#because this is actually so old but its just been sitting in my folders gathering dust

[nxrthmizu]

love in bubble wraps.

fandom | haikyuu!!

pairing | kuroo tetsurou x reader

genre | fluff

w.c | 1.9k

author's note | based on a real life experience... :)

Love, you think, comes in many forms. Sometimes love is a warm, home-cooked meal that is now cooked at least once a week because you told your mother you liked it. Other times, love is laughing and crying alongside the friends you’ve known since pre-school because everyone passed their highschool finals with flying colours. Throughout our lives, we gradually come to meet the different forms of love, because it comes in all shapes, colours, and sizes.

First, we learn that love is a roof that you can always turn to when a storm blows in. Then, we learn that love is knowing that there are people who will drop everything to help you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. Lastly, we learn to interlock our fingers with the one we wish to walk to the end of time with.

Then again, love varies from person to person— Just like how the goddess of love, Aphrodite, looks different to every soul that sets its sights on her; Beauty truly lies in the eye of the beholder. For some, love comes in the form of a warm body to cuddle next to on a rainy day. For others, love comes in the form of a jewelled ring. For you, love comes in the form of a 6’2 man who still doesn’t know how to tame his bedhead.

Tetsurou is often too busy for his own good, always running around here and there to secure contracts, ensuring that Japan can make a name for itself during the Olympics. He books train tickets to opposite ends of Japan at least once a month, leaving before the sun rises and returning after it sets. The sun never dictates his work day, because while his coworkers work from nine to five, Tetsurou works until he finishes his tasks.

Okay, so your husband is a bit of a workaholic. And maybe not just a bit.

“L/N-san,” Your colleague asks one day out of sheer curiosity. A group of women are gathered around the snack station, sipping on cheap, machine-produced instant coffee as they gossip about their marital lives instead of working. “Now that I think about it… I’ve never met your husband, have I?”

“Ah,” You sweat-drop nervously at this. Wonderful— Your parents are already pressuring you about how Kuroo rarely visits with you— And now your coworkers, too? “He’s quite busy. He works very hard to make sure that we’ll be well-off in the future.” You respond, knowing that your reply is just a thinly-veiled way of saying ‘He’s rarely home,’.

“Oh, that’s awful,” Wherever you go, there’s always a middle-aged lady who has nothing better to do than to prey on the weak spots of your life, “It must feel lonely. You must feel so sad when you see my husband pick me up from work.” A smirk dances up her lips as she waits for you to walk into her trap, smiling as widely as a spider watching its incoming meal.

“Not really,” A practiced smile counters hers as you take a sip of your coffee. “I know Tetsurou loves me— There’s an unbreakable trust between us. He might not be home often, but I know that he’s working hard so that we can have a better tomorrow… And that’s sort of comforting, in a sense. Knowing that Tetsurou wishes for a future where we’re financially stable, where we can just spend a whole day doing nothing in each other’s presence…”

A chorus of ‘awws’ makes you blush. Out of the corner of your eye, you see the middle-aged coworker huff in failure. You mentally fist-pump the air at your victory.

“Anyway, I heard that you got engaged last weekend, Shiho-san,” Changing the topic quickly, you smile when the attention of all the ladies instantly redirects to the said woman, who blushes fiercely as they all coo at her ring. “Congratulations!”

“Oh my! He bought you such a beautiful ring… Ah, Shiho-san, you’re so lucky!”

“My husband also bought me a new bag last week,” The middle-aged woman chips in proudly, cocking her head towards her cubicle, where the leather handbag sits atop a tower of documents. “It’s very expensive.”

“That’s nice of him! It’s been forever since my husband bought me something.” Sighs another lady. Most of the group hums in agreement, sharing sympathetic looks with those that share the same fate.

“At the beginning, when we were still dating, Hayato used to buy me so many things, now…” The coworker that brings homemade cookies every New Years’ party says, looking dejected. “It’s like once we’re married, they don’t have to worry about making us happy anymore…”

“Ah, what about you, L/N-san? Does your husband buy you things often?”

You groan internally when the attention shifts to you once more. Honestly, you’re just there to listen and enjoy your coffee— Must you keep getting dragged into the conversation? “Well, personally I don’t really need my husband to buy me things to keep me happy, but… He does bring back trinkets whenever he travels.” You think about it for a while, then brighten when you remember the latest thing Tetsurou brought back for you.

“What is it?” Your change in expression isn’t missed by your coworkers, who preen with curiosity, excited to know what made you brighten up.

“Ah, it’s nothing… I promise, you’ll be disappointed if I tell you.” You chuckle.

“Come on!” “Be a good sport, L/N-san!” “We’re curious now, you can’t not tell us!”

“Oh, fine.” You sigh, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Three days ago, Saturday ]

You were on the couch, binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy with the Netflix subscription Tetsurou got for you to occupy yourself with while he was out of town. Your cat, Kazume (nicknamed after your husband’s best friend) lazed on your lap, yawning once in a while and swatting at the stray threads from your sweater.

Somewhere in between your fifteenth and seventeenth episode, the front door chirped with the sound of someone inserting a key into the lock. You perked up at the noise, Kazume yelping in protest as he almost slipped off.

“Oh, sorry Kazu.” You said quickly, a smile widening your lips as the front door opened.

“I’m ho—” Before your husband could finish his sentence, you were already at his side. Kazume meowed loudly from the couch, complaining about you abandoning him for another man. Tetsurou’s eyes softened, the edges of his hazel irises worn down by exhaustion. You took his laptop bag from him, as well as the folders he has in hand, balancing them like how you would balance your three grocery bags when Tetsurou wasn’t around to help. “I missed you too, but are you sure you can carry all of my files with one hand?”

“Yes!” You replied confidently, showcasing your balance as you wobbled through the living room with all of your husband’s stuff. Tetsurou’s laugh echoed through the apartment as he followed you, his reflexes coming into play as he dived for a falling file. “Oops.” You giggled, helping him up after he practically hurled himself at the floor.

Tetsurou shook his head, sighing fondly while he hugged you from the back, taking comfort in the familiar smell of your hair shampoo. “I missed you.” He mumbled.

“Me too.” You hummed, reaching back to stroke your hands through his still-untamed bedhead.

“Oh, before I forget,” Tetsurou leapt up suddenly, chucking his backpack onto the ground. “I brought back something for you!”

“I already have like, twenty-five keychains from Hyogo,” You reminded him, “Please tell me it’s not a…” Your voice trailed off when Tetsurou proudly whipped his gift from his backpack, hazel eyes shining for your reaction.

“... So?” Tetsurou grinned widely, like a five-year-old child holding up his drawing for his mother to critique.

“Oh my god, I love you.” You declared in your 80 sq ft kitchen, grabbing the gift from him. “I’ll clean up your stuff, go take a bath and we can have dinner while watching the…'' You pursed your lips as you try to recall the information that kept evading you like an annoying fly. “... 15th? 16th episode of Grey’s.”

“You started that without me? I said I wanted to watch that.” Tetsurou pouted petulantly like a child.

“I finished all the other stuff I wanted to watch,” You told him unapologetically. “And Kazume wanted to watch it too. Now hurry and take a bath or I’m starting without you.”

Twenty minutes later, you were cuddled up to your husband, who did not bother to comb his hair (“It’ll just be messy later anyway,” His reasoning was). Every few seconds, he would scoop some cold mash potato out of the giant bowl (The two of you were too impatient to heat it with the microwave) and feed you. All throughout the episode, there was the constant pop-pop-pop of you working your way through the giant piece of bubble wrap Tetsurou had brought home for you.

“You know, I was thinking,” You hummed as Tetsurou pressed ‘Next Episode’. “If It were any other woman, they might have slapped you for bringing just bubble wrap home after a whole week away.”

“Well, then I’m lucky that you aren’t ‘any other woman’, am I?” Your husband smiled, pressing a gentle kiss onto your lips before picking up the mash potato bowl again. “Are we just going to have mashed potatoes for dinner?”

“I bought spicy instant noodles yesterday, we can have that later if you want.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

[ Present, Tuesday ]

“That’s actually so sweet of him!” Your colleague coos as you finish your story. “Wish I had a husband like that…'' Even the middle-aged lady begrudgingly nods in agreement. For a moment, you feel a surge of pride— It was your husband they were talking about— Your sweet, hardworking, dork of a 6’2 bedhead.

“You wouldn’t be able to survive.” Another lady snorts. “That guy is away for weeks at a time.”

You hum. “Well, at least he calls back every night, regardless of how tired he is.” In the corner of your mind, you remember that he makes sure to call his grandmother every weekend, and that he sends his parents (and grandparents) money every month, that he visits your parents the first Sunday after he’s back from his trips— Not to mention that he always brings a gift of wellness products (The most recent one was a box of abalone).

The group of women swoon once more.

“Well, I guess we should get back to work,” You dispose of your paper cup in the trash, brushing your hands off. “See you ladies later.”

The moment you’re back at your desk, you take out your phone to text your husband, who is, no doubt, going to be very, very confused.

[ y/n ] 2.37pm

— we have a problem

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.39pm

— what’s wrong???

[ y/n ] 2.38pm

— i may have accidentally caused 20 women in my office to fall in love with you

[ tetsu <3 ] 2.38pm

— what ???

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

you know it's love when your dad comes home with this giant piece of bubble wrap and your mom literally squeals and snatches it to immediately start popping it on the couch while browsing facebook on her ipad

[lilydalexf]

Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with tatooedlaura (Laura Sprys)

Laura has 28 fics at Gossamer, but the big treasure trove of her stories is at AO3, where she has 193 fics. Thank goodness for the richness of the X-Files and for talented, creative people like Laura who can find so many interesting ways to tell tales in the show’s universe. Big thanks to Laura for doing this interview.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Maybe reading mine but reading older fic in general is something I still do and something I still find entertaining. I do wish i could get into my old fics and post a warning that some of those were written before the author: ever had a drink, ever had sex, ever had a boyfriend, ever lived on her own, ever had a real job, or ever experienced much of anything in the real world.

Then again, fanfic is a perfect time capsule for the age and it’s always fun to see where the originals started and how they’ve grown.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

Back in the day and up and through today, it has always been a fun experience. From it, I’ve learned to love writing. I’ve learned that fans are crazy, weird, wonderful, generous, talented, committed, passionate, and imaginative. In a fandom, you can think whatever you wish and write about anything you like and because I’ve been around so long, I’ve gotten to watch the storylines shift and the relationships change ...

Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Originally, I never had much interaction with people other than ones who sent emails commenting on my fanfic … the internet at my parents house was dial-up and I had to access through the AOL free disks that arrived in the mail so, for the most part, I didn’t have the bandwidth or the connection speed to do more than upload stories and download episode guides.

Good lord, I remember submitting a story and having to wait upwards of two days to two weeks before the new batch of stories was posted ... then ephemeral came around and you could actually have your story up in under a day ... all ya'll who started on tumblr and ao3, you have it great, let me tell you :)

One thing that stands out in my mind still (and I’m still friends with her on Facebook) was a woman from western Canada who I stumbled across somewhere while looking for the blooper reels. She offered to send me her copies on VHS for my collection. I don’t think she asked for payment and one day, a package arrived from a lovely woman near Lethbridge, bloopers playable, tapes labeled in clear printing. I still appreciate that 20 some odd years later :)

What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

Fandoms are crazy places. Tread lightly at first but enjoy what you want, ignore what you don’t, rewrite what you hate, and write what you love. Don’t be an asshole when you don’t agree with someone … when you do, tell them …

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I was on board from the first episode. It was a show about two people who you felt were destined to be together but weren’t, and wouldn’t be for years. It was a cop show about aliens and a monster show with cops. I was in the right place at the right time in the right frame of mind and there was just something that clicked and I never looked back. Friends were not allowed to call me on Friday night and once it switched to Sunday, I made sure that my parents got us on early evening bowling league so we’d be home in time to watch. Even my boyfriend (eventual husband) knew to shut the hell up from 9-10pm, even if he was sitting next to me on the couch (with my parents in their chairs watching as well)

Also, my 56-year-old dad had a crush on Scully from the start so that was entertaining as hell as well

What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

I have been writing stories in my head for literally as long as I can remember. Watching some episode, I honestly don’t remember which one, I suddenly had an idea for a story about Mulder and Scully. I had never written a story with pre-existing characters before and it was totally foreign to me. How do you write a character with a current storyline. It was weird, it was difficult, it was some of the most fun I’d had writing up to that point.

Suddenly, I didn’t have to explain or describe the characters, think of jobs and mundane things … they already had those … and it was great.

Honest-to-God, my first fic was written, in pencil, on a yellow legal pad by flashlight while lying with my head at the foot of my bed so I could see my parents coming down the hall if they happened to wake up at midnight to go to the bathroom. Later fics were written by the light of an 10” TV/VCR combo with me still lying with my head at the foot of the bed. I still have those old legal pads somewhere and I remember having to type them in secret, having to wait until the house was empty for 20 minutes to an hour at a time. Uploading them was always unnerving because of the slow dial-up and the fact that I didn’t have my own email address, but had to use my dad’s. I’d have to make sure to check it whenever I could, intercept the feedback I’d get off gossamer.

I was such a damn rebel.

What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom?

Well, I now know how to interact with people given tumblr and AO3 but it hasn’t changed much. I contribute a little more now that I understand posting on social media but mostly, I still just write like a fiend and post, read voraciously and give kudos and likes often, comment some and reblog.

Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

And nothing, absolutely nothing, has ever caught me like the X-Files did in regards to the fandom experience.

I have shows I watch and re-watch and re-watch but no two characters have ever had me writing and thinking and planning like Mulder and Scully. No other combo has ever made me write upwards of 300,000 or more total and still have plenty of stories to tell.

I’m okay with this.

Who are some of your favorite fictional characters? Why?

Aside from Mulder and Scully and the gentlemen three of Frohike, Langley, and Byers … I love all Scully’s nieces and nephews in my ‘Life’ series … I also love Corduroy (picture books), Harold (purple crayon fame), Neville Longbottom, the characters from my own novels, Katniss (book not movie), Anne Shirley, Elnora (from the Limberlost), Will Stanton/Merriman/Barney/Jane from ‘Dark is Rising’ and 10,459 others …

I’m a children’s librarian so most of my favorite books are those written for the younger and YA crowd. I like my job :)

Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully?

I watch this show all the damn time. I will think about Mulder and Scully when I have nothing else to think about, normally writing and editing whatever story I may have in the hopper at the time about them.

My husband laughs when I have the show on. He knows all the episodes with me and it’s one of my comfort shows that I don’t have to pay attention to when it’s on. During it, I have edited books, decorated cookies, been sick, been recovering, simply wasted a perfectly good day because I could.

My 17-year-old daughter keeps it on while she does homework and works out.

It’s a staple at our house and no one is allowed to make fun of it, even though we all know that parts are completely ‘make fun-able’

Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom?

I read fic all the time … I have worked my way through AO3 starting from the beginning and if it was more easily readable on a phone, I’d work my way, once again, through gossamer.

Restated from above: I dabbled and have a favorite ‘Fringe’ fic … I tried to read a Harry Potter fic once … I type ‘West Wing’ occasionally in ao3 and tumblr ...

Do you have any favorite X-Files fanfic stories or authors?

I have all kinds of favorites on tumblr but right now, I honestly don’t remember most of the names … I pretty much read everything that comes through my dashboard and every few days, i read through the newest posts on AO3 … I love you all!!

What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

Of X-Files fics, I love my newer stuff … I read “Life” and its sequels every few months … ‘Your Place or Mine’ is another one I will read … actually, I’ll just say it .... I read all my own fic over and over again …

With fic, you get to write the characters as you want to see them and write situations that you want to see … I write for myself most of all and I love to read what I wrote :)

Do you think you'll ever write another X-Files story? Or dust off and post an oldie that for whatever reason never made it online?

I write them all the damn time. I have tons of snippets and half-finished that I occasionally glean things from but while sometimes, old stuff morphs into new, sometimes, it just needs to gather that dust and live a quiet little forgotten life in some backhand folder on my dropbox account ...

Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

First question is answered above.

As for other creative work, I have published two YA novels, have the third in that series in editing … I have five other novels in the hopper in various stages of ‘good lord this needs an edit or twelve’ …

I am writing things constantly in my head or on my laptop … most is crap … stome sticks … some turns into fic and some turns into books …

But the point is, I am writing, in some form, at all time :)

Where do you get ideas for stories?

Some two sentence conversation will spark an idea … the line of a song will inspire an idea … a word will start a sentence which will turn into a paragraph which will tumble straight into a story … and sometimes, stuff just pops in my head for no damn reason at all ...

What's the story behind your pen name?

On gossamer, I am L. Sprys because that was my name at the time :)

On tumblr and AO3, I’m tatooedlaura because my name is Laura and I have, now, six tattoos (yes, I spelled it wrong in my handle but that’s life) … when I decided on the name, I think I only had two

Do your friends and family know about your fic and, if so, what have been their reactions?

They do now … it took me years to crack and tell them … my husband has never read them, nor have any of the people I have told (as far as I know)

Now, I don’t really care who knows … I’ll tell them I write smutty X-Files fanfiction and family-friendly X-Files fanfiction …

I am too old at this point to be embarrassed by what I like to do. If they laugh at me, I tell them they only get to laugh when they’ve published a book and I pull up my books on Amazon … I’ve only had to do that once and it shut them right the hell up …

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

Gossamer: L. Sprys

Tumblr and AO3: tatooedlaura

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

I love you! I see you! I appreciate you! I hope you enjoy! Don’t judge me for my grammar issues! I will never be able to spell the word ‘excersize’!

(Posted by Lilydale on April 27, 2021)

[indianamoonshine]

two to tango | javier x reader

*please note that i have no idea who created this gif. please let me know who did so i can give them credit.

summary: you’re pregnant and javier is the father. unfortunately, the two of you also haven’t spoken to one another in over a month. he’s starting to notice how easily startled you’ve become and how pissed you’ve been getting around the office. maybe it’s time to finally tell him.

contains: pregnancy. fluff. mentions of open relationships and an age-gap. (reader is well over eighteen.) your relationship is a bit wack but the two of you mean well.

author’s note: i’m barely getting by in quarantine, so here’s a really crappy one-shot. my first javier fic!

you felt him watching you.

the way you stumbled more frequently but was more apt to catch yourself less you actually did. the way your hands shook as you wrote down information called in through a hiss of static and how the noise pissed you off more than usual. it was the way you made sure not to walk too close to his desk, how your hands passed him folders marked with “confidential” as though he were infected with something.

javier was fuckin’ clueless though.

how he didn’t see earlier was beyond you. it’d been a month and a half since the last time you’d slept together. it’d been a month since the argument between the two of you ended things abruptly. javier and his informants and you and your jealously.

not to say you were wrong to be jealous. because you weren’t. you weren’t wrong to be angry when javier had to bail on you to collect some intel by whatever means necessary. and, granted, you had given him permission to do whatever it was to take out that escobar fuck. but certainly he had to have seen through that “cool girl” demeanor.

maybe it was because you were younger than him. javier didn’t play games - it wasn’t his niche. and usually it wasn’t yours; that is, of course, until the game reared its ugly face. you called him out on his bullshit only to cast the line; to get a rise out of him just to see how much he really cared. and when he didn’t take the bait (or didn’t understand what the fuck you were trying to get at) you grew restless at his lack of passion. this is the game that fucks up many relationships and it certainly fucked up yours.

but not until javier fucked you. a lot. every night really because the two of you lived down the hall from one another. then when your jealously and his nonchalance finally came to a head, the game stood on its platform and bit into its shiny gold medal. one comment led to another and soon enough you found yourself slamming the door in his face, unable to breath, and giving him the cold shoulder for thirty whole days.

but that thirty whole days was up a week ago.

it’s almost quitting time. well, for you anyway. you had a set schedule. you didn’t go out on the field or get your fingers dirty like steve or javier did. no. you sat in a square protected by bulletproof glass, phone to your chin, and breaking pencils by the dozens while you doodled mindlessly. the clock on the far wall ticks lazily, your kneecaps bobbing anxiously with the beat. you want so desperately to go home, to get out of this sauna of an embassy and drink...shit. well, to drink water, you suppose.

you let out a slight groan.

there’s a knock on your cubicle which rattles the glass a little. it’s always startled you, but considering the circumstances the sound the glass makes is enough to make you jump in your seat just slightly.

you place a hand on your chest, eyes tearing away from the clock, and find javier with his hands on his hips. he watches you with frown on his face, though the mustache hides most of it.

ah, fuck. it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. you were supposed to approach him. he wasn’t supposed to feel obligated to ask why you were more fidgety or anxious than usual; why you were now staring him down with a grimace on your face, eyes dropped with fatigue, and heart skipping a little.

well, shit. maybe javier peña was more observant of your behavior than you thought.

he says your name softly and raps his finger on the window again so you’d open it. you find yourself doing just that but not without sighing in defeat. the whiff of his cologne immediately intrudes your space, making your head dizzy with...all sorts of feelings, really. javier didn’t wear that much cologne. must be another lovely effect of pregnancy, you suppose.

he leans forward to say, “we need to talk.”

he’s being tactical - clever - in the way he speaks in such a hushed tone, eyes scanning the room to watch people leave their desks. it’s five now. lights are being flickered off, goodbyes being said. javier raises a hand at a few cadets who wish him a good night.

and then finally the room is empty. steve’s not even here - he’s on the field today - boots on the ground and whatnot. but javier was here.

and he was staring right at you.

his voice rumbles loudly from his mouth. “what’s going on with you?”

god dammit. you clench around nothing, palms sweating, and wishing he’d just fucking leave. especially with the way he smells. especially with the way his voice is heady with testosterone and authority.

“nothing,” you lie. it’s a bad show of dishonesty. you’ve never been that great at fibbing anyway, but this has to be one of the least convincing displays you’ve ever attempted.

javier isn’t persuaded by the way you choke on your own words. and with all the sweat gathering against your chest, who would be?

“i’m worried about you,” he murmurs. “you’ve been acting...strange.”

he seems genuinely concerned which both pisses you off and excites you at the same time. on one hand, he’d been watching you. making sure you were okay. healthy. safe. on the other hand, he had the audacity to fret himself over your demeanor when he’d been ignoring you.

in his defense, you’d been the one to kick him out.

you swallow a lump in your throat. acid, mostly, and then pride. “okay,” you finally squeak. “let’s talk.”

javier watches you cautiously, taking stock of your color and expressive eyes which probably looked a bit dilated at the moment. finally he says, “fine. over drinks?”

drinks. shit.

--

“your place or mine?” he’d asked after.

you told him ‘mine’ in a pathetic manner as he drove you. this area of medellín didn’t have a lot to offer as far as views go, but there was enough to keep your mind occupied as you passed. food carts that wafted delicious smells. children playing games. lovers quarreling. and then finally you arrive at the apartment complex where everything felt a little more beige and lonely - where culture was almost sucked from the grasp of the american embassy.

but javier was here now, and as much as you wanted to hit yourself for thinking so, the night felt a bit brighter when he opened the door for you. you thank him as the two of you enter the building and then wait in silence as you fumble with your keys.

javier takes a deep breath and makes himself at home. he’s been here hundreds of times. he even has his own sock drawer; one you hadn’t cleaned out yet (you told yourself you were too busy but you know...). he shucks off his boots and places them in the corner because he knows that’s where you like them, and when he sheds his jacket he lays it on the back of the couch just like you do.

you beeline for the fridge, desperate to busy your hands. there’s not much in here drink-wise save for some water bottles and some of his leftover beer. there is a bottle of red wine, chilled and tempting, but you ignore it with a frown and fetch javier’s choice of poison.

he sits on the couch, elbows at his knees, and staring blankly at the floor beneath him. when you enter the room he blinks up at you and accepts your offering with a small “thank you”.

“water, huh?” he notices as you uncap the bottle, brow furrowing a little. he knew how much you loved wine after a long day, and he definitely knew there was some in that fridge.

you nod a little too quickly for your liking. “yeah,” you say, taking a swig. “is that alright with you?”

javier grins at your snark. maybe it was bubbling up old feelings in him. you try to pretend like that doesn’t make you...well, feel something other than frustration. you wanted to be mad at him. you did.

there’s a silence between the two of you. it’s heavy. stifling. not awkward, but tense. tense enough that javier starts first with a great sigh.

“i miss you,” he says abruptly. he’s fingering with the lip of his bottle - can barely look you in the eyes when he says it...as though he’s ashamed of it or something.

“i know i shouldn’t because...” he sets the beer on your coffee table and folds his hands together. “because i was the one that fucked it up.”

you want to correct him but he’s not entirely wrong. while you played a hand in this as well, it takes two to tango and it certainly did take two to tango in this situation.

“i...” you start, but fall short. you weren’t keen on admitting you were wrong. you hated admitting you were wrong. always have. “i’m to blame too. i lied to you.”

javier perks a brow, lips pursing for a moment before asking, “lied?”

you shrug and nod at once, a little skeptical of your show of honesty. you hope it didn’t look too forced or shallow. pathetic. typical of you to overthink things...to make it about you.

“i wasn’t okay with you sleeping with other women,” you admit. and it feels so fucking good to say it aloud to the one person who matters.

javier sets his jaw and nods at his feet. “i shouldn’t have done it.”

that part was true.

“still, i should’ve told you straight out. i just felt like you didn’t...” you groan, pinching the bridge of your nose, a wave of nausea washing over you rather suddenly. “i just felt like you didn’t care enough about me to stop. and i was being a child for pushing you to admit it. or trying to push you to admit it. i don’t know...”

you shake your head, stunned by your own stupidity. when saying it out loud to an actual person and not your shampoo bottles it doesn’t make any sense. how manipulative can someone be?

“i should’ve just been honest with you and i’m sorry i wasn’t...” is all you can say. that was the simplicity of it.

javier shifts beside you on the couch. you don’t look up at him - you’re way too ashamed. he sets a hand on your thigh and you can’t help but shudder vibrantly at his touch.

“i knew you weren’t okay with the...” he considers his next words carefully. “informants. and, to be honest, i wanted you to break first.”

you glance up at him through your lashes. “why?”

he chuckles softly all of a sudden. “you know i’m not an open book. but you...” he pauses and takes your hand that’s limp in your lap. “you’re more stubborn than i am.”

he presses a delicate kiss to it, mustache tickling the tender flesh. “please come back to me.”

he...wants you back.

tears swell in your eyes before you can even acknowledge their existence. they’d come on so suddenly - without warning.

damn these hormones.

you use your free hand to wipe a lone tear away, noting how a wrinkle of concern puckers his brow when you do.

“i have to tell you something first.”

he scoots closer, eyes narrowed, but mouth soft in dismay. he massages the space between your forefinger and thumb which, strangely enough, alleviates some of the leftover nausea in your gut.

might as well spit it out.

“i’m pregnant, javi.”

you’ve imagined this scenario hundreds - and i mean hundreds- of times since seeing those pink lines on that piece of plastic. you imagine he’d shut down, sort of like a fax machine when it overheats, and walk out the door. maybe he’d throw his hands above his head, pace around the room, and spout off ways of how it couldn’t be possible despite the fact that you rarely used protection.

how it happened, you couldn’t be sure. the technicalities of it, at least. you’d been on birth control but maybe you’d missed a dose. maybe you were just really fuckin’ fertile and javier was really fuckin’ fecund. but either way it happened and there was nothing to do but say it did - indeed - happen.

and just as you think he’s had a stroke...that you should either call for an ambulance or at the very least steve, javier cracks...a grin.

not a joke. he doesn’t crack a joke. he cracks a smile. it starts off subtle until it doesn’t; until his teeth and all are showing. he laughs, but in good humor too. not snickering - but laughing.

you can’t help but jolt back from his touch with dubious reserve. “are you...laughing?”

javier’s smile falls into a pleasant smirk and then he’s holding your face between two calloused palms. palms that are familiar and warm, that have touched every inch and frailty of your body. the ones that helped make life within you.

and before he even says it, you know it’s okay. that it’s all gonna be okay.

