeks out from the inner surface of the ring, the words written in his own blocky handwriting: To My Beloved.

Tony stares at it, frozen. A million thoughts are running through his head and it feels like he can’t hold onto any of them. Try as he might, he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. 

Steve had taken off his wedding ring, only to wear it as a necklace. 

What could this possibly mean?

“—ony. Tony?”

His train of thoughts broken, Tony blinks and finds Steve staring at him. One of his hands is already hovering midair, holding out a spoonful of soup. The other is situated right under the spoon in case of spillage. 

“You okay?”

“Uh—Yeah. Sorry.”

Steve continues to stare expectantly at Tony. Tony stares back at him and finds himself wishing he could read Steve’s mind.

Misunderstanding his silence for something else entirely, Steve raises the spoonful of soup slightly with an encouraging nod. “Don’t worry. I blew on it, so it’s not scalding hot, I promise.”

Just to further prove his point, Steve blows on the spoon again, careful and gentle before holding it up to Tony’s mouth.

Tony opens his mouth quietly to let the spoon into his mouth and lets the warm soup soothe his taste buds and throat.

A companionable silence settles over them. As Steve feeds him the soup until the very last drop, Tony takes the time to process his own thoughts. 

When he comes to a decision, Steve is already back in the kitchen. Tony can hear him doing the dishes, the clink of glass and ceramic accompanied by the sound of running water. 

Once again, he makes his way to the doorway of the bedroom. For a brief moment, he stands wordlessly, watching Steve’s back muscles work as he wipes the utensils dry.

As Steve places the last of the utensils on the dish rack, Tony says:

“Let’s have a kid.”

Steve freezes. Tension turns the line of his back rigid as he grips the edge of the kitchen sink.

“Tony—”

“I’ve thought about it, Steve. Let’s have a kid.”

Tony watches Steve’s shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. When Steve turns around, his expression is not at all what Tony expects.

For someone who had tried so hard to convince Tony to adopt a child with him just a month ago, fighting tooth and nail and disagreeing with Tony on every point, Steve doesn’t look happy or relieved.

Instead, there is something heavy in his blue eyes, in the sharp line of his clenched jaw.

Something that looks like heartbreak.

“No, Tony.” 

Tony’s heart sinks. He can feel his throat closing up, finding it difficult to breathe. He has done it now. He had wondered whether they could come back from this. He had wondered whether this fight would be Steve’s last straw.

Here it is, the answer, clear as day in front of Tony. He had tried so hard to convince himself that this was different. Steve would stay, unlike so many others that he had scared away. This time, it would be different.

He had believed it, too. That’s the worst part. 

Tony proves to be too difficult to love, even for Steve. Sweet and generous Steve.

He should have known this would happen. He should never have let his guard down. He should have—

“Tony.” Tony looks up at the sound of his own name to find Steve standing much closer than before. “Sweetheart.”

Tony lets out a sharp exhale, fresh tears blurring his vision as a stab of unadulterated pain shoots through him at the term of endearment. He hasn’t heard that word from Steve’s mouth in an entire month and it’s not fair, so incredibly unfair that the first time he hears it again after such a long time is when Steve is trying to break things off with him. Steve, ever kind, ever gentle, even when he’s trying to—

“We don’t have to have children, Tony.”

Tony blinks, hot tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve stares back at him, his baby blues also brimming with tears.

“You don’t need to force yourself to become a father, if you really don’t want to, and especially not for my sake. I’ve thought about it too, Tony. And—”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Tony braces himself. Here it comes.

“—I realized that, as much as I want to be a father— As much as I want to adopt a child and raise them as my own… I realized that I really, really don’t want to do it with anyone else but you.”

Tony’s thoughts grind to a halt. When Steve exhales, it comes out in the form of a wet, desperate-sounding sob.

“I love you so much, Tony. So much. I love you more than— Anything. More than children. More than my desire to become a father. This past month we’ve been apart— It’s been hell, for me. We don’t have to have children, Tony. So, please, just— Can I come back? I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving, sweetheart, I’m so—”

Tony pulls him into a kiss. Steve tastes of tears, his body racked by sobs, and Tony’s heart breaks. A turmoil of emotions wreaks havoc within Tony and his knees are weak with the sheer relief of having been granted the privilege to have Steve in his arms again.

When they break apart, Steve’s shoulders rise and fall repeatedly in an attempt to catch his breath. He stares at Tony with wide and searching blue eyes, wet lashes clumped together. 

“Tony?”

Tony looks down, clears his throat. “Sorry, I shouldn't have done that. I’m sick, and now you’re going to be sick, and—”

Pulling Tony in by his shirt, Steve joins their mouths together once again, showing exactly how much he cares about that particular line of reasoning. He kisses Tony like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to steal all of Tony’s breath from his lungs and keep it for himself. 

This time, when they pull apart, Steve’s lips are slick and swollen, his face flushed. He is still looking at Tony like Tony is going to vanish into thin air any second. 

“You’re staying. I’m staying. No one’s leaving.” Tony wipes his thumbs through the tear tracks on Steve’s cheeks. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve nods. “Okay.” 

Tony leans forward, resting his forehead against Steve’s. He closes his eyes, feeling the puff of Steve’s unsteady breath hit his own lips. He takes both of Steve’s hands in his, giving them a squeeze. 

He takes a deep breath.

“And we’re having a kid.”

Steve stills. “Tony, I told you—”

“And I told you that I’ve had some time to think about it, too.” Tony leans back to meet Steve’s eyes, hoping his own eyes would be enough to convey the truth of his sincerity. “I’ve thought about it, and… You’re right. I do want to have a kid, I’m just scared. Really scared.” 

Tony watches the bob of Steve’s throat as he swallows.

“You know how my dad was with me, and I’ve told you repeatedly how scared I am that I’ll turn out just like him. Children are like sponges, you know? Blank canvases. They internalize stuff really easily and then they end up having issues. And then their issues have issues. Case in point.”

Tony gestures to himself with a bitter smile.

“Truth is, I still don’t believe I’m father material. I want a kid, but I’m still terrified of fucking things up.” He swallows, pauses to gather his thoughts. “But Steve, I’ve seen how good you are with kids, you’re such a natural. And I thought about what you said to me, that I won’t be alone in this. I’ll have you standing right beside me, every step of the way. And… I’ve also thought about how you seem to have such faith in me. Faith that I can become a good father. And I thought, that has to count for something. Your faith in me has to count for something, because… you know me better than anyone, Steve. Sometimes I even think that you know me better than I know myself.”

Tony looks down at their joined hands, nodding decisively. 

“So, I’ve decided.” He looks up, watches hope bloom in Steve’s azure eyes. “Let’s have a kid. Let’s build a family together, Steve.” 

Steve’s smile, when it comes, is beautifully blinding. 

***

Later, as Steve lies beside him in bed, Tony finds the courage to ask.

“Steve?” Tony calls, voice a low whisper.

Steve is lying on his side, facing Tony. One of his elbows is planted on the bed, hand propping up the side of his own head as he gazes down at Tony, eyes lingering and thoughtful.

His other hand reaches towards Tony’s face, brushing the back of his knuckles across Tony’s cheek before traveling further back, tucking a lock of Tony’s unruly hair behind his ear.

“Yeah?” Steve says. The soft glow of the nightlight sitting on the nightstand casts shadows across his face and illuminates parts of it in yellow light. It renders the lines of his face soft, the edges less sharp and defined. 

Tony swallows and averts his gaze, takes a while to let the words form properly in his mouth. Meanwhile, Steve cards his fingers through Tony’s hair in a single motion, looking at the dark strands caught between his digits like they are the most fascinating thing in the world. 

“It’s longer,” Steve muses. 

“Yeah,” Tony says, and then clears his throat when even that single syllable fails to leave his mouth properly. “It’s been a while. I need a haircut.”

Steve continues to toy with his hair, twisting strands of it around his fingers gently.

“Do you hate it?” Tony asks.

Giving Tony a quick shake of the head, Steve looks down at him with a lopsided smile. “I like it. I’ve missed it. Reminds me of your hairstyle when we first met.”

Tony blinks and swallows, pretending that the innocent statement doesn’t bring about a surge of warmth in his chest.

“What is it?” Steve asks, when Tony’s question doesn’t seem to come.

Tony thinks of brushing it off, considers swallowing back the question sitting on the tip of his tongue for a brief moment, but eventually he says:

“Why, uh,” Tony licks his dry, chapped lips, “why did you take off the ring?”

Steve’s fingers still in his hair. 

When Tony finds the courage to meet his husband’s eyes again, Steve is looking at him with wonder in his eyes. He pulls his hand back, away from Tony’s hair and toward the ring hanging from the chain around his own neck.

Steve hums in thought, fingers fiddling with the metal band. Tony watches Steve stroke the words engraved on the inner circumference of the ring with the pad of his thumb.

He pretends that Steve’s answer isn’t everything.

It takes entirely too long for Steve to present him with a reply, but when he does, it is one that is not even remotely within Tony’s realm of expectation.

“I took up pottery.”

“...What?”

Steve exhales through his nose, his lips pursed together in a manner that suggests he is holding back a smile.

“It’s fairly recent,” Steve says, eyes still staring at him with careful amusement. “I needed something to distract myself from constantly missing you. A friend from art school happens to own a pottery studio. She offered, and... I started taking pottery classes.” 

A knot unties in Tony’s chest.

“How did that go?” Tony asks, voice thick with emotion.

“Not very well,” Steve admits with a wry smile. “Still missed you something fierce.”

Steve holds his hand up, fingers splayed. Even under the dim lighting, Tony can still make out the faint circular mark around his ring finger, the small strip of skin a few shades paler than the rest of his hand. The sight of the empty finger still looks disturbingly wrong and Tony finds himself having to look away just to feel less unnerved.

“Does it bother you?”

“Huh?”

Steve wiggles his fingers, blue eyes staring at him, soft and curious.

“My naked finger. Does it bother you?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Yes is the honest answer that wants to crawl out, but Tony bites down on it.

“Uh, it’s— No.” Tony swallows, throat clicking and eyebrows furrowing. “It’s fine.”

After all, the last thing Tony wants to be is an insanely possessive spouse who obsesses about something as simple as a naked ring finger when the wedding ring itself is still hanging from a chain around his husband’s neck. Steve still carries it on his person at all times, just not on his finger.

Steve gazes at him for a long moment, quiet in thoughtful consideration.

Slowly, an amused smile starts to bloom on Steve’s face.

“It bothers you, huh?”

Steve has always been able to read Tony like an open book.

Embarrassment colors Tony’s cheeks. “I don’t— It’s okay if you want—”

“I like it.”

“I— I know. It’s fine, Steve. I get it. Besides, it’s too much of a hassle anyway, constantly having to take it off and put it back—”

“I like that it bothers you. Me not wearing the ring.”

Tony goes quiet at that, wide eyes blinking at Steve. His husband shrugs, smile unwavering.

“I like it when you notice little details like that,” Steve whispers, shuffling closer. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I kinda like having you obsess over me.”

His hand cups Tony’s cheek, thumb stroking the delicate skin under Tony’s eye. “I like hearing how much I mean to you.”

Tony stares at him, emotions turbulent in his chest. He focuses on Steve’s eyes and the warmth of his palm against his face. 

Steve’s smile turns fond. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll wear it on my finger again, I promise. I suck at pottery anyway.”

For a while, they lie motionless in the quiet, gazing at each other. Steve leans close, eyes squinting. Tony feels the light scrape of fingernail on the skin of his cheek and Steve pulls his hand away to show Tony something that is sitting on the pad of his thumb.

“Eyelash,” Steve announces gleefully with a child-like grin. Carefully, he transfers the eyelash onto the back of Tony’s left hand. “Make a wish.”

Tony huffs, but proceeds to close his eyes obediently. After a few moments, he lifts his left hand up to his mouth and blows the eyelash away. 

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by Steve’s curious stare. 

“What did you wish for?”

“You know the rules. If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

Steve narrows his eyes. Eventually, he relents, sighing in resignation. “Fine.”

He lies down properly, letting his head rest on his pillow before throwing an arm around Tony, pulling him close until Tony’s head is safely tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Get well really, really soon, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair.

Tony lets his eyelids fall shut, reciting his wish once more in the private confines of his mind, hoping that it reaches the ears of whatever deity is watching over them:

Please let me keep him. Whatever happens, please let him stay by my side. ‘Til death do us part.

[cryoculus]

oddity - xiao/reader

one of my closest pals is celebrating their birthday, and i took it upon myself to write a little lantern rite piece! i don't usually post my stuff on tumblr, but it wouldn't hurt to try ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

pairing: xiao/gn!reader word count: 3,549 words premise: you and him are nothing but outsiders beneath the sea of lanterns — that’s all there is to it. ao3 link here!

“Traveler, what brings you here?”

The wind whistles through the reeds of Dihua Marsh when you hear his voice. The yaksha emerges from the shadows that cloak his form, piercing yellow eyes studying you with rapt attention. Your chest heaves as your sword glimmers out of existence before wiping a sheen of sweat off your brow. A smile graces your face — one that makes him arch an eyebrow. 

“Xiao,” you acknowledge him with a nod. “Just clearing out hilichurl camps for a commission.”

“And your friend?” he asks, arms crossed. “The loud one that floats around?”

You immediately think about how quick Paimon ditched your daily commissions just to get a head-start with the festivities down at the harbor. You didn’t particularly mind the fairy’s excitement, but it was a little lonely without her squawks of encouragement as you shilled monster after monster for the sake of scraping up some mora. But the peace of mind offered by Paimon’s absence is something you liked to indulge in every once in a while as well. Instances like this could bring about new experiences.

Such as running into the Vigilant Yaksha himself, for example.

“Paimon’s gotten quite engrossed with the Lantern Rite.” A lone sigh flees from your lips as you your gaze rivets upward. South from here, the lanterns offered to heavens can be still seen — even all the way in Bishui Plain. They dot the sky even brighter than the stars, burning through the darkness of the night so the heroes could find their way home. 

Somewhere much nearer is Wangshu Inn, its massive tree rising above the fog that began to roll in come sundown. You aren’t too far from his stronghold, but what reason does Xiao have to crawl out of his seemingly-eternal solitude? Last you’ve seen him was during that whole Starsnatcher fiasco, and you didn’t think you would cross paths again so soon. But the curious glow of his eyes — devoid of the indifference he’s worn like armor — tickles the back of your head. 

If you’re able to…could you try to convince Xiao to go with you?

Right. Verr Goldet asked that specific favor the last time Huai’an commissioned you to repair the Inn’s rickety staircase (again). You took her request without a second thought, despite being wholly unsure of how you’re even going to drag an adeptus back to Liyue Harbor. Though the rift between the land’s guardians and its people has long been mended, Xiao’s hostility wouldn’t be so easily quelled. But it’s as if the stars have guided your fates to intertwine tonight — holding each other’s prudent gazes as you both waited for the other to speak. 

Xiao is the first to break the silence. 