“is that why you’ve been so goddamned jumpy lately?” he beams, thumb rubbing a small and gentle circle against your cheek.

you stare at him incredulously before you begin to giggle well. it was only a matter of time, especially by the look of sheer delight in his eyes. you were stunned by his bliss of it all.

you nod in his embrace. “yeah,” you admit meekly. but you’re smiling now too.

javier presses his forehead against yours, breathing in your scent with a great inhale. “i knew there was something going on.” he brings his nose to the crook of your neck and takes in another deep breath. “you smell different.”

you roll your eyes in jest. “bullshit.”

“i’m serious,” he says, perfect nose gliding along your skin. “i’m positive that’s a thing.”

your hands grip his cheeks, stubble itching your skin when you do. he looks luminous- maybe even more than you.

“so...” you caress the top of his eyebrow, thumb brushing over it ever so slightly. he always loved it when you did that. “are we okay with this?”

javier leans into you, eyes trained on your lips. “of course we’re okay with it,” he confirms softly. “we’re more than okay with it.”

[snickiebear]

Hello, snickiebear! Congratulations on your 200 followers! If you have the time, would you mind writing Shisui x Sakura in a nonmass au? I’m actually curious about your take on a time travel scenario with this pairing, but I also understand that a lot of works have been written on time travel already, so it’s still awesome if you don’t do the time travel part!

Congratulations again and thanks for taking the time to read this ask! Your works are really enjoyable to read. Thank you so much for writing and for doing this 200-follower event!

hello lovely anon!!! thank YOU for reading and requesting!!!! this one was so much fun to write! you ask for time travel + nonmass + shisaku? i am helpless to deliver!! this is a bit more angsty than i wanted but are we surprised? (nope, not at all lmao) this is also now on AO3 bc i really liked it!

also, apologies that this took a bit!! lifes been a real fuckin bitch and the wall of writer's block hit me like a train AHAHAHA but i hope you like this one!!! :)))

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful when the sky splits itself in half with a brillant, blinding flash of light.

Shisui, masked and riding the after mission high, can only stare as a body plummets from that crack, limp and silent.

It is as if the heavens have spit out what they have deemed unworthy.

Or perhaps, the heavens are dropping a gift on their doorstep.

Either way, Shisui is moving before he knows what is happening, catching that body— a woman with shaven pink hair— and holding her close, head tucked under his chin.

She’s breathing, chest rising and lowering feebly.

Shisui catches his breath as the fracture within the sky closes and only then does he notice the mask.

Porcelain and painted. A combination of a snake and fox, a wolf and slug.

His ANBU team materializes next to him, Dog-taicho’s chakra going from lazy to alert at the sight of the woman. “That’s…”

“Yeah.” Shisui says hoarsely. “She- she needs medical attention. I think.” There is a lot of blood, she’s dripping in it. But he can’t see where she’s bleeding from… or if all that blood is even hers.

“Let’s go.” Dog-taicho cuts through his thoughts, voice hard and a bit panicked. Afterall, Kakashi owes his life to this woman, they all did.

Team Ro blurred out of existence in their race to Kohona, their Savior clutched within his arms.

.

.

.

It's funny, really. When she looks back, as she so often does now, it's laughable. The fact that Haruno Sakura, the civilian born, the nobody, the weak one of Team 7 is the only one left.

Sakura was the only one left in the war against Kaguya and she had done what she has always done; what was needed.

So, Sakura was the only one left and she figured out what was left of Naruto’s seals and shot herself through time to fix everything, to save everyone. To take down Danzo, Hanzo, Madara, to save Sai, the Uchihas, Kakashi.

She was the one to heal Obito, to save Rin, to make sure that Itachi’s hands would never be stained with his family’s blood.

And now, now she sits in a T&I room and she laughs, laughs herself hoarse because she succeeded, she won. And now she is in the future, her intended destination, but it is not the same.

In this future, Haruno Sakura does not exist. She is nothing and no one.

Naruto and Sasuke are alive and well and happy. They get to live the lives they could have only dreamed about.

And Sakura. She doesn’t exist.

She laughs herself hoarse, the laughs turning into broken sobs and she drops her forehead to the table, hiccuping and clenching her hands into blood inducing fists.

Alone. As she always has been.

The door creaks open and Ibiki steps in, a folder in hand.

Sakura’s head snaps up, wiping her face as she almost sighs in relief. She loved (loves?) Ibiki, he once was one of her closest friends near the end. She knows Ibiki, trusts him. Or, at least, she had.

Sakura straightens in her chair, careful of the chakra suppressing handcuffs that really do nothing for her, just acting as a hindrance. But, she does not remove them because she is not a threat to Konoha, she never has been, never intends to be.

Ibiki sits down in front of her, eyeing her carefully and it almost feels like coming home. “You say your name is Haruno Sakura.”

“Yes.” She rasps, licking her cracked and bleeding lips. “That’s right.”

Her eyes flit to the glass window, ignoring her own reflection as she narrows her eyes at whoever is behind the wall. An unknown chakra signature, wild and worried. And— and—

Kakashi.

His cool and lazy chakra, almost like a current of electricity. She would know that chakra any where, as if it is engrained deep in her bones. And right now he’s interested, almost antsy.

Swallowing, Sakura looks back to Ibiki, who had been watching her keenly. “You already had Inoichi-san do a mind walk. You know everything I do.” Shoulders back, chin tilted, spine steeled.

The dead man that sits in front of her hums and opens a folder, “We believe you—”

“It is not a matter of believing.” Sakura snaps, eyes flashing. “You know it is a fact. He saw, he showed you, you saw. How could I ever make something like that up?”

“What we know,” Ibiki says too calmly, too pleasantly, “Is that you are severely traumatized.”

And Sakura well, she laughs again. Because. Because what else is she supposed to do? She gives and gives and gives and is given nothing back.

There are no fruits for her labor, no reward for her sacrifice.

Shoulders shaking as she cries and laughs, scrubbing at her face. “We were friends, you know.” She manages. “I made you laugh twice, once after I lost my middle finger,” Sakura holds up her hand to show him, unsure of why she is even talking. “The second when you were dying in my arms.”

Silence rings out as Sakura gathers herself, swallowing harshly. Ibiki is still looking at her, but the way is no longer cynical, no longer studying.

“Haruno—”

“Just Sakura,” She says wearily.

“Sakura-san,” He continues, “When you were brought in you had a mask on. A mask that has been seen countless times saving Konoha shinobi.”

Sakura does not dare mention the fact that she has also interfered with Suna, giving Gaara the childhood he deserves. And with Mist, cutting the head off the snake quickly enough that the caste system would never truly solidify.

So, she nods. “I am aware.”

“And you claim you are the person behind the mask on every occasion.”

Sighing, she runs a hand over what is left of her hair and makes direct eye contact with her once friend, giving a curt nod, “I am the person behind the mask.”

“One last question, Sakura-san.” Ibiki murmurs, jotting something down in his folder. Sakura forces herself not to read the familiar writing. Though, she is well equipped to read upside down. “How did you come to possess the rinnegan?”

The air drops from mildly uncomfortable to freezing and Sakura does not balk at the question. “You saw it for yourself, Ibiki. It was a gift.”

“Yes, but from who?”

Her heart aches, squeezes at the thought of Naruto, of Sasuke, phantom pains. It is as if she has lost a limb, a piece of her heart when they had turned to ash between her fingers. But Sakura does not waver as she says, “It was a parting gift from Uchiha Sasuke before he died.”

The unknown chakra behind the wall erupts into a mess of emotions while Kakashi’s is mildly surprised if not wary. There is tension between the both of them though.

Which is incredibly amusing considering it wasn’t until much, much later did Kakashi ever see anything to be wary about in her.

(It took her flicking the ground and allowing it to split open and swallow any of their pursuers to convince him that she could very well tear him in half without a second thought.

She wouldn’t though. Team 7 and its members will always be a soft and deeply bruised spot for her. A wound she could never quite heal. Sakura cannot remember a time when she has ever been bruiseless. She has come to terms with being wounded.)

Ibiki closes the folder and taps it on the steel table between them, he motions over his shoulder and the door opens swiftly, revealing Kakashi and another Uchiha with curly hair.

He’s just as she remembers him, except not. Her Kakashi had slouched, had a certain energy about him.

This one, he looks the same, has the scar, the slight slouch. But it is clear that ghosts no longer beat on his back, the world's weight no longer bends him to its will.

Pain races through her heart, echoing physically throughout her body. It hurts. It shouldn’t, seeing her old sensei, her once friend, happy. But it does.

Because while she cannot live without Team 7, it is clear Team 7 can live without her.

She straightens, eyes sharp and body tense as Ibiki stands, chair scraping harshly against the floor and then takes her hands into his, calluses and scars scraping against each other.

Sakura could only imagine what Tsunade-shishou would say if she were to see her, riddled with scars and missing fingers. She could have healed them without a second thought, but chakra had been precious then. Every single ounce had been poured into keeping her precious people safe and herself alive enough to keep fighting.

Her once friend produces a key and unlocks the handcuffs, letting them drop heavily into his awaiting hands before standing up, “Sakura-san, this is Hatake Kakashi,” Her former teacher gives her a hard once over. “And Uchiha Shisui.”

Her skin itches and crawls at Kakashi’s look, cold and unfond, nothing like how she remembers him. And of course, of course he wouldn’t be the man who she had come to adore. He is someone else in this carefully constructed future of her own doing.

The blame, as always, rests upon her weakening shoulders. Sakura is crumbling, her sanity chipping away ever so slowly. It is laughable, really. She wants to throw her head back and howl, she wants to bow and allow herself to scream.

But, if she were to begin to scream, she is not sure she would be able to stop.

So, she gives a curt nod, “Hatake-san. Uchiha-san.”

“Shisui, and therefore the Uchiha, have volunteered to bring you into their custody.” Ibiki goes on, taking a step back. Sakura stays where she is, rooted.

A chill runs up her spine and she looks to Ibiki almost pleadingly. “And you can’t simply dump me into ANBU instead?”

“Mah, Sakura-san.” Kakashi drawls and Sakura’s will cracks. (That bruise will never quite heal.) “I can promise that the Uchiha aren’t as bad as they seem.”

Shisui smiles and it is unlike any smile she has seen before.

She cannot remember the last time she had seen a smile.

“Don’t listen to the old man, Sakura-san.” Shisui says and she’s caught off guard at how friendly he sounds, deep and welcoming. Sakura swallows harshly. “We’re a bunch of assholes but no harm will come to you, we can promise that.”

Uchiha men, she thinks with distaste, will always hold a knife to her heart. And they will always know how to twist the wretched blade to get her to bend for them.

But. But perhaps Sakura could bend, bend and lay and rest. Just once. And this time she'll bend for herself. Perhaps.

She finds herself nodding, hands shaking despite the steel in her spine, her shoulders still straight. “You’re going to just let me go.”

Ibiki gives her a hard look and Sakura’s lips twitch. Ah, of course not. The Uchiha compound is just a glorified prison. Then again, it is much better than anything she thought would happen.

Then again, Saura never thought this would happen.

Too desperate, too blind with the possibility of a chance to see them again, to be whole again. She, for all her brains, all her genius, had not even stopped to think of the possibility that her future would no longer exist.

It is laughable, really.

So she laughs, she clutches her stomach and laughs because what else can she do?

Sakura has done what she has always done; what was needed. And once again, like every other time, there is nothing but black at the end of the tunnel. No light exists for her.

She is to blame for her own destruction, her own crumbling.

.

.

.

“You can come out,” Sakura’s voice calls out and Shisui grins.

He steps from the shadows, two mugs in hand as he comes to sit next to her, offering her the drink. She takes it without hesitation but swirls it before sipping from it, Shisui watches as her eyes light up just a little bit.

Hot cocoa with peanut butter. He had noticed, the last time the clan had it, that she’d snuck four mugs worth.

If Sakura was surprised he noticed, she didn’t show it. She was like that, a one way mirror, giving nothing away even as she saw everything.

“Did you want something, Shisui-san?” She twitches as he scoots a little closer, the fireflies floating around the backyard. “Or did you just want some company?”

Shisui smiles boyishly, tilting his head back to look at her, “Heard that Minato-sama called you into the Hokage’s office again.”

“You mean you heard from Genma, who told Itachi while on their date, who then told you that the Hokage summoned me for the fourth time this week.” Sakura snorts, taking a long drink from her mug. There's a little foam on her upper lip that he fights to not wipe away. “He and his wife keep trying to convince me to let them look at the seals I used.”

Shisui pauses, eyes trained on Sakura as she looks to the sky, head leaning back. Her hair has grown out a little, more fuzz on her head than anything, she looks more alive, well fed. Deep bags under her one visible eye, three nasty scars dissect her face and the rest of her body isn’t any better.

She is the most beautiful, most terrifying, most devastating thing he has ever seen.

“The seals you used…”

“To go back and hop through time like a jack rabbit to save the entire world?” She asks, a wry smile on her face. “Yes, Shisui, those seals.”

He hums, leaning back on the heels on her hands, “Why don’t you just let them look?”

“They aren’t my seals to share.” Sakura half snaps, shoulders curling in, her body strung tight. “Naru— my friend was the one to draw them out, I just figured out the last bit of it. Plus, there is no reason why they need to see those seals.” Her tone sharp, unyielding almost pleading.

Shisui stays quiet until Sakura begins to slowly relax. She gets like this sometimes, tense and defensive. As if trying to convince herself rather than him of her deeds. He knew better than to push, he knew that she had gone through more than anyone would ever go through.

The way Ibiki and Inoichi look at her with the utmost respect can verify that. The way Kakashi and Rin and Obito have gone out of their way to greet her, to help her speaks volumes.

He takes a drink from his mug, studying the stars winking above them. “Hey Sakura,”

“Yes?” She sounds oh so weary. His very soul aches.

“Thank you, for everything.” He doesn’t dare look at her, barely hearing himself over the pounding of his heart. “You don’t talk much about what happened but I know, I can tell that it was horrible. And thank you for saving us, the world.”

She had lost everything, everyone. In that future that she had protected them from Sasuke died, Itachi died, he was dead. He could only imagine what the ruins of that world looked like. He could only imagine what Sakura had to do to survive.

Sakura’s fingers are cold, freezing as they brushes the back of his hand. Shisui fights a shiver, the trail of goosebumps, the thrill. “Oh, oh Shisui.” Her voice is heartbreaking and full of nothing but steel. “I would never allow anyone to endure that. You will never have to endure that, I made sure of it. Never. No one will. I promise.”

Her hand draws back as she brings her knees to her chest, eyes far away and breathes quick. And Shisui, he doesn’t know what comes over him as he scoots even closer and carefully wraps his arm around her strong shoulders, drawing her closer.

And. And Sakura, she allows it. She moves to his side, not quite leaning but touching.

“Are you happy here?” Shisui finds himself asking after long minutes of silence. Sakura’s breath evened out and she sits with her chin on her knees.

Her eye flits to him, weighing and heavy. She looks at him and Shisui cannot help but see the age, the ancientness that has taken root. He wants to pull out the misery within her, wants to hold her tight enough that she will never fall apart without somewhere there to catch the pieces.

He wants to love her, he wants her to let him love her.

“No.” Sakura whispers, as if her unhappiness in a world that does not know her, that has done nothing for her is such an awful, wretched thing. “I miss everyone.”

Shisui cannot say anything so he does what he does best; what he wants.

He stays with her, arm resting on her shoulders and slowly, Sakura allows herself to lean into his side.

Around them, the night settles and the crickets chirp. The heavens had nothing to do with Haruno Sakura, with their Savior, coming to them. No, Sakura is the catalyst of this, of this paradise they now all reside in.

If anything, she is the heavens themselves. And it is about time someone tells her that, shows her that.

.

.

.

Sakura sees them for the first time in the five months she has landed in this new future. Itachi invited her to meet his genin team. Itachi, the man who had once been a mass murderer, is now a mednin and a jounin sensei.

Shisui joins her because of course he does, he has been the one constant throughout this entire ordeal. The Uchihas are nothing like she thought they would be. The Uchihas are everything she hoped they would.

They are loving, friendly, welcoming, and thankful. Mikoto is nothing but heaven sent sunshine and cloud soft embraces, Fukago is nothing but a deep rumbling laugh and fond looks.

No one is the same, nothing is the same.

Shisui is there though, at her side, at her back. She trusts him, gods, she trusts him. Despite her better judgement, despite everything. Sakura trusts Shisui.

So, Shisui joins her as she takes to the roofs and to training field 7. She’s finally been cleared for the mission roster and given her jounin blues. Though, Sakura has yet to decide if she even would enjoy going on missions.

Maybe with Shisui.

But she does not think she has a taste for violence anymore, for killing. Maybe she'll spend her days with Kakashi's dogs and holed up in the libraries. Maybe she'll visit Gaara or Chojuro.

She had yet to meet Tsunade, who had been hunting for her since Minato (the bastard) had let it slip that Sakura was in possession of the rinnegan and the byakugan seal. Shisui is exceptionally good at playing discractor as Sakura flees to rock in a corner until he finds her. He's good at that, holding her, letting her breathe, allowing her to find solace within his arms and his space.

They step onto the training fields and Sakura freezes mid step to watch as Sasuke, Naruto, and Sai (oh, oh Sai. Sweet Sai, oh.) attack in perfect sync.

They’re fourteen if her math is correct.

They move smooth and swift, nonverbal communication as if they had been working like this for years. It's beautiful, really.

Something ugly claws at her heart, catching on an already scabbing part to rip open a new wound. Simply another reminder that Sakura is not needed. She never was.

It's laughable, really.

Shisui’s fingers massages the sides of her neck with his fingers, the spot where her skull and neck meet. “You’re tense.”

“They have beautiful teamwork.” She chokes out.

He looks at her, long and open, “We can go home, if you want.”

Shisui’s good at that t00, the open ended question, the way of making her not feel trapped. He's too perceptive for his own good, she has yet to tell him anything except what is on record. But, but. He knows. He knows of Kakashi, of Naruto, Sasuke, and Sai. It is both a relief and a terror. “No.” She manages, curling her hands. She is Haruno Sakura. She has faced the impossible her entire life. Ghosts are nothing compared to gods.

At least, that is what she tells herself.

“I’ll be fine.” Sakura glances up at him, licking her lips. He watches the movement before his eyes flit back up hers and he offers one of her favorite smiles. The one where his dimples are visible, where she can see the small chip of his front tooth and the way his top canin is a little crooked.

Itachi calls the spar minutes later, the boys slumping onto the ground and breathing heavily. Sakura offers a small smile as Itachi nears them, waving a hand in greeting.

“Ah, Sakura-chan.” He grins, then looks to Shisui, dry amusement clear in his tone, “Shisui.”

“You’ve trained them well,” Sakura praises, watching as Naruto (oh gods, Naruto with his big blue eyes and blonde, blonde hair) pulls a limp Sasuke (a Sasuke who laughs freely, who smiles, and is loved) onto his feet, Sai huffing a chuckle from the ground.

Itachi practically beams at the praise, “They are very talented. And you would like to meet them, yes?”

Shisui’s thumb traces the bumps of her spine and Sakura is reminded that she has forged herself from the ashes of her friends, that she is borne from war and steel. She can do this. Shisui is here and she can do this. “Yes, I would love to, Itachi.”

Shisui’s hand burns through her clothes as they follow Itachi, the boys immediately catching sight and freezing at the sight of them. Sakura will never admit it out loud that she has been avoiding any and all people from her past (present? future?).

One look at Ino, whole and happy and sassy, and Sakura had almost gone insane. And then Shikamaru and Chouji, all together, all smiling. Gods, Sakura had fallen to her knees at the sight. Such grief, such loneliness—

She’s better now. She is.

“Team 7.” Itachi says, “This Haruno Sakura, and you already know Shisui.”

Silence.

Sakura shifts under the wide eyed gazes of the boys, the men she loved (loves?) with her entire being. “It is a pleasure to meet you,”

Naruto recovers first because of course he does. And he smiles at her, he smiles at her and Sakura wants to claw at her skin and cry. Shisui intertwines their hands, as if sensing that urge.

“I’m Uzumaki Naruto!” He’s fourteen and he's alive and he’s happy. He isn’t out of the village, he’s here because he has a clan, he has a family. “Is it true that you’re the Savior?”

Sasuke smacks him in the back of the head with a scowl, “Be polite, dobe.” To Sakura he offers a bow, “It is pleasure to meet you, Haruno-san. I am Uchiha Sasuke.”

Sakura’s lips twitch despite herself. Never, not once, did Sasuke ever bow to anyone. He had always been arrogant, but here? Now? It's laughable, really.

She glances to Sai and he isn’t as pale as he once was, his cheeks are full of color, his eyes brimming with life. “I am Senju Sai, Haruno-san.”

And. Sakura pauses at that. Senju Sai, huh. Perhaps she'll have to face Tsunade sooner than later. The thought added to the dread filled pool in her stomach. But. But, she could do it. Maybe.

“It is very nice to meet you all,” She croaks and then offers a very brittle smile. “And Naruto-kun,” She fights a shiver at the honorific. “That information is S class, but find me when you make jounin, hm?” And for a moment she could pretend that everything was okay and she was teasing her Naruto. Just for a moment.

Much to her amusement, all three boys pout, looking to Itachi who shrugs, “You heard Sakura, now, let’s see formation Alpha but reverse.”

The boys groan and Sakura can’t help the smile, a smile with teeth.

She can feel Shisui’s eyes on her before she even turns to look at him. Her body is shaking, Sakura realizes blankly but Shisui still holds her sweating hands, squeezing ever so slightly. “Ready to go?”

Sakura swallows, staring up at him, studying him. And oh, she is so tempted to uncover her eye, to memorize his face. “Yes. Let’s… let's go home.”

.

.

.

He wakes to warmth pressed against his chest, warm breaths against his neck. Their legs are tangled, her arm thrown over his side and brushes against the bare skin of his back. Both of them are missing their clothes, Sakura preferred being able to feel the skin on him, the brush of flesh between them.

What they have, it is something deeper than any type of physical act. No, what they have… well, Shisui can not put it to words. There are no words. There will never be words.

It is rare for Sakura to sleep soundlessly and through the entire night. Shisui kisses her forehead, above her seal, on one of the many scars of her face. She doesn’t stir except to shift ever so slightly, hugging him closer.

And if Shisui’s heart melts, no one else is there to see the absolute brilliant smile on his lips.

“Sakura,” He murmurs because if she doesn’t get up soon, she’ll miss her lunch with Ibiki (who gets very grumpy when his time with Sakura is cut short), “Sakura.”

She grumbles, limbs tensing for a moment, a single breath before melting once more. “Shisui,” Her voice is rough with sleep, the sound swirls and dances around his bones. “G’mornin’.”

Shisui laughs, a soft push of air, as Sakura leans back to peer at him, both eyes uncovered as she studies him, the look like a physical caress. “Good morning.” He whispers, kissing her forehead once again.

“What time is it?” She murmurs, eyes drooping closed.

“You’ve got about an hour before Ibiki comes knocking.” Shisui chuckles.

Sakura snorts, pulling away to stretch her arms above her head, arching her back in the way that Shisui can admire every muscle, every scar, every part of her. “Then I better get up,”

“Or, you could always stay,” Shisui cajools, to which Sakura only laughs. The sound is beautiful and full and makes his heart beat a little faster.

“The last time I canceled on Ibiki was when I had to help Itachi with his and Genma’s wedding plans, and he sent little Terror Ino after me for a week.”

Shisui cracks an even wider grin, “Well, at least you got some nice clothes out of it.”

Laughing again, Sakura leans down to kiss him, “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Go on,” Shisui shoos, making a little gesture with his hand. “Have fun, I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Promise?”

“Always.”

She cups his face, thumbing the sharp of his cheek bone before leaning forward to kiss him again, "I love you." Then. "I am glad that my suffering brought me to you, that I landed here."

"I love you." He returns, barely a whisper as he brushes hair behind her ears. His heart beats for her, cracks and aches and swells. All for her. "There will never be a time that I will not love you. There will never be a time where I do not see you and see everything you are, everything you have done."

The sky is sunny and the spring beautiful as Sakura, the very heavens themselves, mouth splits into a brilliant, blinding smile.

(Sakura has crumbled and broken, she has fallen apart over and over. She has always known how to put herself together, until she couldn’t.

But Shisui, oh Shisui, he has always been readily available with glue and tape. He will always be there to hold her together with his bare hands, ready to bleed for her, with her.

She has given and given and given. He is willing to give everything back to her tenfold.

It is the very least she deserves, the very least the world can gift her. Shisui will always be willing to give more.)

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

evermore part 1: cowboy like me (Steve Rogers x Reader)

A/N: Here is the first part of my evermore series! I have sprinkled easter eggs throughout all the different parts because of course I did.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2k

I've had some tricks up my sleeve Takes one to know one You're a cowboy like me

You sighed rubbing your forehead tiredly as you sat down at your desk after a painfully long meeting. You barely had a moment to yourself before there was a knock at your door. Your assistant Olivia poking her head into your office a second later. 

You wave her in sitting up in you chair “what’s up?” you ask her desperately hoping it was something quick so you could have a quiet few minutes to yourself before having to put the business face back on. 

“You have a meeting with Stark Industries in 10 minutes and your dress for the Gala tonight has arrived” Olivia tells you looking down at her folder. 

“Have they arrived yet?” you ask checking your watch. 

She shakes her head “good tell me when they do, but in the mean time block anything else for the next 10 minutes I need time to recharge for a moment” you tell her making her chuckle slightly nodding in agreement before stepping back out of your office shutting the door behind her. 

You lean back in your chair closing your eyes for a moment of peace as all your muscles relaxed, being a woman in business was hard. It wasn’t just putting up with the blatant sexism on the ladder up to the top, but the persona you had to become to keep yourself there and get the deals you wanted. 

You felt more like a con man than a business woman, a cowboy in the world of businessmen. 

You were pulled from your thoughts by the phone buzzing on your desk, peeping open one eye you see a text from your husband. You groan internally picking it up to see what he wanted, actually groaning slightly when it was just him asking when you would be home reminding you about the Gala tonight. You put your phone back down not bothering to answer, for all he knew you were in a meeting. Don’t get confused, you loved your husband. The two of you have been together for years, first getting together when you were 18 first year of College, Married by the time you were 21. So by the time you were 30 it felt like you were an old married couple. 

Before you knew it the 10 minutes had passed and you had to head to your next meeting, as you went you paused by Olivia.

“can you do me a favour and find out what the 9 year anniversary present is?” you ask. 

She nods her head “would you like me to sort the present for you?” she asks but you shake you head. 

“no its alright, I’d rather find it myself, are they in the conference room?” you ask nodding over to the door. 

Olivia nods, you quickly gather yourself pulling your shoulders back and pulling your shirt down to straighten it and readjust before opening the door with a winning smile. 

“Hello Mr Stark, pleasure to meet you” you say walking into the meeting, hand outstretched. 

You walk into your apartment putting you bag down as you enter.

“Hey honey I’m home” you call out as you continue to walk in looking around for your husband. 

“Bedroom” you hear him call out, when you walk in you see him stood in front of the mirror adding cufflinks to his suit. 

“Where have you been, we have to leave soon” he demands sighing deeply as he looks at you through the mirror. 

“Sorry my meeting overran, came home as soon as I could but I have plenty of time don’t worry” you say placing your dress down on the bed and walking over to him to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

He raise a brow at you “we better not be late” he warns. 

You shrug your shoulders slightly with a small smirk “what’s wrong with being fashionably late?” you smirk. 

He rolls his eyes slightly “there’s no such thing as fashionably late, just late. I have important clients attending this gala, we need to make a good impression” he tells you. 

You cup his cheek “I know, I was only joking, I’ll be ready so quick you won’t even have time to sit down” you tell him soothingly. 

He sighs deeply and relaxes slightly “thank you” he smiles kissing to top of your head, before walking out to leave you to get ready. 