“I see,” he murmurs, resting his back against a sturdy tree. He draws his eyes up for only a moment before meeting yours once more. “Don’t you have a festival to celebrate, Traveler? If my memory serves me right, there’s only a few hours left before they release those pyro flowers into the sky. It’s…a popular spectacle among humans.”

You crane your head slightly, not quite catching his drift. Pyro flowers? A popular spectacle among…  

“You mean fireworks?” you snort.

“Yes, whatever those are.” Though his face doesn’t bear any hint of being flustered, the tips of Xiao’s ears turn the lightest tinge of red — barely visible in the lacking light, but you see it regardless. The yaksha mumbles something under his breath before saying, “I assume a lot of people await your return. What are you doing squandering your time here in the marsh, then?”

If Paimon were here, she would have swooped in and taken this as her one and only chance to make good on your unspoken promise to Verr Goldet. Even in the absence of your floating companion, you begin to consider your chances as well. It’s not like you assured the brooding adeptus would be present during the Rite. Just that you’d try to make sure he was there. 

And try, you did when you ask, “I was wondering if you’d want to come along, actually.”

You’re more than aware how…forward your invitation just sounded, but it’s not like you minded whatever answer he’s going to give you. In all honesty, it’d be easier if he rejected the offer and went on his way — doing whatever retired adepti do with their thousand years’ worth of free time. But as you steel yourself for his typical, cold-hearted dismissal, Xiao tilts his chin in the direction of the lanterns released en-masse in the south, gaze softening with a tenderness that’s all sorts of foreign to you. 

“I suppose I can spare a few hours.”

The lights down the docks seem a little too bright, and the jovial music rings a little too loudly when you’re conscious of an introverted companion. Xiao’s aversion to human interaction is no secret to anyone, but the adeptus manages to play it cool as you wade across a throng of festival-goers. He flinches a little when strangers bump into him, but does nothing to antagonize them. (Although you do hear the slightest hint of a growl when the stranger in question doesn’t apologize for the inconvenience.) Nonetheless, you make sure to hover around close to make sure you don’t lose him in the crowd. 

You consider holding his hand for but a sliver of a moment before chucking the idea out of the window. Xiao would probably hurl you into the next world if you touched him unsolicited, and the mere thought sends an unpleasant shiver down your spine. 

It doesn’t take long for you to spot Paimon in the midst of it all — wearing one of those peace talismans around her neck as she nibbled on a stick of grilled tiger fish. The fairy perks up at the sight of you, but she nearly gapes when she sees who it is on your trail. 

“You managed to drag that loner here?!” she shrieks, but the shock in her voice was thankfully obscured by the loud music. “How much almond tofu did you give him? Paimon bets it takes an army to make enough almond tofu to convince him to go out of hiding!” 

“No such coercion happened for them to bring me here,” Xiao clarifies. “I simply want to witness how things have been faring in the harbor since Rex Lapis’ departure. Hmph. Humans still do so much all in the name of traditions that have long lost their meaning.”

Paimon gasps, as if personally offended. “Lost their meaning…? You! You have no idea how important the Lantern Rite is to Liyue Harbor’s citizens, do you? Come on, Traveler!” The fairy huffs, tugging on your arm insistently. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the festival without the immortal party pooper.”

You gulp. “Paimon—”

“Honorary taste-tester, there you are!”

The familiar lilt of Xiangling’s voice pierces through the deafening melodies of the Rite. She bounds towards your little group with a devious smile curled across her lip — eyes shining with enough intent to scare you. Paimon is a bit more oblivious to the young chef’s intentions. Your companion even greets her once she was close enough.

“I have a huge custom order for the Qixing dinner at midnight, and I was wondering if you could try out my stuff!” She hums, spinning Paimon around gleefully enough to make the fairy forget that she was even frustrated with Xiao. Xiangling, however, notices belatedly that the said adeptus is in her company. “Oh, the guy from Wangshu Inn! What brings you here?”

“Nothing that would interest you,” the yaksha grumbles with a clipped tone. “Didn’t you say something about taste-testing for the Qixing?”

“Ah, right! Traveler!” Xiangling turns to you. “Can I borrow Paimon for a while? I’ll make sure my dad doesn’t turn her into emergency food. I promise!” 

“Hey!” Paimon protests. “Who’s turning who into emergency food?” 

With the slightest nod of your head, however, the chef is already on her merry way — dragging poor Paimon back to Chihu Rock despite her plethora of complaints. You sigh, telling yourself you’d make it up to her after you’ve attended to Xiao. Speaking of which…

“Is there anything you’d like to do?” you ask, eyes darting around for anything worthwhile to show the adeptus. When you spot Ruijin somewhere at the end of the baywalk, your brain clicks in place. “How about you and I play a few rounds of Theater Mechanicus?”

Xiao’s nose wrinkles at the unfamiliar name. “Is that another one of those strange human contraptions?” 

“Uh… You can say that.”

You’ve played a couple of rounds with Xingqiu yesterday when the Feiyun heir practically dragged you here after collecting your rewards from the Adventurers’ Guild. So to speak, tower defense games were not your strong suit. At first, dozens of imaginary enemies have slipped past your elemental wards all because of your poor strategizing skill. It’s a good thing that Xingqiu was quick to pick up on the rules, though. He managed to win you both enough peace talismans to make the Xiao Market turn maximum profit. 

Your current comrade, however, is probably just as terrible as you are.

“I don’t get this,” Xiao snarls, banging a fist on the wooden table. “Why can’t I just attack the enemies myself when they arrive? The towers are too weak to defend anything.” 

Ruijin chuckles, ruffling the yaksha’s hair as if he was a child. “Patience. The more you play, the stronger the mechanici become. Besides, warriors grow to be more powerful the longer they stay on the battlefield. You know that pretty well, right?”

You have to nudge Xiao’s leg from underneath the table to keep him from pouncing at the game master right there. When you manage to catch his gaze, you shoot him a stern look to keep him in check. Deep inside, though, you’re actually panicking. What if he turns the harbor into some anemo wasteland all because of a silly board game? If that happens, Zhongli might just declare you persona non grata even if he was already retired. 

Thankfully, Xingqiu’s knowledge about Theater Mechanicus has rubbed off on you enough to win you a round. Ruijin rewards you both with only half the amount of talismans you garnered when teaming up with the Feiyun heir, but Xiao doesn’t really need to know that. He stares at the jade-carved sigils disinterestedly before pocketing them in his garbs, walking away without a word. As your shoulders droop, you sigh and shoot Ruijin an apologetic look before chasing after your charge.

“Sorry if that wasn’t really your type of past time,” you tell him, matching the adeptus’ pace as he marches forward. “We could always try other—”

“If you’re going to play diplomat between myself and the harbor, listen here,” Xiao interrupts, shooting you a yellow-eyed stare. “Neither of us belong in this city. You’re an outlander, and I’m an adeptus — two creatures that aren’t meant to delve too deep into human affairs. And if you have even an ounce of respect left for our respective origins, you won’t tell me off for being needlessly hostile.”

Huh. So he’s aware that he’s being needlessly hostile. 

Though he spoke each word with an even-toned seriousness, all you could hear was a boy that didn’t want to be scolded at. You were a bit surprised to see him lose his patience over such a trivial thing earlier, too. Your mouth quivers into a soft smile, marveling at how human Xiao can be despite insisting he was anything but. 

“I’m heading up to Mount Tianheng for a while,” he announces once the two of you reach the end of the road. “Are you coming or not?”

You have half the mind to tease him for checking in on you despite the fact that he can pretty much leave you in the dust if he wanted to. Xiao glances at you impatiently when you don’t give him an answer, and you decide to push away any thought of discouraging him for another time. 

“Sure. What are you going to—”

Several things happen all at once. Xiao cuts your words short when he dons his mask, clouds of miasma curling around his form in black wisps. He scoops your knees from underneath you, cradling you to his chest faster than you can blink. And you can only gape in disbelief as he princess-carries you across the city — jumping from roof to roof with the grace of a feline. Xiao doesn’t spare you any looks the entire time, keeping his eyes forward as he holds you securely in his grasp. This reminds you a little of the time he saved you from falling to your death when the Jade Chamber collapsed, but you dared not think of it too much. 

You resign yourself to the fact that there isn’t much you can do when Xiao is in Bane-of-All-Evil form and observe the way the tattoos on his arm glow with each precise movement instead. In spite of the corrosive energy emanating from the rest of his body, the aura that those blue-green marks emit is…serene. It’s not all that different from the feeling you get whenever you stand near a Statue of the Seven in Mondstadt. Hm. Maybe Venti’s personally keeping an eye on this one. 

The yaksha only stops when he’s gotten to a high enough vantage point, setting you back to your feet. You’re just about to thank Xiao for the ride, but you notice the way his knees buckle once his mask dissolves from his face.

You’re quick to rush to his side, supporting his weight with yours as he shoots you a disgruntled look. All those millennia of keeping to himself probably made Xiao unused to your efforts, but you don’t give him enough room to complain. 

“You’re hurt,” you observe as you help him down to the grass. “I thought I was just seeing things when we went to the karma-heavy cavern, but that obviously isn’t the case. Does that have anything to do with the Abyss?” 

“You think I’d let myself be tainted with that kind of corruption?” Xiao scoffs, chest heaving as he catches his breath. “This miasma…is all my own. This is the price I have paid for eons of endless slaughter — I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Hasn’t anyone told you that you’re too hard on yourself? No wonder Zhongli is still worried about you until now. The medicine he asked me to give — it’s for that…miasma, isn’t it?”

 Xiao closes his eyes, sighing. “Traveler, I don’t wish to discuss this.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

That makes him stare back at you inquisitively. Xiao’s gaze narrows slightly as you lift your hands — palms facing the clueless adeptus before you. Your eyes flutter closed, recalling the way you purified a dragon’s tears all those months ago. This is essentially the same, right? Xiao is a creature who has borne the weight of suffering for countless millennia, much like Dvalin when the Abyss manipulated him into their favor. You managed to purge the murky tintage of their corruption despite the odds being against you. 

Who’s to say that easing Xiao’s suffering — even just for a moment — is impossible?

Flecks of starlight dance across the tips of your fingers, glowing in time with the marks of anemo he bears on his arm. Xiao watches you, stunned into silence as he lets you do as you please. He spots a brush of qingxin flowers just a few meters away, but the gentle breeze that wafts across his face makes him feel like he’s not sitting atop Mount Tianheng, but on another peak entirely. When the yaksha closes his eyes, the qingxin blooms have morphed into gentle cecilias, dancing to the rhythm of a lone bard’s lyre. 

Peace, he thinks. He hasn’t known peace in a long, long time. 

When Xiao opens his eyes again, it’s to the feel of his head resting on top of a plush surface. The moment his mind registers your face staring down at him with a kind smile, he nearly scrambles out of your lap out of reflex, but you keep him securely in place. 

“You napped for quite a while there,” you inform him, one hand smoothing down his hair. “Any interesting dreams you want to share?” 

He relaxes back onto the grass when he realizes there’s no escaping you. This oddly reminds him of the quieter days of the Archon War, when Guizhong would let him doze on her lap for hours on end. 

“I’d like to…apologize,” he whispers.

“For what?”

After a few moments, Xiao sits upright and this time you don’t stop him. Demonic yellow eyes turn to the vastness of harbor before him — reminding him that the war has long ended, and a new era is in bloom. 

“When I told your friend that these traditions have lost their meaning… I bear no ill will to the words,” he murmurs, fingers grazing the blades of grass beneath the both of you. The lanterns have grown in number this year, and they’re much more beautiful compared to when he watched them every year from his balcony in Wangshu Inn. “They offer their lanterns, they offer their wishes to lead their heroes back home. But humans have always enjoyed the leisure of being blissfully ignorant.

“Only a handful of adepti have survived to this day. The heroes they sing their praises to have long passed — unable to hear a word of their gratitude. So forgive me if I deem such traditions pointless.” He closes his eyes and thinks of all he’s lost — his fellow yakshas and the gods that have fallen to defend Liyue alongside Rex Lapis. Though he’s convinced himself he’s already desensitized, Xiao still feels the slightest twinge in his chest. “It’s not as if we ever expected recompense for our deeds. We protected what needed protecting because it is our duty. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He expects you to wear the crestfallen look that Verr Goldet always shows him whenever he rejects her invitations to come along to the Lantern Rite. Xiao has been faced with that expression year after year by countless others, and he thinks it would be no different if you look at him the same way, too. But instead of a tight-lipped frown, your mouth twitches into a grin — barely containing your own laughter as the adeptus starts to glare at you.

“Oh no, I didn’t think someone like you would take that so literally,” you say, wiping a tear off your face. “Xiao, listen to me. The Lantern Rite isn’t just for thanking those who protected Liyue; it’s also to honor their memory. Sounds to me like you’re really downplaying how much the people respect the adepti. Isn’t that little truce with Ningguang enough proof of that?”

Xiao stares at you listlessly, and gets the feeling that he’s being made fun of. “I…might have failed to consider it in that light.”

You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest as you rest your chin on top. “So Zhongli isn’t the only adeptus who has rocks for brains here.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing! Say, do you want to let me hitch another ride and we can craft some lanterns down at the harbor? My treat.” 

He decides to overlook the backhanded insult you just made about himself and his lord. This is an era of peace — everyone jokes about things like that more often now. And though it comes as quite the pain to him, Xiao thinks it was time he learns the way of the people from this era sooner rather than later. 

As you scribble your own wishes on the sides of the lantern you crafted, Xiao watches attentively on the sidelines. You told him to write down his own as well, but people like him only wish to serve the purpose he’s been summoned to make. Xiao has already fulfilled that eons ago.

When you both let the lanterns drift up above, the pyro flowers — fireworks, he mentally corrects — bloom across the night sky. They come in dazzling colors that make even him, an adeptus, wonder how human craftsmanship has evolved to this day. Perhaps you were right. Xiao does downplay many a detail about the people of Liyue, and that goes beyond their utter respect for the adepti. 

However, the citizens are the last thing on his mind as his yellow eyes continue to observe you — the soft gasp that escapes your lips when the display of fireworks has reached its end; the golden lanterns shining across your eyes as you beam with delight. Xiao doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever thanked anyone — fearful that they’ll react the same way he does when faced with pure gratitude. Would you turn away indifferently? Would you dismiss his sentiments even after quelling the darkness in his heart with a single move? In the end, he decides that none of it matters.

You and him are nothing but outsiders beneath the sea of lanterns — that’s all there is to it.

[wandsandwheezes]

Fake It | Weasley Twins | CH6

one // two // three // four // five

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, mature themes, fake relationships, secret relationships, love, sex, drama, angst, fluff, masturbation, hate sex, heartbreak, blood

Summary // Fred Weasley has been set up to publicly date Y/N, London’s best Quidditch Seeker in order to drum up some publicity. Y/N however has a different ginger man on her mind; George Weasley.