You quickly get to work freshening up and slipping on your floor length royal blue ballroom dress. You look at your make up and decide to just fix and freshen it up instead of redoing the entire thing. Putting your hair up in a simple but sophisticated style soon enough you were putting your heels on and ready to go. 

“How do I look?” you ask walking out into the living room where your husband was waiting for you. He glances over his shoulder at you before standing up and grabbing his jacket. 

“Good, now lets go” he says grabbing your hand and leading you out the door.

Steve pulled at his collar trying to give himself some relief without ruining his bowtie. 

“careful punk, I don’t want to have your bowtie again” his friend bucky says as he passes him a drink. 

Steve rolls his eyes slightly as he brings his drink up to his lips looking out over the gala happening. 

“How on earth am I here?” he mutters shaking his head turning to lean on the bar behind him. 

Bucky chuckles “because the guy hosting this brought some of your art, and that got you an invite and thankfully a plus one” he smirks “get used to it pal, people like this as soon as they get a sniff on something that the others don’t have they snap it up, you’ll be sensation over night” bucky says patting steve on the shoulder. 

“What if I don’t want that?” steve mutters quietly turning back to look back over the crowd of socialites, business men and anyone who has more money than they know what to with. 

Sighing steve looked down at his watch wondering when would be a good time to leave without being rude, parties in general weren’t his scene, gala’s were definitely not his thing. Right now he’d rather be home in his small Brooklyn apartment with a bottle of beer listening to music maybe working on his art. 

He scans the crowd his eyes falling on one woman in particular, he studies her noticing that she seemed different to everyone else in the entire building. He couldn’t help but stare taking in her beauty, with her royal blue dress understated unlike all the other glitter covered dress surrounding him. She held herself with such grace and was just naturally beautiful, no over the top make up or hair do, she could be wearing a t-shirt and jeans and still be the most beautiful woman in the room. 

“who you staring at?” Bucky asks pulling steve out of the fantasy currently running through his head. 

He nods over at you “who is she?” steve mutter. 

Bucky shrugs his shoulder “I dunno, why don’t you ask Stark, he probably knows everyone here” bucky suggests but steve was already moving over to Tony. 

“Tony, I need a favour” steve says tapping tony on his shoulder without taking his eyes off of you. 

“what’s up?” tony asks turning to look where steve was looking. 

“oh (Y/N), you want me to introduce you?” tony smirks, steve just nods his head following as tony walked over to you. 

“Ah (Y/N)! How lovely to see you here!” tony greets kissing you on the cheek. 

“Mr Stark, here to negotiate some more?” you smirk playfully making tony chuckle and steve’s heart melt slightly. 

“No, actually I wanted to introduce you to my friend steve, I think the two of you would get along well” tony smiles gesturing over to Steve who holds his hand out. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you” he says trying not to stumble over his words, you smile back at him warmly as you take his hand and shake it. He couldn’t help but feel warm and sparks fly as your hands touch. 

“you look absolutely stunning by the way” he says smiling down at you. 

He notices the small blush on your cheeks “thank you, you look very handsome yourself” you smile and steve feels the heat rise to his cheeks. 

“May I ask you to dance?” steve asks offering out his arm, you look up at him with a small smirk a quizzical look. 

“Dancin’ is a dangerous game” you smirk, he shrugs his shoulders and waits patiently for you to link your arm in his. 

With a small smile you link your arm with his and let him lead you out onto the dance floor. He smiles down at you hoping his hands weren’t clammy as you take his hand in yours and the two of you sway slowly to the music. 

“I know we don’t know each other very well, but is it alright to make an observation?” steve asks looking down at you, you raise a brow at him but don’t stop him. 

“you are a conman like me” steve says making you look up at him slightly confused. 

“what do you mean?” you ask. 

Steve chuckles slightly “neither you or me, fit into this kinda world, we work our way up to it unless everyone else who was born into it” steve explains and your throw you head back with a laugh. 

A laugh steve would die to hear again and again. 

“Well you aren’t wrong, I don’t think I’d be here if it wasn’t for my husbands family” you chuckle and steve has to try desperately not to let his face fall, and his heart audible break. 

“you’re married?” he asks hoping the words didn’t catch in throat. 

You nod your head slightly “I know I look to young, but we’ve been married nearly 9 years now” you tell him. 

He nods his head slightly “childhood sweethearts?” he ask and you shake your head. 

“well not exactly, more like whirlwind romance, met first year of college and then that was it” you say shrugging your shoulders slightly and steve notices a hint of hesitation. 

“well if you are happy then sometimes you just know” he offers making you look back up at him “yeah, sometimes I do wonder what my life was like if I’d had the experiences other people in their 20s had” you admit a hint of sadness in your voice. 

“who says you can’t have those experiences now?” steve asks making you chuckles. 

“no one I guess, just need a friend to do them with” you point out. 

“well if you’d have me, I’d be happy to be that friend” steve offers, you smile up at him with a warm smile. 

“I’d like that, here’s my number, see you around steve” you say passing him a small card before walking off the dance floor. 

Steve watches you go, walking back over to your husband. He smiles down at the card in his hand, maybe his fantasy of being with you wouldn’t pan out but maybe he’d still be your friend. That would be enough for him. 

A week after the gala you were sat in your apartment alone, your husband having gone out with a few colleagues for drinks. You sat in your kitchen glass of white wine in your hand staring down at your phone waiting for it to buzz. 

Soon enough steve’s name appeared on the screen and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you pick up the phone trying to curb your excitement as you read his text and replied instantly. Putting the phone back down you sit in silence basking in the warm feeling you had within, wondering when was the last time you felt like this. You look down at you left hand looking at the large ring on your finger, running your thumb over it reminding yourself that what you had with steve was a friendship, your heart already was owned by someone else. Burying every thought that told you otherwise as deep as you could.

[joonkorre]

@drarrymicrofic prompt: remake

not gonna say much on this. yall should find out what's going on yourselves :D. ao3

“What do you think, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t need to think; he’s done enough of that in the past two months, since the day he opened his front door to see the strange woman’s sharp smile. But he thinks anyway, one last time before he answers.

He’d have to leave the wizarding world behind. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that drastic. However, if he doesn’t want his frequent disappearances to catch the Ministry’s attention, then it’s best to withdraw into the Muggle world altogether, as far from its control as possible. Mother has Aunt Andy, Teddy, and friends from her book club now, she’ll be fine with him visiting only a few days each year.

Other than that, there are no downsides. He has nothing to lose except maybe his life somewhere down the line, but everybody dies at some point, don’t they?

He lifts his gaze to the buzzing light on the ceiling, its shine cold and apathetic. To the mahogany bookcase, filled with tomes upon tomes full of ancient rites and rituals, of creatures considered ‘cryptid’ even to wizardkind. To the bookend that is shaped like a crow, which flaps its wings when its beak is tapped five times, unlocking the hidden safe behind the bookcase. The safe that stores all the actual research and data he’s collected, jealously and fearfully hoarded.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows enough. He knows enough to be aware that the lore Pansy snorted at when he first mentioned them, the creatures Mother dismissed as another of her bored rich son’s new obsessions, are the same ones Unspeakable Granger narrowed her eyes at when she walked past his table in the canteen and caught a glimpse of his notes. He had a feeling then that he shouldn’t even make any indication that he was interested in these things, which was proven to be correct when Ministry personnel started loitering outside his office more after that day.

He doesn’t know everything, but he knows his findings are not safe in anyone’s hands but his. The Ministry still repeats its tendency to care more about itself than the common people. The Department of Mystery, practically its own entity due to how even the Minister is forbidden from accessing most of its files, has motivations he can’t comprehend, which means motivations he can’t predict. There is no way to know if his colleagues are truly interested in “that old wife’s tale, that Bigfoot, Cthulhu shite Malfoy’s into” or will report him to those who know how to deal with him, to Unspeakable Granger, to the Department of Mysteries. His findings are not safe in anyone’s hand but his.

But if he says ‘yes,’ they are.

Draco dips his quill in the ink bottle the woman—“Dr. Stewart,” she’s introduced, calm and sure—provided him and signs his name on the contract and its related documents. No hint of anything other than indifference is shown on her face, and he wonders how many others before him has she recruited.

Once his thumbprint has been collected, the last step of the process, he Vanishes the ink on his finger. Dr. Stewart raises a brow but says nothing more. She stands up, holding out a hand.

“Welcome, Dr. Malfoy. The SCP Foundation is glad to have you with us.”

Shaking her hand, Draco feels something slide into place at his new title. He smiles politely, heart thundering in his chest.

“Have you worked with wizards before, Dr. Stewart?” Draco asks as he starts packing the valuables at his work desk into his briefcase. Dr. Steward has come to the Ministry by Floo, and though she seemed a bit disconcerted after stepping out of the Ministry Public Floo #13, she didn’t hesitate to follow him to his office. Thus, seeing her reaction to a simple Vanishing spell has certainly been a bit strange.

Dr. Steward gathers the documents to secure in a folder.

“My colleagues have—some of them have Muggleborn and Halfblood relatives—but not me personally,” she answers. “My apologies, I still need to get used to seeing magic in… this way. Ironically, we have more luck with magic users from other dimensions than from our own, especially with what happened in recent history.”

The Second Wizarding War ended barely a decade ago. Its victims, both people and nature, still bleed. “I can see why you aren’t very keen on interacting with us up-close these days,” Draco nods, careful.

“Precisely,” Dr. Stewart says. “So, believe it when I say you’re the exception.”

Draco stiffens. “Thank you. I’m sorry, it’s still a bit hard to, ah, believe that.”

“You are the exception,” she says. “We need professionals in the occult, especially those who dabbled in the Dark Arts along with other types of magic. Not many wizards of your kind in Great Britain remember the Original Gods and Old Magic, but you have that link, whether it be through honest religious belief or just intensive research.”

She crosses her legs. “We’ve had our eyes on you for a while, Dr. Malfoy. We need someone who’s willing to look for the oddity in the mundane, and when our people heard rumours of the infamous Malfoy heir having a—highly accurate, by the way—fixation on conspiracy theories and cryptozoology, visiting various parts of the world in pursuit of those ‘tall tales,’ we knew we need your intellect.”

Draco doesn’t quite know what to say. He was sure everybody thought him unhinged; even Luna seemed off around him these days instead of enthusiastically rallying after his theories like she usually would, gradually gravitating toward Granger whenever they’re in the same room.

“Our goals are different; the SCP Foundation wants to keep humanity safe and alive, you want knowledge and just knowledge. But I hope you find yourself in your element while working with us, finally having access to all the information you’ve been working so hard to find out.”

She tilts her head just so, and Draco can tell she knows he likes what he’s hearing. His thirst consumes him, makes him risk, makes him sin. He has to go insane to stay sane. Despite the small price of most likely dying from working with dangerous anomalies at the Foundation no matter how pretty Dr. Stewart advertises it, every cell in his body sings at the chance to know what is lurking beyond the folds of reality.

He thinks of Mother, of Aunt Andy, of little Teddy, of Pansy, of Blaise. The vision of them killed, maimed, snapped from existence because he didn’t do anything to help makes his gut twist, his throat parched. He’d kill himself from the guilt, a well-casted Sectumsempra. He decides.

His goal is no different than the Foundation’s from now on, and he has no qualms about that. With this opportunity, he is free at last, free to do the work he knows is important, to help and change without outside interference.

He is reborn.

Draco’s back straightens, and he moves his wand this way and that, orchestrating a cacophony of tomes and devices to levitate from the heavy bookshelves to the duffle bag he brought along.

“Dr. Malfoy, did I not tell you where you’ll be stationed?”

Draco halts the objects’ action mid-air, staring at Dr. Stewart.

“I was under the impression that I am to be working at Site-91,” he says, “in Yorkshire?”

“As I thought, I forgot something,” Dr. Stewart sighs, the first sign of human imperfection leaking through. She searches through her briefcase, long nails clicking through the files. “Sit down, please, and there’s no need to pack up your belongings.”

Sending the objects back to their original places, Draco takes his seat, brows furrowed. He toys with his wand, a tick he hasn’t been able to be rid of ever since Potter’s returned his wand after years of what seemed to be perpetual emptiness without it.

“There we go,” Dr. Stewart says and flips open a thick, stapled stack of paper. “You are to stay here for the duration of your first assignment. Count yourself lucky, starting work right away.”

“Stay here? But—”

“There is an anomalous individual working here,” she says, hard lines etched on her face. “You will act like you’ve not changed your career and continue to ‘work’ in the Ministry. Because of your proximity, we expect you to gather as much information as possible about him. You can use any method, as long as you stay alive and well to report back to us and receive your salary. Not to worry, we will assist you as this individual is, like most of what we deal with, deadly when pushed.”

She slides the file toward him and settles back against her chair. Draco is admittedly no less surprised than before.

“Wake up and get ready by 6 AM this Saturday, for we’ll come to get you at your house and go to Site-91. There are other information and protocols you need to know, and you’ll also get the equipment suited for this assignment,” Dr. Stewart adds.

Draco has a few questions, but from the way she ends with a close-mouthed smile, he reckons any at all would be regarded as idiotic. Well, at least she told him something.

With a slight sigh, he opens the file. The peculiar layouts and code words fly past him—he’d have to ask for a manual of some kind, Muggle science-y terminology has never been his best suit. However.

“What,” he breathes, leaning close to the file, eyes wide, “what is he—what is—”

However, there are two words he can’t mistake, no matter how sleep-deprived he is or how blind. A name, in fact.

“What is Harry Potter doing in this file?”

“Isn't it obvious?” Dr. Stewart asks, lacing her fingers on her lap. “Think. His lifelong exposure with the Dark Arts and artifacts, how volatile and explosive his power is, and most importantly, how dangerous he is even to the brightest magic users. There’s a reason why we don’t meddle with your kind. You already have the means available to contain certain anomalies, but Potter is different, and we have to step in this time.”

Draco stares at her, then at the name in the file, at the picture attached, slack-jawed.

“The oddity in the mundane, Dr. Malfoy,” Dr. Stewart leans forward, a knowing look on her face. Draco's legs feel like wooden trunks, sunken into the ground. "Get used to it, and get focused. Because if left unchecked, Harry Potter might very well get powerful enough to become a reality bender."

[ginger-bread-official]

A ‘Girl Dad’

Cygnus Black was powerful, influential and a softy when it came to his girls. 

Words: 6845

Ted made sure to keep his wand pointed at his father in law as he reached into his brief case and pulled out what he came all this way to show the old man. He slid the manila folder across the desk.

“Whats this?”

“Open it.” Ted ordered. The wizard did as he was told, finding several pictures in the folder. “Her name is Nymphadora Druella Tonks. Your granddaughter.” 

Cygnus Black never found his passion at the ministry. He was a conservative member of the Wizengamot and served his constituents faithfully; upholding the rights of Purebloods. He hated the bureaucracy and the squabbling politicians, but he had purpose. A purpose that maintained the influence, power and safety of his family. Yes he hated his work, but who else was going to do it.

He was returning from a particularly productive committee meeting, feeling his mood improve, when he spotted a wizard waiting outside his offices. The man had sandy blonde hair that was styled up in a messy quiff, light skin that was adorned with a smattering of freckles, and a tall lean frame. He wore green professional robes and carried a small brief case that sat at his feet. Cygnus entered his offices and addressed his assistant,

“Any messages?” He asked.

“The Malfoy estate sent an owl, I assume about personal matters.” She handed him the unopened letter, “Your campaign manager sent a list of guests for your fundraiser to approve and the bloke out side is here for a meeting on behalf of the Potioneer’s Union.” Cygnus raised an eyebrow in questioning.

“The Potioneer’s Union?”

“I think it has to do with a campaign donation.” She replied.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you ask?” She shrugged in response. She really was useless, and if the councilman didn’t owe her father a favor she would be out on her ass last week. “Fine, well what’s his name?”

“Edward something.” He sighed in defeat, he was going to have to go into this meeting blind. Determined not to let her incompetence ruin his good mood he instructed for her to send him in. He entered one room deeper to his office. Settling just as the young man entered.

“Hello, I’m Cygnus Black.” The councilman gestured to the seat in front of his desk, “My assistant tells me you’re with the potioneer’s union.” The young man sat opposite and nodded in affirmation as the office door closed behind him. “Whats your name?”

“Edward Sir.” He responded.

“Any last name?”

“Thats a little more difficult Sir.” Edward said evasively

“Whats your business with me Edward?” Cygnus asked feeling his patience start to wear. There was a beat of silence where the young wizard took a deep breath.

“Well I’m actually here on more of a personal matter sir.” Cygnus narrowed his eyes at this statement. “I am with the Potioneer’s union, but they don’t have any business with you.” Cygnus felt a cold feeling crawl up his spine at Edward’s confession. Was the councilman in danger? “I used my position in the union to get a meeting with you.” There was another beat of silence. The older wizard looked to where his wand was sitting out of arms reach. He needed the wizard to keep talking so he could reach for it.

“So you used the union to get me alone.”

“Yes. I just needed a few minutes to show you—” Edward reached down to his briefcase allowing Cygnus to lunge for his wand and aim it at the boy, but his old age was no match for the agile young man’s reflexes.

“Sectum—” Cygnus didn’t finish the spell before the young man cried out

“Expelliarmus!” The councilman wand flew out of his hand. “I was hoping we could be civil about this.” Edward now held both their wands.

“Civil about you assassinating me?!” Cygnus roared.

“Assassin—NO! I just came here to talk.”

“Why would you lie to get a meeting with me only to talk?”

“Because it was the only way you would see me!” The both paused, looking at one another. Cygnus saw the desperation in the young man’s eyes.

“Whats your name boy?” He asked again, his question penetrating the heavy silence around them. Edward took a deep breath, gathering his courage,

“My name is Edward Tonks. My friends call me Ted. I’m a Muggle-born and married to your daughter Andro—”

“Don’t you say her name.” He spat out. As soon as he heard the boys full name he knew who he was. That name had been the one that tore his favorite daughter from him. It was the name she declared love for. Love over her own family. There was a silence a silence that seemed to bare the weight of all of Cygnus’ rage. This filth had taken away his baby girl, his beautiful, brilliant Andromeda. “Get out!” He snapped. But Ted remained. “Are you deaf?! I said GET OUT!!” He stepped towards the boy, but Ted raised his wand.

“No! I wanted to talk as adults, but I guess we’ll have to do it the hard way.” Cygnus was enraged that he raise a wand against him, but what could he do? “I only need a few minutes. I don’t need you to respect me, I don’t even need you to speak, but you’re damn well going to listen to what I have to say.”

“You think you can hold a member of he Wizengamot at wand point and not suffer consequences?!”

“I don’t care about the consequences, and I don’t give a shit how important you think you are. You’re going to sit and listen. You’ll have to excuse my rudeness, but you’ve put my wife through hell and I have no patience left for your bullshit!” There was a tense moment where Ted  thought the older man might charge at him, but he sat; sending daggers with his stare. Ted made sure to keep his wand pointed at his father in law as he reached into his brief case and pulled out what he came all this way to show the old man. He slid the manila folder across the desk.

“Whats this?”

“Open it.” Ted ordered. The wizard did as he was told, finding several pictures in the folder. “Her name is Nymphadora Druella Tonks. Your granddaughter.” Cygnus’ eyes fell on the baby in the pictures. A feeling welled up in him, one that drove away every ounce of pain and rage he was feeling a moment ago. He was a grandfather. His Andromeda was a mother to a beautiful baby girl. His eyes were glued to a picture of the mother holding her new born. He remembered the day each of his girls was born and how elated he was at the sight of them. His focus moved to a picture of the infant sleeping peacefully, then to one of her first bath, then one of her smiling and wiggling in her onesie. In as his eyes traced over her pudgy baby features a strange thing happened. Her hair in the picture changed color. What was a replica of her mothers chestnut hair was now a light peach color.

“Her hair.” He commented not knowing how to put what he just saw into a question.

“She’s a metamorphmagus.” Ted explained.  Cygnus looked up to make sure he heard right. “We took her to St. Mungo’s to be sure.” Ted confirmed. Merlin’s pants that was a rare ability. His granddaughter was a metamorphmagus! He could hardly contain his pride. Ted lowered his wand and continued, “I know you don’t approve of me, but she is your granddaughter, and if you’d like to meet her I can arrange it so I’m not there. It can just be you and Andie.” Cygnus was only half listening  as he was too enchanted by a photo where every time she blinked her eyes changed color. “She doesn’t know I’m here, but I know it kills her that you haven’t met Dora.” She looked like Andromeda, he thought happily remembering how his daughter had the same pert nose. “If you wish to tell Durella too I’m sure Andie would—” He came to the final picture in the file. It was a group of people. He recognized His daughter, her husband and of course his granddaughter, but there were two older people. The man was clapping Ted on the shoulder with a sparkle of pride in his eye and the woman had her full attention on the baby in Andromeda’s arms.

“Who are they?” Cygnus Black asked holding the picture of the group.

“Those are my parents.” Ted explained. I all came crashing back down on the old wizard. These people were muggles. The filth in front of him was a mudblood and his daughter was defiling the Black bloodline with vile unpure blood. This baby was not a ‘Black’, but a halfblooded freak that would tarnish the family name. He closed the folder with the pictures and slid it back across the desk.

“She is no granddaughter of mine.” He said cooly. Ted’s hopeful expression faded and his shoulders fell.

“I know its not what you wanted for Andie, but she is your granddaughter. She’s half Black.” Ted pleaded.

“No.” Cygnus rose from his chair. “My daughter forfeited her heritage and the right to that family name when she chose to slum it with a mudblood.” He could feel the pain of losing Andromeda all over again, “She is not my daughter and this is not my granddaughter.” He waved the file in Teds face.

“Please. I know you burned her from the family tree, but she’s still your daughter, she still loves you and if you would just—”

“No! I’m through listening to a filthy mudblood. That blood traitor is not my daughter and this freak—this mutt is not my granddaughter.” He shoved the file back at Ted. The new father let the folder fall to the floor as he whipped his wand back out. With a fire that he’d never possessed before, he hurtled the desk between the men and pushed his father in law back into the chair. Ted’s wand was pressed into the old mans throat and could feel the tremor of fear and see the shock in Cygnus’ eyes.

“You want to call me a mudblood, fine. Call your daughter a blood traitor, she’s heard worse. But don’t you ever insult my baby girl.” Cygnus felt the end of the wand dig painfully into his skin, “She’s a blessing, a gift. And you’re not worthy to utter her name.” There was a moment, a dark moment, where Ted thought he might actually kill Cygnus. End the pain he’s caused his wife and all the bigoted bullshit he spreads. But he couldn’t be a good father from Azkaban. He settled for stunning him and leaving him to drool on his collar.

Tonks picked up the folder with the pictures of his daughter having to search on the floor for one or two that fell out. He found the last one under his chair and gazed onto the image of his Nymphadora. It was the picture of her smiling and changing her hair. Ted could have sworn he saw the old man soften when looking at this. He looked up to the unconscious wizard, and wished he could feel angry at him. But all he felt was pity. This bigoted old man was going to let his pride stop him from meeting his granddaughter. What kind of broken person lives like that? He placed the picture of his daughter in front of Cygnus and took his leave.

Cygnus Black woke hours later to find baby Nymphadora smiling back up at him. He saw her innocent smile and her beautiful brown eyes, and broke. Tears ran freely down his wrinkled cheeks at the sight of his first grandchild. He should have burned the picture, tore it up and arrested her father for attacking him, but he didn’t. He instead placed the picture carefully in the false bottom of a desk drawer and excused his absence that afternoon as old man’s poor memory. 

In moments where he was alone he would steal glances at the picture. Sometimes finding the baby smiling back up at him, and others she would be sleeping soundly in the confines of the image. He never told Durella of Ted coming to see him about their granddaughter, but soon the news of Nymphadora reached her ears and Cygnus had to feign indifference to the child.

Years later Cygnus was still fighting for restrictive muggle born bills and ruffling liberal feathers on the Wizengamot. He was taking his lunch in his office and reading the Prophet when his heart nearly stopped.

‘The Transfiguration department at Hogwarts is expected to adjust courses and curriculum in the coming years due to the first Metamorphmagus to attend Hogwarts in over a century. Nymphadora Tonks has been stumping the previously unshakable Minerva McGonagall with her rare ability.’

The article went on to explain the special training Nymphadora would be receiving to refine her abilities and even had a quote from McGonagall herself sharing what a talented witch she was becoming. He read the article through, and then again, and then a third time soaking in every word of what a prodigy she was. How the mischievous Hufflepuff was an example to her classmates. He had become a grandfather again by this point to Draco Malfoy. The boy was a proper pureblood and made his grandfather proud, but Cygnus had always been a ‘girl dad’ and yearned for that again. The mention of her name brought all the mixed emotions back to the surface. He knew that he should have been disgusted and ashamed, but all he could feel was pride. He wasn’t even bothered by the information that she was a Hufflepuff, just to hear that she was excelling made him smile. He carefully cut out the article; searching through the paper for a picture, but not finding one. He placed a preservation charm on it and clipped it to the one picture he had of her as a baby. He traced the edge of the picture wondering what she looked like now. A melancholy smile crossed his face as he tried to imagine a smiling 11 year old Nymphadora. He then placed it carefully in the false bottom of his desk drawer and went back to work.

He survived the following years on snippets from the prophet and rumors. He saved anything he came across with her name in it. He found out she made her quidditch team her third year; over hearing some red headed fellow talking about his son’s game against Hufflepuff.

“The Tonks’ Girl sure gave my Charlie a hard time, during the match. But my boy pulled out a great catch at the end.” Cygnus couldn’t tell what position she was from that, but he locked the little information away loving any news he could get. She was mentioned multiple times in the prophet, usually at the end of the year for some academic achievement, but sometimes for less desirable reasons. In her third year  she got caught up in the Cursed vault nonsense alongside that Carter Turner girl. While he gathered from the paper that she wasn’t harmed he was furious with her for being so reckless. All was forgive however in her forth year, when he got his first glimpse at her since Ted had left him that picture fourteen years ago. The article was really about the famous Curse Breaker Rakepick. She was hired to find and break the rest of the cursed vaults, and assembled a team of students to help. Front and center was Carter Turner, but two heads down was a young woman with spiky hair, a mischievous smile and freckles across her pert nose. He didn’t need to read the footer to know that was his Nymphadora. The article focused on Rakepick and Carter mostly, but mentioned Nymphadora as ‘a talented and capable friend.’ He stared at he picture for a few more moments trying with all his might to change the black and white photo into color. He wondered what shade her hair was.

Her fifth year she was mentioned as being one of only five students in her year to achieve all Outstanding in her O.W.Ls, and in her sixth year she was awarded the Falco Aesalon medal for transfiguration; an international award for of age students. In her seventh year she was noted as pursuing a career as an auror. By this time he had collected a dozen articles on his granddaughter and only three pictures. He was ashamed to admit it, but he loved her. Even with her mother’s betrayal and her father’s blood, he loved her, and wanted to see her happy. Word around the ministry was that she was arising star in the auror program and was under the tutelage of Alastor Moody himself. He only heard whispers and read mentions in the news letters. He was afraid to confront her, she was only two floors away, but he couldn’t convince himself to make the trip. He was too scared to find out what she actually thought of him. He’s sure her mother would have told her everything, and possibly her father would have told her how he called her ‘mutt’. It was the greatest regret of his life; not taking Ted’s offer.

In the last year of his life Cygnus Black became ill. He dutifully served on the Wizengamot until the end to many’s annoyance, but it was his last vote that perplexed nearly the entire wizarding world. Delores Umbridge was attempting to pass a strict ‘Mutant Bill’ essentially forbidding any ‘mutant’ from being hired without the Ministry’s approval. It was a shoe in to pass and would have been enacted by the fall of 1993. However, someone in their argument pointed out that this law would apply to more than werewolves and vampires. It could include animagi, merpeople, and even a Metamorphmagus. This brought Cygnus’ attention forward. He listened to the argument and agreed the law was flawed. He cared not for the werewolves or the merpoeple, but if Nymphadora’s dream job was decided by committee, well Delores would bar her from working purely because of her ripped jeans. They were given three days before the vote and Cygnus went to work. In one last ditch effort he ran a counter campaign to the bill, calling in favors and resorting to threats in some cases. Dumbledores caucus was a safe vote against the bill, but he needed fifteen additional votes to stop the bill. He couldn’t vote against it himself, knowing his constituents would tear him apart if he did. He had a partner in Ackley Dolohov, who needed to stop the bill for his animagus nephew.

“With Edgecombe that’s fourteen.”

“Damnit.” Cygnus cursed, “What about McLaggen?” He asked.

“Laughed at me for about a quarter hour before throwing me out her office. I don’t think I can pull any more strings.” He said defeated. Cygnus sighed heavily, which turned into a fit of coughs.

“Cyg—” Dolohov stood to help

“I’m fi—” another fit of coughing over took him. “fine.” He finished. The pair sat in silence for a moment allowing Cygnus to catch his breath.

“What if you vote for it?” Cygnus asked after a moment. “We’d be at fifteen and—”

“You know I can’t do that.” He threw down the paper. “I’ve got constituents just like you and I’m up for re-election next year.” Silence settled again. Dolohov was never told why stopping this bill meant so much to his mentor, but he had an idea. Anyone whose been around long enough remembers Andromeda running of with the Tonks boy. Those who really paid attention know that Andromeda had always been his favorite. And her halfblood daughter was a metamorphmagus. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.” Ackley stood and made his leave. Saying as he did, “Votes in two hours. See you then.” He closed the door behind him and left the old wizard to his thoughts. Cygnus opened his top drawer and removed the false bottom. He pulled out the articles and memos, the pictures and newsletters, and laid them out on his desk. He re-read through her life, trying to picture the transition from baby to teenager to adult. Imagining what color her hair is in the two pictures from the prophet. He liked to think it was brown like Andie’s. He found the newsletter that announced the first student admitted into auror training in almost a decade. He chuckled at the memo from Alastor Moody warning everyone that his mentee sabotaged the fairy cakes in the cafeteria (they were actually frosted with cottage cheese). His laughter turned to violent coughs, unstoppable and painful. He finally settled to see that he had coughed blood all over his clippings.

“Shit!” He exclaimed. He attempted to clear the blood away with his wand, but his hands were shaking and his magic failed him. “Shit, shit, shit, SHIT!” He roared in frustration. He flung his wand across the room and stood abruptly from his desk, toppling over the chair.

“Sir?” A soft woman’s voice rang through the door. “Are you okay?” He grabbed his walking cane and hobbled over to the door to open it.

“I’m fine Claudia.” She had been a loyal and hard worker for nearly ten years now. “I’m going to grab some fresh air.” He stated grabbing his traveling cloak.

“Would you like someone with you?” She asked kindly, “No no, I’ll be fine.” He wrapped his cloak around him ad made for the door, but was stopped by something on her desk. “Are these files going to the auror office?” There was a stack of files in the outbox labeled for the second floor.

“Yes. A couple signatures were missing from the arrest report.” He picked up the file and opened to the first page. The secondary was Kingsley Shackelbolt, but the Primary was Alastor Moody. He closed the file and tucked it under his arm.

“I’ll take these up on my way out.” His assistant looked perplexed, he had never offered to do anything of the sort before, but she knew by now not to question certain things he did. Cygnus held on tight to the files as he rode the lift to the second floor. He didn’t allow his thoughts to wander to what he planned to do or what people might think. He only focused on getting himself to the auror office.

“Can I help you sir?” The receptionist at the office asked pleasantly. His mind went blank. Maybe he should have thought about what he was going to say.

“Uh yes. Well umm—you see I have these— I’m looking for.�� The young man looked up confused at the stuttering old wizard.

“Are you lost Sir?” He asked

“No I —uh— I just need to find—”

“NYMPHADORAAAAA!!!!!!” A gravely voice roared through the office. Cygnus turned to look. A young pink haired witch was running from a raging one eyed wizard.

“They’re good for your eyesight!” she hollered over her shoulder as the peg legged man threw carrots at her.

“You’re good for testing my patience girl!” A carrot got Nymphadora in the temple as she hopped over and behind a desk to safety. “If one more of my quills turns into a carrot I’m sending you packing back you your mothers house.” He turned on his heel and march off to his office. Tonks peaked up from behind the desk with a wide smile on her face.

“Sorry about that Sir.” The receptionist drew back his attention after the interruption, “Who were you looking for?” Cygnus realized he had been watching the entire exchange with a smile on his face. He looked back to the young man,

“I’m actually looking for her.” He gestured to the pink haired witch.

“Tonks!” The receptionist called, “This gentleman needs to see you.” She looked up at the sound of her surname and strode over to the front desk. He was waiting for a sign of recognition from her, but it didn’t come. Her bright smile remained on her pale heart shaped face, matching her bright bubblegum pink hair. She had multiple piercings in her ears and one diamond stud on her nose. Her auror robes were buttoned from her collarbone to her hips, but flared out showing ripped jeans and black leather combat boots. Her foot caught on something and she stumbled the last few feet to meet him at the front desk. At first glance she wasn’t any thing like his refined daughters.

“Wotcher,” she greeted, “Names Tonks. How can I help you?” He was perplexed why she didn’t recognize him. They had never met, but she should make the connection in his Wizengamot robes. A quick mental check reminded him that he was actually wearing a traveling cloak. He didn’t look like a councilman, he looked like a page. There was a moment of silence where Nymphadora looked confused. “Sir?” She asked.

“Right, Sorry. I need help with these files.” He gestured to the stack in his arms, “There are some signatures missing.” He handed over the folder. She skimmed through the file and nodded in a few places.

“I was on this case, but I’m too junior to sign these.” She flipped through a few more pages, “I can go get King to finish these up for you.” She closed the file and met his eyes again. He noticed that they had changed from brown to blue.

“That would be great.” He responded.

“You can wait here, or at my desk.” She offered gesturing to a cubicle one row down. He nodded and sat in a chair set next to her desk. She smiled at him and rushed off to find Kingsley. He peered around her cubicle and felt the smile tug back at his lips. It wasn’t messy per say, but she had multiple toys and knick knacks on her desk accompanied by pinned photos and old concert tickets on her wall. Everything was brightly colored and clashed with the somber atmosphere of the office as a whole. The calendar on her wall was of the holyhead harpies and was filled out with appointments, shifts and training schedules. He noticed this Friday it said ‘Tea with mum!’ And he felt his heart ache. There was a post it note on a file that read in the same round handwriting as the calendar ‘Check brother’s alibi!’ He was taking it all in and painting a picture of her personality. He already learned more in 30 seconds than he had in 20 years. He knew she liked a band called ‘The Weird Sisters’, she had friend named Penny, her club quidditch team had a match next Tuesday, and she new a red headed man who worked on a dragon reserve. He wondered if that was her boyfriend. She returned with the file minutes later stumbling into the cubical with the same bright smile.

“All Signed.” She announced, “King just wants me to look it over once more before we send it back with you.” She sat down and began flipping through the pages, making an occasional check or note with a bright pink quill. Cygnus tried not to stare, it was rude and she didn’t know who he was. But it was surreal seeing her. He had only snippets and pieces of information to create this image of her and finally she was in front of him, and she was nothing like he had imagined. He thought she would be a copy of Andromeda; ambitious, graceful and witty. But she wasn’t that at all. She was playful, clumsy and vibrant. He loved her all the more for it.

“Been working here long?” He asked wanting to share some interaction with her to hold in his brain.

“I’m technically still in training. Spend half my time here on cases and half the time in Scotland doing boot camp type stuff.” Her eyes remained on the pages as she spoke, “But yeah It's been just over two years.”

“Do you like it?”

“Love it! It's what I’ve wanted to do since I was a kid.” He added that information to his mental log. “How about you? Been here long?” He chuckled, barely holding back a fit of coughs,

“Longer than you’ve been alive.” The coughing over took him and he pulled out his handkerchief to cover his mouth. She drew her focus from the report and conjured up a glass of water.

“Are you ok?” She asked laying a comforting hand on his arm while offering the glass of water with the other.

“Fine,” he lied, “Just getting over something.” He scrunched up the handkerchief  with a shaking hand to hide the blood and took the glass gratefully. As he drank another auror peaked his head over into Tonks’ cubicle,

“Oi! Tonks.” She turned to the man addressing her, “What flavor do you want your cake for the bon voyage party? Remus told King your favorite was Chocolate.” Tonks rolled her eyes.

“His favorite is chocolate. Mine is carrot.” The man smirked at her response.

“Why do I feel like you're saying that to get one more over on ol’ Mad-eye.” He asked with an amused tone.

“‘Cuz you’re a smart bloke.” She winked and the man departed. She turned back to her grandfather refilling his water glass and smiling reassuringly at him.

“Why are they throwing you a bon voyage party?” He asked. Her smile faltered.

“Well they’re voting on this new bill today and it's going to make it really hard to keep me on for full time hire next year.

“How so?” He asked feigning ignorance.

“Well it’ll require wizengamot approval to hire any ‘mutant’, and I’m a metamorphmagus.” She paused and scrunched up her face like she was concentrating on something. The next moment her hair changed to baby blue.

“Thats amazing!” He exclaimed at seeing her use her gift. “Why wouldn’t they hire you back?”

“Well if it was up to Mad-eye I would be. But the way the bill is written I’d have to be vetted by the Wizengamot, and well.” She paused for a moment; possibly choosing her words, “My parents sort of pissed off a bunch of councilmen and they’ll take any excuse to keep me out of the ministry.” He let the truth in her words sink in. His fellow purebloods would see it as protecting his honor to bar her from employment.

“You never know. They could vote the bill down.” He offered, and she smiled.

“Doubtful, but I like your positive thinking.” She turned back to the report, and finished revising any incomplete information. “There.” She closed the folder with a flourish and rebound it for the old man. He began to stand from the chair, but found he was sitting too low for his old legs to handle. He reached for her desk and his walking stick to add leverage, but still struggled. Nymphadora stood and aided him, with her youth and strength.

“Thank you.” He muttered, “never get old.” He warned.

“Don’t know if I have a say on that one.” She quipped, handing him the report. “Oh also,” she pulled open her desk drawer and pulled out a small tin. “This is me mum’s special tea. It's really great for sore throats.” She placed it on top of the report, “Might help with that cough of yours.” He felt the threatening sting of tears forming behind his eyes.

“Thank you Nymphadora.” She cringed at the sound of her given name, but let it slide for the sick old man. She walked him to the receptionist giving him one last smile in farewell. Just before they parted ways,

“Tonks!” A sharp demanding tone rang through the office. Alastor Moody once again entered the bullpen from his office, “I need you and—” but he stopped short. His magical eye which had been wizzing around checking something through the back of his head came forward and focused on the man standing next to his protege. Cygnus of course knew Mad-eye on several levels. He was a frequent witness at trials, a colleague of sorts, and the man who arrested his daughter Bellatrix. A cold moment passed between them. He could see, even a room away, the same protective fire on his eyes that had been in Ted’s twenty years ago in his office. Cygnus stepped back and made to depart from the auror office. Nymphadora gave a little wave good bye and walked to her mentor unaware of what had passed between the two men. Cygnus returned to his office with just enough time to ready for the vote. He removed his traveling cloak and donned his official Wizengamot robes and tucked the baby picture of Nymphadora in his breast pocket for resolve.

-

Remus Lupin was struggling to keep the sweat out of his eyes as he labored in his back garden. Ted Tonks had been kind enough to send some work his way earlier this week in the form of editing some academic papers for the Potioneer’s magazine. But it really had only given him a day of work, and so he was back to working in the back yard. With income being irregular his entire adult life he had learned to eat what he could grown to save money. Especially now with the ‘Mutant Bill’ likely to pass he needed creative ways to stay afloat. He remembered hearing Nymphadora saying the vote was today; so to keep his mind off of it he began his gardening early in the morning. When it got voted in it would be frustrating  for him, but not much more than what he had dealt with since he was a child. What really set his temper on edge was that it dragged down innocent people like Nymphadora. She had been working her whole life to be an auror and to have it stripped away when she was so close was cruel.

He was mending a hole in his wired garden fence when a small pop interrupted his focus. Programmed from years of war he turned immediately; wand at the ready.

“If you were to kill me now you’d be doing yourself a disservice.” The calm voice of Albus Dumbledore responded to the jumpy werewolf.

“Sorry Albus.” He lowered his wand and exited his garden. “Old habits.”

“They’re warranted.” He reassured.

“Can I offer you Ice tea?” He offered his old headmaster who nodded. Lupin entered the back of his small cottage, washing his hands and face before pouring two glasses, adding a lemon wedge to each. He returned out side to find Dumbledore admiring his tomatoes.

“Pamona always said you had a green thumb.” He commented accepting a glass from Remus and following him to a small table near the garden.

“Its relaxing and makes food shopping less of a burden.” He explained. The pair sat in silence letting the summers sun soak into their skin. He knew there was news coming; Dumbledore didn’t often make house calls. The question was if it was good or bad.

“Sir,” Dumbledore tilted his head to indicate he was listening, “Not that I don’t enjoy your company, but why are you here?” A small smile rose to Dumbledores lips.

“I’m here to seize and opportunity.” He said airily, “Very slytherin of me, I know. But it's too good to let slip.” Remus raised an eye brow in questioning. “You see the Mutant Bill has just been voted down.”

“It has?!” Remus nearly spit cup his drink at the news.

“Yes, an unexpected ally was the deciding vote, and it's made me realize something.” Again Remus asked a silent question, “I’ve been struggling to find a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for years and if I had only broadened my view I could have seen that there was a perfect candidate right here all along.” His blue eyes found Remus’ hazel.

“Me?” He asked receiving a small nod from the old wizard, “But I’m—I can’t be around kids.”

“You were burdened with lycanthropy while at school, why is this any different?”

“Well I was smaller then, not full grown. And I missed a lot of school because of it. I can’t skip classes as a professor.”

“The answer to both is Severus Snape.” Dumbledore continued. “He’s agreed to brew Wolfsbane potion for you while you're employed at Hogwarts.” Remus couldn’t believe it. He had heard of wolfsbane and from what Ted told him it was like a miracle. It wouldn’t stop the transformation, but it eased your mind, and cut your recovery time in half. He had never been able to afford it before. “And should there be a class or two you had to miss he has free periods to cover for you.” He was speechless. He always wanted to be a teacher, even got a case from his friends with ‘Professor R.J. Lupin’ engraved on it.

“Sir—I don’t know.” He rubbed the back of his neck, “It seems too good to be true.” Dumbledore smiled at the old wolf.

“The safety of my students is the most important thing; second is their instruction.” His kind eyes bore into Lupin, “Your the best man for the job, and I wouldn’t offer this to you if I didn’t trust you 100%.” Warmth spread through his body, “With the Mutant Bill out of the way I can hire you without committee and prove to the wizarding world that our fears about ‘mutants’ are baseless.” He sat back needing a moment to take this all in. To go back to Hogwarts, to teach, it was everything he wanted. He let his mind turnout over a few times. He let the silence settle and the headmaster let him process cheerfully watching the bees hover around his garden and tend to his flowers. After sometime Remus did come up with one question.

“Who was the deciding vote on the bill?” Dumbledore looked back to him, “You said we had an ‘unexpected ally’. Who was it?” He asked

“Cygnus Black.” He stated simply.

“Andie’s father?” He asked bewildered, “But he—he’s the worst of them all. He leads the pureblood caucus.”

“I was as surprised as you are, but in the end his vote stoped the bill.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“I have a theory, but If I ever asked him he’d deny it with a passion.” Dumbledore left the statement hanging forcing Lupin to question,

“Whats your theory?” Albus smirked

“The bill was worded in such a way that the category of ‘mutant’ could apply to more than one group. Merpeople, Centaurs, Animagi and—”

“Metamorphmagi.” Remus finished. Dumbledore tapped his nose. “But he’s never even met her. Ted told me went to his office and tried to extend an olive branch, but he refused. Called her a ‘mutt’.”

“Yes well, we’re weaker men when we’re younger. We allow our pride to cloud our better judgement. I have reason to believe he’s had a change of heart.” He continued, “After the vote, I received an owl form Alastor Moody saying that Cygnus had visited the auror office not an hour before.” Remus raised an eyebrow skeptically, “Additionally, I am on good terms with Cygnus’ assistant, and she shared that she had to clean his desk of article clippings and photos of a young girl named Tonks. Poor thing thought he was having an affair. She wasn’t around when Andromeda left for Ted.”

“So, he voted ‘no’ to protect his estranged granddaughter?”

“Makes the the more sense than him voting because he was concerned with your employment opportunities.” They chuckled.

“So what do you think did it then? What made him decide to do right by her after all this time?” Dumbledore shrugged,

“I don’t think even he could tell you. But as an old man myself I can say that my life regrets fuel my decisions today.” They let the quandary of Cygnus’ vote fall away and allowed the amicable silence settle back in. Finishing their iced teas as the sky began to dance with hues of orange and pink. When their glasses were emptied Albus took his leave, “I suppose I’ll be seeing you at the start of term; Professor Lupin.” Remus couldn’t stop the stupid smile from stretching across his face.

“Thank you, Headmaster.” And with that the old wizard disappeared with a low pop. Remus stood from the table and cleared the glasses. He hadn’t finished rinsing them out when an owl came swooping in through the open window. He recognized it as Tonks’ owl Artemis and detached the letter, filling a dish with water for the animal before opening it.

‘Moony, Boy do I have some fantastic news for you! Dinner tonight at my Parents, 7pm. Bring your party pants! x Tonks’

The smile on his face widened knowing how excited she must be over keeping her job. He checked his watch, confirming that he had half an hour to clean up for dinner. He wondered how she would react to his news in return. The newly appointed professor donned himself with his least shabbiest clothes and readied for a happy evening with friends.

[scriveyner]

let it rest in peace 1/4

James always loved to watch Keith run.

The black wolf was a liquid shadow; compacted into a powerful ball of muscle and potential. It was poetry to watch slowed down, enormous paws dug into the ground for purchase and extending all the way out again, all four legs clearing the ground in a straight shot. Head down, laser-focused on his target, Keith moved so fast at that moment James felt like he was seeing an afterimage, the actual thing there and gone before he could even blink.

Keith ran every chance he got; up and down the long familiar stretch of beach, his slightly smaller frame shadow to Shiro’s enormously powerful white wolf. He ran through the woods, threaded the trees, circled their camps and the truck, and nearly made James dizzy with his exuberance and a seemingly endless wellspring of energy. He loved the most to run in the plains, though, when they went east and spent their nights in fields under an endless expanse of stars.

Run with me, Keith said, both hands on James’s wrists, eyes bright and skin bronzed by firelight.

He couldn’t deny Keith anything, not even this; futile exercise that it was. Before too long Keith would tire of lagging and would be on four legs, bounding back and forth and unstoppable. All the same, James humored him every time, jogged with him until Keith couldn’t bear it any longer, and bolted; across the clearing, across the sand, across the field—ears and tail high.

He loved to run.

He loved James, too.

James panted, hand pressed to the side of his neck, cheek in the dirt. He watched Keith run like this, powerhouse that he was, gone in a twinkling, fury and sound.

“I’ll protect you,” Keith said, calm and confident, sitting up in their motel bed, the covers kicked to the floor and his skin brushed blue by the cold light of the television.

It was an ancient song and dance between them now, months-weeks-years of it, Keith with his lazy certainty that he could take on anything and James with his world-weary amusement, knowing every beat to the conversation by heart. “You can’t, against everything.”

James brushed his knuckles along the outside of Keith’s thigh and Keith stirred, leaned over him and kissed him with a rakish grin. “You don’t know me very well then, do you, Griffin?”

I do know you, James thought, the words drowned in the blood squeezing between his fingers, the darkness starting to claw at the edge of his vision. He exhaled again and coughed wetly, closed his eyes and dreamed of running with his wolf.

Read the rest on AO3 or

let it rest in peace – 1

The sky was in his heart, an endless expanse of blue that reached horizon to horizon. The air was fresh, spring again, the sharp bite of winter’s chill melted in the calm, bright sun. The fields went on forever, lush green landscapes covered in wildflowers cornstalks barely to his hip, wheat swaying in the wind.

It was home, and yet.

“Griffin!” A voice, faint, familiar, carried on the wind of memories. “I found him, shit, shit, Shiro, hurry--!”

“Sing for me,” James said, brushed his fingers through Keith’s hair, the light of the dying embers caught in his raven locks. Keith leaned up on one elbow, smiling helplessly down at him, before rising smoothly on four legs.

James combed his fingers through dark fur, as Keith stepped away and out of reach the loss felt sudden, insurmountable—and he reached for Keith as the wolf raised his face to the sky, a dirge for the moon.

“James, no, no no no--” Keith’s voice, too distant. “Stay with me, please, please--”

The moon was in his blood, fat and heavy in the desert’s endless sky. The stars seemed to go on forever, past the point of the horizon, patterning down, under his feet until everything was night, washed out in the light of a full cold moon.

#

Everything hurt.

James squinted open gummy eyes, listening to the constant steady beep of the medical equipment beyond his line of sight. He couldn’t raise his arm to wipe his eyes, so he lolled his head on the pillow and immediately regretted the movement, paint shooting down his spine.

He let out a small involuntary grunt as he shifted, and that disturbed the dark head leaned against the hospital bed. James flexed his hand, and Keith lifted his head groggily, eyes red-rimmed and stubble so thick James knew it had been days, or longer. “Hey,” James croaked, lining up some kind of lumberjack crack but the single syllable was all he could manage. Keith’s eyes welled up immediately.

Keith pulled James’s hand up, both of his hands wrapped around it still, and pressed James’s hand to his mouth. “Don’t ever scare me like that again,” Keith’s voice sounded wrecked, worse than he’d ever heard.

It hurt to swallow, fuck, it hurt to breathe but James gathered himself and spoke. “Love you,” he murmured, squeezing Keith’s hands, and Keith let out a small little sob and didn’t raise his head. James smiled as much as he could manage, closed his eyes and dropped back off the cliff, into darkness.

#

When he woke again it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. The lights in the room were the same, although this time when he moved his head it didn’t immediately feel like it was going to come off his shoulders. There were no windows that he could see—just machines, off-white walls and a television up in the corner that was currently off.

Keith was sitting up in a chair beside the bed, looking better than he had. The stubble wasn’t as thick now, he’d shaved at least once; his hair was clean and he smelled like Keith, even with the competing antiseptic hospital smell attempting to overwhelm. He seemed to sense that James was looking at him and lifted his head, closing the folder he’d had open on his lap and smiling shakily for James. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

James lolled his head on the pillow, swallowed and then spoke hoarsely. “You ever seen Roger Rabbit?”

Keith’s brow furrowed, and James sighed, coughed a bit because the sigh hurt, goddammit. “Of course you haven’t.”

The door opened and they both looked at it—and it was Lance, leaning in the room clearly to get Keith. He looked tired, but lit up when he saw James awake. “Griffin, holy shit,” Lance said. “How’re you feeling, man? That was a fucking close call, if Shiro hadn’t--”

“Lance,” Keith said, his tone dagger-sharp. Lance stopped, gave Keith a look that James couldn’t really decipher, and then Keith said, “do you know what the fuck Roger Rabbit is?”

Nonplussed, Lance looked between them. Then he snapped his fingers, pointed at James and said, “you feel like you got squashed by the steamroller at the end!”

James chuckled, then groaned because that really fucking hurt.

Keith rolled his eyes, set the folder on a small table at his elbow, and got up. He put one hand on the mattress and leaned over, kissing James’s forehead gently. “I’ll be right back, I bet Shiro wants to see me,” he said. “Lance’ll keep you company, though.”

“Mm,” James was already feeling drowsy again, the interaction draining. “Keith?” Keith hesitated, looked down at him. James raised his arm slowly, touching the thick bandages around his throat, felt the ghost of fangs and claws nearly ripping his arm out of its socket, and asked, “how the fuck am I alive?”

There was a split-second flicker of something across Keith’s face he was too drugged up to catch. Keith took his hand away from his throat, patted it, and said, “please rest, James.”

His eyes felt too heavy, but he watched Keith say something in low tones to Lance, caught Shiro’s name but little else. Lance gave James a look and then shook his head, Keith clapped his shoulder and left the room. James closed his eyes and listened to Lance shuffle, pulling the other chair away from the wall to sit on his left side.

James swallowed, didn’t bother to open his eyes. “What did Keith do, Lance?”

The shuffling and scraping stopped abruptly. He heard the chair’s cushion complain slightly as Lance flopped into it, and he could almost see the way Lance tilted forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He definitely heard the aggrieved sigh.

“It wasn’t Keith’s call,” Lance said softly. “It was mine.”

James slept.

#

“You’ve barely eaten anything,” Keith said, the frown evident in his voice as he dropped into the chair he’d been living out of for the past week and a half—longer, James knew, since before he woke up even if he didn’t know how long that was.

James looked up from his phone, an equivalent frown on his face as he thrust the offending piece of technology in Keith’s direction. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I want my old phone back.”

Keith looked at the proffered phone. “Your old phone is in two pieces,” he said, and after a moment James sighed and retracted his arm, setting the phone on the tray extended over his lap on the bed.

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, what the fuck is wrong with this phone, it’s so…” he poked it. “I don’t trust the Blade not to be using some weird-ass shit magic on their technology, what if this thing achieves sentience? There’s a horror movie for you right there, fuck it.”

“Hasn’t technology run amuck been done to death by now anyway?”

“Probably. I was thinking more in the vein of the phone actually biting people, though.”

“Transformers,” Keith muttered, and James groaned and folded his arms. After a moment Keith tilted his head, gave James a fond grin, and they both laughed. James winced, touched the bandages around his neck, and then laughed again because laughing hurt, but it was a good hurt. He was alive, after all.

He looked at the door, still buoyant in his mood. “Shiro and Lance are here,” he said, a split-second before the knock came; and he caught the way Keith gave him a particular look out of the corner of his eye. “Come in!”

“Someone sounds better already,” Shiro said, opening the door with his left hand and holding it open as Lance pranced in behind him, a courier bag slung over his shoulder. The delicious smell of cheese and grease followed them in, wrapped around Lance like a living thing, and Lance beamed at James as he slipped the bag off his shoulder.

“We bring contraband!”

“Hey,” Keith said, sitting up as Lance pulled a fast food sack out of his bag, dropping an enormous burger on the tray in front of James. “He’s on a strict diet--”

“If you’re going to be Mr. Narc I’ll give James your burger too,” Lance threatened—and they both looked at James, who had immediately begun destroying the burger like he’d never eaten one before in his life.

“I’m not very hungry, anyway,” Keith said, clearly amused at the display, and James tucked into the second burger with relish.

James didn’t realize how off he’d felt until he had two burgers sitting heavy in his gut. Lance sat on the left side of his bed, elbow on the mattress and volleying barbs at Keith, who wasn’t taking them well. Shiro, on the other hand, didn’t get too close to the bed, and kept trying to fold his arms—which wasn’t happening, given that his prosthetic arm was, currently, disconnected.

Of course, that drew his attention because he’d hardly ever seen Shiro without it. “What happened with your arm?” James asked, balling up the wrapper from the second burger and tossing it into the sack Lance had left open on the tray.

“Tech department took it for maintenance,” Shiro said. He lifted his right arm and pointed to the stub. “Have you never seen it off?”

James shook his head, transitioned to a nod. “No, I have, it’s just unusual. Also, you keep trying to cross your arms and that’s, sorry, that’s hilarious.”

Shiro put his one hand on his hip and hung his head, sighing audibly. “Lance made fun of me in the elevator, too. Do I really cross my arms that much?”

“Yes,” James, Keith and Lance all said in emphatic unison.