A/N // thank you to my angst goblin, Lanie @gcdric​ and my angel Zahra @starlightweasley​ for helping me get this one out bc otherwise id be STUCK

One new message

The sound of the answer machine rang through Fred’s flat, he was staring out over London and her twinkling lights. His waistcoat was loose, hanging open at his chest - tie discarded the moment he stumbled through the door. He’d pretty much flung the sliding glass door to the balcony open, letting the biter breeze whip through his hair, blowing the once still curtain so that it flew in a way that mimicked the way a superhero’s cape flows. 

The night of partying had been a wild but well needed distraction. Fred couldn’t stop the image of your kiss from playing over and over in his head, his fingers ghosted over where the absent feeling of your lips lingered, wishing you were here. 

“Freddie…” You breathed down the phone, your words slurred still as the liquor clung to your senses. 

“About what happened tonight, I don’t think it was-” His heart began to race at the simple thought, the steamy kiss was crossing his mind once again, He heard you take a moment, a pause for thought and he held his breath with you. 

“I just - we need to talk. We- I have something to tell you.” You sighed, he was praying he could just call you back, checking his watch, he knew it was too late. What If he did call, would that be so bad? 

“I’m sorry, Fred.” the sound of you putting down the phone echoed in his brain. Sorry. What could you possibly be sorry for? It could possibly be one of the best kisses of his life. He couldn’t deny the electricity that he felt from tip to toe and he knew deep down that you felt it too. So why did he feel a pang of sadness hit his chest, winding him like a dementor was sucking the soul out of his body.

Fred fell asleep that night clutching his pillow as he imagined you in its place. He wasn’t sure what made the tears roll down his cheeks, but shrugged it off as the alcohol getting to him. He was snivelling, contemplating leaving you a text. He needed you to know how he felt, that he was aching for you to be with him. He didn’t want things to just be staged anymore, there was undeniable chemistry there between you, he felt it in the way you looked at him. Surely it would be better if you were his, he could kiss and hold you all he wanted without the need for press or cameras. You could have a beautiful, normal life together. You were one of the last thoughts on his brain as he drifted off, his grip against the plush pillow only growing tighter out of desperation. 

Waking to the midday sun shining directly into his eyes wasn’t making the pounding headache rattling around in his skull any better. Fred didn’t remember anything about how or when he got home, only recalling the mellow flow of your voice reverberating around his flat. He managed to drag himself from his bed, searching every unorganised cabinet for the sight of even one lonely ibuprofen, sighing as his head fell to rest on the counter with no luck. He realised the grave mistake he had made when his head started thumping, the room spinning and his sight going hazy. Water, he needed hydration.

Two pints of water later, Fred was still feeling the sour effects of last night’s burning liquor, feeling the burn in his chest with every breath, like all the liquid was ready to come right back up at any moment. He sat himself down at the island counter as he pressed the button to replay the voicemail from last night. 

I’m Sorry.

The words wouldn’t leave him, he replayed the voicemail over and over, internalising every single word as it played through the speakers. He sat for hours, sat too long until his feet had gone numb from dangling over the seat. The Great British weather had taken its turn for the worst, a clap of thunder distracting Fred from his thoughts, not knowing how deeply the words were hitting him, until he felt a tear drop against the back of his hand. It was too much for him, realising that he needed to see you, touch you, feel you. 

I’m Sorry

His feet dragged him towards your place, he didn’t care that he’d been walking for miles or that the rain was drenching him to his very core. It was desperation that drove him to find you. It was like a sign to him that one lonely red rose grew from a bush he passed, stopping dead in his tracks before turning around to look at it. He plucked it from the bush, holding it up to his nose, breathing in the scent. Rose petals mixed with the cold drizzle and muggy air sent him over the edge. He was walking quicker now so that he could get to you, pace kicking up into a small jog, his shoes slapping against the wet pavement with each step.

One light shone dimly from the confines of your apartment. Fred stood outside, debating how he was going to approach this conversation. He loved you, wanted you to be his and he struggled in that moment to find the appropriate words to express it. You were towel drying your hair, supposedly from the rain as you came into view by the window. You looked like an angel, a pure piece of heaven on earth and his heart beat faster, beginning to move closer to the flat’s entrance. That’s when he spotted another figure coming into view from the window, face covered by the towel as you dried their hair. Whoever it was, had at least a foot on you height wise, their hands snaking around your waist to pull you tight and close to them.

Fred’s heart sunk, like it had fully fallen out of his ass, seeing you in the arms of another man made his stomach churn, his grip on the rose growing tighter as the thorns pierced his skin. He didn’t even feel the pain, just the emptiness in his chest. He watched as you pulled the towel from the figure’s face.

The messy ginger hair, round cheeks and adoring smile were obvious. Fred knew exactly who he was seeing, he was blinking so hard wishing that it was just a terrible nightmare. As George’s lips connected with yours, it was as if it rumbled Zeus himself, a bolt of lightning illuminating the dark sky. It was like watching his whole world come crashing down, watching you chase his brother’s lips desperately, the same way you had done with him last night. He couldn’t help but watch as the kiss deepened, George using his strength to pick you up, watching your legs wrap around his waist, walking out of sight. 

It was like watching a glimpse of a life he’d never have, the rose fell to the floor, petals breaking off of the stem. Blood was dripping from his hand to the floor, diluted by the rain as it splashed against the stone. Not a single car drove by your house, not one person was outside but Fred in that moment. Loneliness was the only bitter feeling left, it tasted like hell in his mouth, unable to shake the image of you and George together, only hearing two words in his head over and over like a broken record.

I’m Sorry. 

Raindrops danced along Fred’s skin, the soft pitter patter mocking him, everything reminded him of you, even in a moment of heartbreak, the glow of Christmas lights, the thunder or the distant sound of horns beeping at one another, it all reminded him of you in the most ridiculous way. His phone chimed, pulling up the messages he realised that his thoughts had overpowered the importance of the messages.

>> I miss your touch Freddie

>> I can come see you tonight

>> why aren’t you responding Fred?

>> don’t you love me?

‘Maybe this is what I need’ Fred thought, Perhaps he needed the out, the quick fuck to get the aggression out of his system. They say it’s wrong to sleep with your boss, but Cherry wasn’t his boss, she was just the publicist. The publicist you shared. If you could sleep with anyone you wanted, why should he feel guilty about it now? After all, if there was one woman who could help him forget, It would be Cheryl. 

<< sorry, doll

<< of course i love you

<< come see me x

>> I won’t be long, i’m so desperate for you, Freddie x 

It was wrong for him to say that, especially when he didn’t love cherry. Not one ounce of his body felt a connection deeper than just sex. That's all it was to him with Cherry; mindless, carefree sex. Why he kept going back to her like a lost puppy however, was still up for debate. 

Cheryl wasn't an unattractive woman, but she wasn't you. She was taller, accentuated by her constant need to wear heels, not that it mattered much to Fred when he towered above most people he met. She had long blonde hair that was always beach waved and perfectly sun-kissed skin like a Miami model. Fred didn't care too much about superficial looks, but it was undeniable that part of the reason he enjoyed Cherry so much was the way her tits, although obviously fake, would bounce in his face begging to be touched as she sank down onto him or the way her full lips looked as they wrapped around his throbbing cock. Fucking Cheryl from behind was as much fun, he had all the ass he could hold onto before him and a tight cunt that always struggled to take him. 

Reaching his home Cherry was already waiting for him. She spun around as soon as his presence behind her was felt, lips attaching to his immediately. The red lipstick she wore while unique to her, was now being transferred to the man's lips as they kissed. He wasn't disappointed to be kissing someone, it was disappointment that it wasn't you. Your kisses were heaven compared to what he was getting now, he found himself picturing you in his arms and that seemed to work. 

They wasted no time stripping each other's clothes off, Fred was aching to pound his cock into something, even if it had to be Cherry. When the girl tried to straddle him, he grabbed her hips, throwing her against the mattress, causing a giggle to erupt from her lips. "Hands and knees tonight, Doll." 

Being seethed inside Cherry felt amazing. He tried to stretch her out, push as much of himself inside as he could, but she was simply so tight. The pace he set was animalistic, fucking the girl raw against the sheets, he couldn't stand to look at her, closing his eyes and pretending it was the girl he’d been longing for. It wasn't enough, he needed more control. Fred's hand was pushing Cherry's face into the sheets, his thrusts more violent and possessive as he continued fucking her senseless. 

Back at your home, George was seethed all the way inside you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. The way you two fit together was like lock and key, a perfect size for each other. "I'm so deep inside of you princess, can you feel me in your belly?" You were nodding, grabbing his hand to press against your abdomen, his thrusts were slow and purposeful, he was trying to make you cum over and over and over again tonight and you were already waiting for number four. "Yes Georgie, right here, it feels so good when you fill me up." he hummed as he felt the tip of his cock hitting where his hand was pressed with every thrust. His precious girl. All for him. 

Fred was on the edge, skin slapping as he chased his orgasm, Not caring much for Cherry's desperate moans, no matter how good he was making her feel. He wanted her to shut up, it sounded so fake, but he was ready to release, pulling out to let his cum drip over the curve of her ass. He flopped on the bed next to her, immediately feeling her hand on his cock, stroking gently. "You're so good, Freddie, So big." 

She took him into her mouth with ease, it was the only time he could be fully inside of her. His head was back against the mattress as he pictures your soft lips replacing hers. His hand came up to stroke her hair as she continued sucking him off. Try as he might to cum again, he knew it wasn’t your hand on his cock, or your lips. It was another woman, the thought made him sick to his stomach, forcing him to sit bolt upright, pulling himself away from the naked girl on his bed.

“I can’t do this.” he grumbled, grabbing the boxers he had discarded on the floor, pulling them up. Cherry sighed, running a hand through her hair and pulling it over her shoulder, “Do you want me to stay Freddie?” she smiled, playing with the ends of hair as she watched him walk into his bathroom across the hall. “I don’t care.” he spoke plainly, the hurt in his chest hitting him once again as he slammed the door behind him. 

He could still hear the hums and moans you made against his lips. As he leant against the shut door, his hand reached down to start palming himself, feeling himself grow hard again at the thought of you. He was picturing you sprawled out on his bed, begging for him, using your mouth to get him off - He was getting close again as he imagined slamming his hips into you. Just as he reached his peak again, one thought plagued his mind, you moaning his twins name. His heart broke again as he came, sighing as he realised that he was too late. You weren’t his to have.

/// TO BE CONTINUED ///  >>>>>> Chapter Seven

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[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Can a bitch get a uuuuuuuuhhhhh TFA Blitzwing using a kidnapped human as a doll for a tea party? Bonus points if it's a human they've had their eye on for awhile.

All you had wanted to do was watch some late night reality TV, eat that bag of chips you’d been saving up and then go to sleep. That’s all. But then that gigantic robot had reached through your apartment window and just grabbed you. Well, he didn’t really reach through your window as much as he just fucking smashed it and the surrounding wall to pieces. And then he abducted you, taking you back to his base. What. The hell?

Now, you’re not sure what to really expect after being kidnapped by the decepticon but you had assumed it would be some kind of interrogation or that they’d use you as a hostage. Honestly, looking back, you would have preferred it if that would have happened. It would have surely been better than being handed a bunch of clothes and told to change. But had you refused? Nope, during the short time you’d known him you’d realized that he was more than just a tad unstable and you didn’t want to see how far his patience reached. So, behind a conveniently placed tarp, you changed clothes.

The clothes themselves were... what was a nice way to say terribly gaudy? They surely weren’t anything you’d ever wear on a day to day basis. But the clothes were nothing compared to the party. Yes, the party. A tea party, to be precise. If you ever managed to escape then no one would believe you if you told them the truth.

“- and then Lugnut, that fool, dared to assume he could order me around! We’re of equal ranking, he can’t tell me what to do!” The decepticon that had kidnapped you, Blitzwing as you had come to know, was currently steaming about one of his... colleagues? His red face was twisted up in a horrible frown as he complained, pinky out as he sipped on his barrel of oil. He had offered you some tea but he clearly had no clue on how to prepare it as it was just a cup of hot water with a leaf inside of it.

Your face was warped into a similar frown to his as you glared at the contents of the cup. This was fucking bullshit. He’d dragged you to this damn cave in the middle of the the night to play dress up and have a fucking tea party? You could have been two episodes in on that new series you’d been following for a while now or better yet, you could have been in bed, asleep! If your kidnapper hadn’t been a giant fucking robot you would have punched him in the gut already.

Blitzwing paused his rant to stare at you. You stared back up at him, defiantly. “You haven’t even tasted your tea” he commented, his frown lessening and now looking more concerned. His face started to spin until a blue one appeared. “Is it not of your liking? I was considering getting some of that, what is it called... coffee? Yes, coffee, but I opted against it. Ah but if you don’t like the tea then at least help yourself to the baked goods.” Blitzwing pushed forward a pile of half crushed boxes filled with cookies and cupcakes. They were all crushed but at least they were still edible.

Still frowning, you grabbed half a cookie and started nibbling on it. Instantly Blitzwing seemed a bit happier and he went back to talking about his work. Honestly you should probably have been listening to him in case you could get any valuable information but you simply didn’t feel like doing it. Call you selfish but after everything you thought you deserved to make this choice.

Again, Blitzwing paused but this time he seemed to be expecting you to say something. You blinked and swallowed the bits of cookie in your mouth. “What do you want me to say?”

“Well, what do you think? My service in the Decepticon high command is very valuable and I am important to the cause.” Blitzwing stared at you and once again you stared back. He was waiting for your answer. Still confused, you did your best to come up with an answer that would satisfy him. Your brain failed you spectacularly.

“Good for you?” Blitzwing frowned and sweat started to gather on your forehead. “I mean, it’s impressive. Yeah, that’s it. Impressive. You must have worked hard and that’s cool and all.” Now this seemed to please Blitzwing as his lips quirked upwards just slightly.

Carefully he took a sip of his oil and you let out a sigh of relief that you had managed to appease this metal giant that could crush you without any effort. You were just about to start nibbling on another cookie when he suddenly started to speak. “I am glad to hear that. I must admit I don’t know much about human courting, no matter how much research I’ve done, but it seems doing it the Decepticon way works just as well.”

Your brain seemed to stall as you thought about what he had just said. He’d talked about work all night because he thought it would impress you? And courting... didn’t that mean... “Wait a second” you said, your brain still reeling from this big realization. “Is this a... Is this a date???”

Blitzwing nodded contently as he took another sip of oil. “Yes and if I may say so myself, I’ve had quite a pleasant evening. I look forward to doing this next week again.”

Faced with this surreal reality, you downed the entire cup of hot water in one swig. Fuck, guess you were dating an alien robot now.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: I Have Questions ***

Non-Bearded Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Cursing, NSFW, SMUTTTTTT, DO NOT READ AT WORK

Words: 6.k

Summary: Steve is still acclimating to the twenty-first-century. It’s a simple fact that things in 2020 are drastically different than things in the thirties. He’s been doing what he can to learn, but today he has several questions, questions that can’t be answered so easily.