“Frequently crossed arms is a sign someone is holding back something important,” James said, raising a finger knowledgeably, and Keith snorted, while Lance leaned on the armrest of the chair, in Shiro’s direction.

“So, what secrets are you hiding from me, Takashi?”

Shiro crossed over and put his hand on the back of Lance’s chair, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. “Just how very much I love you.”

Lance caught the front of his shirt, turned his face up, and they kissed properly. “That’s no secret,” Lance snorted, clearly amused.

“No shit,” Keith said, leaned back in his chair and exchanging an amused glance with James.

“And speaking of secrets,” James said, “anyone feel like enlightening me as to how I’m still here right now? Because I really should be dead.”

The room immediately fell quiet.

James looked around at them. Keith folded his arms, met his eye for a quick second and looked away. Lance wouldn’t look at him at all, and Shiro had a pained expression on his face. “Yeah,” James said. “That’s what I figured.”

Shiro slipped his hand from the back of Lance’s chair to his shoulder and squeezed it. “We should go,” he said, and Keith stood.

“No,” James said. “I want to hear it from everyone.”

Shiro gave him an apologetic look, and Lance stood. “We’ll talk later,” Lance said, earnest and weirdly obedient, following Shiro to the door. James watched them go, Keith seeing them out—and his ears caught a few exchanged words, but nothing that made any kind of sense.

Keith closed the door behind them, held that pose for a moment before walking back to James’s hospital bed. He stopped and looked at James, as James tore the last of the bandages off his shoulder, the ones from his neck already strewn across the bed. “James,” Keith said, pained.

James bared his neck, lifted his chin, and said, “I had my fucking throat torn out, Keith, and there’s not a scratch on me. What did you do?”

Keith sat on the mattress, pushed the forgotten tray out of the way, and looked James in the eye. “You were bleeding out in the back of the Jeep,” he said. “We were too far away from everything, remember, Lance even fucking joked about it, before…” Keith sighed, looked away for a second before looking back at him. “You needed blood. Shiro gave you some.”

James exhaled once, pushed his hand back through his hair, and said, “holy shit, I thought you were gonna tell me you sold your soul in some kind of Faustian bargain or something, fucking hell.” He slid his hand down to his face, exhaled again shakily, and said, “he didn’t bite me? Just… a blood transfusion?”

“He would’ve, if I asked.” Keith looked down at his hands. “Maybe even if I didn’t, but it wasn’t the full moon.”

James rubbed his hand over his throat, the new skin raw and unmarred. “So...what. Am I a werewolf now? What does this mean?”

“I have no fucking idea.” Keith looked at him again, looked more tired than James had ever seen. “The full moon was a few nights ago, you didn’t change. Nothing changed, really. You just healed…really fast.”

“Is that why we’re still here, then? Am I under observation or something?”

“Yeah.”

James said, “yeah, okay, observation time is over.” He pulled at the IV for a second before Keith grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away, leaning over him. “Let me go,” James snarled, and Keith didn’t release him, stared into his eyes and looked as remorseful as James had ever seen him.

“James,” Keith said softly. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t want this--”

“Yeah,” James said, tried to shake Keith’s grip but didn’t have the strength to break it. “Neither did I.”

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

The Devil’s Daughter Ch. 2

Master List: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: The Winter Soldier X Reader (Bucky X Reader)

Summary: Born and bred to be a monster worthy to lead Hydra into a new age you must decide if you will become the beast they always intended or perhaps something greater… Someone worthy even, of love.

Warnings: Trauma. This one is lighter but I still advise to tread with caution when it comes to this series. 

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU! I’ve been so wrapped up with work and another project that I haven’t had really any time to breathe. BUT I finally took like a half step back and remembered that fic is actually a form of self care for me. I LOVE writing these stories and needed to make time for this and, of course, to give those of you who are invested something to sink your teeth into. 

This is a shorter chapter but will answer that lingering question from the last chapter and, I hope, make up for the wait just a bit. 

Love you sweet pumpkins! 

TAGS ARE OPEN

If I missed your tag please remind me. 

You hadn’t expected sleep to come easily. It rarely did even before this seemingly endless day, and yet the moment you settled into the plush bed you fell into blissful unconsciousness. 

A few hours before sunrise, your eyes pop open. It certainly wasn’t the longest night’s sleep but you felt more than rested. Another side effect of the serum you suspected, and honestly, not a bad one. 

You had work to do. 

Tentatively you step from your room, both cautious of any potential threats and not wanting to disturb the presumably sleeping Soldier, wherever he may be. Thankfully, you found neither assailant nor your new muscle stalking around the space. 

Given your first goal of the day you were honestly more grateful to not see the Soldier awake than you were to not face an attack.

On the small dining table, the boxes of files on The Soldier sat just where you’d left them the night before. You lay your hand on top of one, almost reverently. 

There was no doubt that what these boxes contained was unpleasant if not horrific. Part of you almost didn’t want to crack into them, not wanting to take this journey now. 

With a deep breath, you shake your head, dismissing your hesitation. You’d made a commitment, albeit only to yourself, that you would give him his name back. And if his freedom could be wrenched from these files… Well, you’d do that too.

By the time the sun finally lit the windows you felt ill. No one could ever accuse you of having a weak constitution when it came to violence but still… some levels of depravity, especially sanctioned depravity, were more than even you could bear. 

The story told of The Soldier unfolded in the files on the floor around you. It was a lesson in just how deep the cruelty of man could go. 

Beyond the more gut-wrenching details, you’d gained a surface understanding of how he ticked. The triggers and tools available to you, none of which you intended to use, as well as his limitations. 

Part of his appeal was that he could be rendered a blank slate, a human weapon at the full control of whoever had a firm enough grasp on his leash. However, wiping him and bringing him fully back to square one had its risks. 

The insidious technique always carried the chance of simply leveling him to a state of drooling uselessness at best and death at worst. Because of this, they only wiped him entirely with the use of the chair when absolutely necessary. In fact, his last full wipe had been almost four years ago—which likely explained his remembering your encounter from several years prior. 

From what you gathered so far, this was one of the longer stints Hydra had gone without either icing or wiping him. The notes indicated that this was a great win. They thought they’d finally broken him. 

A smile filled your face knowing this was far from true. 

“Amusing read?” 

You had been so absorbed in your research that you didn’t hear his approach and embarrassingly jumped at the sound of his voice. 

“The content isn’t amusing. Their misguided ideas though…” 

His brows raise at this, “Ideas about what?” 

“That they have somehow finally broken you.” The moment the words leave your lips you regret them. His expression is unreadable, a combination of horror, disgust, and murderous rage that no language you knew had a word for. 

“Haven’t they.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Your presence here says they haven’t.” As did his attempt on your life last night and the fact that he didn’t kill you when you told him your plan. He doesn’t respond, just shoves his hands in his pockets, fixing his gaze out the window. 

“They think because they haven’t had to wipe you in so long that you’ve given in. It’s amusing because it’s the exact opposite, isn’t it? You figured out-”

“Even a dog learns not to bark when the shock collar goes off too many times.” His frigid tone makes you flinch. You think to respond but his cold glare freezes your jaw shut. “It doesn’t mean a goddamn thing.”

“You’re wrong.” 

A muscle in his jaw ticks and you brace for his rebuttal. It doesn’t come. He simply turns and strides onto the terrace. 

To say that wasn’t what you expected would be an understatement. Last night he admitted to remembering you, admitted that what he did to Eric he did for the both of you. Clearly he had grabbed hold of a bit of autonomy, some level of self-awareness. Yet he didn’t see it as any kind of victory… 

Rather than push the matter, you sigh and begin repacking the boxes, tucking the nightmarish pieces of The Soldier’s puzzle away--all but one. 

The file was old, dating back to WWII, it’s edges frayed and flaking. Once more you flip open the cover. 

Held by a rusted paperclip is a black and white photo of a striking young man in military dress with a mischievous smile. 

Your eyes wander from the photo to the man on the terrace. Logically you knew they were the same person but at the same time, it seemed impossible. There was a spark in the person staring back at you in the photo, an effortless charm that couldn’t be dulled by the passage of time. For that energy to remain in a photograph and not in the man himself… 

Taking care to not damage the picture, you slide it from the paperclip. The document below held nothing but basic information, information he may want. The photo though--well it seemed almost cruel to present him with it when it was clear the man in it had died a long time ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe out as his reaction makes some kind of sense to you. 

Before you’d wondered if he may remember his name, it seemed marginally possible given that he’d known you. But after what you’d learned and how your words had clearly hurt you knew that wasn’t the case. He may have wrenched some control back out of sheer will over the past few years but it was, for him, a hollow victory.

With effort you swallow the lump in your throat, setting the file on top of the box before you head back to the room you’d slept in. 

Looking to take your mind off your bungled good deed you pick up the burner phone Mara had given you thinking to ring her to come on up until you note the early hour. The woman had been through hell, you could grant her a few more hours of what you hoped was restful sleep. 

Unable to think of anything else to do you get in the shower, turning the water to a scalding temperature. The sting on your skin grounding you in your body, making you feel present, as pain so often did. 

-

He wanted to… apologize? Maybe? Even though he wasn’t sure if he really wanted to or if he was just afraid of what may happen if he didn’t. 

She isn’t like that, he tries to tell himself. But whether that was the truth or just his own pathetic need for it to be true he didn’t know. 

If he was being honest, he could hardly tell up from down.

Sighing, he rubs his temples, forcing down a few deep breaths. 

She didn’t deserve that, a voice in his head whispers. It’s right. She may be the one who was wrong but he’d been needlessly cold. 

Squaring his shoulders he heads back inside only to be met by the sound of the shower. 

Relief floods him. He may have decided he would apologize but he hadn’t actually known what to say. Before he’s able to think more about it his eyes land on a single folder sitting conspicuously on top of the boxes. 

In the span of a heartbeat, everything around him falls away for just a moment. Then the alarm bells sound. 

He’s both too hot and too cold. His breath ragged, if not gasping.  In his chest, his heart threatens to break free. 

Still, he moves like a man possessed toward the unassuming document. 

All night he’d thought of coming out here and opening these boxes. Tearing through them with the hopes that he’d get back whatever they took from him or find out that there was nothing worth regaining. 

Really that’s what he wanted to learn. More than anything he wanted to open these boxes and know that he had always been this creature of Hydra. He wanted there to only be this. He needed the skinny boy with the busted lip and bright smile, the woman humming in a kitchen, and the little girl on ice skates who haunted his dreams to be figments crafted by his fractured mind. 

If the Soldier was all he ever was he could continue onward. Anything else… 

With shaking hands he lifts the file and opens it. 

It’s like being punched in the chest. 

Gasping he falls to his knees on the plush carpet. In his mind, he’s falling elsewhere. A man screams a word printed on the page. 

“Bucky!” 

It echoes through his very bones. Over and over. 

“Bucky, you promise I won’t fall?” The little girl wears a red scarf, her blue eyes big and trusting. 

“Bucky, take this to the table and tell your sisters to wash up.” The woman has the same blue eyes, her smile feels like home. 

“Bucky, I don’t need you to fight my battles.” The skinny boy says, wiping blood from his lip. 

“Bucky!”

“Bucky!”

It feels like the only sound in the world. 

“James!” 

That wasn’t right. 

“James!”

Another word. Another name. 

“James, you come back to us. You hear me boy?!” The man’s voice and face were severe but his brown eyes shone with tears. 

“James, you really bring out the best in him you know?” The woman’s red lips curl in a friendly smile. 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. James!” 

The sting of a slap brings reality crashing in sending all the nameless ghosts tumbling back into the fog always lingering at the edges of his mind. In their stead is a face with a name he knows. 

“Catherine.” 

She huffs out a breath, wet hair tumbling into her face smelling like flowers. When she looks back at him her eyes flood with regret. 

“I’m so sorry for hitting you. I… You didn’t seem to be breathing but you looked like you were screaming…”

“It’s o-”

“It isn’t ok.” Sighing, she sits cross-legged in front of him, her eyes lighting on the file still gripped in his hands. 

Only then do his eyes reluctantly find their way back to the page. 

Barnes, James “Bucky” Buchanan 

He fights down the bile rising in his throat. 

“James.” It comes out garbled like his tongue can’t quite make sense of the syllables. He doesn’t notice his trembling until her warm hand rests against his left forearm. 

“You called me, James.” 

“I did. Was that ok?” He meets her eyes once more, unsure of how to answer. “I won’t use it if-” Shaking his head he cuts her off glancing back at the page. 

“James is good.” Too many nameless faces whispered the other name. But James, there were fewer echoes there. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, James.”

Her voice is warm, soft. He almost thinks he’s imagining it. 

“Is it?”

“Without question.” She gives his arm a squeeze, and he knows this is real. 

“I assume you prefer coffee to tea?” Catherine asks as she rises to her feet, striding to the phone without explanation. 

“I-” He’s a bit baffled by the shift. 

“Well, you are American. So I assume you prefer coffee.” 

Did he? 

“I’ll get both and if you prefer coffee I win.” He can’t help but laugh a little. 

“What do you win?” 

“I’ll think of something.” She winks before picking up the receiver and James could almost swear his pulse quickened if only a little. 

TAGS

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[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.3

a/n: I just saw a post with Overhaul without his jacket... BRUH. the infinite possibilities of--- yeah I’ll save that for the next parts XD enjoy the 3rd part :)

warnings: this cannot be read solo, cursing(?), subtle flirting

Links: part 1, part 2, part 4

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased​ @infinite-universe-love​

“Okay.” Tsukauchi said as he took the seat across from you. His outstretched hand returning the envelope he had cross-checked. “There really will be a gala at the said area at the said date.”

“Who are the possible plus ones I can bring?” You asked. Your eyes glued to your desktop. As of the moment, you were digging up some articles about one of the minor cases you were working on. Of course, you could skim through articles and talk to your workmate. It was as easy as breathing by now.

“There’s only 3 possible candidates.” He began to enumerate. “Me. Shinezu. Namase.”

“Shinezu?” You stopped reading and stared at him. “You’re kidding me right?”

“Perhaps~” He joked. “I mean it would be nice to bring him along and expose him to the outside world. The kid needs a social life. All locked up in his office. Only going out when absolutely necessary. The exposure would do him good.”

Your focus glided to Shinezu’s office. It wasn’t for you to judge but it was clear as day he was happy as a loner and would dread any sort of unwanted communication. The fact that he was even part of this small select group of people was a miracle itself. Though, you had to admire his intellect. Nothing went past him.

“I was actually planning on taking the man himself.” You broke the news. Somehow that sentence caused your heart to pick up its speed by a little. The sound of Tsukauchi’s chair rolling towards you caused a bit of discomfort. “Think about it. He has more ties than I will ever have and his quirk would surely intimidate the boss. It’s a gamble on my part as to how he would carry himself but he’s level-headed. So far.”

“You sure about that?” His voice was much nearer now.

“Nope.” There was no use in lying to this person. “I’m just pulling threads here. But, his title might draw me closer to the main goal here. Besides, I’d like to see him without that horrendous jacket.”

“You’re not being affected by his charm now, are you?” Tsukauchi pried as he slowly went back to his work space. “We all know just how manipulative he can get.”

Gathering a few folders and envelopes, you placed them onto your bag. Fixing your hair, you stood up and went towards his area. Leaning onto the partition, you fixed the strap of your bag and crossed your arms.

“I don’t like being interrogated, Nao.” You said. “But if it gives peace to your running mind, here is my answer. I’m being as cautious as I can be. There’s nothing more to it.”

You waited for a response but by the looks of it he was either using his quirk on you or he was satisfied with your answer. The latter, hopefully. Excusing yourself, you exited the precinct and looked for the nearest coffee shop. If there was one thing the office needed, it was better coffee.

Your nearest bet was a 5 minute walk from where you stood. Looking at your watch, you had a couple of minutes to spare before interviewing a few civilians. Beginning your short walk, your mind drifted back to the plus one. Tsukauchi didn’t give you the go signal for it. Was this now all on you or would you have to consult him one more time?

Your hand was now fiddling with your phone in your pocket. Trying to single out the possibilities were rather tricky. The neon sign for the shop was now above you. You had been so lost in thought that you failed to realize you had arrived at your destination. Leaning on the door, you dragged yourself in and waited in line.

With the events going on, this called for a sweet drink. Something with chocolate in it. A sugar rush was something you needed.

You were currently the 3rd person in line. Pulling your phone out, you checked for any notifications. There was one. Clicking it open, it stated that the meeting you scheduled to have for next week had been pushed to today. Picturing your schedule, you had some free time later in the afternoon. Nodding, you sent out a reply and moved a step forward.

The day had just begun and things were starting to become busy. Thank gods the coffee shop smelled amazing. The exposed beans generously spread out its aroma around the cafe. Soft jazz music played in the background, enough to blend in with the buzzing chit chats of customers. A hint of mayoram and geranium gifted your sense of smell.

‘Wait..’ Your eyes began to scan the area. There was only one person whose wallet could afford such a scent.

“For an officer,” Overhaul said from behind you. “You’re quite slow.”

Pivoting, you were face to face with him. A new and very identical jacket replacing the old one. However, there was something off about his look today. His golden orbs simply stared back at you. Taking in your puzzled features. Then it hit you. A gasp escaped your mouth.

“Did the bird fly away or is this a new look?” He was without the bird beak. Instead, a simple black mask covered the lower half of his face. What was he hiding underneath that mask? Did he have a scar on his lip? A burn? If his eyes were breathtaking, what could possibly even out such a marvel? Subtly, you shook your head. What in the world were you thinking?

“I choose whether or not to wear the mask.” He replied. His latex wrapped hands motioning you to move forward. “This is one of the cleanest cafes that live up to my standards. It may not look like it but the smell of coffee beans are rather attractive.”

“It’s been a while, (Y/N)!” The employee greeted you. She giggled at how she broke your train of thought. It was something she barely got to see after all. “Will you have the usual?”

“Uh, N-no. For today, I’d like a choco chip supreme with less ice.” Your cheeks began to burn up as you had stuttered. Reaching for your wallet, you felt a foot gently kicking you. Looking up at the source, you stepped aside and waited for his move.

“2 Americano’s.” Overhaul ordered. In the corner of his eyes, he saw how your cheeks were beginning to turn a faint shade of red. As expected, this was interesting for him. “I’ll pay for her order as well.”

“You don’t have to.” You put up your palms and were only met with silence as he handed the payment.

“Put it under her name.” He instructed the employee to which she agreed. When both of you were given the line to wait for your orders, Overhaul signed for you to follow him to a vacant table near the window. Pulling the seat, he waited for you to sit down. To which you did.

“What do you want, Overhaul?”

“Can I not spend time with the person I’m assisting?” His hands remained on his lap. Sure, the table was clean but he wasn’t taking chances. Glancing at the window, his stare glued to the black car parked across the street. He could imagine Chrono inside slowly losing his patience. “I merely wanted an update for your plus one.”

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Bring the first person that pops in your mind.” He tilted his head once more. “Isn’t that how you people think?”

“So you’re not a person?”

“I’m clean compared to you.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a clean person.” You pouted and pointed your index at him. The way his eyes widened with fear at the possible contamination was rather amusing. “You just wouldn’t know because you're afraid of dust. I bet your immune system is low.”

“Hmph. On the contrary, my health is pristine and well taken care of. I simply choose not to touch filthy people like you. I do make exceptions every now and then.”

“They must be blessed.” You rolled your eyes and the sound of your name broke through the jazz and chatter. “Well, make yourself useful and get our orders.”

“Of course.”

That had to make you wonder. He did not flinch, show any signs of annoyance, or even scoff at your command. Instead, Overhaul silently lifted his chair and made his way towards the counter. Seeing him bow as he received the beverages was weird. For someone who murders people, he sure is polite when it comes to mannerisms. Perhaps, those traits of his were already present. Even before becoming a villain.

When he sat back down, he took a tissue and wrapped it around your cold drink. Placing it in front of you along with the straw.

“Be my plus one.” You blurted out. Your view focused on him.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He stood up and lowered his head. “I shall pick you up at 6. Is that fine?”

“Yeah.”

“If nothing else, I shall leave you be. Chronostasis must be fuming by now.” Before turning to leave, he had the audacity to add. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Following his body, you stared as he crossed the street and entered the same car he had been eyeing at.

Inside the car. Overhaul closed his eyes and listened to the small complaints his companion had. The visit to the shop was never intended but when he saw your figure walking down the street and entering the quaint shop, the decision to stop the car only caused Chrono to wonder.

Handing him the bird mask, he watched as his boss wore the contraption.

“Send the RSVP later.” He instructed. His voice muffled once again. “Use the alias we usually hand out for events like this. And call in the tailor. I’ll be needing a new suit.”

“That woman has taken your interests.” He commented.

“No.”

“Then why bother following her?”

“I did not follow her, Kurono.” He corrected his assistant. “It was merely chance running into her at this time of day. Besides, it’s amusing how she does not seem to hold such fear when I am around.”

Curling the sleeves of his jacket, he observed his skin. Not a sign of breakouts. In his subtle attempts to place himself close to you, he had come to the conclusion that you were relatively pure. Save for your quirk of course.

Speaking of quirk, there were still no updates regarding that information. Imagining the sum of money the Abegawa Tenchu Kai had to pay to keep that hidden was something he had to praise. The same could be said for his real name. Did you even know what his name was? Or were you left with redacted articles regarding that?

Closing his eyes once more, his thoughts went to the headquarters where his experiments were now running a bit late. Still, a few minutes delay was something he could live by.

Meanwhile, you were now preparing what explanation to give Tsukauchi. You had already given him a reasonable explanation as to why you would want to go with Overhaul. It also wouldn’t be the first time you would inform him of such unconventional choices you made. Ruffling your hair, you clicked your tongue and took a deep sip. “Uhm, (Y/N)?”

From the window, your view shifted to the employee. In her hand was a tray with a blueberry cheesecake. A shy smile resting on her feminine features. Scratching her nape, she let out an awkward giggle.

“The man told me to give you this after he left.” She said as she placed the dessert on the shiny brown surface.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You stared at the cheesecake and immediately took your phone. Looking for the unknown number, you were only hoping that this was his personal number and not one that would alert the whole Shie Hassaikai. Sending the message with a rapidly beating heart, you cursed yourself for feeling this way.

To calm you down, you scrolled a little further and finally dialed your partner.

“Nao. I’m taking Bird boy with me.”

A long sigh was heard on the other side of the call. If you could bet money, you were sure he was massaging the bridge of his nose and leaning onto his chair.

“As much as I do not trust him, that would have to be the best decision for now,”

That went… smoother than you had initially thought.

“What’d you just gather?” Curiosity lacing your voice.

“A lot of big names are invited but we noticed that a handful of them are villains. Notably Akuji, Nokusu, and if our records are right, Tamisura.”

“Shit.”

----

are yall enjoying the story so far? :’) comment or message me if you want to be a part of Overhaul’s waiting list or any questions about the story :)

[fleckcmscott]

To Have and To Hold

Summary: Y/N makes an oversight at work. The resulting extra hours with Arthur delight them both.

Warnings: Swearing, Smut

Words: 4,272

A/N: This story had been kicking around in my head for about two months, but I hadn’t been sure if I was going to write it. Then I read @sweet-nothings04‘s amazing Hand-in-Hand (which you all need to check out, if you haven’t), and knew I had to put it on paper. Thanks to her for the inspiration to finally develop this, and for the title, too!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

Perhaps it was the sunshine that stirred her. Or the horns of traffic on congested streets. The hammering of a distant construction site. The chatter and occasional yelling of passersby.  The hum of Gotham awakening.

Y/N blinked in confusion - how could it be so bright this early? - and squinted at the clock at Arthur's side of the bed. No numbers greeted her, just its blank, plastic display. Stretching, she reached to her left for her watch, in its spot by the beige rotary phone on the nightstand.

"Shit!"

Nearly knocking over her glass of water, she clambered off the mattress. Arthur had warned her the lights could go off in his apartment. Not often and not for long. But enough to annoy. Naturally, his building's shoddy electricity had to mess with the alarm today. When she'd stayed up too late. When he'd had to leave ahead of her to commute to the other end of the city for a rare winter gig. When her body had chosen to oversleep in the coziness of his blankets.

Her nylons had never been yanked on with such haste. Arthur had made coffee but she skipped it in favor of brushing her teeth. Pausing on her way out, she took a calcium supplement and grabbed a note from the counter. She read it while riding the wood-paneled, graffiti covered elevator: "Your presentashin will be great. You snored a lot. Good thing your cute. - Arthur." He always signed his name. As though she wouldn't recognize his scrawl. As if anyone else wrote her sweet, sassy missives. She grinned until she hopped on the for-once punctual subway.

The presentation he'd referred to was set for that afternoon. She was expected to discuss the evidence and court file for this week's contested hearing. Last night, she'd sat at Arthur's breakfast bar to compile the case's final details and finish prep sheets. Gently, she'd rebuffed his subtle advances. His attempts to draw her attention from work to him.

Excitement had been palpable as he'd hovered near her. She was fairly certain she knew the cause because it enthused her as well. In three and a half short weeks, he'd be moving in with her. They'd officially begin traversing whatever the future held for them together. Hesitation had been clear in his posture, his drawn shoulders when (after plenty of convincing on her part that yes, she really, really, wanted him) he'd finally accepted the key to her place. But since he'd added it to his own keyring, he'd brightened. Strode a little taller. Walked a little prouder. Touched a little bolder. As though the weight he carried had lessened, at least by a couple cinder blocks' worth.

At his slight pout, she'd decided to find a way to involve him. He'd perched on the stool next to her, rested his cigarette in the pink ashtray to the left, and taken the proffered exhibit stickers with a quirked brow. Y/N had handed him papers, which he'd added labels to for her to write on. Then she'd stacked them in four different piles according to type. It had taken longer than usual - she was faster alone. But the intimacy of sharing the professional elements of her life with Arthur (besides the office wear he liked, claiming it showed how "smart" and "pretty" she was) had tightened her chest. And the curved-up corner of his thin lips had reflected how pleased he was, too.

They hadn't been able to collaborate on everything, however. It was past midnight by the time she'd joined Arthur, who had retreated to the bedroom an hour or so earlier. He'd been sitting against the headboard, half under the cover. The harsh blue light emanating from the old black and white TV at the foot of the bed had sharpened his features. Deepened the set of his eyes. He'd stubbed out his smoke as she closed the door. "I taped The Honeymoon Game. We can watch it when you're here again." A beat. "If you're not busy."

"This is supposed to be my last big project for a month or so." Sighing, she'd gotten her nightgown from her overnight bag. "I didn't mean for it to take all evening." She climbed in next to him and threw her arm across his lap. "I'm sorry."

He'd been stiff. Unyielding. The telltale signs he was miffed or upset. But he'd twined her hair around his finger, let his touch fall to her brow bone. "It's okay," he'd said lowly, adjusting to lie alongside her. "I don't want to be... I'm not being fair."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Arthur. It's all right to be annoyed." Tiredness had pulled at her as she'd fought to watch the rest of Gotham Tomorrow Tonight. The contact of his socked toes to her bare ones had made her smile, though, and she'd nuzzled his bicep. "I missed you," she'd mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The squeal of wheels on metal tracks prompted her to sling her canvas tote onto her shoulder. Shaw & Associates was a short sprint from the nearest station. She was certain she looked ridiculous, running down the street in her high heels. But she managed to slip into the office with two minutes to spare. Once she poured herself a cup of joe and straightened her blazer, she settled in her cushioned chair to get started.

It was only when Matt told her he wanted to meet before lunch that she'd rummaged in her bag. And realized she'd neglected to bring the file. Recalled it was sitting on Arthur's kitchen counter.

Fuck.

Her nails tapped the wood surface of her desk. Excusing herself to the bathroom so she could go retrieve it wouldn't fly. Matt would send a search party. She could try to discuss everything from memory, tell him documents were still being gathered. But he wasn't that oblivious. She settled on owning her error. "It's at home." Her delivery was nonchalant.

He waited until she'd loaded her typewriter with paper, then responded wryly. "You're not supposed to take files home anymore. Remember what happened last time?"

She leaned back as he stepped in front of her. "There was the slew of family cases that came in. With Patricia on leave, I'm handling all our calls and mail. Not to mention paperwork on her filings. It wouldn't have gotten finished if I hadn't taken it." Snorting, she shook her head at herself. Heat bloomed in her neck. "Not that it matters when I don't have it."

Expression softening, Matt stuck his hands in his pockets and jutted his chin at her. "How long did you work on it?"

It was hard to discern if he actually cared about the hours she put in. Or if he merely wanted to gauge the possibility of her doing investigations off the books again, something he'd explicitly prohibited. "I don't know." She waved dismissively. "Three or four hours?"

He let out a huff. "You put in enough time already. Go home at noon. We'll get to it first thing tomorrow."

"I have a lot to do." Her eyes widened at the myriad piles of folders laying around. "And I can't imagine you playing operator."

"I've managed when you've both been in court or at appointments. Besides," he continued as he headed back to his office. "You never take days off."

Straightening, she wheeled her chair to watch him plop down on his leather seat. "I'm taking three days next month," she countered.

His glare contained an unequal mix of mirth and consternation. "Y/N?"

The phone started ringing. She succeeded in making one ear ignore it. "Yes?"