 ***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

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Steve Rogers was a man out of time; everyone knew it. Everyone knew that because of his Rapunzel like sleep, he was out of his familiar surroundings and plunged into the loud and chaotic 21st century. The century where matters and values were seriously flipped upside down. A time where family, service, and loyalty were all the rave in the thirties. In this modern era, some would debate those values and what really mattered now. Some would say success, others money, while there would be those to say satisfaction on all levels.

 Needless to say, Steve often had questions about the era and how to get on socially. Usually, he’d research, but then he’d end up asking either you or one of the others on the team. He’d learned who to go to for what, though. For questions about modern fighting, he’d seek out Clint and Nat. For his questions on tech, usually, that involved Tony. When he wanted to know more about medicine or math, Bruce came in handy. When he had the few questions about emotions, he’d find Wanda. Sometimes he’d even consult Bucky when he had questions or confusion about women. Those times he didn’t get much help because Bucky was also a man out of time. Yeah, in their time, Bucky was considered “the hot” one and had a lot more experience than he had with the ladies, but in this time, he was just as clueless maybe even a little more thanks to his conditioning to turn him into the Winter Soldier.

When he asked Sam, he’d tell him one thing; then Tony would get in on the mix and make fun of him and give him terrible advice. By the time the men of the team had finished giving advice, he was even more confused. That led you to be the one to offer up your extensive brain to help him out. You’d told him whenever he had a question, you’d be more than happy to answer it, especially if it concerned women or the other hot topic of late sex.

 Since you extended the invitation to be his life coach/twenty-first-century crash course instructor, he’d come at you with some interesting questions. It seemed he had quite a few. Once, he asked what it meant when a woman said “fine” but then acted angry the entire time after she said it. That was a fun one to explain. By the end of you telling him that “fine” was not fine and if that was said he’d already fucked up and his best bet to make it right was accepting whatever he did was wrong, apologizing for it and proceeding to smooth over his faux pas with food. That gave him a good laugh.

 There was another time he asked you why size was so important with women today. That was another fun one to answer. He’d asked you when you were around the team, and it began a whole debate. Nat said size does not matter, and it’s what you can do with what you have. The men called her out loud and proud on the bullshit and proceeded to give their own accounts of why size mattered to women, all the while voicing over the actual women in the room.

 After two hours of the men talking, nothing had been clarified, and you could tell Steve was still confused. You then took him to the side and explained why size mattered to some women while emphasizing that honestly, it wouldn’t matter to the right woman. When he asked you if it mattered to you, you were stumped how to answer. Choosing the careful route, you said size doesn’t hurt, but there are many more important things. A dagger and a sword can do the same thing, but it depends on the owner how it gets the job done. He seemed to like that answer.

You were in the kitchen of the compound that evening, grabbing yourself a snack lost in your own world. Your back was turned, and your headphones turned to their loudest setting. You danced around the kitchen happy to have some much deserved you time. The rest of the team also had the night off and were enjoying their evening outside the compound. You dropped it low and poked your ass out and wound your waist, feeling not an ounce of shame as you shook your ass while blending out the rest of your smoothie.

 Suddenly you felt a tap on your shoulders. Spinning around in your fight pose ready to kick some ass, you saw Steve standing there with his hands held high in surrender. His lips were moving, but you couldn’t hear him. Realizing you had your headphones on, you pulled one out and began questioning why he was there. You then realized you still couldn’t hear him thanks to the noise from the blender. You reached over and turned it off before looking to him.

 “What’re you doing here, Steve?”

 “Is this your idea of having fun on your night off?”

 You smirked and rolled your eyes. “Are you trying to call me boring, old man?”

 Steve snorted and shook his head. He hated it when you called him that.

 “No plans?” You shrugged and turned back to the counter to fill your waiting tumbler with the pale pink mixture.

 “I didn’t feel like going out. Sometimes a girl just needs a smoothie, quiet and--,” you trailed off before he cut you off.

 “Some time to shake her ass?”

 “Language, Cap.” He smiled again as the two of you gazed at each other for a few more seconds before you looked away.

 “What’re you doing here? I thought you had plans with Sam.”

 “I did,” Steve began before he rubbed the back of his neck and continued. “His plans took him elsewhere.”

 “Like?” Steve gave you a look, and you nodded, fulling understanding.

“Some girl’s apartment got it.”

 “Yeah.”

 “He just left you?”

 “No, no. She had a friend; I went with them back to their apartment.” You turned to him and studied him taking the time to read into his body language.

 “Did something happen with this friend. Steve?”

 He sighed and leaned on the table behind him. “I guess she had it in her mind she was going to—we were going to--,” Steve motioned his hands, hoping you got the gist. Nodding, you took a sip from your smoothie.

 “Okay. I take it that was not in your mind?”

 Steve shook his head. “I mean, she was a pretty girl, not really my type, but I overheard her talking to her friend, and she said something that had me confused.” Steve abruptly stopped what he was saying and changed direction. “I have a question. Well, two or three, really. I remember you said if I ever needed help understanding something to come to you.”

 “Yeah, yeah, absolutely,” you said after taking another gulp of your smoothie. “I’d be happy to help. What is it?”

Steve had a sheepish look on his face before he opened his mouth to speak.

 “Actually, walk with me.” You walked out of the kitchen with your smoothie in hand and Steve on your heels. The path to your room was not a long one. You wanted to be close to the kitchen. Pressing for the elevator, it opened automatically. With you and Steve inside, you pressed the next floor up.

 “Should I just fire them off?”

“Why not.” You smiled, hoping your friendly and easy-going demeanor would encourage him. Steve stared at the door but didn’t speak. When the elevator sounded and opened a few moments later, you walked off, leading him once again.

 A few seconds later, you were in front of your door. Walking inside, you waved your hand to Steve inaudibly inviting him to sit anywhere he liked. He found a seat close to a window as you pulled one up for yourself.

 “Okay. Well, to begin, what’s a G-spot, and how do I use it?” Your jaw dropped. You were on your way to sitting when the words came out, and they had you bolting right back up. He wasn’t finished, though. “What does make the pussy purr mean? Is it an actual cat? Is there a particular way women in this century want to be pleased apart from a kiss here or there, holding hands and a cuddle?”

 Your head was spinning, and your heart was racing. Steve Rogers just said pussy, you thought to yourself. You were utterly speechless. He looked so innocent sitting across from you. Innocence was a good look on him—a sexy look. You had no idea you liked the whole innocent man thing.

 “Y/N,” Steve breeched, snapping you out of your stupor. You coughed and cleared your throat loudly before you took a long sip of your smoothie through the straw and slowly sat down in front of him. It was a sip that went on and on and on as you tried to gather your thoughts.

 “Did I say something wrong?”

 Gulping down your mouthful, you shook your head. “No, no. I’m sorry I was just um—thinking how best to explain this.”

 “Is it hard to get?”

 In order to hide your smirk, you took another sip. “Okay, so—eh-ehm, the G-spot isn’t something that you can use exactly. It is a spot inside a woman.” The confusion on Steve’s face intensified. You went back to sipping your smoothie.

 This was one of those topics that you could explain, but it wouldn’t really register. Normal men couldn’t understand the g-spot, anyway, let alone someone from a time where the g-spot wasn’t even a thing. Rolling your eyes, you groaned then tried again.

 “The g-spot is a bundle of nerves inside a woman’s vagina that is also known as in this time as a pussy.” Steve’s mouth opened as his brows rose. “It’s a few inches in, and it is said to be the most sensitive part of a woman’s anatomy. It is said to bring a lot of pleasure.” Steve remained quiet for several long moments.

 “So how do I use it if it’s inside?” You facepalmed, knowing you were completely screwing this up.

 “So the vagina is the pussy? Why a pussy, though? It doesn’t look like a cat,” Steve logicized.

 You pinched your lips and tried not to laugh. He was right. It was nothing like a cat at all.

 “What about making it purr? I’ve never heard of it making a sound.”

 “Oh sweet baby Jesus,” you croaked out.

 “What about how women today like their pleasure?”

 “How did women in your time like their pleasure?

 “A little kissing here or there, hand-holding, cuddling, sweet whispers,” Steve summarized.

 Wow, you thought, he really was out of time.

 “So today it is a little—a lot different.”

 “How do you like your pleasure?”

 Stumped again, you took another sip of your smoothie and prayed for this to be over. There were two ways to each this lesson, and you were leaning toward option two.

 “Steve, I have to ask you something, and I don’t want you to take offense.”

 “You can ask me anything, Y/N.” you nodded.

 “Are you a virgin? Have you ever been with a woman past kisses here or there, hand-holding, or cuddling?”

 Steve flushed as he looked down. You’d gotten your answer.

 “I haven’t always looked like this. Back then, Bucky was the one to get all the attention. Before anything could happen, the serum happened and all the Captain America stuff. So ashamed to say it, I am a virgin,” Steve quietly admitted.

 You put your smoothie on the floor and wheeled yourself to him to rest your hand on his. “Hey, there is no reason to be ashamed. There is absolutely nothing wrong with virginity. It doesn’t mean something bad, and it is nothing to be embarrassed about. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter.”

 “So, in this time, a man who is a virgin is normal.”

 “No, not normal, but there are some men who have chosen to just not partake. What I’m saying is it’s not a big deal. It won’t stop women from wanting to ride you like a show pony.” Steve smiled, flushed again, and looked down.

 “Does that include you?”

 “Say what?”

 “Are you one of the women who would want to ride me like a show pony, although I have no idea what I’m doing?” He looked vulnerable and even shy. It was endearing to see this gorgeous, strapping, burly tree of a man who was built for every sin in the book be so self-conscious.

 “Steve, you’re an attractive man, and not to mention a pretty great one too. Safe to say my parts wouldn’t mind playing with yours.” You said it half-jokingly while adding in a chuckle or two for emphasis.

 “My parts wouldn’t mind it,” Steve muttered. It was low, but you heard it.

 “I’ve always been a visual learner. Is the same true for you?”

 “Fairly true,” Steve responded.

 Biting your bottom lip, you nodded and stood. “Okay. Stand up.”

 Steve didn’t hesitate before he stood before you with an expression that said he was open for whatever happened.

 “Because these are extreme circumstances, I can teach you the answers to your questions. Only if that is something you’re comfortable with and want,” you cautiously explained.

 “I want you.” It was flat out, straight to the point, and unexpected.

 “You do?”

Steve flushed again and smiled. “If I were honest, I’ve been attracted to you from the beginning.” It was your turn to smile like a shy schoolgirl. Steve then brushed your cheek with the back of his hand and stole your breath away during the process. Wow, you thought. Steve Rogers had game. It was him to lean into you to press his lips to yours softly. Neither of you moved for a few seconds, and then it was you who was shocked when Steve intensified the kiss. You almost snorted on his mouth; Steve Rogers could kiss and not kiss by the nineteen-thirties standards, but by twenty-twenty standards.

 You kissed him back but allowed him to keep the lead. Just because he was a virgin didn’t mean he had to play the cuck. Everything in you said Steve Rogers was an alpha. It was true about everything else, the way he fought, talked, and even operated and moved. Why would it be any different in the bedroom? Though the kiss felt dominating, it still had hints of timidness. He was not sure of himself. You liked it. Lacing your fingers at the back of his head and into his hair, you dipped your tongue into his mouth to slowly coax his. When your tongue wrapped around his and then gently sucked Steve moaned. It was the sexiest sound you’d heard in a long time.

 Slowly you pulled back to look at him, and slowly, he opened his eyes. “Wow can’t believe we’re doing this,” Steve whispered. You smiled.

 “We won’t go too fast, I promise. How about we start with your questions.”

 “G-Spot,” Steve began. Another soft smile teased your lips.

 “We’ll get there. The particular question we’ll start on is if there is a particular way women in this century want to be pleased,” you whispered. Steve audibly gulped. It was the cutest thing.

 “O—okay.” You slid your hands up over his chest, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his muscles underneath his shirt.

 You’d seen Steve shirtless quite a few times. The majority of it was when he was injured and getting patched up before he miraculously healed in record time. Slowly you undid the buttons to his pale-colored striped button-down.

 “When it comes to women in this century, you’ll find you have to trial and error. What works for one woman doesn’t necessarily work for the other. So what works for me--.” Steve cut you off.

 “I only care about what works for you, no others.” Smiling, you placed a mental check next to eager to please. You liked it, that trait would come in handy. Steve bit his bottom lip as you pushed the shirt off his body. You took the time to admire every perfect dip and curve of his frame. He was gorgeous. You allowed your hands to be your second set of eyes and traced his skin.

 “Am I to your liking?”

 Snorting, you shook your head. “You’re to every woman’s liking Steve.”

 “I don’t care about every woman.” He was definitely a sweet talker.

 “You’re hot.” He smiled then licked his lips until he sucked in his bottom one into his mouth. You almost got lost but focused on the mission at hand. You brought your lips to his and took control this time, but only for a few moments before you kissed a path down his chest to his abs. You could feel the nervous energy in his body, and it made you smile.

 Standing again, you looked into his eyes while you began unbuckling his belt and undoing his dockers.

 “Does this—bring you pleasure?” His voice was shaky.

 “Some, plus taking all of this off, increases intimacy. There is nothing like skin on skin contact.”

 Dropping down to the floor, you pulled his pants down to reveal white micro boxer briefs. You were relieved, you had no idea if he were a tidy whities kind of man or boxers, this was a happy medium for you. Standing, Steve did the rest by kicking the material and his shoes to the side.

 “Feeling up to doing me?” you raised your hands above your head and waited for him to decide. Something told you this would be his first time undressing a woman. You wanted him to have the full experience even though it was a t-shirt and sweats he was pulling off.

 When his fingers grazed your abdomen, he hesitated for a brief second before he slowly lifted it up your torso and over your head. When you were free of it, he took in the sight of you in your bra, and you gave him some time to have his fill. When he didn’t move again, you took his hands and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your sweats, encouraging him to discard them as well. Slowly Steve pulled the garment down over your his and your legs. When you felt his lips on your stomach, you gasped. It was an unexpected action.

 “Was that okay?”

 “It was fine.” Steve did it again and again until he’d peppered kisses all across your stomach. The action was so simple, so innocent, but they felt incredible.

 Pulling him up, you pressed your body to his while wrapping your arms around him to kiss him. In a matter of seconds, the kiss had turned into a passionate interlude that had both of you moaning on each other’s lips. When you felt Steve’s hands touch your waist for the first time, you moaned deeply and melted into him. He held you with power. There were so many things that contradicted his virgin status. Both of you got lost in the kiss. The longer it went on, the more invested in it Steve became. Soon he was expertly stealing your breath.

 When you began backing away with him still in your arms, Steve followed you, never breaking the kiss. You felt your bed at the backs of your knees and stopped pulling your lips away. He was flushed and looked very much ready for the next step. Sitting at the edge, you slid back onto it, never taking your eyes off of his. This was when he looked like a fish out of water.

 “It’s okay. Come here.”

 Slowly Steve crawled across to bed to you. As he got closer, you parted your legs, making space for him. When he nestled there, he groaned. “You’re beautiful, Y/N.” you smiled your thank you.

 “What do you wanna do?”

 “What? I thought you were shooing me about your pleasure.”