"I know you haven't forgiven me for that whole Renew Corp. thing." She flinched at the casual mention of the company she loathed. Of her failure. But she forced herself to listen. Matt picked up a pen and started writing. “Rather than being stubborn, try saying, 'You're right.'"

~~~~~

Y/N stood in front of the narrow, white stove, stirring the soup she'd thrown together using bouillon, carrots, onions, and pasta. Ingredients she'd found in Arthur's kitchen. Music poured, at a respectable volume, from the radio on the windowsill. Swaying out-of-time, she added a sprinkling of black pepper, one of the only three spices he had (along with powdered garlic and salt). Wearing a content smirk, she sampled the steaming broth.

When she'd left the office, she'd been frustrated at herself. Yes, she was human. Everyone made mistakes. But she wasn't the forgetful type. Particularly if someone was depending on her. However, as she'd stopped in Burnley for another change of clothes, hopped on the train to Otisburg, and pictured Arthur's reaction to finding her in his home instead of having to call to wish her sweet dreams, her disposition had improved. Not only would he have her for an extra night. He'd get a late lunch, too.

The click of the deadbolt and clank of his keys on the entrance table came the second she turned off the stove. She listened to his heavy exhale as his bag dropped to the floor and shut the door. In her peripheral vision he froze, then approached tentatively. She reveled in his delicate hold on the dip of her waist, the peck he planted on her cheek. The smell of greasepaint wafted to her nose. "I hoped I hadn't made this up," he sighed with what sounded like relief. "But your meeting."

She angled herself towards him, gaze roving over his red and blue plaid blazer. The painted-on smile. His irresistible brown curls, mostly flattened by the wig he'd worn. Fidgeting with the petals of the squirting flower on his lapel, she scrunched up her face. "This morning went to shit." She explained the power outage, the clock, her own stupidity at leaving the file in his apartment. "I've packed it. Don't worry."

His posture grew pensive. "Sorry. Maybe- Maybe we should have stayed at your place. Your building's better."

Him thinking her error was somehow his fault had to be nipped in the bud. "No," she said. "You asked to make more memories here before we move in together. I'm happy to do that."

He paused, long enough she could have sworn she'd heard the gears in his head grinding. "Are you in trouble?"

Not unexpectedly, he had put together her mistake and her early dismissal from work and assumed the worst. "If I wasn't fired for trying to stop the Waynes, it's going to take more than an oversight to get me thrown out on my ass." Her brow furrowed. She sneaked a hand under his jacket and placed her palm on his chest. "I just hate that I wasted last night for nothing."

Soft lips, slightly sticky with red paint, grazed her temple. "It's okay," he said. "You're here now. And I got to help you."

The balm of his kindness loosened her rigid stance. His zeal to assist her, to ask questions, to learn about every aspect of her branded her heart completely. She leaned into him, kissed the squishy fold of skin under his chin, and nudged his ribs. "Food's ready. Go change. I want to hear all about your day."

Arthur emerged from the bathroom within minutes, clad in his worn, blue house pants and toweling his hair. Dimples were on constant display while they ate. The glint in his eyes was the one he usually had if his act or a job had gone particularly well, if he was pleased with himself. Was the one starting to be an almost weekly occurrence. Was the one that made his green eyes sparkle and caused her stomach to flip. He inched closer to her with every sentence.

The kids at the new children’s medical center had liked Carnival, he said. They hadn’t minded that he’d "filled in" for Gary. The magic tricks had all gone without a hitch, and the clinic had provided the balloons, which was a savings. The nurses and doctors had been nice; they’d even asked for his card. He’d had to provide a slip of paper with his address and telephone number instead. But he was sure he’d be invited to perform again. And he asked Y/N for help writing Gary a thank you note for the referral, claiming, “You’re better at that than me.”

“You’re the one who journals every day.” Her bowl and spoon clattered in the sink. “And your letter to me was beautiful. Just let me proofread it.”

Soon they were reclined on the sofa, sharing the flat pillow he’d used when he’d had no choice but to sleep there. The tape he’d recorded yesterday was playing. The Honeymoon Game had been a casual watch before, he’d explained. Not a nightly ritual like Murray. Given that he had a girlfriend and was a boyfriend himself, it had become fun to view.

She was only half-focused on the TV’s talking heads. Her mind was drifting to moving day, which filled her with gladness. She examined the plaid walls, the white cream color ceiling, the knick-knacks strewn about in the glow of the setting sun. The lantern with an owl hanging in the corner; the green, plastic drawers by the television; the curio cabinet... They were all a part of 8J, but assuredly not a part of him. How much would he be bringing with him, she wondered. And what would he be leaving behind?

“With one sugar and a shot of milk.” Arthur’s lively voice broke through her contemplation. Ah. He was reacting to the questions posed to the contestants, and making the answers about her, as he was wont to do.

She nestled back into the pleasant warmth of his firm frame. “Three sugars,” she replied, confirming she knew how he took his coffee. They continued to play along, with him showing off everything he’d memorized about her, and her replying with what she’d gathered about him.

Eventually, he shifted behind her. Raised himself on his elbow. “How did you know you loved me?”

Her hum was soft. Short. Possible responses were multitude. She’d suspected she could fall for him early on. When he’d wanted to repay her for doing what anyone should have done on the subway. And the first time he’d had the courage to call her after they’d split a slice of pie, his slight stammer revealing his nervousness. Maybe she’d say it was how slowly he’d drunken his wine during dinner, initially squinting as he sipped, his inexperience with alcohol obvious.

But she chose to go with what she believed was truest. What she assumed he’d hear most keenly. “Before we slept together, I hadn’t been with anyone for four years. And even then, it was different.” His hand splayed on her abdomen, thumb dragging along the waistband of her green leggings. A delightful ache flared in her center. “When I woke up, I felt perfect.”

“You felt like you were perfect?”

“No, silly,” she laughed, batting his forearm. “I knew I hadn't made a mistake. I reached out to your side, first thing - I’d thought of it that way, even then.” At the sensation of his hardening shaft against her rear, she giggled. “You’d made me so happy. You always do. I wanted to you to bed me again.”

The round tip of his nose skimmed her cheek, and she shivered at the dip of his fingers into her panties. “I want to again,” he rasped, paraphrasing her. The grind of his length was making her light-headed, and she twisted her torso to look at him. “I’ve been thinking about it.” Cheekbones glowing, he averted his eyes. “Ever since I woke up.”

“My monthly started,” she said regretfully. His descent halted, and a groan of frustration left him as he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. She mused. While he was becoming more apt to say what he desired, it happened rarely. But she loved it and didn’t want to discourage him from letting himself be assertive. Would he be offended by her suggestion? “I freshened up before we laid down. I have a tampon in. There are other things we can do.” She pressed her lips together, hoping she didn’t sound presumptuous. “If you’re comforta-“

“I’m comfortable.” His mouth quickly claimed hers, opening on a sigh. The tip of his tongue laved at the seam of her lips, and his messy enthusiasm made her whimper. Leaving a scorching trail in its wake, his hand traversed to her upper leg, gliding over the crease where her thigh and vulva met.

Shallow breaths caressed the nape of her neck, stoking the heat threatening to consume her. But the studio audience blaring from the television’s mono-speaker kept wresting her out of her haze. She snatched the VCR remote from the coffee table and hit the pause button.

The tease of his fingertips at her dark curls caused the peaks of her breasts to stiffen. She gasped as the rough fabric of her sweater dragged along them. His fore- and ring fingers spread her outer lips and she shuddered. The leisureliness of his fondling didn’t detract from its intoxicating effect.

Though it was a tad rough. “You’re kinda dry. Hold on.” Swiftly, he brought his hand to his mouth and wet his fingertips. Y/N blinked at him. It was clear he thought nothing of it, which shouldn’t have been a surprise, considering he’d confided he liked going down on her. Still. Seeing this normally reserved man improvise so he could pleasure her made her center throb with need.

Y/N was doing her damnedest to get her leggings and underwear down. Arthur snorted at her spirited, failed attempt at kicking them away. “It’s okay,” he chuckled, pushing them off her ankles with his foot. Then his touch fluttered at her swollen folds. She arched into him, already feeling as though she would burst. Bent at the knee, her leg lifted until her foot was flat on the couch cushion, allowing him easier access. He took advantage, sweeping forward and back along the rigid line of her engorged clitoral hood. She rolled towards him subtly, her moans getting louder with each tap to her sensitive nub.

Still holding himself up, he cradled her head. "Your sounds make me crazy," he said lowly. Once his hips started following hers, faintly rutting against the flesh of her backside, she closed her eyes. Hurriedly, she reached behind her to yank at his pajamas. "What?" he asked.

"I want to feel you," she whispered. There was a huff and some fumbling. And moments later his cock was settled at the cleft of her bottom. She bit her lip, savoring the weight of him. God, he felt wonderful.

His fingertips whispered over her clit, daring to follow the edge of her inner labia. She heard him gulp. "How does it feel when we're together? When- When I'm in you?"

"Warm. Full. Like you belong there," she replied with a smile. That last part of her response must have been unexpected, given that his grazes ceased and he trembled. "Don't stop," she whined, placing her hand on his. "Please, Arthur. You know just how to touch me."

Groaning, he started anew, deftly swiping quicker and quicker. The undulations of her pelvis hastened unevenly, begging both for release and for their coupling to last forever. She ran her palm up her torso, kneading her breast and plucking at her nipple. He nuzzled at her ear, grunting low in the back of his throat. Winding her fingers into his loose waves, she tugged lightly. Her belly twitched. Her whole frame tingled.

His skillful touch. The love they had for one another. The noises he was making in the crook of her shoulder. They all combined to throw her over the edge, and a wave of pleasure crashed through her. She cried his name brokenly, feeling empty without him inside her. But he kept holding her, guiding her through the crests of her climax. She was gasping, struggling to suck in air. Surely, she thought, he could detect the thundering of her heart against her ribs.

Gradually, the quivering grip she had on his locks eased. The kisses he planted on her neck were open-mouthed, desperate. And he hadn't halted the ardent movements of his hips. Y/N turned onto her other side. Gazing at him, she raked his curls out of his face, caressed his cheekbone with her knuckles. His look was hungry, darkened with need. The creases between his brows deepened as her hand trailed through the sparse dusting of hair on his chest.

There was a youthful charm to this situation, she considered. To them craving each other but not completely joining. It reminded her of being a teenager. When she'd been curious and horny, but nervous and not quite ready to go "all the way" with her ex. Being with Arthur allowed her to do all that again. To relive those experiences, to explore and make discoveries with him. To fall further in love with him daily.

She tenderly pecked the freckles at the top of his sternum, nestled against the notch above his clavicle. "I'm lucky to have you."

He didn't miss a beat, even as she trailed past the ticklish spots on his flank. "I'm luckier."

"I disagree." She outlined the slender muscles of his stomach, the v-lines leading to his cock. Played with the springy, brown curls at the base of him. "Without you, I'd only have my work. Which was enough before. But not now." After a moment, she concluded she was being sappy. She had to change it up. "And I wouldn't be having the best sex of my life."

Clearly flustered, he muffled his laugh. "Really?" His blush was prominent, his grin ecstatic.

"Really." Groans short and sudden, he rocked into her touch when she encircled his ample girth. Her fingers danced along his shaft, marveling at the contrast of his velvety skin with how hard he was. Pumping up and down, she tugged at him, trying to match the speed of his thrusts. He nudged his nose to hers, gazing at her before his hooded eyes flitted to watch what she was doing. Then she looked, too.

The sight of him fucking into her hand made her dizzy with want, even though he'd just gotten her off. The crimson, swollen head glistened, slick beading generously at the tip. Y/N licked her lips and spread it around him with the pad of her thumb. Moaning sharply, he bucked harder. Her motions quickened, flicking repeatedly at the notch on the underside.

Demand was implicit in the grasp he had on her upper arm. And it strengthened as his hips' stuttered, becoming unpredictable. Ragged pants hit her face. "I'm- I'm gonna make a mess.”

"It's all right," she soothed. Keeping ahold of him, she lay on her back. He followed and settled on top of her. Whimpering her name, he rubbed himself against her labia. But she gently pushed him onto his knees and continued palming him, her fingers teasing the ridge on his erection. It wouldn't take long to make him come. She could see it in the clench of his jaw, the tightening cords in his neck, his abrupt, needy cries...

Plunging forward, he held himself in place, grunting, clutching her urgently. His release hit her abdomen, warm and wet, and she gasped, her body curving up towards him. The feel of him spilling onto her couldn't completely distract her, though. Not from the beauty of his parted lips. Not from the relief that gradually spread across his features. Not from the slackening of his muscles as tension ebbed.

Sweat had gathered on his forehead. A droplet ran from the end of a dark brow to his jawline. Then he kissed her, his mouth groping at hers. "I love you," he said. He gave her one last peck and sat up on his knees. Holding onto the arm of the sofa, he retrieved her underwear from the floor and wiped her belly off. "That was fun." He tucked his chin bashfully.

"I concur." She entwined their hands and sat, then stretched as she pushed herself to stand and walk to the bathroom. The washcloth he'd designated as hers hung on the hook by the towels. She cleaned herself, listening as Arthur started the show again.

A new round of questions was just beginning. "When you and your spouse first met," the host started, "what was your first impression?"

Arthur's answer was instant. "Nice."

Y/N said the first thing that came to mind. "Handsome."

She popped her head out of the room to find him leaning on the entrance of the short corridor, beaming at her with hitched giggles. He was probably waiting for his turn to clean up. Like he normally did. But she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. Loving eyes met hers and his brows lifted expectantly. "Yes?"

Smiling, she wrung out the washcloth and put it back in its place. She stepped to him with a smile and smoothed his hair back. The rush of happiness in her soul, one she wasn't even sure she had, enamored her. Not only at what they'd shared on his old, scratchy sofa. But at Arthur being Arthur. At knowing soon she'd get to sleep next to him every night. Build a life with him, one she hadn't dreamed of even six months ago. Nothing she could say seemed adequate. So she went with a kind gesture, one she knew he'd appreciate. "I'll make us some decaf. And I love you, too."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​ @howdylilflower​ @sweet-nothings04​ @stephieraptorr​ @rommies​ @fallenstarsabyss​ @gruffle1​ @octopus-plasma​ @tsukiakarinobara​ @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​ @jokerownsmysoul​ @mrscarnival

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

It’s Just A Spark Ch. 9 - Night Shifts

Gobber couldn't believe his eyes. What had originally started as a casual glance out the window had spiralled and now consisted of him staring down at the sight on the street in front of the fire department in parts fascination and parts complete and utter disbelief.

There he was, his colleague who might as well be his own son, the boy with the gapped front teeth and the scraped knees, the young man who was so busy reading that he forgot to eat sometimes, and the man who had told him, only a few months ago, that if his fate was to become an old cat lady it would be fine with him - beaming at the young woman facing him. She had blonde hair, tied up to a ponytail and was dressed, similarily to him, in sports clothes. They were still talking as they came to a halt in front of the building, both smiling at each other.

And of course, Gobber knew that this was Astrid Hofferson.

He watched Hiccup - Hiccup - grin down at her and gently press his lips to her cheeck (Gobber almost had a heart attack), then shortly hug her and turn around to walk up to the building, still grinning from ear to ear.

Well. Gobber remembered the first time the young woman had set her stove on fire. He remembered the exact expression Hiccup had had on his face and the way his eyes were flickering to the side when he'd mumbled something about his ears only being "this red, Gobber, because we were just near a fire, it was hot in there" after they had already been outside again for at least five minutes.

Gobber tried to act normal as the door opened and closed with a click.

"Morning!"

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up to work!"

Hiccup placed his phone and headphones onto his desk, ducking away from Gobber's prosthetic arm.

"Sorry, I got held up."

"Yeah, I could see you getting held up alright - in the arms of a certain young blonde, I believe?"

He watched Hiccup's cheek flush and laughed, giving him an enthusiastic pat on the back.

"Was about time, boy! You were one arm and three cats away from becoming me."

Hiccup snorted, "Yeah, right. Don't think having a girlfried will deter me from adapting that lifestyle."

There were not many things you could get past Gobber without noticing. And words, no matter how fast- or low-spoken were definitely not on that list.

"Girlfriend now, eh?"

"I, uh - I mean - oh, man."

Hiccup looked at him, a bewildered expression on his face as if he'd only realised this for himself just now, his hands already flying up to his hair.

"Ooh my God, Gobber, she's my girlfriend. She's my girlfriend," he repeated as if this alone had been something he had never thought to actually be possible.

"Oh, boy," the older man chuckled upon seeing Hiccup's disbelief change to surprise to complete and utter joy.

"Astrid. Hofferson. Is. My girlfriend."

"Yeah, how'd you do that? I'm surprised you're able to hold up a conversation with that vocabulary you've got yourself, boy."

Hiccup had not really thought about this earlier when Astrid had accompanied him back to work instead of his apartment, but now, standing in front of his locker next to the bathroom, his only options for the monthly meeting with the mayor and comissioners a crumpled-up old shirt with Toothless' handiwork at the hem and gym shorts, he regretted not having stopped by at his apartment prior to this.

The young man uttered a curse on his breath but knew he didn't really have time to explore any further options.

So he quickly grabbed the shirt, returned to the bathroom and pulled it over his head, stepped out of his towel and put the remaining clothes on.

He couldn't wait until this day was over. The morning run had energised him, but a nine-hour response-shift ahead and a two-hour meeting were already pretty high on the list of things that would use up that energy.

Thinking about said run - or rather, its aftermath- , however, sent his heart spiralling and made him grin at his reflection in the department's bathroom mirror.

She'd said yes. To being his girlfriend, essentially. Or had she? Had she misunderstood him and had only agreed to an extended status of "just dating"?

Oh, God. Suddenly Hiccup didn't feel all that confident anymore.

"Okay," He leaned on the edges on the sink and stared at his ruffled, still wet-haired reflection. "Stop it. Get it together. Just ask her tomorrow, just to clarify."

Yes. Just to make sure they were on the same page.

His thoughts went - in an effort to take his mind off the question of their 'status' - over the preparations left to be made for their date. He'd have to sweep the flat over before 15:30, and clean the bathroom thoroughly. Also maybe dust off the shelves. Get something to wear - oh, no. He remembered his last confrontationnwith his wardrobe situatuon.

This was their fifth date.

He was out of shirts.

Shit.

"Hey, Gobber, you ready to-" Hiccup broke off when he saw Snotlout at his desk, waving at him.

"Yo."

Hiccup stepped in further, furrowung his brows in confusion.

"Where's Gobber?"

"Went to get lunch."

"What? The meeting's in five minutes, and we're already running late! When did he leave? Did he say anything about when-"

"Woah, take it easy, cuz," his cousin interrupted him lightly and spun his chair around. "Gobber's been late to these meetings since they exist."

Hiccup exhaled and chuckled, sitting down next to the dark-haired man.

"Okay, true. How's your morning been?"

"It was okay. Pretty chill. I took Hooky out for our morning walk - did you know Fish is out of town?"

Hiccup's head perked up. "He is?"

"Yeah, the café's all closed up."

"Huh. No, he didn't mention," Hiccup leaned on his desk and squinted his eyes at his cousin. "He usually always lets us know."

"Maybe something urgent came up and he's not ready to talk about it yet?" Snotlout wondered aloud and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I hope he comes back soon, I could kill for a plate of his waffles."

Hiccup smirked. "He'd kiss you again if you told him that in person."

He knew his cousin would never admit it if he asked, but it was quite obvious, even to Hiccup. Snotlout himself blushed, grumbling,

"It happened once, okay? And it obviously didn't mean anything to him, since he never brought it up again. SO," he pushed himself back and reached for his water bottle, fiddling with the lid with some degree of suppressed fury. "I'm not going to either."

"Alright, sorry."

His cousin sighed, his mood lightening up again. "It's okay. Just don't … tell him."

"You have my word."

"Speaking of which, you finished up those reports from last night?"

Hiccup chuckled. "Yup. I'm back on track." His cousin smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Despite being 'busy'?"

"Shut up."

He laughed. "Come on, nobody ever tells me anything anymore."

"Good," Hiccup shot back indignantly but grinned. "I'm not really keen on all of Berk knowing about it."

"So what's 'it'?"

"Honestly? You think I'm that unattentive?"

"When you're drawing, yeah."

Something about the smirk that was plastered on his cousin's lips seemed fishy to Hiccup. He did not like this grin.

"Scott," he drawled. "What did you do?"

His cousin's grin widened. "Oh, I did nothing. I just *sat* there. Listen, all I'm sayin' is, that maybe you should pay more attention to who else is in the room in the evening."

Hiccup blushed immediately as he remembered being in the common room in the evening, reading until he had absentmindedly started sketching - a pair of eyes, grey on paper but blue in memory, lips, just slightly parted, outlines of a face - "Oh, God," he spluttered. "I - it wasn't - I mean."

Snotlout laughed and nudged his cousin's shoulder. "Hey, I'm not judging."

He offered Hiccup an amicable smile and grinned when his cousin slumped his shoulders and returned the smile.

Who'd have thought? Seven years ago he'd have never even dreamed of sharing the same job with Hiccup and spending most of their shifts together, let alone having normal, amiable conversations and sharing jokes.

Gobber's voice from outside interrupted the dark-haired man's thoughts.

"Come on, Hiccup, we're gonna be late!" Gobber suddenly shouted from the hall, making Snotlout laugh and offer Hiccup a fistbump.

"Alright, I'm coming, just - stay where you are!" Hiccup shouted back rolled his eyes at his cousin, who only grinned and shrugged.

"Alright, I think we're done here, everyone. Dismissed," Stoick Haddock concluded and closed his folder, nodding at the men seated around him.

Hiccup sighed inwardly. The monthly check-in was something that had to be done, he knew that, but these meetings could be both lengthy and boring.

He'd tried to excuse his attire and had only got a few amused looks and some raised eyebrows; 'Could've been worse,' Hiccup thought and got up. At the sight of his father gathering up his files he remembered his post-meeting-agenda and quickly tapped his father's shoulder, lowly asking, "Dad, can I … talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course," Stoick nodded at the other men and led his son off to the side. "Excuse us."

His eyes met Hiccup's expression. The young man leaned in and murmured, "Hey, Dad, listen, um. I need you to do me a favour, please."

His father raised his eyebrows but Hiccup didn't fail to notice the faint smile playing on his lips. He sighed and inhaled deeply, shortly raking a hand through his hair.

"Oh man, I can't believe I'm actually saying this - Dad, I need a shirt."

"You need a … a what?"

His father looked at him, speechless. Hiccup nodded sharply and elaborated, "Yes, a shirt. Any colour, I just need - listen, Dad, Astrid is coming over tomorrow and I've run out of shirts, and I can't just wear the same over and over again, so - please. I just need a shirt or two, button up or down, you decide, I'm desperate."

To his suprise and utter mortification, his father let out a whoop of laughter, starting him and the other men in the room.

"She's really got you bedazzled, aye, son?"

"I - what?"

"I thought I'd never see the day you'd ask me to help you with your shopping!" his father bellowed, still laughing. "Oh, this is great, son, I've been waiting for this my whole life-"

"Dad, don't you think you're … overreacting, a bit-"

"-and I will not waste this opportunity. Consider your wardrobe situation saved."

With this he strode past him, muttering something about "my boy's finally getting his life together" and "wrapped around his finger, completely head over heels", leaving an abashed Hiccup and chuckling collegues behind.

"Well, you did it," Gobber laughed and patted his back, making Hiccup stumble forward involuntarily. "he will not rest until he's got you a month's worth of clothing."

Hiccup groaned. "What have I done, Gobber?"

"Made him the most excited I've seen him in years, you did," Gobber smiled, his expression gentle now. "Come on, let's get back to the department, lover-boy."

"Please don't call me that."

"Romeo?"

"Tragic death and stupid as fuck."

"That a yes?"

"No."

It hit Hiccup like a bolt of lightning. He'd forgotten to fill up Toothless' bowl when he'd left the house this afternoon.

"Shit. Shitshitshitshit," he spat through gritted teeth as he frantically searched for options. He couldn't leave the department now, he was the only one in.

Okay. What else? Call someone. It was at times like these Hiccup wished his entire support system wasn't built on people working in the administrative departments.

And Fishlegs was out of the city.

Then it dawned on him. The only person he could hope to be home.

His hands had already picked up his phone and clicked on the number.

"Hiccup?"

He exhaled. "Oh, thank God. Astrid, do you - do you have time? Are you at home?"

Her answer was hard to make out over the background-voices and music.

"I'm on my shift, why?"

His heart sunk.

"Okay, nevermind then-"

"Hiccup? Hello - hang on, I'll go outside, just give me one sec."

The noise faded.

Her voice got clearer as she grumbled, "You'd think people'd wait for a Friday 'til they hit the bar."

He chuckled. "I'd honestly love to be somewhere else right now, so I can't blame them."

Astrid snorted and finally there was nothing blocking out her voice anymore. "Trust me, you don't wanna be here. Anyways, what's up? Something wrong? You never call this late."

"Oh - yeah, I actually … Astrid, can you do me a favour?"

She didn't even hesitate and her answer let a wave of warmth and affection wash over him.

"What do you need and where should I be?"

"At my apartment. Or rather, first here and then my apartment."

Astrid furrowed her brow, for a second asking herself if this was some kind of disguise for something else but quickly discarded that thought as Hiccup continued quickly, "I forgot to feed Toothless when I left today and I locked everything, so he can't go out to hunt. Could you pick up my keys and feed him, please?"

She hummed. "Yeah, of course."

Hiccup sighed and smiled. "Thanks, I really owe you one."

Astrid laughed breezily and was apparently making her way back inside. From what he could hear, Pink's 'Raise your glass' was playing and people were screaming.

"No problem," he heard her say over them. "I'll think of something."

He chuckled and leaned on his desk.

"You have until tomorrow."

"Oh, so now there's a deadline for favours?"

"Only for that one."

She laughed again. "Well, maybe it's a project that can't be done overnight."

"Am I still talking to Astrid or Ms Hofferson who just pulled the ultimate teacher-joke on me?"

"Both. Hang on a second."

The sound was muffled since she seemed to be pressing the microphone against herself to block out the sound, but he still heard her distinct voice shout, "Heath, can you tell Al I'm taking my break? Be back in 45."

Another voice answered, loud but friendly, "Sure, don't worry. Gotcha, Stellar!"

Stellar?

The sound was back in its full intensity and so was her voice.

"Alright, I'm heading out. Be there in ten."

"Okay. See you."

Astrid smiled up at the sky. "You know, this isn't even a favour I'm doing you. You're doing me one."

Although she had called it multiple times, Astrid had never been inside the fire department of Berk before.

It looked a bit intimidating in the dark, and she only saw one big window with lights on inside. She squinted her eyes up and into the darkness and registered movement.

A slim figure approached the window, waving at her, chasing a smile across her lips as she waved back. Hiccup's sillhouette disappeared.

Astrid herself made her way into the building and up the staircase to the second floor, where she was greeted by a dark hallway.

A door was pried open, a small ray of light emitting from the crack.

"Astrid?" His face was stuck out of the open door.

"Hiccup? Why's it so dark in here?"

"We're saving up energy."

He was leaning out of the door, supporting his weight by the frame.

Astrid smirked and came to a halt in front of him. He didn't move, just stayed with his eyes fixed on her.

The young woman felt a weird sensation rushing through her stomach as she remembered her dream from a couple of nights ago, which had started just like this, opening a door and -

"You wanna come in for a sec?" he asked and interrupted her thoughts.

Astrid nodded, smiling. "Let's make the workplace situation even."

He laughed and led her inside. The building itself wasn't that big, but the headquarters seemed pretty spacious. There were only three desks inside with multiple screens, and by the wall stood an unsafe-looking plank bed.

"Welcome to my job where we get Sicca Syndrome and a bad back trying to sleep on these," he joked and ran a hand through his hair.

Astrid sat down on the plank bed, wincing as it squeaked and bent violently, making him laugh as he sat down next to her.

Without giving herself much time to hesitate, Astrid leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do we have enough time for me to ask you what your day looks like?"

He chuckled and gently wrapped his arm around her, trying not to let on that he was shaking slightly, thankful she still had her eyes closed so she wasn't able to see his blush.

"Maybe. We could save that conversation up for tomorrow, though."

She opened her eyes and moved to get up, but Hiccup tightened his grip around her shoulders and grinned lopsidedly.

"That wasn't me trying to tell you to immediately get up. It's …" he hesitated, his blush deepening. "It's, um, really nice sitting like this. With you."

Astrid chuckled lightly and leaned back into him, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck.

"You're really trying to outdo yourself today, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against his skin, her breath sending sparks down it.

"Is it working?"

Astrid grinned against him. "Yeah."

The young man laughed and tried to calm his heart yet again. To think that only sitting with her head on his shoulder, her lips making direct contact with his skin when she spoke was enough to turn him into a flustered mess. And they hadn't even KISSED yet.

"I'm beginning to regret this."

He froze, his heart dropping immediately. Regret what? This? Her decision from earlier? Being alone with him? Out of a sudden? Somehow?

Of course, his logical side knew better than that and patiently waited for Astrid to continue - his worry got the better of him.

"Why?"

"Because now going back to my shift is going to be really fucking hard."

'Oh. Oh, thank God.' He exhaled and relaxed again.

"Why?" he repeated, feeling stupid.

Astrid closed her eyes again. "Because I'd much rather be here and spend the night with you than going back."

Aaaand there it was. His pulse was sky-rocketing. And she was so close she might actually hear. His blush had deepened even more.

Astrid continued after a pause, "Or you know, I could just crash at your apartment and cuddle with Toothless."

He rasped out a laugh. "If you let me in tomorrow."

Astrid opened her eyes and pursed her lips to hide her smile.

"We'll see."

Hiccup really wanted to kiss her. He wanted to so bad it almost hurt.

Yet, there was something holding him back - the question from earlier. But he didn't want to bring this up now. Especially not since-

"Speaking of Toothless, I should probably get going now."

"Oh, y-yeah! Uh," he uncurled his arm from around her and jumped up, stumbling towards his desk. "Let me just … find the key … uh. Should've probably done that earlier."

"Let me help. I've got a knack for finding things."

She joined him at the desk and grinned when he shot her a short, amused glance.

"You do?"

"Oh, yeah. I found you, so that's one."

Hiccup chuckled and watched her pull out his keys from underneath the printed draft of the day's report and hold it up in front of him, grinning smugly.

"And you say I'm trying to outdo myself?" he muttered, making her laugh.

"Well, now we're even."

He shrugged and grinned. "True. You remember the direction?"

Astrid nodded, leaning against the desk.

"Good. Ah, and uh, mind the door, it always gets stuck, so it's a bit hard to open. Just, uh, throw your entire body weight againt it. At least that's what I do."

She nodded again and smiled up at him. "Jot that down. Anything else? Where's the food?"

"Second left cupboard by the window on the floor. You know, the one with the scratches?"

She snorted as she remembered which one Hiccup was talking about - and it seemed like he was either very forgetful or had a cat that loved to eat.

"Alright, got it."

"Thanks again, Astrid."

Somehow they had ended up facing each other, his hands on her arms.

Hiccup's gaze fell down on his hands and his first instinct was to let go, but Astrid smiled and put her own hands on his arms, squeezing lightly.

"You're welcome. But - by the way, where's everyone else?"

"Oh, Gobber's already home and Scott went for a quick nap down in the living area. He complained that my typing was too loud for him to sleep."

She snorted. "Well, at least you've got the place to yourself, right?"

His hands subconscuiously had wandered to her waist.

"I'd rather not. But I'm a bit picky about the company."

"That so?"

He hummed, his eyes dropping to her lips ever so shortly. He looked like he was almost going to lean down and kiss her - but there was something in his eyes Astrid knew well by now.

Hesitation. Something was holding him back.

Astrid smiled and pulled back slightly.

She'd give him time.

Until then … she stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.

"I'm gonna get going now. Don't wanna keep Toothless waiting."

She grinned up at him and was relieved when he returned it.

"Yeah."

She turned to leave but was held back by his voice softly calling out her name.

"Oh, and … Astrid?"

She hummed, turning around, already halways out the door.

With a few steps he had closed the distance between them. His eyes were warm as he gently wrapped his fingers around her left wrist, tugged her closer and pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Astrid's eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

"Stay safe tonight," he whispered, his lips barely grazing her skin before he pulled back.

Astrid opened her eyes again and was met with his open expression and small smile.

She returned it tenfolds and whispered back, "You too."

Then she turned around and took the stairs downstairs.

Fires and people had a lot in common, but most people could be either reasoned with or at least punched (which was her own interpretation). Then again, her boyfriend was not the type to underestimate a thing like a fire.

Astrid stopped, her hand on the doorhandle. Boyfriend. She'd thought 'boyfriend'.

The air was a tinge colder when she stepped outside, but still had the distinct warmth of a summer night.

Well, he was, wasn't he? It was what he'd asked her this morning, wasn't it?

Astrid smiled to herself and maybe the sky, Hiccup's keys clinking in her pocket.

This was a very girlfriend-thing to do, after all.

[sunshine-shitposts]

ALRIGHT. First selfship piece is going UP. I got some big inspiration from @amethystsoda and @dongiovannaswife so like... love you guys 💖💖 no stinky vampire man... yet. Hoping to get the next part up within the next week.

Dust in the Wind—Part 1

It had been a while since Jotaro had been to the Dallas Speedwagon Foundation Headquarters, and it had since moved locations to outside downtown… somewhere.

It was a damn pain if you asked him.

Dallas was a mess to move around in; you were better off on foot, since there were so many one-way streets. His grandfather had explained, the first time that he had brought his grandson to the Foundation in Dallas, that it was probably because car size in America outgrew the more narrow streets that Dallas began with. Jotaro himself didn't really understand it until he saw for himself: Texans loved big cars. There was an astonishing amount of pick up trucks here, compared to other places he'd been.

He wasn't very familiar with Texas, he had to admit. He'd visited Galveston and Corpus Christi more often for marine work, though he had to admit to himself that they weren't his favorite places in terms of the ocean; this side of the coastline of the Gulf of Mexico tended to have a lot of sediment in its water. When he stayed at a house in a place called Crystal Beach for a while, he remembered how searching for hermit crabs with a colleague was rather annoying due to the brown murkiness of the water.

The houses on stilts were quite novel, though.

...That was enough reminiscing.

Jotaro huffed, figuring he could just go to the old location to ask for assistance—it was still being used by the Foundation despite it not being the main building anymore—when a bright voice floated through the air.

"Hey, mom. Y'got everything?"

"Yes, but it's a lot, you know, they turned in projects… can you open the trunk?"

"'Course, no problem. Gimme a sec…"

Jotaro looked up from his map, seeing a young woman helping her mother begin to load several large rolled up cardboard tubes into the back seat of a small blue hatchback.

The woman was dressed comfortably, a boon in the blossoming Texas heat, with a black wide-brimmed hat and minty-colored sunglasses and a lazy smile on her face. She couldn't have been more than an inch over five feet, and her wavy purple hair fluttered in the wind. What didn't look conducive to staying cool were the dark, full-length leggings under her jean shorts or the knee-length, full sleeve knit cardigan, but he knew what it felt like to have a comfort jacket. Her mother, several inches taller than her, was well (albeit colorfully) dressed with a lanyard and ID swinging around her neck, and a mobile folding cart filled with books, folders, and cardboard tubes. The mother's hair, a light silvery-blonde that fell around her shoulders, made Jotaro wonder if they were actually related, but he admitted to himself that stranger things do happen, and hair dye did exist.

Jotaro hummed to himself and looked back at the map as a gust of wind between the tall buildings sent papers scattering, the mother crying out in dismay.

"Sunnie–!!"

"Don't worry mom, I got it."

Jotaro watched the paper of his map flutter suddenly and unexpectedly, swooping in the opposite direction that it had been previously. It was such a sudden change that Jotaro looked back up from the map, only to see all the papers floating through the air to finally gather into the young woman's outstretched hand.

"I'll never ever understand how you can do that," the mother said, her voice equal parts thankfulness and bafflement, "And I don't think I ever will."

"You keep saying that, y'know," her daughter laughed, easily hefting the heavy folding cart into the trunk of her car.

"I know!! But it's true, it's like magic! But real!!"

Jotaro focused his gaze on the young woman.

Stand users are drawn to each other.

When the two women were nearly finished loading all of the mother's things into the car, he approached them, trying to relax his intense demeanor as much as possible. The woman's mother reminded him a lot of his own, and he didn't want to frighten her.

"Excuse me," he asked, fishing around in a pocket inside his coat to pull out his notebook. The two women turned to look at him, the mother's eyebrows raising as she made an 'oooh' noise. Her daughter's expression, however, was completely unreadable behind her large sunglasses, but Jotaro felt her gaze. Her carefree attitude had suddenly disappeared, and he knew that she was likely sizing him up. He wondered if she, too, felt the same weird restlessness in her own chest. "I was wondering if you could tell me how to get here," he continued. Her mother leaned in to see the address written on the notebook's page, then lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Sunnie! He's asking about the Speedwagon Foundation!"

Immediately, the daughter seemed to relax, looking at the page as well. "Oh, no shit?" After another second, her eyebrows rose above her sunglasses. "Oh! No shit!!"

"You know of it?" Jotaro asked, putting the notebook back into the chest pocket.

"Know of it? I'm heading there, after I drop mom back off at the house," the younger woman laughed, extending her arm for a handshake. "I'm Sunnie Green, recently employed by the Foundation. Good to meet you, Mr…?"

"Jotaro Kujo," he replied, accepting the shake and subsequently drowning her small hand in his own. Her shake was strong and firm and confident in a pleasantly unexpected way.

The second he said his name, though, a wry grin broke out on her face.

"No fuckin' way," Sunnie said, surprised, "I have heard some stories. Good to meet you in the flesh. Foundation's been expecting you."

Jotaro grunted. He knew that after his 'trip' to Egypt all those years ago, people at the Foundation liked to gossip about him, and he had hoped that those tales and rumors had died down, but it seemed that they'd persisted. He wondered if they'd only gotten more wild with time. "Well. That aside, if you could point me in the right direction, it would be much appreciated."

"Well, uh, it's not quite in Dallas anymore? It's a bit away from here, so uh…" Sunnie trailed off, her face scrunching up in thought.

"Sunnie," her mom stage-whispered, "Sunnie, you should drive him there."

"Huh-whaa?" Sunnie looked at her mom, eyes wide, then nodded like a lightbulb went off over her head, crossing her arms and grinning, "Yeah!! Yeah, that just makes sense. That makes so much sense!!"

"That won't be necessary–" Jotaro began, but Sunnie shot him a confident grin.

"Don't be silly! This is the perfect solution. It's late in the day, getting a taxi or rideshare there will cost you money you don't need to spend, I mean come on. I'm right here, dude. I gotcha." The smaller woman laughed and put the final bag of papers in the trunk of her car, shutting the door. "I'm not taking no for an answer. And mom?" she looked at her mom expectantly, who smiled widely.

"I'll sit in the back!" She beamed before looking back up at Jotaro, "That way you don't have to sit with all the projects."

Without giving him the chance to offer otherwise, Mrs. Green made her way to the back seat, opening the door and getting in. Jotaro breathed a quiet sigh, gathering himself before he walked to the front passenger's door and opened it. He did not miss Sunnie's triumphant smirk before he ducked inside. To his surprise, it was actually roomy inside the small car. At least, roomy enough to be comfortable for him. There was some music softly playing over the speakers and a water bottle in one of the cupholders, and dangling off of the rearview mirror were some small pom poms and repurposed cell phone charms, several of them Pokémon. In a little storage area under the main console, he saw a lanyard with an ID decorated with the Speedwagon Foundation logo on it.

Sunnie got in the car as well, buckling up and shifting out of park, turning smoothly into the street when it was safe. 

"I'm excited for you to go to the new Foundation Headquarters, Mr. Kujo," Mrs. Green chirped, hands patting her bright red jeans excitedly, "Some of my former students helped decorate the interior! I'm very proud of their work."

"Mom's an interior design professor," Sunnie laughed, "Used to get hired for private homes and hospitals and stuff. There was that one home on White Rock with the spiral staircase? Fucking dope."

"I still talk to them," her mom said airily, "Sometimes I stop by for cookies."

Jotaro didn't quite know how to respond. The two women were very open and friendly and it was making him feel… strange. Was it just a Texan thing in general? Joseph had once mentioned 'Southern Hospitality'. Then again, who could say? The old man liked to talk for the sake of talking sometimes.

He caught a minute glance from Sunnie, who then leaned her head back, a lazy grin on her face.

"So mom, what're all those projects in the back?" She asked, "No balsa wood models this time? That was a nightmare to transport."

"But those were group projects and they were light weight! These plans are deceptively heavy and there are so many–"

As Carol rambled on about the projects sitting around her, Jotaro found himself happy that Sunnie seemingly sensed his discomfort and acted on his behalf to divert her mother's attention. He zoned out, his mind stuck on the impending meeting—one that he had never imagined he would have to have, and one that was admittedly making him feel a little sick in his stomach.