 “I am, but this is a first for you. so, what do you wanna do?”

 He was quiet for a few seconds. “Please you.” you kissed him and snuggled in the bed.

 “I want you to explore. Kiss wherever you’d like, lick what you want, whatever you’d like.”

 “I don’t know if I have the strength,” Steve confessed. Caressing his cheek, you smiled.

 “Let me start you off.” You took his hand and placed it over one of your breasts. His hand was so large that it looked like it belonged on your body. Steve’s eyes dropped to your breast and his hand. It was several long moments before he moved. When he did, he slowly massaged your breast. He took his time to move it in a circle testing it, and getting familiar with the feel of it. Once he did, he squeezed. You moaned.

 “I like these.” You snorted and shook your head.

 “Congratulations, you fit right into the twenty-first century.”  Steve continued exploring your breast and wreaking havoc on your desires at the same time. You were slowly losing your mind.

 “Try two hands.” Steve wasted no time complying with your suggestion. Allowing him to continue his discovery of a woman’s body—your body you tried your best to keep your wants in check.

 When you couldn’t, you moaned loudly. Steve’s eyes shot to yours. “Do you like that?” Nodding your head gave him the needed encouragement to continue.

 “Try taking it off.” Steve studied the bra you wore for a while before he attempted to take it off. When it didn’t come off the first attempt, he pulled at it and ripped it clear off.

 “Oh my, I’m so sorry.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

 “It’s okay. I mean you can rip tree stumps in half why did I think my bra had a chance? He smiled before he realized you were bare before him. Any amusement in his face disappeared as he took you in.

 “Wow,” Steve marveled. Before you could say anything, he cupped your breasts and slowly massaged them before he circled his thumb around your hardened nipple. Sucking in a breath, you slightly arched jutting them out more for him. Steve grunted and watched your reaction. When he pinched your nipple, you bit your bottom lip and rolled your eyes closed.

 “Mmm.” It was enough for him because the minute you felt his mouth around your nipple, you whimpered.

 He took his time testing what you liked, testing what he liked. Before long, he had moan after moan and whimper after whimper falling from your lips. He stopped momentarily to pinch your nipples again using the leftover wetness to aid him in bringing you closer to your release.

 “I really like these,” Steve whispered, lowering his lips to your neck. He sucked the flesh into his mouth and found a level of suction that had goosebumps scattering across your skin.

 “Either you’re not such a virgin, or you’re just really good with your mouth.” Steve smiled widely before he shrugged. When he did, he dipped lower to your stomach and kissed a path to the apex of your thighs. Before he made any moves, he looked to you as if for consent.

 “That first question and the one about what it means to make the pussy purr can be answered together. It all depends on if you’re up for it.”

 Steve had a mischievous glint in his eye and a devilish smirk on his lips. Innocent and sinful was a sexy mix for him; it was one that you couldn’t get enough of. “I promised you not too fast,” you finished.

 Steve kissed your hip, then your pelvis, and nipped your skin. “I think I can keep up.” It was a simple response, but it filled you with so much excitement. You didn’t know how this was happening. You were the one who had all the experience. You weren’t an expert in pleasure, but you sure knew how to make a man tick and get yourself off. With him, the smallest action had triple the effect it ever did before.

 “Take em’ off.” If it was possible to see someone’s heart skip a beat, you saw his do just that.

 Steve brought his hands to the waistband of your underwear, but he didn’t touch it or you, instead he allowed them to hover. He looked as if he was having an internal battle. You were sure he was going back and forth with his insecurities and his desires. You didn’t want to rush his decision because it was an important one.

 When he made the decision, his fingers curled around the material and pulled it down a few inches before stopping again. He looked at you, and you saw his anxiety. Wrapping your hands with his, you helped glide the fabric from your waist and down your legs. Once free, you parted your legs for him, giving him the first intimate sight of you.

 Steve looked speechless and enflamed. You laid there, giving him as much time as he needed. He raised his fingers and grazed them against your skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, you bit your finger.

 “You’re fine,” you whispered, answering the question in his eyes.

 “What do I do?”

 “Whatever you want. You can kiss, you can lick, you can suck, nibble—whatever you want, Steve.”

 “What do you like?”

 You smiled and reached down to take his hand to place it between your legs. They were so warm and surprisingly soft. You used two of his fingers to lightly trail against your labia. Slowly you went up, and down the flesh, each pass had you shivering. Steve alternated looking at your face and between your legs, learning your reactions.

 After a few moments, he took control of the movements. Each swipe of his fingers had him coming closer and closer to your sensitive bud that was begging for some attention. You wanted to let him discover it on his own. As soon as you thought it, Steve’s other hand got into the mix. He spread you wide then brought his lips to your skin to kiss your pubis. The anticipation was killing you.

 Steve trailed kisses across your skin, leading to your pelvis and your inner thigh before he returned to the starting point. When his tongue made connection with your clit, you gasped loudly and arched your head back.

 “Was that good?”

 “Jesus, you’re driving me fucking crazy. Yes, that was good.” Steve did it again and watched you clamp down on your bottom lip.

 “So good,” you whispered while watching his every move. Steve crooked his tongue, making a hook at the tip and licked across your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your hands instinctively flew to his head to keep his mouth where you wanted it.

 Steve took the hint and swirled his tongue around your flesh, all the while steadily increasing his suction. It felt amazing. His actions were less polished and deliberate, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t bringing you closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy. He was finding his rhythm. When he slurped on your sex, you lost your shit and began bucking against his mouth. Steve gripped your hips firmly and got into it. Steve gently bit you, making you flinch but not from pain.

 Did I do--.” Before he could finish the question, you pulled his head back down and continued bucking your hips and swiping your wetness across his lips. Steve kept up and quickly flicked his tongue against you.

 “Fuck!” It was a desperate whimper, one that was the indication you were going to come.

 “Stick your tongue out, Steve.” Doing as he was told, you shamelessly used his beautiful face to find your release. When you felt Steve cup your breast and pinch your nipple, you saw stars and came right on his skillful tongue.

 “Fuuuck! Oh my god,” you groaned out, dropping back to the bed.

 “Jesus, that is—making the pussy—purr.” Steve scoffed and shook his head before he kissed your clit once, then twice. Each time it had you shivering.

 “Any questions?”

 Steve smiled and crept up onto his knees, giving you the perfect view of his hardened length. Super serum or not, you didn’t care. He was blessed.

 “More a comment. You taste incredible.” Your blush was evident.

 “Aw Captain, you know just the right thing to say.” His smile was adorably shy.

 “I think I’ve got it, but there’s still that question about the G-spot.” You smiled; he was like a dog with a bone.

 “Come here, captain.” Steve lowered himself onto you, allowing you to kiss him. Both of you quickly got lost in the kiss yet again. This time his kisses weren’t timid; they were confident, even a little dominating. This man was made for kissing. Using your feet, you peeled off his underwear until he was free to kick them off. You could feel the heaviness of his cock resting against your inner thigh, and it made you want him even more.

 Steve pulled his lips from you and sighed out heavily. “What’s wrong?”

 “Control has always been a thing for me, but with you—right now, I’m struggling,” he admitted.

Caressing his cheek adoringly, you smiled. “You’re not the only one struggling, Steve.” He searched your eyes for any hint of a lie. When he found none, he looked relieved. Nodding, you kissed him again and peeped between your bodies down to what the good Lord blessed him with. He was blessed beyond belief.

 “Is size still not important to you?” You snorted and buried your face in his shoulder. You’d been caught.

 “Nope, I told you, a dagger and a sword do the same thing.” You reached between you and wrapped your hand around his length. Once you touched him, Steve’s eyes closed, and he sighed out. Slowly you stroked him and watched his every reaction. Your hand couldn’t fully fit around him. There were still about two inches of him left. You wondered if he’d done this for himself since he’d woken from his cryo state.

 “How do you like it, Steve?” His eyes fluttered open, but he didn’t speak, he stared deeply into your eyes as the muscles in his jaw jumped. It was then he took your hand from him and pressed it to the bed.

 “Maybe another time.” You found it interesting, but you didn’t take offense. You knew there was more to it than “another time.” His eyes roamed over your naked body before they stopped between your legs where his cock hovered right before its prize.

 “Take what you want, Steve,” you teased.

 When you felt him at your opening, you took a deep breath and held it. You bit your bottom lip to brace yourself and watched him slide the first few inches inside your wet heat. Steve moaned out, but it quickly turned to a groan that blended with yours. He was bigger than you’d ever had, but you didn’t want to let on that you worried he was too big. The more he eased into you, the louder he got, and the louder he got, the closer you were to falling apart. Steve’s hands were planted into the mattress, giving you a mind-numbing view of those strong muscles in his arms shoulders and chest. You could never get tired of this view, you thought.

 Steve grunted and dropped his head to your breasts, burying his face between them. “You’re so—it’s so—you’re--.” He sounded like he was barely hanging on. Both of you stilled and allowed several long moments to pass as you adjusted to the new sensations. Steve slowly pulled back, but your body must have felt as if it were losing him, and you clenched around his length. Steve growled loudly, stopped his retreat, and slammed into you, fully connecting your bodies. You screamed out from shock, pain, and pleasure. It was familiar, but it was also unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

 “Fuck!” It was loud and full of emotion.

 Shocked, you looked clenched around him again. Curse words from Captain America was the best thing in the world and the only aphrodisiac a woman needed.

 “Jesus, Y/N, don’t do that. I’m barely hanging on by a thread here,” Steve grunted against your skin.

 “Sorry.” Slowly Steve pulled out of you and sank back in only to do it again. Every time he connected your bodies, he shuddered.

 When he looked at you again, you could see just how close he was. “How do—you like—it?” He spoke through gritted teeth.

 “Any way you give it to me,” you responded, emphasizing you, so he understood. He crashed his lips to yours and took full control. When his hands gripped your wrists and pressed them above your head, you clenched around him again because of the strong alpha vibes he was giving off.

 Steve hissed out, but his thrusts sped to a pace you were not ready for. His pace sent your breasts swinging and had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Suddenly you felt him nudge that spot he was so curious about, and you screeched out. Steve slowed and looked at you. He must have known it. He mercilessly did it again and again until your legs were wrapped so tightly around him that they mirrored how tightly you clenched his thick length within you. Steve grunted with each slam of his hips into your core, and it was then you came gripping him hard.

 “Aaah!” You felt his release; it was a release that seemed to go on forever. He thrust forward, still trying to bury himself deep within you even when there was nowhere else for him to go. Each movement sent you further over that edge.

 Steve collapsed on top of you and sucked your nipple into his mouth. If he continued doing that, you would be ready for round two in seconds. As you thought about round two, you realized he was still hard.

 “I’m sorry that was so quick. I didn’t--.” You pulled his face to yours and kissed him passionately, so he knew just what he’d done to you.

 “That was amazing. You are amazing for a man that is one hundred years old.” Steve snorted and groaned, dropping his forehead to your chest again.

 “Mmmm, plus, I don’t think not so little Steve is finished yet.” Steve looked back to you with his eyebrow crooked, giving you a spark to jumpstart your arousal.

 “Did I answer all your questions?”

 Steve smiled widely again before he pulled a few inches out of you to slowly slide himself back in with a languid groan. “Well, I how to please the only woman I care about, just how to use that g-spot and how to make your pussy purr,” Steve began. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It was going to take some getting used to hearing him speak like this.

 “I know all of this, but shit, I wanna know more.”

 Your jaw dropped. “Language, Cap! My goodness, who knew you had such a dirty mouth.” Steve smiled again and kissed you.

 “Must be the company I keep, such a bad influence,” he teased as he kissed down to your neck.

 “Oh really, little ol me corrupting you?”

 “Mm-hm.” Steve was only half listening as he briefly lowered his lips to your breasts before he was on the move again, making his way to the place you suspected would become his favorite place in the world.

 “Did you pee?”

 Scoffing, you shook your head and tried to figure out how to explain and teach him about squirting. “Nope, it’s not pee.”

 The look on his face was a curious one, and you knew this was going to be yet another lesson he would love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you guys for reading!❤️❤️

[homerjacksons]

Sonny Carisi Week Day 1: heartbeat Word Count: 2118 Pairing: Starisi Summary: Sonny is shot and Peter’s afraid of losing his constant AO3

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Everything seems to slow down, all sound fading away until all Peter can hear is his own heartbeat in his ears, loud, fast, urgent. He swears it stops for a second, a whole moment that drags on for ages as something wet hits his face, splatters his coat, and Sonny goes down in front of him.

—

Peter’s hesitant as he rests his hand against Sonny’s chest, feeling the erratic beat of his heart. He doesn’t do this, he doesn’t kiss colleagues, friends, men he’s not dating, but God, he wants to kiss Sonny in this moment.

Sonny laughs, shy and sweet, ducking his head. “Can you feel that?”

“What?”

“How crazy my heart is going.”

Peter laughs and nods, relishing in the feel of it beneath his palm, full of life, full of passion, full of what he hopes is want and affection, too.

He meets Sonny's eyes, wide and dark and shining, and he knows he’ll never get tired of the feel of that heartbeat for as long as he lives.

���I’d like to kiss you now, if that’s alright with you,” Peter says, voice pitched low. He’s grateful for how steady it sounds when he feels anything but.

Sonny swallows, nodding as he’s already closing the distance. His lips press against Peter’s, tentative and hungry at once, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to ask for everything he wants.

Like he’s not sure Peter would give him absolutely anything he asked for.

As he cups Sonny’s jaw, deepening the kiss, he keeps one hand on his chest, tethered to his lifeline; Sonny’s heartbeat.

—

For a brief moment, he wonders if the heartbeat he can hear is Sonny’s and not his own, blinked out before Peter could even react to the vague memory of a gunshot.

But then it roars back to life, pounding painfully against his own ribs, and the rest of the world roars to life with it, too much noise and confusion as people scream and run and cry and armed officers unholster guns, spinning on the spot to see where the shot came from.

Peter’s knees hit the pavement hard as his fingers fly to Sonny’s neck, pressing down amongst the mess of blood. 

Too much blood. Peter could see it draining from his face as he reached feebly for Peter’s hands.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Peter said, voice surprisingly firm and authoritative.

Sonny squeezed Peter’s wrist, and squeezed his eyes shut at the same time as he brought one of Peter’s hands down to his chest. For one painful moment, he couldn’t feel a heartbeat at all, but eventually he found it, weak against his palm, and he felt his own heart stutter in his chest.

“Look at me,” Peter ordered, but Sonny’s grip on his wrist went as limp as the rest of him, and Peter choked back a sob. “Look at me, dammit. Sonny. Look at me.”

—

It’s a while after Peter’s breathing has evened out and his heart rate has gone back down and he’s right on the edge of sleep, willing himself to find the strength to get up, to not fall asleep with Sonny’s hand in his hair, to not lean into the calm, the comfort that Sonny radiates and ruin their agreement, that he notices Sonny’s heart is still pounding hard and fast and loud against his ear.

He lifts his head to look at Sonny, suddenly wide awake and concerned. Sonny’s wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling, but he lowers his gaze and manages a soft smile, hand falling comfortably around Peter.

“You okay?” He asks cautiously, studying Sonny’s features.

“Course,” he replies easily, stretching out lazily, feigning nonchalance, but Peter knows him better than that.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He flops down beside Sonny and turns towards him, resting a hand on his chest, over his heart, feeling the erratic thump of its beat continue against his palm.

For a while, Sonny doesn’t speak, but eventually he closes a hand over Peters, screwing his eyes shut like he can’t bear to look at Peter, can’t bear to be seen.

“I want more,” he whispers into the dark. When Peter doesn’t respond, he adds, “Of you. Of this. I want more than casual.”

Peter can feel Sonny’s heart attempting to break free from his chest beneath his hand, and he can’t help but laugh, relief and affection flooding him in waves as he presses his face into the crook of Sonny’s neck.

Sonny sighs, pulling his hand back, but Peter just grabs for it again, pressing himself further into Sonny’s side, hooking a leg over him so he can’t escape the moment.

“I want that too.”

—

“Hey.”

Peter startles at the sound of Liv's voice cutting through the silence like a knife, harsh and unnecessary and borderline painful.

Instead of taking the seat beside him, she crouches down in front of him, taking his hands in hers as she forces eye contact.

He can see Sonny’s blood still caked into the beds of his fingernails and he feels bile rise to the back of his throat and he lets his eyes fall shut, swallowing the feeling back down.

“Why don’t you get some rest,” Liv suggests gently, running her thumb over his blood-stained hands.

He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut tighter before looking at her through bleary, unfocused eyes. “I need to be here.”

She nods, like she already knew that would be his answer, and offers him a small, sad smile.

He realises he ought to say something, to comfort her back. She cares about Sonny too, has known him longer than Peter has. But the words get lodged in the back of his throat and he can’t seem to push past it, so he gives up, tilting his head toward the ceiling.

He’s come apart in front of her once before. He doesn't much fancy doing it again.

“He’s gonna be okay,” she says in a voice made of steel, and he bites back the anger it ignites in him. It’s not her he’s angry at.

“Yeah,” he manages, voice strangled and hoarse, and he cringes at the sound of it.

She doesn’t try to speak again after that. She just takes a seat beside him, placing a coffee, a bottle of water and a granola bar on the empty seat on his other side, and settles in for the wait.

—

Peter startles awake, confused at first, before he realises Sonny’s sitting upright beside him, breathing ragged. He eases himself up, placing a gentle hand on Sonny’s arm, which Sonny flinches away from instinctively, brain still in danger mode from whatever he’d dreamed about, before relaxing into Peter’s touch with a shaky sigh.

“You wanna talk about it?” Peter asks gently, and Sonny shakes his head.

After a beat, a moment of hesitation, Peter sits behind Sonny, wrapping his arms around him, letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as Sonny rests back against his chest, body trembling.

“You’re okay,” Peter whispers, taking Sonny’s hand in one of his own, his other hand spreading across Sonny’s heart.

He can feel the erratic, panicked heartbeat beneath his hand as shivers run through Sonny’s body, and he sighs, resting his chin on Sonny’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

He repeats it in a whisper, like a mantra, holding Sonny close, feeling as his heart gradually slows to what he’s used to listening to in the mornings, in those pockets of time where it’s just them and neither of them have to be anywhere or do anything.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers again fiercely, long after Sonny’s fallen back asleep. “Always.”

—

Amanda and Fin join at some point, then Kat, then Phoebe and Celine, and eventually the waiting room is full of their makeshift family and beyond, officers he’s never even seen before standing by in solidarity for a man who they still consider family despite him trading a gun and badge for fancy shoes and a briefcase.

It catches him off guard and makes him feel out of place in a way he hasn’t for a long time, and he excuses himself, beelining for the bathroom, desperate for fresh air but not willing to go as far as the doors.

He takes a few, deep, steady breaths, splashing water on his face before gripping the sink in a vice grip.

“Peter?” He hears from outside, and his heart plummets to his stomach. “Olivia said you’d come this way. Are you okay?”

Peter bites back a laugh, bitterness rising in his throat again, this time tainted with guilt. Mrs Carisi was coming to check if he was okay while her son was having God knows what done to him in an attempt to save his life. He feels like an ass.

“I’m fine, Mrs—Sofia,” he opens the bathroom door, not bothering to force a smile.

She smiles sadly at him and pulls him to her, and it takes everything he has not to cry as he hugs her back fiercely.

—

With the way Peter’s heart’s slamming against his ribs and his breath is coming in short, sharp gasps, anyone would think he’d run the whole way from the courthouse.

“Sonny—“ he manages as he catches sight of Liv.

“He’s okay,” she cuts him off before he can let loose every terrible thought he’s concocted on his way over here.

She leads him to an ambulance, and it isn’t until he sets eyes on Sonny sitting in the back, not a visible mark on him, that he finally feels as though he can breathe.

Sonny’s eyes meet Peter’s from across the road and he smiles, warm and inviting, if a little tired, and Peter feels his eyes blur with tears.

“What are you doing here?” Sonny asks, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder—they’ve disclosed and everyone knows, but they don’t do this when they’re at work, they’re just colleagues, saving everything else for home—and catches Peter's eye, looking concerned.

“Making sure you’re okay.” He doesn’t mean to sound angry, but it comes out harsh as relief floods him at seeing Sonny whole and untouched in front of him. “Don’t scare me like that.”

Sonny ducks his head, looking guilty but also battling a smile. “S’kinda the job,” he mutters, cupping Peter’s cheek.

“I thought—“

“I’m okay,” Sonny cuts him off, grabbing his hand to press it to his chest, his favourite spot. Sonny’s heart beats strong and steady beneath his hand, and he hands his head, a dry sob escaping his lips.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, more for his own benefit than Sonny’s.

“Always,” Sonny whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

—

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

Peter drifts in and out of sleep to the sound of Sonny’s heartbeat beneath his ear, safely enclosed in his chest, still pumping, still breathing, still alive.

Alive, but he nearly wasn’t. The bullet had nicked his artery and they’d almost lost him multiple times.

But he was alive. Alive and safe and here where Peter could touch him, even if he wasn’t awake yet.

He starts as a gentle hand threads its way into his hair, and the sleep-hazed part of his brain wants to relax into it, let it lull him to sleep, but he snaps his head up, desperate to see those bright blue eyes.

They’re not as bright as usual, dulled by sleep and pain meds and a close call with death, but they’re still warm as they crinkle at the edges, lips quirking up in a tired smile.

“Hey, you,” Sonny croaks out, and Peter can’t help himself. Finally, the dam breaks, and Peter’s face is wet with tears.

Even through his tear-blurred vision, he doesn’t miss the way Sonny’s smile slips from his face, concern taking over his features.

“I’m okay,” Sonny says quietly as Peter’s hands find his, gripping tight. “We’re okay.”

“Yeah,” Peter breathes out, pushing it past the tightness in his chest as laughter bubbles up inside of him from nowhere. Relief, he thinks, but god, he knows he must look a mess. “Yeah, we’re okay. You’re okay.”

Sonny smiles again and gives his hands a squeeze.

“I love you.”

“God,” Peter chokes out, pressing his face into Sonny’s chest for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I love you, too. So much.”

He lays a hand on Sonny’s chest, fingers splayed wide, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath his palm, and presses a kiss to Sonny’s knuckles still gripped tightly in his own hand.

Sonny was alive. He was okay. His heart was beating.

He was safe.

[carry-the-sky]

you were a kindness when i was a stranger

summary

“Sleep on it,” Karen tells him. “If you’re still not feeling it by tomorrow, just shoot me a text and let me know.” She cracks a grin. “Don’t worry, there’s a pile of headline-making material sitting on my desk if this falls through.”

Curtis takes her advice and really thinks it over. Ultimately, it comes down to fear—his. And he refuses to let it drag him down. If he can’t practice what he’s preaching, he shouldn’t be running a group at all.

He texts her first thing in the morning: Hi Karen, it’s Curtis. I’m in.

chapter one | chapter two

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in six months has a similar effect.

Curtis got a concussion once as a kid—went headfirst over his bike’s handlebars after taking a corner too fast. Got his bell rung pretty good, even with a helmet. He remembers feeling more dazed than anything, like someone had stuffed his skull with packing peanuts.

Frank Castle showing up out of the blue for the first time in months has a similar effect.

Curtis knows he should probably say something, but his head is empty, nothing but static. The words just aren’t there.

Frank pushes to his feet. He looks a hell of a lot calmer than Curtis feels, but then Curtis sees his trigger finger tap-tap-tapping away at his side, and he can’t help but feel a small pinch of satisfaction. Let the bastard sweat a bit—Curtis is the furthest thing from inclined to make this any easier on him.

“How’s it goin’?” Frank says, like they’re just casually catching up over lunch, and Curtis almost laughs aloud. This whole thing is surreal; Frank, here, in one piece. His voice even sounds normal again.

That’s not the only thing that’s different. Curtis can tell that Frank’s face is a little fuller, free of those purple-blue shadows that seem to permanently lurk under his eyes. He’s gone full Pete-beard again, and he’s traded in the black hoodie for a flannel and jeans. He looks—ordinary. If Curtis didn’t know him, he wouldn’t look twice if he passed Frank on the street.

Curtis breathes deep, lets it out nice and slow. “What the hell are you doing here, Frank?”

“Wanted to say hello,” the other man answers, hiking his shoulders slightly. “Figured you wouldn’t shoot me in a church.”

Curtis does laugh at that, clipped and hollow. “Wouldn’t be so sure about that, man. You’re definitely testing my resolve.”

“I know I’m a jackass showin’ up here, Curt—”

“Got that right,” Curtis mutters.

“Hey,” Frank says, voice going a little rough. “Five minutes, yeah? Give me five minutes, and if you wanna throw my ass out after that, you be my guest.”

Curtis shakes his head. “As much as I’d enjoy that, your timing is shit, Frank. I got a reporter from the Bulletin who’s gonna be here any second—”

Frank’s eyes sharpen. “Reporter?”

“Yeah, so if you don’t want your face plastered all over the front page, I suggest you get the hell out of here.”

“Who—”

“Hey, Curtis, sorry I’m a little late. Traffic was terrible—”

Curtis’ eyes snap up. Karen stands in the doorway, frozen as a statue. She’s staring straight at Frank.

Shit. She might recognize him. The beard and flannel are a flimsy smokescreen at best; Frank’s face has graced the front page of that paper of hers more than once. Curtis can almost feel the wheels spinning as his brain kicks into high gear, already working out how to get Frank out of this, how to explain away the fuckin’ Punisher standing here talking to him in the middle of the afternoon. Karen’s a good person, decent, but she’s also good at her job. There’s no way she turns a blind eye to this. He has to think of something—

“Frank,” she breathes.

Curtis’ thoughts grind to a halt.

Because—she clearly does know him, but not in the way Curtis was expecting. The way she says his name, soft with disbelief—

For the second time today, Curtis feels like he’s walked into a fever dream.

He glances at Frank, and the man’s got a busted up expression on his face, like one of those abstract paintings that looks like something and nothing all at once.

“Karen,” he says, voice grating over the word, and shit, he sounds more torn up than he looks. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, choke-off like the words are stuck there—then his jaw locks and his gaze ricochets to the ground, the wall, the ground again. Curtis can see his hands shaking from here.

Whatever the hell this is, it’s way above his pay grade. Curtis shakes his head again and starts unstacking chairs from where they hang against the wall. “You should leave before everyone gets here,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Karen. She looks like she’s seen a ghost.

He knows the fuckin’ feeling.

“Hey,” Curtis says, and her head snaps in his direction. “We still good?” 

Her gaze wobbles, darts to Frank and then back. “Yeah, of course. We’re good.” Slowly, she moves from the doorway, brushing past Frank like he’s not even there.

“Jesus christ,” Frank curses under his breath. He reaches for her. “Karen, this isn’t—”

But whatever he was going to say is lost as voices filter in from the hallway, growing steadily louder. Curtis swallows the bubble of hysterical laughter that’s rising in his throat. This day has already gone sideways; might as well let go and let God, as his pop always used to say.

No one notices Frank, at first. A couple people—Lydia included—greet Karen enthusiastically as they enter the room; the rest settle into the regular routine of milling about at the coffee table.

Rahul is the one who finally spots him. “Pete?” he gapes. “Shit, man, it’s good to see you! Where you been?”

That gets everyone’s attention. Within the span of a few seconds, Frank has about half a dozen people crowding around him, clapping him on the back and peppering him with questions about how he’s doing, what he’s been up to. Frank pastes on a shaky smile and gives the small talk a good effort, but his eyes keep skittering to where Karen’s arranging the chairs in a wide circle. Curtis can’t remember the last time he saw Frank look so uncomfortable; he’s wound tense as a coil, all potential energy with nowhere to go.

Curtis almost feels bad for him. Almost.

“You’re staying for group, right?” someone asks, and this time Frank locks eyes with Curtis.

Curtis shrugs as if to say your call. It’s not like he can throw him out in front of everyone. Beyond that—honestly, he’s relieved. Beneath the layers of hurt and anger is the one thing Curtis has shied away from acknowledging: his fear that maybe this time, Frank stayed dead.

Thankfully, the man seems to have nine lives. And right now, he looks like he’d like nothing more than to sink into the floor and disappear.

Against his better judgment, Curtis throws him a bone.

“Pete just dropped by to say hello. You were on your way out, right?” he asks, fixing Frank with a look that he hopes conveys what he’s thinking: take the hint, man.

There’s a ripple of disappointment, but everyone seems to buy it. Frank threads his way over the Curtis, and his relief is almost palpable.

“Thanks, Curt,” he says.

“You’re running up a hell of a tab, Frank.” Curtis pinches the bridge of his nose, already regretting what he’s about to say. “You remember that bar over on 12th? After group—I’ll give you one hour. And you’re buying.”

Frank smirks. “Fair enough.” 

His eyes flick across the room; Karen’s been carefully avoiding looking over here, but it’s like she can feel the weight of his gaze. Curtis sees it, the moment their eyes meet.

Frank’s face opens up like a book, eyes wide and bright. Curtis has never seen him look this vulnerable; even as long as they’ve been friends, he’s always kept the softest parts of himself tucked away. It makes Curtis feel like he’s intruding on something intimate.

Then someone’s saying Karen’s name, and the moment splinters. Frank ducks his head, already sliding the mask back on, and slips out the door.

.

Group passes uneventfully. The conversation picks up from where they left things last week, and aside from injecting a few questions here and there, Curtis is mostly an observer. If he’s being honest, he really enjoys the weeks he can just sit back and let the group carry itself. Makes him feel like it’s bigger than any one person, like it can go on without him being in the driver’s seat.

Karen is quiet through most of the meeting, definitely more reserved than last week. When the hour is up, she tells Curtis she’ll be in touch, thanks him again for having her, and then manages to duck out before anyone notices she’s gone. 

Curtis knows it’s none of his business, but he can’t help wondering who she is to Frank. She’s more than an acquaintance, that much is for damn sure. And Frank clearly cares for her. Curtis lets his curiosity simmer, carrying him all the way from the church to Sal’s dive bar.

Frank’s already there when he arrives. True to his word, he’s ordered the first round; he raises his beer up in greeting as Curtis slides onto the bar stool next to him.

“Got you somethin’ a bit stronger,” Frank says, nodding at Curtis’ glass.

Curtis takes a swig and tastes jack and coke. He glances down at his watch. “You’re on the clock, Frank. One hour.”

Frank huffs out a laugh. “Shit, where do I start?”

“How about Karen?” Curtis says. “What was that back at the church?”

Even in the dim bar light, Frank’s eyes flint over. “Long story.”

“Give me the spark notes version.”

Frank taps his thumb against his beer, pointedly avoiding Curtis’ eyes. Then he pushes back in his seat slightly. “Alright, you win. You remember my trial? Karen was on my legal team. She was the one who started digging into what happened to Maria and the kids. All the shit that’s gone down since then—she got caught up in some of it.”

Curtis takes another drink, processing. “And let me guess, you”—he holds his fingers up as air quotes—“pushed her away to keep her safe.”

Frank tips his beer back, hiding a grin. “Guess I deserved that, huh?”

“You’re one predictable son of a bitch, Frank.” He glances sidelong at his friend. “You gonna apologize to her for whatever it is you did?”

The way Frank’s face falls is answer enough. Curtis knows that expression well; whatever happened between the two of them is eating him up inside.

“I’m tired, Curt,” he finally says, each word ragged. “I’m so goddamn tired. All the blood and bullshit—” Frank’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Woke up one morning just sick of all of it. Started thinking about the kids, about Maria—if they could see me, Curt—”

“Don’t do that to yourself, man,” Curtis cuts in. He knows how fiercely Frank loved his family; hearing him tear himself up wondering what they’d think of him now sits a little funny in his gut.

Frank meets his gaze head on. “I’m sorry, Curtis. I know that might not mean shit anymore, not coming from me, but there it is. All the shit I put you through—I never meant for it to go as far as it did. You gotta know that.”

It’s Curtis’ turn to laugh. “I don’t know that. Hell, sometimes—sometimes it seems like you like it when shit hits the fan. You like being backed into a corner, fighting your way out.”

“Yeah, you might be right about that. Still sorry I dragged you into it.”

They drink in silence for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, so the bar is mostly quiet, just the low thrum of conversation and a thin crackle of music leaking from the radio behind the bar. Curtis can almost pretend that they’re just two friends catching up over a drink, talking about trivial shit like work and the weather and who’s going to the playoffs.

The thing is, Curtis isn’t quite ready to forgive Frank. It’s gonna take more than one night at Sal’s to mend the rift between them. But maybe Frank’s not looking for forgiveness; maybe what he needs tonight is a friend, a brother. Someone who loves him even when they’re pissed as hell at him.

Curtis thinks he can do that.

“So,” he says, eyeing Frank knowingly. “When’re you gonna call her?”

Frank flicks his eyes over, mouth pinching into a line. “Not too sure Karen wants to hear from me, especially after today.”

Curtis shakes his head. “Thought your wallowing asshole days were behind you, man. It’s time to gather your rosebuds.”

Frank snorts. “Quoting old English poetry at me now, huh?”

“You bet your ass. I live for all that carpe diem shit. You say you hung up the vest, right? You’re done with that? Then prove it. You got one life, Frank, so go live it.”

Frank dips his head to the floor. When he looks up again, his eyes are a little wet. “I’m scared, Curt.”

“Shit, Frank, that’s all anyone is. We’re all scared. The hardest thing to do in this world is live in it.” Curtis reaches over and clasps Frank’s shoulder. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Frank bobs his head, but Curtis can tell he still can’t quite see it. The man’s been punishing himself for so long; it’s all he thinks he deserves. Curtis has seen enough war and trauma to know that sometimes there’s no coming back from that ledge. Frank has to make that choice himself. He might not be ready yet, but he’s here in this bar instead of out on the streets, and that’s not nothing.

Frank blinks, then tilts his head to squint at Curt’s watch. “Hour’s almost up. Deal’s a deal, yeah?” He slaps a few bills down on the bar and starts to stand.

Curtis holds his almost-empty glass up. “I could go for one more round.”

“Yeah?” Frank asks, and the word cracks a bit.

Curtis feels something loosen up in his chest. “Yeah, man.”

Frank sits back down, and it feels like a step forward.

.

The article runs a few days later. Karen calls to give him a heads up, but the anticipation still jolts down his spine as he thumbs through the paper to find it. Curtis reads it through once, his throat going a little tight as he reads quotes from the vets about how group feels like a family, how it’s helped them find their way back to normal after coming home. Karen’s writing is the backbone of the whole thing, capturing the group’s essence without bleeding into the melodramatic.

He reads it again, then gives her a call.

“Anything interesting in the paper today?” she says when she answers.

Curtis huffs. “Funny.”

“What did you think?”

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” Curtis admits. “But mostly thrilled that it’s out there. These guys deserve it.”

“Agreed,” Karen says. “And so do you.”

Curtis doesn’t know what to say to that. Group always felt like something he needed to do, a way to reclaim his trauma instead of succumbing to it. He’s never needed or wanted any recognition for it.

“Thanks, Karen,” he finally manages. “And hey, if you ever need something to do on Thursdays, you know where to find us.”

“Even after last week?” She says it lightly enough, but even over the phone Curtis hears the slight strain in her voice. “I felt awful for leaving so quickly.”

“Hey, I get it. Bit of an exciting day.”

She laughs dryly. “You could say that.” A pause, and then— “Do you and Frank keep in touch, or—” she cuts off, and for a second Curtis wonders if the call dropped. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was completely unprofessional. Forget I said anything.”

Curtis knows he should leave it at that, but the tinge of resignation in her words is all too familiar. He remembers what he told Frank all those months ago, hoping this time it might sink in. Disappointed but unsurprised when it didn’t.

People are gonna care about you whether you want them to or not, Frank.

Karen’s one of the good ones. He knows that Frank knows it, too—and maybe that’s what pushes him to say something now, his better judgment be damned.

“Look, Karen, if I’m overstepping, you tell me to shove it, but—until last week, I hadn’t seen or heard from Frank in months. I know what it’s like to worry about the guy—hell, I wanted him to come back so I could kick his ass myself.”

That pulls a small laugh from the other end of the phone. “Get in line.”

“Yeah, so you get it,” Curtis says through a grin. “I love Frank like a brother, but the man drives me batshit more often than not.”

Karen sighs softly. “I want more for him, you know? More than—whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing out there.”

“I think, deep down, below all the bullshit—I think he wants that, too.”

Silence stretches over the line. “You’re a good friend,” Karen finally says. “It’s nice to know that Frank has one of those.”

“Hey, likewise,” Curtis replies, and he means it. He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive Frank if he lets this woman slip through his grasp.

“I’ll see you around?”

“Absolutely. I’m serious about group—don’t be a stranger.”

Curtis hangs up feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He’s still tempering his expectations for Frank—they’ve been down this road before—but maybe there’s a way out of the woods. Maybe they can both get back to the business of living.

He doesn’t put much stock in new-age bullshit like manifestation or destiny, but it does feel a little prophetic when Frank texts him later that afternoon: Nice article.

Yeah, I thought so, Curtis types back, followed up with a rose emoji just to see if Frank will take the bait.

He doesn’t have to wait long. His phone buzzes after a few seconds, and Curtis laughs when he reads Frank’s response, knowing the hit landed.

Shut up, Curt.

.

“—telling you, man, it’s a classic.”

“Yeah, maybe if you’re a middle-aged white lady.”

“Excuse me?” Lydia counters, spreading her arms. “Do I look middle-aged or white to you?” 

Rahul just shrugs and leans back in his seat. The conversation tonight had started simply enough before quickly devolving into an argument about books, of all things. Lydia had offered up a few that resonate with her, one of them being Pride and Prejudice. Rahul had looked at her like she was an alien, and now here they are.

“If it helps, I’ve read it too,” Curt cuts in. “I’ll admit it’s a little dense at first, but it’s a classic for a reason. Ultimately, it’s about acceptance. Not judging someone before you’ve gotten a chance to know them. That’s something all of us in this room can relate to, right?”

There are some begrudging nods, but Rahul shakes his head. “Nah, man. No way some English lady who lived, like, a hundred years ago knows anything about my life.”

Lydia scowls, but Curtis holds up a hand. “That’s a valid opinion. But I bet if you gave it a chance, you’d be surprised.”

“You talking about Jane Austen again, Curt?”

Heads swivel toward the source of the sound, and Curtis looks up to see Frank walking through the door. He pulls a chair off the rack and slides between Rahul and Lydia. “Sorry I’m late. And uh, for the record—her novels are the good shit.”

“Not you too, man,” Rahul groans. 

“Got me through one of my first tours,” Frank replies. He gestures at Curtis. “This guy wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about it, so I finally took the damn thing just to shut him up. Stayed up half the night reading it. Curtis knows his shit.”

Curtis feels himself smiling. “Good to have you back, Pete.”

It is. It really is.

Frank makes the rounds after group, catching up with all the vets he knew from before and even chatting with some of the newer members. Curtis catches Lydia fist-bumping him, and he almost shakes his head in disbelief. If someone had told him two weeks ago that Frank would be here, in this room, smiling and making small talk, he would’ve laughed right in their face.  

“Hey, man,” Rahul says, walking up to him. His face goes a little sheepish. “So, uh, if you have that book on you—”   

Curtis blinks. “You’re really gonna give it a shot?”

Rahul shrugs. “Yeah, I mean—you and Pete both think it’s, like, God’s gift to literature, or whatever, so how bad can it be?” He glances over his shoulder surreptitiously. “Just don’t tell Lydia, yeah?”

Curt claps him on the back. “Deal. I’ll bring it next week.” 

Rahul nods, then jerks his head in the direction of the door. “Hey, did you see who’s here?” 

Curtis frowns, peering over Rahul’s head in that direction—

Karen is standing beside Frank, her head thrown back in laughter at something that Lydia has said. She’s in her work clothes, but her hair looks a little glossier, and she’s definitely wearing lipstick. Curtis watches as Frank brings his hand to the small of her back in a gesture that’s effortless, like this isn’t the first time he’s done it.

Gather your rosebuds, Frank.

The bastard really did it. Curtis hadn’t realized how badly he wanted this for him—something to live for after the war was over. Now it’s happening right in front of him, unfolding in real time. It makes his chest ache a little. 

Karen catches Curtis’ eye and gently peels herself away. “Long time no see,” she says, coming up to him. “I would’ve been here tonight, but Ellison’s got us working overtime on this city councilman thing.”

Curtis nods. He’s heard a few things through the grapevine—embezzlement in the councilman’s office, real original—and he wondered if Karen would be following it. “Back to making headlines?” he quips. 

“Maybe just one more,” Karen laughs. 

Curtis tips his head in Frank’s direction. “So, guess he finally pulled his head out of his ass.”

Karen follows his gaze. The look on her face is in direct contrast to the one Frank was wearing last week, love and hope and so much warmth. It’s all the answer Curtis needs.

“About damn time,” he says.

Karen’s mouth curves into a soft smile. “No argument there. Hey, we were going to grab dinner at that new Thai place on 7th—you’re welcome to come with, if you’re not busy.”

Curtis considers it for a second, but the last thing he wants to be for either of them is a third wheel. They deserve some time for themselves. He has all the time in the world to give Frank shit about this; he’ll let him have one night of peace.

“Let me take a raincheck,” he says. “Next week sometime?”

“Next week is perfect,” Karen replies. “See you then.”

The other vets are trickling out now, waving and calling out goodbyes over their shoulder. Karen makes her way back over to Frank, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. She leans in to say something in his ear, and he casts a glance back at Curtis. 

Curtis bobs his head once, and Frank returns the gesture, mouth creasing into a smile; then he turns and follows Karen out the door.

Curtis watches him leave, thinking he’s never been more happy to do so.

[tsarisfanfiction]

End of Blue: Chapter 1

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Angst Characters: Gordon Tracy, Scott Tracy, Tracy Brothers

Thunderbird One’s dead in the water.  Scott Tracy isn’t responding.  Rescues never feel the same when it’s one of their own they have to save.

~~~ Once again, you can all thank, or blame, the wonderful @gumnut-logic for this thing.  Two seemingly unrelated vague conversations have ended up culminating in one of my specialties - yup, another Scott!whump, as though I haven’t written enough of these already (no such thing as enough!).  Not sure how frequently this is going to be updated - or how long it’ll be.  I know what Chapter 2 is going to do and I know there will need to be at least one more chapter after that, but muses do weird things.  Title has been snaffled from Beast in Black’s “End of the World”, make of that what you will.

“Gordon!”

John appeared in front of him, looking not quite his usual calm self.  For John to be showing that, even to a brother who’d learnt to read his nuances, meant that something was very, very wrong.

Gordon’s hands inadvertently tightened on the controls of Thunderbird Four as he held the sinking ship steady while Alan did the evac in Thunderbird Two.  This sounded like terrible timing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, skipping all the quips he’d make if it was just a regular check-in.  The loss of John’s fantastic poker face and resulting prickles down his spine told him it was far from one.

“How long until evac’s done?” his space-residing brother asked.  An unusual question from their Eye In The Sky, but with Thunderbird Five under annual maintenance, the ginger didn’t have all his usual data.  Not even half of it.  Maybe that was causing the panic, but it was just that – annual. Nothing unusual, if universally disliked.

“Alan’s clearing the last of them now,” he said.  “But I’ve been asked to hold the ship steady until the GDF get here; they’re suspecting something’s-”

“Screw the GDF,” John interrupted, and woah something was really niggling him if he was getting that obviously frantic.  “The first instant you can let go of that ship, get the hell back to Two.”

That was not John-typical at all.  Gordon’s squid sense almost exploded.

“What’s happened?” he asked. “John, where do I need to be?”  He was running through scenarios but he couldn’t think of a single reason John would be hurrying him like this.  Not unless-

“Thunderbird One’s down.”

Shit.  “In the ocean?”

“North Pacific.”

That was the other side of the world.  Two hours, easy, until they got there, and they didn’t even have Virgil to get all the juice out of his ‘bird, what with the collection of broken bones he’d acquired on the last rescue.  Gordon forced his hands to relax before he inadvertently gave Four a command he didn’t mean to.

“Scott?”  Thunderbird One was watertight, she should be able to hold out as long as she wasn’t too deep.  As long as whatever had taken her down hadn’t compromised that… What the hell even took her down?

“Not answering.”  John always looked a shade or two off through the holograms, but Gordon suspected that this time the too-pale skin wasn’t entirely a trick of technology.  “Too much of Thunderbird Five is still offline; I don’t have telemetry.  Brains and EOS are working as fast as they can, but it’ll still be a few more hours before she’s fully back online.”

Gordon was just grateful enough of her was online to register One’s crash.

“Have you told Alan?” he asked.

“He knows you need to get to the North Pacific yesterday,” John answered.  “Not why.”

Alan was going to be furious at being left in the dark, but Gordon understood why.  He’d have to fill him in on the flight over.

“We’ll get there,” he promised, because there wasn’t another option.  They had to.  “Give me updates as you get them.”

“F.A.B.”  It was a reluctant acknowledgement, but they both knew John was almost useless until Five was fully online.  “I’ll update Tracy Island.”

Gordon did not envy him that task one bit.  Virgil was going to freak out.  Badly.

“That’s the last of them, Gordon,” Alan broke in.  “John says-”

“On my way,” Gordon interrupted – okay, so he was a little frazzled, too.  Sue him.  It wasn’t every day he had to rescue his eldest brother from an unplanned watery landing.  “John told me.  I’ll fill you in on the details when we’re on the way.”  He released the ship and shot back towards his floating module as fast as Thunderbird Four could handle.  “Don’t wait for me to get out of Four.  Grab the module as soon as I’m docked and go.”

“What about the crew? We need to drop them off, remember?”

Gordon had forgotten about the crew.  “Any of them need the hospital?”  A high-speed spin and he was in position for the cable to draw Thunderbird Four up the ramp.

“No, but-”

“Then they get a joyride in Two.”  Clunk, and the docking began.  Maybe he shouldn’t be authorising a nice round trip for a bunch of sailors, but it was already a two hour journey and they had no idea how badly Scott was hurt, or what sort of damage One had taken.  Gordon had salvaged downed planes before.

They weren’t pretty.

“Gordon, what-”

“Module’s ready for retrieval,” he interrupted, mostly because he didn’t want to answer the inevitable question just yet.  “Haul me up and punch it.”

“F.A.B.”  Alan sounded far from happy, but the familiar noises and rocking sensation of module retrieval began.

Despite his instinct being to run straight to the cockpit and fill Alan in, thereby making sure he was indeed going as fast as Two could go, Gordon took his time with his post-dive checks.  Thunderbird Four needed to be in top condition for the next rescue, and he refused to jeopardise Scott’s safety by fluffing the checks on the ‘bird that was going to save him.

She was, thankfully, just fine.  No warning lights, no errors, scratches or scrapes.  Thunderbird Four was more than ready for the rescue.

Now they just had to wait until they got there.

“Explain,” Alan ordered the moment he entered the cockpit.  The rescued crew were also looking at him attentively, although thankfully none of them seemed to mind the detour.  Gordon ignored them as he sidled into his seat and began checking their flight data.

Alan was a good kid; he’d heard punch it and taken it for the order it was.  Thunderbird Two was travelling at top speed, hurtling through the skies towards her drowning sister with everything she had.

Still, there was always room for a little more, and Gordon flicked a few switches.

“Gordon!”

“Thunderbird One’s down,” he admitted.  Behind them, he heard the unified gasps of shock from their passengers.  “John can’t raise her, and we have no telemetry.”

“In the ocean?” Alan asked. He didn’t sound like he believed it. Gordon just hoped he wasn’t going to go into shock when it sank in.  Hell, he hoped he wasn’t going to go into shock when it sank in.

“Yup.  No more data, no idea why, no contact.  We just know she’s down.”

Despite already reportedly being maxed out, Thunderbird Two sped up.  Gordon knew Virgil hated it when Alan or Scott treated her like their own ‘birds and pushed the limits, but he suspected they might get a pass this time.

Speaking of their grounded older brother…

“Gordon, Alan!”

Virgil looked awful. The pyjamas and general ‘injured person’ vibes – including at least one visible cast and general mummification by bandages – aside, it was entirely too obvious that he’d been filled in on what little they knew.

“Receiving you, Virgil. Any way this girl of yours can go any faster?” he answered.  “Alan’s trying, but he’s not you.”

“Hey!”

“Make sure you get there in one piece!” Virgil demanded.

“That’s the plan,” Alan promised.  “Anything from Scott?”

Virgil’s face tightened, panic and frustration both clearly etched onto his face.  It hurt to look at – Gordon knew he wanted nothing more than to be where Alan was right then, getting every last scrap of speed out of his ‘bird.  Gordon wanted him there, too, and not just for piloting.  Virgil would have a plan, but most importantly, Virgil had the best medical knowledge.  If Scott was hurt – not really an if if they weren’t getting any contact from him – Gordon wanted the best man for the job.

The best man was currently stuck in the infirmary with too many broken bones to be of any practical use even once they got Scott home.  Gordon and Alan were just going to have to make do with their lesser qualifications.

“Nothing,” Virgil growled, as though the word physically pained him.  It probably did.

“Maybe he’s just out of range while Five’s down?” Alan suggested hopefully.  They all knew that wasn’t likely, but Gordon wasn’t going to be the one to shoot it down.  Not when he wanted to believe it, too.

“I’ll try pinging him from Two,” he said instead, both for something to do and in the vain hope that Alan might be right – never mind that geographically they were further from Tracy Island than Thunderbird One was and their comms were working fine.

“Is there anything we can do?” the ship’s captain asked from behind them.  “I know we’re not you guys, but if there’s anything…”

Gordon was so glad they weren’t kicking up a fuss.

“Accept our apologies for the extended trip,” he shrugged.  “Otherwise, there’s not much anyone can do until we know more.”  He opened the line to Thunderbird One.

It connected.  Normally, he’d call that a good start.  Now, it just filled him with dread, because it meant comms weren’t down.

“Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two,” he called.  “Scott, are you receiving?”

Silence.

On the other line, Virgil looked almost as pale as John’s normal holographic visage.  Whether that was the pain from his injuries, or something less physical, Gordon didn’t dare guess.

“Scott!” he tried again. “Thunderbird One, do you hear me?”

Nothing.  Not even a flicker of visual or a semi-conscious groan of pain. Nothing at all.

The thought crossed his mind that Scott wasn’t even in her.

“John, how soon before you get the cameras back online?” he asked.  The ginger head popped up to accompany Virgil’s over the dashboard – Gordon’s earlier observation had been right.  Their faces were both the exact same pallor.  It wasn’t a good look on either of them.  Beside him, Alan wasn’t looking too hot, either.  He didn’t dare think about his own appearance.  “If we can’t raise him, we can at least try and see what we’re dealing with.”

The line had connected, and he hadn’t heard water.  Hopefully that meant she wasn’t leaking and Scott was still comfy and dry, but Gordon wanted to be sure.

Needed to be sure. The rescue would be a lot more complicated without that sort of information.

“Cameras are online, but Thunderbird One’s are turned off right now.”  John’s face was the picture of frustration, and he wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding it in his voice, either.  “It’ll take a little longer before I can access them to turn them on, but EOS is making it a priority.”

Scott never let any of the rest of them turn their internal cameras off.  From now on, Gordon was going to enforce that rule for Thunderbird One, too.  If John and Virgil didn’t beat him to it.

Beside him, Alan was sitting in silence, staring ahead as though if he glared at the world hard enough, he could discover the secrets of teleportation.  Gordon really wished it worked that way.

Sadly, teleportation didn’t exist, and they were having to do things the slow way.  Not that Two was slow, but she certainly wasn’t fast enough.  Not today.

The minutes crawled past like hours.  With Alan firmly in control and channelling Scott’s inner-speed demon as much as the big green ‘bird would allow, there was little for Gordon to do except periodically try to hail Scott, getting ever more concerned as silence persistently responded. He could understand a black-out for a few minutes, but it was – he checked the time – at least an hour since John had contacted him and there was still nothing on the other end of the line.

Virgil was still there, hovering in his bed-bound state and periodically throwing his own frantic calls Scott’s way. Gordon hadn’t even tried to tell him to leave it to them, reminding him that there was nothing he could do.

No-one knew that better than Virgil, after all, and his frustration at his helplessness was steadily mounting the longer the silence persisted.

With no solid information on what they were going to find – external access cameras, which Scott hadn’t turned off, were merrily showing nothing but water and the occasional sea life investigating the strange intruder – Gordon turned his time towards planning.  Plans for an intact Thunderbird One, plans for a leaking Thunderbird One, plans of extraction depending on the severity of Scott’s condition.  He might be going in blind, but he wasn’t going to be going in unprepared.

“Coming up on the co-ordinates now.”  Alan broke through his planning – this scenario involving Thunderbird One somehow stuck and unable to be airlifted – to give him the heads’ up.  His younger brother had been far too subdued the entire flight, and Gordon just hoped he’d be able to keep it together a while longer.  Thunderbird Five wasn’t online enough to have remote control access yet.

And she still didn’t have telemetry, which John was panicking over more and more as Scott continued to be non-responsive, or control over Thunderbird One’s internal cameras.

“F.A.B.,” Gordon responded automatically, getting up from his seat and heading straight for the module and his Thunderbird.  She was just as he’d left her – fully prepared for the next dive – and he settled into the cockpit with ease of experience.

This was just one more rescue.  One with limited information and a brother’s life on the line, but still just one more rescue.  He could do this.

He had to do this.

Pre-dive checks were completed, all systems green and raring to go.  He wondered if she was as anxious to get to her sister as he was his brother.

“Ready for module deployment,” he reported, and barely a moment later they were falling, crashing into the water and rocking for a moment before they stabilised.  “Alan, see if you can get a scan of Thunderbird One’s condition.”  It wouldn’t be as good as a Thunderbird Five scan, but immediately overhead, Thunderbird Two should be able to get something.

Thunderbird Four slid out of the module and under the surface to the tune of his brother’s “F.A.B.” Nose pointed down and sonar active, he pushed her as fast as he dared towards the location they had for the downed Thunderbird.  It wouldn’t be exact – Thunderbird Five’s maintenance downtime crippling the accuracy – but Gordon had enough faith in it to trust that he was at least in range.

Sonar registered the craft just as Alan called him.

“Scans show one life sign,” he said, and Gordon knew he wasn’t imagining the relief in his younger brother’s voice – mostly because he felt it, too.  One life sign meant Scott was alive.  Whatever state he was in, he was alive.  “But Thunderbird One’s been taking on water.  Scans suggest she’s half-flooded.”

That was not such good news. It had to be a small leak, if it was only half after two hours, but with Scott still not responding, he had no idea if his brother was wearing his helmet.

Flooding also meant she was going to be heavier to lift, but the amount of water meant it would be too risky to deploy the tube to link the two craft and attempt to evac Scott into Four. He sent one more ping at the downed Thunderbird, hoping against hope that Scott would answer this time.

He didn’t.

Getting visual on her was a muted sort of relief.  On the one hand, Scott was found, but on the other, Thunderbird One was not supposed to be nestled on the seabed.  It just wasn’t right.

Her wings were still closed, implying she’d been supersonic, and the nose cone was crumpled from the impact with either the water or the sea floor.  Perhaps both.  Gordon suspected that was the source of the leak, but he was more interested in the way she wasn’t entirely belly-down.  Rolled ever so slightly on her side, he should be able to get some sort of visual through the viewing window.

“I’ve got eyes on her,” he belatedly reported.  “Her nose is damaged but otherwise she doesn’t look too bad.  She’s not quite belly-down, so I’m going to go EVA and see what I can see through the viewing window.”

He just needed to see Scott. See that he was okay, see if he had his helmet on and if it was intact.

“Be careful,” John warned. “Your suit won’t hold for long at those depths.”

That was normally Virgil’s line, but Virgil had gone silent.  Gordon would worry about that later, once Scott was safe.

“I just need to check his condition,” he said, tipping backwards into the airlock.  “I won’t be long.”

Compared to Thunderbird Two, Thunderbird One always seemed small.  Somehow, in the wide expanse of the ocean, she looked big.  Crashed machinery instead of sleek ‘bird.  The thought made him shudder as he pushed through the water, heading straight for the panel of window he could see.

Thunderbird One’s emergency lighting was on, dim and shrouding most things in shadow.

It was enough to see that Scott was slumped in the pilot chair.  Definitely unconscious, and also not wearing his helmet, because that would have made Gordon’s job too easy.

It wasn’t enough to see why.

He banged on the glass, in case the vibrations could do what persistent comms couldn’t and rouse his brother.

Nothing.

The water was up past Scott’s boots; Gordon couldn’t see how far but his brother was at least partially submerged.

“Alan, we’ll need the lifting bags.”  There was no way he could safely get Scott out until they were on the surface.

“Coming down to you now.” It was Virgil who responded, deep voice full of determination.  Gordon suspected he’d demanded the remote controls for them.  “How is he?  Can you see him?”

“I can see he’s still in his seat,” Gordon answered.  “Not wearing his helmet, so I can’t evac him until she’s lifted with all that water in her, and still not responding to anything.  It’s too dark to see anything else.”

“Any sign of what brought them down?” John asked.

“Nothing,” Gordon admitted, and that concerned him, because what could bring One down – especially with Scott piloting her?  “Only damage I’m seeing so far is from the landing.”

“Lift bags incoming,” Virgil warned, and he looked up to see the yellow bags descending.

With one last look at his unmoving brother, eerie with the emergency lighting playing over the water inside, he peeled himself away from the viewing window and swam up to meet them, making sure they were firmly attached to the Thunderbird.  No room for error.

“Ready to deploy.”

He swam back to Thunderbird Four, slipping back inside and into the cockpit to watch as the bags inflated and slowly, slowly, peeled the downed ‘bird off of the sea floor.

The ascent seemed to take forever, and Gordon kept pace the entire time, peering through the viewing window as best he could to keep an eye on his brother.  There was no movement at all, no reaction to the way his Thunderbird was rising back up to the surface.

If not for Alan’s report of a life sign, he would have been fearing the worst.  As it was, he was still terrified that something was badly wrong, although with Thunderbird One mostly intact, he wasn’t sure what. There shouldn’t have been anything to knock him out.  Certainly not for this long.

The moment they breached the surface, he latched on to her with Thunderbird Four’s arms and once again left his ‘bird.  Gecko gloves gave him the grip he needed to scramble up to Thunderbird One’s dorsal hatch, and with a quick manual override – that thankfully worked – he dropped down into thigh-deep water inside the Thunderbird.

“Scott!” he called, ignoring frantic demands from his brothers that he update them.  He’d update them when he knew what was going on himself.  Thunderbird One rolled gently with the water she was floating on, somewhat stabilised by Four but not entirely.  Not until clanks told him Alan had fired grapples to lock on.

He waded his way towards the pilot chair, eyeing the way Scott was slumped and already mentally running through all the possible reasons for his unresponsiveness.  A hand on the shoulder of the seat – not his brother until he knew injuries – and he pulled himself the rest of the way until he was in front of Scott, and-

Oh shit.

He must have said it out loud, because suddenly there were three brothers in his ear – loud and frantic – but he only had eyes for his white, white brother.  None of his theories, his suspicions, had been right. Not even close.

Blood-soaked bandages wrapped around Scott’s abdomen, but it wasn’t those that had Gordon’s teeth grinding in a mix of fear and fury.  No.

It was the knife buried hilt-deep.

tbc...