The red brick house they arrived at was in a quiet little subdivision about 40 minutes in traffic away from Downtown Dallas, lined with large trees and with a nice pond. The houses were all two stories, most driveways accessible from the street, and the summer warmth and ample sunshine had the lawns dotted with flowers of many colors. Sunnie parked the car in front of the pebbled sidewalk to the house, and the large dark blue front door opened. A salt-and-pepper haired man with a moustache walked out, wearing an old shirt and jeans and carrying a duffle bag. Sunnie and Mrs. Green got out of the car, and Jotaro decided to get out as well.

The man, presumably Mr. Green, seemed surprised. "I doubt one of your students turned him in," he laughed nonetheless. Mrs. Green giggled.

"No, no! He's with the Foundation!" Mrs. Green explained, and her husband rolled his eyes.

"I was kidding, Carol," he said, voice deadpan. Sunnie snickered.

"We found him looking for the new campus downtown, so I offered to take him there. Speaking of, we gotta get this stuff outta the Spaceship so we can head out," Sunnie turned to Jotaro, "This won't take too long–"

"I'll help," he told her, "Least I can do."

Sunnie paused, pursed her lips, and nodded.

With four sets of hands, unloading took no time at all, but Jotaro once again noted that Sunnie seemed stronger than her smaller size let on. At the end of it, her dad handed her the duffle bag, which she tossed in the back seat.

"See you in a few days," she said, hugging her parents, "Don't get too wild without me around."

"Darn. We'll have to cancel that crazy party," her dad grinned, and she smacked him on the arm.

Jotaro got back into the car with Sunnie, and she drove them out of the subdivision.

"…Do you live with your parents?" Jotaro asked, a sudden burst of curiosity getting the better of him. Sunnie looked at him out of the corner of her eye for a brief second, then turned her gaze back to the road as she flipped on her turn signal.

"I left my husband recently," she said, smoothly turning onto the service road, and Jotaro suddenly felt incredibly awkward, "Got out of the apartment as fast as I could. Grabbed a few things, said goodbye to the dog, and fucking split. It was really sudden, and since I don't have that much money to my name and my husband currently is in control of my finances, living with my parents is easier. I'm actually in my childhood room right now, when I stay at the house." She laughed dryly, merging onto the turnpike.

"Mm," Jotaro simply responded, and Sunnie laughed.

"It's not weird, dude, come on. Chill," she said, passing a particularly large eighteen wheeler and switching two lanes to the left, "I mean, it's kinda weird. But it's fine. I don't mind. I've heard a lot about you from some of the other employees already, I think it's fair that you know about me, if just a little." She looked at him briefly, eyes twinkling. "You're kind of a hot topic at the Foundation, you know."

Jotaro shifted in his seat and looked out his window.

"Which brings me to an important point," she continued, "I know why you're here."

Immediately, he looked back at her, eyes narrowing. That was supposed to be need-to-know information.

"I'm a Liaison for the Speedwagon Foundation. That's my official title, but I have a very specific job, and he is why you're here."

"You mean you–"

"Yes, and I'm aware of your history with him. Well, with the one from here." Her finger tapped the steering wheel pointedly. "I know you don't like him, that you have reason to not like him, and I know you won't like this one. But I'm imploring you not to start shit with him when you see him, okay? I've told him not to start shit with you so, you know, if you would be so kind."

Jotaro audibly gritted his teeth. This was just his fucking luck, running into that bastard's babysitter. "What makes you think he'd listen to you?" He growled.

"I don't know? He's been cool with me so far." She snorted. "I mean, he's an absolute piece of work, but it's been alright. No worse than teaching a class full of preschoolers can get on a bad day, but I did have to… establish that I can take care of myself against him."

"And how did you do that?"

"I stole his air," she said simply, "Made it impossible for him to breathe."

"Have you ever done that before? To someone else."

Her mouth fidgeted, eyes unreadable. They passed under the tollway in silence, broken by soft, ghastly wind chimes as a shimmering turquoise hand with a swirling wing shape on the wrist partially manifested on her shoulder, squeezing lightly before vanishing.

"You'll have to buy me a few drinks before I talk about that." Her voice was short, clipped. "I'm sure you have similar unlockable content you don't talk about otherwise."

It was a weird way to put it, but she was right. He did.

So he dropped the subject, looking back out the window.

"By the way, Catherine—Mrs. Gupta, rather—is here today, too," she said, tone easily switching from icy and guarded to light and airy, "She's the Regional COO, though I'm sure you know that. I'm told that she's the one who contacted you, after all."

Jotaro did not feel like answering. He didn't know what to say.

Sunnie merely glanced at him again, grinned to herself, and kept driving.

After Sunnie showed her credentials and pulled through the gated entrance of the new Dallas Speedwagon Foundation HQ, Jotaro let his eyebrows raise in surprise.

The previous location, having been built when Robert E. O. Speedwagon himself had struck black gold in Texas, was (while large) old, and it showed in its architecture and the relative closeness of the buildings. This, however, was a sprawling, modern campus with green spaces and fountains galore.

"We've got seven buildings here, but we'll be heading to the main one. Explore later if you'd like," Sunnie explained easily, searching for a parking spot. "I may be a… honestly kind of critical Subject Liaison, but I still don't have a dedicated parking space. That's fine, however," She lifted her finger and grinned, the sound of windchimes clinking in the air as her Stand fully manifested: lithe, vaguely robotic, feminine, and lined with light turquoise and shimmery silver. The face was mostly featureless and smooth like a plain mask, save for two large and sleek wing-like shapes on the sides, and two calculating but blank amber eyes. "We'll have her take care of this for us."

The Stand wiggled its fingers excitedly, then zoomed out of the roof of the car, unimpeded by the physical barrier. Jotaro watched, blank faced, then asked what could have been considered a very personal question.

"What's it's range?"

"Dust in the Wind's most powerful up to about six to nine feet from me, but she can and will travel quite far." That's… two to three meters, Jotaro translated in his head. "The further she gets, the less effective she is, but she's curious. She likes looking for things."

Jotaro huffed out the barest hint of a chuckle, remembering his time in jail before his trip to Egypt—how Star Platinum had brought him toys, beer, and reading materials in an attempt to placate him.

"I thought up this little tactic in college, since parking was shit there. It was cut-throat, honestly, so Windy helped scope out all the good spots." The Stand swooped down in front of the car and began nodding and pointing, motioning for them to follow. "Oh fuck yeah, it's a good one," Sunnie said happily before following as her Stand danced through the air in front of them, gracefully carving through the air. "She's playful. That's how I, uh, originally met… you know."

Jotaro looked at her, slightly confused. "Your Stand found him?"

She nodded, rounding a row of cars. "You know that weird feeling we got when we saw each other? How Stand users just kind of… know when other Stand users are around? I felt that when I first came here. She immediately jumped out and disappeared to find the source and found, well, him. Then he demanded to see the user, and bam," She shrugged, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, "We met."

Jotaro found himself grimacing at the mention of that man demanding anything and getting it. That piece of shit didn't deserve fuck all, in his opinion.

"Ah! There," Sunnie mumbled, pulling into a spot a row away from the front sidewalk. "She was right, it is good."

As she turned off the car and they both stepped out, Windy flew back to her user, nuzzling her face and disappearing. Sunnie grabbed her backpack and duffle bag from the backseat and they headed down the large sidewalk, lined with magnolias and sparkling water features.

"The old Speedwagon Foundation buildings are actually currently used for housing… supernatural objects. Like Stands tethered to items, fragments of pillars… there's this weird broken sword there that apparently possesses people, but when it does it just begs to be fixed," Sunnie rambled, shoving a hand in her long cardigan's pocket. Jotaro had to catch a breath, recalling that fight where Polnareff had indeed been possessed. That thing was here now? "This facility does a lot of R&D, field agent training, the like. Dallas has a lot of big companies around so they have some good deals, like with TI and stuff."

"You know a lot for someone who hasn't even been here for four months," Jotaro mumbled, glaring at the small woman. She glanced at him with a lazy smirk, the frog bell on her decorated backpack jingling softly as she walked next to him.

"I actually used to be in politics. Handled VAN data in my last campaign, but my strong suit was research. Following the money, making connections, y'know, all that mess," she said, tone light, "I know my way around things. Donor lists, requesting things under the FOIA, the like. I wanted to get a good picture of the Foundation before I thought about working here. And the rumors about their involvement in… supernatural matters interested me."

They walked through the large sliding glass doors into a cooled, busy lobby, shiny and sleek and new. Reflective surfaces, swooping centerpieces, statement greenery… it was impressive. What Jotaro did not appreciate was the eyes he felt on him the second he had walked in and the whispers that he knew were dancing around.

"Oh, Miss Green?" a receptionist pipped up upon seeing her, "And Dr. Kujo, oh!" The young man quickly patted down his curly chestnut hair, "I wasn't expecting you to–a-arrive together, huh. Well, Mrs. Gupta is waiting for you."

"Thanks, Mikel," Sunnie smiled, waltzing past the desk and towards a central elevator. Jotaro nodded his head slightly to the nervous young man as he continued to follow the smaller woman, stepping into the elevator. Sunnie leaned down (she didn't have to go too far) for a retina and thumb print scan, and the doors closed, the elevator smoothly starting up. They rode in silence, until the doors opened to a series of sterile white hallways.

"We're well underground, so you know," Sunnie mentioned as they began walking again. "It's easier to keep him down here with no threat of sunlight. The trick is that these lights outside his suite have a bit of UV in them. Sort of like how they keep the Pillar Man in D.C.," she informed him as they took a left, walking towards a large white double door. "Remember," she said pointedly, "No fights."

She leaned in for another eye and hand scan, and they passed through a short hall and through another sliding double door.

The first thing Jotaro saw in this more lavishly designed room was a tall, lithe, dark skinned woman with close-shaven hair wearing a golden pencil skirt and a deep forest green satin blouse, and stilettos that easily brought her close to his own height. Her expensive-looking gold jewelry and hoop earrings seemed to glitter as she turned her head towards the door, and her glossy dark red lips split into a dazzling grin.

"Sunnie! I see you've brought our guest," she said in a low voice like honey, lightly accented and melodic.

"Yep! I'm surprised he fit in my car," the smaller woman chirped as she walked into the room, "You didn't mention how tall he is."

The woman held out a well manicured hand, which Jotaro shook. "My name is Catherine Gupta. I became the regional COO of the Dallas branch of the Speedwagon Foundation a few months ago. It's good to meet you, Dr. Kujo."

"Call me Jotaro," he said, glowering at the door beyond them, "I'm assuming that's where he is?"

Mrs. Gupta nodded. "These newer facilities have several suites, some aboveground, some underground, for various purposes, if needed," she said, "When he came to us, it just made sense to stick him down here, where he is both protected and contained."

"Throwing him in a blender would be preferable," Jotaro grumbled, and Mrs. Gupta laughed lightly.

"Yes, yes, I'm aware of the Joestars' history with him," she said, shaking her head a bit, "The Foundation has extensive files on what happened in Britain all those years ago, as well as what you and your group went through. I've reviewed all of these multiple times to understand the situation fully."

"Well if that's the case, why the hell was I only recently informed of… this??" He gestured to the door beyond them, far past trying to hide the venomous rumble in his voice.

She pursed her full lips, "I wanted to tell you sooner, and believe me, I did everything in my power to convince my then-higher ups to let you know, but they were determined to keep it a secret from you and any other members of the Joestar bloodline. I felt that keeping it from you, however, was a moral failing. So I simply took the power I needed to make this happen."

He had to admit, he was impressed. She had said it so matter-of-factly that one might mistake it for an easy task, but he was aware that it almost definitely wasn't. The roiling rage he felt building inside his chest simply from being in proximity to that piece of shit subsided somewhat. "You have my thanks, then," he said quietly, "Does the Don know?"

Having been quiet up until that point, Sunnie shifted and the little frog shaped bell charm jingled, her head cocking to the side curiously. Jotaro took this to mean that she was unaware of his family tree.

"I'm still working on clearing that. I'm sure you're aware that there are a few more hoops to jump through when it comes to navigating our relationship with Passione," Mrs. Gupta chuckled. Hearing the name of the infamous Italian mafia, Sunnie's eyes blew wide and she covered her mouth slightly to whisper, 'yooooooo, what the shit, my dude', before Mrs. Gupta shot her a knowing smirk. "You would have found out soon enough, Sunnie. Just keep it secret for now, especially from him," she looked in the door's direction, and the shorter woman nodded enthusiastically.

"You got it, boss," she said, grinning widely, "Is… is the Don of Passione is a Joestar?"

"Indeed he is," Mrs. Gupta nodded, and Sunnie nearly flailed, whisper-shouting 'yo what the SHIT' again, causing the taller woman to laugh, "Though, I'll let you in on that later."

"Dope," Sunnie giggled, before noticing a tupperware box on one of the tables. "Oh～? And this is?"

"Murgh makhani from Janpreet. He made extra," Mrs. Gupta said warmly, before shooting Jotaro a glance. "My husband," she explained as an afterthought.

"FUCK yeah, tell him I say thanks," Sunnie giggled.

"Will do."

Jotaro had mostly tuned the two women out, however; he was staring at the door, glowering. Mrs. Gupta and Sunnie shared a glance.

"Welllll, I know you don't like him, but here we go. Time to face the music, I guess?" Sunnie said as she turned, her long cardigan following behind her as she nodded her head towards the door. 

Mrs. Gupta raised an eyebrow at Jotaro, gesturing for him to go before her. He took a breath and turned to the door, steeling his soul and narrowing his eyes.

It was time to face Dio.

ゴゴゴゴゴ...

(Part 2)

[faerytale-au]

Fire and Whiskey

Place: After “The Shopping Trip” Word Count: 2,844 Rating: T Prompt For Quarantined Frans Weeks: Day 7 [Progress] Cross Posted to a03 here!

@qfransprompts

Frisk looked at Sans curiously as they spawned back into existence, his eyelights instantly snapping to a door in front of them. She blinked as she looked up and read a simple sign carved into old oak ‘Grillby’s’.

“Sans? What is…” Her voice trailed off as she heard muffled laughter and the sounds of clanking dishware. She’d recognize those noises anywhere and wiggled her nose as she glanced over at her husband.

“Is this a bar?” 

“heh, not just any bar. this place is the hot spot of most seelie gatherings within a couple hundred miles. thought you’d like to see how we fae relax, from time to time.” She raised a brow.

“When you said a date I admit, I didn’t expect this.” Sans smirked.

“good, means i’m doing my job of keeping you on your toes.” Lazily he stepped around her and reached forward to pull the door open. Right away Frisk was assaulted by a blast of warm air and explosive volume as the crowd erupted into laughter at something she couldn’t see.

Her heart raced and Sans saw the mild reaction of fear shoot across her face.

He instantly went to close it but her hand on his shoulder stopped him as she shut her eyes to take a small breath. Sans had forgotten this might be unsettling for someone who had been isolated like she had for a time. 

After gathering her nerves she smiled at him reassuringly, much to his relief, and then stepped inside. A hush fell over the establishment as slowly eyes and flecks of light, crystalline gazes and stony stares locked on her. 

Frisk froze but easily loosened back up as she felt Sans step up beside her.

“sup?” He called casually. 

It took a moment but soon a parade of smiles and other positive expressions greeted him with enthusiasm, some by name and others by odd titles that she barely caught under the onslaught of noise. 

The feeling of his skeletal hand on her back pulled her attention back to him. “you good?” A nod was all he needed before he started to guide her through the crowded space, his smile wide and eyelights brightening the more fae he greeted.

Frisk was pleasantly surprised. She had no idea Sans was so social and watched with a growing smile of her own the more he spoke and joked with the patrons they passed. He barely even had to look at someone for more than a moment before he was shooting questions.

Try as she might though there weren’t any names for her to pick out really, none that stuck out as significant or special in the way Sans spoke. 

After what felt like an eternity they finally reached the bar and Frisk stopped in place, mildly throwing her lover off balance as he turned away from a half said hello to see what she was looking at.

He chuckled. 

Of course.

Bony brow raising he held out his other hand and gestured to the mythical being that had caught her attention. “frisk, this is grillby, the owner and a good friend of mine. grillby, my girlfriend, frisk.”

She swallowed as she took in his form.

Half obscured by the bar all she could see was the top of him, but it was more than enough. He was tall, taller than Sans but not nearly as tall as Papyrus, and he was dressed in a simple ensemble one that looked as if it was spun from silk.

But what really stood out about him was the fact he was made of fire, golden fire, with hints of green flame tracing along the edge of his...hair? Which was slicked back, thicker in the front before tapering off, in appearance but still flickering where she could discern tips were. 

“Frisk? Ah so this must be the new mage you brought home.” His voice was hard to describe. It was almost soothing the way it sounded, like a sting of hisses and crackles that blended but didn’t pop at the end. 

Why she was focused on that and not the fact he was speaking without seemingly having a mouth she didn’t know. Her thoughts must have shone on her face because Sans leaned into her field of vision and wiggled his phalanges.

“maaagic.” 

She frowned. “I knew you’d say that.” 

Both he and Grillby laughed, the latter indicating two barstools for them to sit at.

“Have a seat, I’ll be with you both in just a moment, I was just about to go collect on a tab.” Sans felt a chill shoot down his spine and his eyelights momentarily went out before he forced them back into existence.

“uh, if you want we can come back later.” Frisk looked at him but Grillby’s fiery eyes filled with amusement.

“Nonsense. You’ve been going on about her for weeks now, I wish to meet her.” Frisk felt her cheeks burn. Sans had been talking about her? Giddiness and a gentle flare of happiness had her grinning at the skeleton.

“Has he?” The light blue in his cheekbones was satisfying. Grillby chuckled at the exchange as he leaned down and pulled out two menus, elegant black folders with a single stylized sheet of paper in it, the lettering in a fine delicate script. 

“One moment.” Frisk watched as he excused himself and turned to a door at the far end of the bar and vanished through it. Literally vanished, he walked right through it leaving a flaming ripple that quickly dispersed into the air.

“Did he just--walk into that door?”

Sans looked at her. “i’m not the only one that has a few tricks.” Her cheeks got brighter.

“But his clothing…” Frisk had never spoken about clothing before, he didn’t even think she cared about such things. What about Grillby’s had her so focused on them? And Sans for the first time quietly felt a small tinge of irrational jealousy. 

Welp, he didn’t know that was an emotion he was capable of. 

He shook his skull and shrugged, merely wiggled his digits again teasingly as he peered down at the menu. The small groan she gave him was more than enough to stomp out that bizarre feeling in his bones as he pointed to something.

“this is what i usually get.” She leaned over to look and snorted.

“It’s called, ‘The Worst Burger On The Menu’? That’s very direct isn’t it?” Reading further it only seemed to live up to its name. It was simply a plain bun with an unseasoned slice of beef and cheese, but she did notice it was the cheapest. “Huh, okay I get why it’s called that.”

Sans smirked. “don’t dis it just yet babe. it may be considered the worst burger on the menu but anything grillby cooks tastes amazing. really this is the closest you can get to a discount.” 

She smiled as she looked at the other items but decided she’d go with his suggestion, after all this was her first time here and Sans seemed to know what he was doing. Absently she closed the menu and turned slightly more towards him.

“So, what do you do on a date?” Sans had been looking down at the drinks when he blinked and slowly looked up at her.

“uh...did you not go on any dates while i was gone?” Not that he had any room to talk but there it was again, that suffocating sensation of silent envy that made him uncomfortable. What was with him tonight? “never mind scratch that i don’t want to know.” 

Frisk for some reason though giggled and still answered him anyway. “No I didn’t.”

Sans pointedly ignored how that sent a bolt of warmth through his soul.

“well, on dates we just talk and hang out, get to know each other better.” She was thoughtful for a minute and then grinned smugly, a mischievous twinkle lighting up her yellow irises.

“Oh, then I have been on dates, several.” He stared at her and disliked the way his shoulders tensed at that. Frisk was enjoying watching him try not to shift in his seat as he spoke a little too easily, his tone dripping forced detachment.

“that so?” She hummed.

“Yep, with a certain skeleton. We used to talk and hang out all the time. Before he stood me up for three years.” 

That didn’t make him uncomfortable at all.

“that is definitely not the same thing.” He deadpanned. The door to the back actually opened this time as Grillby reemerged and without missing a beat he was once more in front of Frisk again.

“Sorry for the wait, have you both decided on what you’d like?” 

Sans handed the menus back. “two of your worst grillz.” Grillby’s fiery eyes curved in what Frisk could only read as false sweetness as he responded.

“Will that be going on your tab tonight?” Sans’s chuckle was awkward.

“nah, i’m paying this time.” Grillby’s face moved and Frisk imagined brows rising to his hairline as he panned his baffled expression over to her. His words were awed.

“What have you done to him?” Done to him? Frisk took a moment but as soon as she understood what he was implying she broke into a high pitched laugh. Sans’s glower at Grillby only lasted a moment before turning into a surprised stare as he watched her absolutely lose her mind.

Frisk...had never laughed like that before had she?

His eyelights precariously wavered and he instead shut his sockets as he enjoyed the light and breathy sound. When she calmed he was already reaching over and brushing a thumb against the back of her hand.

Frisk stiffened and demurely looked away as she slowly laced her fingers with his, making sure she gave Grillby an apologetic smile, but the flaming fae didn’t pay them any mind as he turned and went once more into the back room.

She took the opportunity.

“S-so…” Wow it was hard to concentrate holding Sans’s hand. “W-what kind of Seelie is Grillby?” 

“hmm?” Sans blinked. “oh grillz? he’s a salamander.”

...A...Salamander…

“Grillby looked nothing like a lizard.” Sans choked and reluctantly let go of her hand to press his own against his sockets. He composed himself and gave Frisk an impish flash of his teeth.

“you haven’t seen him mad.” Frisk did not like the look on his face and her apprehension only grew as Grillby came back out and Sans looked suspiciously at one of the liquor bottles on one of the three shelves lining the wall. 

He remembered the first time he’d seen a Salamander and he’d never forget it too. Who was he to deny Frisk such an experience? If anything she’d only learn from it, this would be educational, and a chance for her to marvel at the Fae species even more.

Sans had an idea.

“Here you are.” Grillby proceeded to set their food in front of them one at a time from his carrying tray. Sans let him get to Frisk’s before sneakily aiming for one of the more expensive booze bottles and focusing his magic to levitate it into one of the lower cabinets the bartender kept.

Frisk didn’t know if she should’ve stopped him or what to do. Sans was obviously about to pull a prank on the...salamander...and she wasn’t sure that was such a smart idea. He had told her countless stories of wars and other events that had happened between Fae just from a misread look in her youth.

And here he was acting like that wasn’t a big deal at all.

Should she somehow get a hold of Papyrus?

“hey grillz?” Grillby slipped his serving tray under his arm as he acknowledged Sans with a glance. The skeleton lifted one shoulder as he gestured to the liquor shelves. “mind giving me a shot of some of your fire whisky?” 

The look he gave him was skeptical. “I thought you said you were paying tonight.” 

Frisk took a hasty bite of her burger just as Sans frowned. Oh! She chewed a few more times as she focused on the burger. It was good! For one that didn’t have any toppings or condiments it was really savory.

“i will, c’mon it’s just one shot. not going to hold out on me are you?” Sans gave his best puppy eyes, well what his sockets would allow him. Grillby rolled his eyes in both annoyance and affection. Heh, he never could deny Sans anything, guy was a big softie. 

Sans braced himself as Grillby turned and set his tray down only to stop as he noticed the sore thumb that was the empty slot on his lower shelf. 

Grillby had two rules in his bar; one don’t start any fights, and two…

Don’t touch his booze without permission.

Ever.

“...Sans…” Frisk had to stop eating at how low Grillby said Sans’s name, the tone was light but the weight behind it sent tingles up her arms. Sans looked completely innocent as he lifted his burger and took a bite.

“yeah grillz?” He spoke around a mouthful.

The whole bar seemed to go silent, and the light around Grillby looked as if it was sucked out of the air and into his body as he simultaneously brightened. “Where’s my Fire Whiskey?”

“Uh…” Frisk went silent as she watched Sans continue to eat completely unfazed.

“why do you think i’d know?” 

Grillby was unamused.

“Because it was there until you conveniently asked for it.” Something flickered in his eyes as he realized something, his flames surging for a moment as he looked over at Frisk before looking at Sans again. “Are you trying to get me riled?” 

Sans deflated.

“don’t know what you mean--” 

Grillby was suddenly in his face, the bartender’s eyes spreading and morphing into fiery draconic rounded slits as the hair that had been so pertinaciously slicked back sprung up and curved. His form wavered and went pulsing like an inferno, like the after image of visible heat in a desert.

Frisk jolted but didn’t scream, she was too mesmerized as the curving hair and two other jets of flame took shape into what she could only equate to an Axolotl’s Ferns to frame his face. 

His body darkened and turned partly solidified at its core like magma as the wall of fire at where a mouth should’ve been suddenly split into a white hot jagged line to spill out a forked tongue of green flame.

That’s what Sans had meant!?

Sans smirked, the look on Frisk’s face exactly what he’d been aiming for. 

But Grillby was having none of it.

“If you are pleased with yourself…” His voice was a hot and dark hiss but low enough that only Frisk and Sans could hear even in the thick silence of the bar. “Sans Aster Serif Skeleton, tell me where my alcohol is.”

Sans mentally cursed as a haze came over his mind and his tone came out a drone, the Salamander’s ability to use one’s full name against them compelling his answer. “the cabinet.”

Dangit.

Frisk felt her awe at Grillby’s form take a nosedive as her stomach twisted at how robotic and distant Sans seemed. 

It was like Grillby had placed him under a spell and Sans did nothing but stare blankly as the salamander whipped around and threw the cabinet doors open.

“Thank you.” Like a snap the hold Sans felt broke. 

He shook his skull and the look he shot Grillby shocked Frisk at the hostility she saw in it. 

He looked angry. 

Grillby on the other hand though seemed to relax, his form slowly changing back to what it had been before as he replaced the bottle on the shelf.

“Now.” Grillby turned back towards Frisk. “Sans mentioned you liked books.” She was so shocked at how easily he acted as if nothing had happened that she could only nod automatically. 

Sans simply lifted his burger to finish eating. 

At least Frisk hadn’t freaked out or anything when she’d seen a glimpse of Grillby’s true form and that had to be some progress at least. Sans was willing to bet if she’d seen him before settling in she’d have been terrified. 

He looked at her from the corner of his socket as Grillby continued to speak to her.

Frisk really was adjusting to being around Seelie rather quickly. So much faster than any other mage he’d seen before and this was technically only her fourth time out of the house. There was a point he knew she would have been terrified of such a thing.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as long as he thought before she was happy with her new life. He could already see her practically glowing.

The way she cuddled against him later in the warmth of their home only solidified that hope and he couldn’t come to regret his failed prank with just how happy he felt.

Salamander’s were cool.

But Frisk’s happiness was cooler. 

[onewfantaesy]

so keep in mind i wrote this story in 2014 when i was still in high school lmao so it’s definitely not the best. not the worst thing i’ve ever written, and probably better than some stuff just bc it’s actually finished lmao (but i’m gonna upload it as the 4 separate chapters) but don’t expect too much. anyways it’s called:

His Mother’s Son (1/4)

Taemin's never done anything illegal, so why is he sitting in an interrogation room at the police station staring at a one-way mirror? His name is not his name. His brother is not his brother. His parents are not his parents. And his whole life has just been turned upside down.

Taemin’s been an idol for almost a year now. The 15 year old, for his entire almost-year of fame, has never done anything illegal, so he wracks his brain for why he’s sitting in an interrogation room at the police station. His manager said he had something he needed to do by himself, and Taemin thought it was an interview or something. This is definitely not the type of interview he had in mind.

The room was well lit, but the cold metal table and the one way mirror on the far left wall made him unbelievably frightened. He could only hear his rapid heartbeat in his ears and his shaky breaths. This had to be some sort of mistake, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Lee Taemin?” The door creaked open loudly, and the female cop entered the room.

“Yes?” Taemin tried to appear calm, but his rapid blinking gave him away. He internally cursed himself when the nervous habit decided to show itself.

“I’m Officer Shin. There are some things I need to discuss with you,” she said, and she smiled kindly at Taemin, but it only made him blink even more.

“What - What did I do?” Taemin’s voice shakes, and the room suddenly feels very cold.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Taemin, but there are some things you need to know.” 

Officer Shin took two photos out from the yellow manila folder held in her hands. She lays photos of his parents down on the table, and Taemin feels his throat close up when he realizes they’re mug shots. She speaks their names and asks if they are Taemin’s parents.

“Yes, ma’am,” Taemin says. It’s only then he realize she asked if his parents go by those names. “What do you mean, ‘go by’?”

The officer sighs, putting on a sympathetic gaze that Taemin’s multiple years of idol training and experience can tell is genuine.

“Taemin, they’re not your parents, they’re your kidnappers.”

Taemin feels like the walls are closing in on him, and the air isn’t making its way to Taemin’s lungs and he feels like he’s suffocating. Suddenly, Taemin starts laughing, looking over at the one way mirror before looking back at Officer Shin.

“This is a secret camera, right? This is for a show? Ha ha, very funny.” Taemin’s laughter feels forced, and his hands are shaking. He turns back to the one way mirror, “This isn’t funny anymore, hyung! I wanna go back to the dorm!” Taemin hopes his manager is on the other side of the glass.

“Taemin, this is not a joke, this is very real,” Officer Shin tries to calm him down, and Taemin is running his fingers through his hair in distress.

“W-What about my brother? What about Taesun?” Taemin takes in a shaky breath.

“He isn’t your brother. He was kidnapped as well,” she informs him slowly, not wanting to upset the boy any further.

“What do you mean he’s not my brother? He’s Taesun and I’m Taemin! We’re brothers!” Taemin shouts.

“His name is not Taesun, and your name is not Taemin,” she says calmly.

“My name is Taemin! I’m Lee Taemin! My brother is Lee Taesun! I’m the lead dancer of SHINee! I wasn’t kidnapped!” Taemin feels a pressure build up behind his eyes, and he fights back the urge to cry.

“Please, I want to go home,” Taemin begs the officer; he wants to back to the dorm and pretend this never happened.

“We found out because of SHINee, Taemin. Your real parents saw your picture and they knew it was you. Taemin, you are going to go home, but to different parents, and different brothers,” she put her hands on his shoulders, telling him to calm down.

“What about SHINee? And those are my real parents, and he’s my real brother!” Taemin points at the pictures of the table.

“Your parents will decide whether or not you can continue with SHINee, but right now, we need to take you home,” Officer Shin tells him.

“How do you know these people are really my parents, huh? I don’t remember ever being kidnapped!” Taemin’s voice is shaking and he’s scared.

“This is a picture of you now,” she pulls a recent SHINee photo of him out of her folder and places it on the table, “and this is you from before you were kidnapped.”

“How do you know that’s me? That could be anyone!” Taemin tells her, shaking his head.

“The fingerprints we took when you first came in, we matched them to the ones we had on file of Kim Jaehyun. Now, let’s go get your things,” Officer Shin leads him out of the room, and he sees his manager sitting down with his head in his hands.

“Hyung, hyung please tell me this is a secret camera, please!” Taemin feels the tears roll down his cheeks as he begs his manager.

“I’m so sorry, Taemin, I’m so sorry,” he shakes his head, his face full of guilt, “Let’s go get your stuff, okay?”

“No. No! They’re my parents! He’s my brother! This is a mistake!” Taemin sobs as his manager leads him back to the van, Officer Shin following behind them.

Taemin feels numb as he sits in the back of the van. He stares out the window, watching as the cars pass by and the world around him moves in one big blur. This isn’t happening. This is a bad dream; a nightmare.

“Jaehyun. Jaehyun, we’re here.”

Taemin glares at the officer, telling her, “My name is Taemin.” 

His eyes stay narrow, and she only sighs at him.

“Let’s go pack your things.” 

Taemin follows after her only when his manager talks to him, telling him everything is going to be okay.

When they arrive at SHINee’s dorm, Taemin is annoyed that the officer keeps calling him by that other name, and he runs to Jinki the second he sees the older boy standing in the living room.

“Hyung!” Taemin wraps his arms around the leader, and suddenly it once again feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. “Hyung, tell her my name is Taemin! Tell me this is a joke!” Taemin feels the tears start to spill over his eyes again, and he can tell that Jinki is confused by the slow way the older wraps his arms around him.

“What’s going on?” Jinki asks slowly, and soon the other members are gathered around because of the noise.

“Jaehyun, you need to calm down,” officer Shin tells him, but Taemin only shakes his head.

“My name is Taemin!” he nearly shouts at her, and he can tell his members are getting worried.

She sends his manager to pack his things, and the members ask if Taemin is going to prison or something.

“What did you do?” Kibum asks, his eyes wide as he looks at the youngest clinging to the eldest.

“I didn’t do anything!” Taemin sobs. “And neither did my parents!”

“They are not your real parents,” Officer Shin says in that infuriatingly calm voice.

“Yes they are!” Taemin feels like he can’t breathe, and he feels Jinki sitting down with him on the couch and he wants to wake up from this horrible nightmare.

“You’re right, your parents didn’t do anything. Your kidnappers, however, abducted you and another boy thirteen years ago. Kim Jaehyun went missing twelve years ago when he was two years old, and he was finally found when his parents spotted him on an idol poster.” Officer Shin’s patience was growing thin with the boy.

“Then that makes Kim Jaehyun fourteen years old! I’m fifteen, you have the wrong person!” Taemin argued.

“Your kidnappers changed your birthday, now we’re going to take you to your biological parents for you to meet your family. Say goodbye to your friends, because we’re leaving.” 

She motioned to the manager to get the boy and follow her, and was annoyed when instead the manger came over to her and spoke to her in a hushed voice.

“Has it not occurred to you that his entire life just got turned upside down less than two hours ago? Yelling at him like that is not going to help.” 

The man couldn’t stand to see one of the boy’s he protects be treated so poorly.

“I have given him time to accept what is happening. Now, I suggest you put his things in the van and take us back to the police station so another officer and I can take him to his family, who, might I add, have been waiting for their child to return for twelve years.” She narrows her eyes at the man before turning on her heel and walking down to the parking garage.

When they arrived back at the station, Taemin’s things were moved into the back of a cop car, and Taemin was told Officer Shin and Officer An would take him to his family.

“Hyung?” Taemin looks over at his manager, “Hyung, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry, Taemin, but I can’t go.” He hugs the young boy close. “If you need anything at all, you call me, okay?”

Taemin nods, staring at his manager until the station is no longer in sight. He looks out the window his entire trip, the numb feeling in his chest coming back. He pinches his arm, and is depressed when he finds that it does in fact hurt. He was really hoping this was some crazy dream.

“Where’s my brother?” Taemin asks, wondering if Taesun is okay.

“He is with his own family.” Officer Shin sighs, rubbing his head from the headache this case is giving her.

“I wanna talk to him,” Taemin says quietly, hoping they’ll let him call him or something.

“Your family has said you are not allowed any contact,” Shin says in a tight voice, and Taemin narrows his eyes at the back of her head.

“Why not?” Taemin growls, unable to believe that his so called family would not allow him to talk to his own brother.

“Because he is not really your brother, now keep quiet,” Shin snaps, and Taemin goes back to staring out the window.

“He isn’t a prisoner, so I suggest you stop treating him as such,” An tells her, and Taemin smirks at the scolding.

When they pull up in front of a house, and Shin is getting out to remove his bags from the trunk, Taemin doesn’t move; he only continues to stare out the window at the house looming in front of him.

“Please, take me back home,” Taemin chokes out, unable to believe that this is reality.

“You are home,” An says softly, and Taemin looks over at the male officer.

“How can this be home if I don’t even know what street we’re on?” Taemin asks, and the officer sighs.

“Come, we’ll go introduce you to your family.” An holds his hand out, and Taemin puts his shaky one in his, and he’s being pulled out of the car and walking toward the front door.

The door opens revealing a woman who looked almost exactly like Taemin.

[black-streak]

Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Routine

Part 3

Hey! I came up with a name for this finally! Might've been listening to Elton John at the time.... Completely self induglent fluff for part 3. Also changed the part title for timinette thing to 'the beginning'. Very original, I know. So I've decided to not have anyone aware of identities here. And Mari also does not use the ladybug in this.

Lastly, from what I gather, Tim canonically seems to swing between sharp, calculating and carefully selective with words aaand a complete disaster child with severe anxiety, weird obsessions, and no filter. So if anyone has any notes on my characterization of him, I'd be happy to hear it.

...Please don't get use to this rapid update schedule, I have no control on the speed in which I write these.

~---~

Marinette meant to make good on her request for a movie with Tim. She really did. She was not some shy little teenager anymore and if she wanted to have a date with the guy she liked, no one could stop her from trying!

Except maybe a spike in her commissions, an Arkham breakout, and three narrowly avoided confrontations with multiple of the bat… people. So maybe she was exhausted and overworked and it had been over two weeks since the morning she woke up on Tim. Maybe at this point she couldn't even concentrate on the date portion and just wanted to skip right into the napping together bit. But who could really blame her? Life is cruel to the sleepless. So perhaps the way they actually ended up dating could be forgiven.

It started on a gloomy Sunday afternoon that Mari found him at a desk in the manor library, pouring over what looked like a criminal case? In a manilla folder? What? Who even uses manilla outside of a filing cabinet anymore? And for what purpose did he need to read it so intently? 

Shaking the confusion off, she refocused on her current mission. Tricking him into taking a nap.

Pushing down a blush, she tapped him on the shoulder.

Startling, he turned partially to look up to her while closing the file, not expecting the interruption.

"Oh, hey! Did um… did you need something?" 

Taking in the dark bags building under his eyes, two empty cups on the desk, and overly comfy clothes, she realized this might be easier than she originally planned for. He looked perfectly nap ready and as over worked as she was. 

Nodding, Marinette took hold of his hoodie sleeve and gave a small tug.

Tim turned further to face her fully, watching for only a moment before seemingly coming to some conclusion.

"Whatever it is will have to wait. You need sleep."

Only she didn't argue, simply nodding again and tugging at his sleeve again, pleading eyes latching onto his.

"Nap?"

Understanding dawned on Tim and lit a small smile across his face as he moved his attention back to the desk, closing up all his work and compiling it to transport.

"Let me gather this up."

A happy sound of approval sounded behind him before lean arms wrapped around his shoulders, a face ducking close to his neck, quietly resting in wait.

Not entirely surprised with the contact, Tim took it in stride, though his mind was whirling with possible causes, attempting to determine whether this was a show of further affection or simply the way she interacted with those she deemed close to her. He'd seen the way Mari leaned into Jason when he ruffled her hair or tossed an arm about her shoulders. The happy cheek kiss she graced Dick in thanks for helping with one thing or another. The way Damian allowed her to pull him around by the hand all the time. Maybe she decided on sleepy cuddles for him? But then, it had sounded like flirting and an offer for more last time. Had he read too much into it or was this the offer come to fruition at last? 

Speaking of which, as he grabbed the last file, she slid one hand over and down his arm to grab at a hoodie sleeve to tug once more, simultaneously shifting away so he could get up.

In a fashion similar to two weeks ago, he paid little mind to her dragging him about until he noticed her aiming for the door, quickly twisting a hand to grab her wrist and redirect them towards the couch in the room. 'Whatever this is, there's no need to advertise it for my brother's to see.'

Meanwhile, Marinette was trying to figure out the best way to get Tim to put his work aside and just cuddle her. Obviously he seemed to be following along now, but if the way he brought over the case file was any indication, he planned to continue working while she slept beside him. 

'Hmm… he followed suit last time, maybe it'll work again this time,' she thought, smile regaining momentum on her face when she saw the library couch went much deeper than the living room one.

He must have read her mind, because he immediately sat sideways, upper back pressed into the arm of the couch, still holding onto her wrist to guide her towards him.

Climbing over, she sandwiched herself between his body and the couch, leaning into his shoulder. He hesitated slightly, then adjusted his left arm behind her and reopened the case in his lap.

"What's with that anyways? Not your usual work there," she murmured.

"Old cold case. Hobby of mine to try and solve them. Or at least find details that were missed in the initial investigation," he intoned smoothly, use to the line of questioning.

"Hmm," she adjusted her legs to lay across his lap, reaching to prop the folder on them as a makeshift desk, "tell me about it?"

"The details are pretty grim, you sure?"

"Mhm, I don't mind. It's like rubber duck coding, right? Maybe if you explain it out loud to someone the missing pieces will pop into place."

And that's how Tim found himself explaining the intricate pattern of a series of connected murders to Marinette, who took the horrific descriptions in stride, sometimes throwing in theories for him to pick apart as he went. Even if it didn't look it with her closed eyes and relaxed disposition, she was obviously actively listening and paying attention to his rapid fire rambling which in turn encouraged him to continue despite his initial hesitance.

Stopping mid sentence, he yanked the file closer with his free hand, the other wrapped around her waist, studying it intently for a moment. 

Letting out a frustrated breath, he murmured in a way indicating her almost forgotten presence, "Really? That's it?" And proceeded to move both arms to hold the pages steady, incidentally shifting Mari fully up onto his chest to accommodate the movement as he wrote across the page, connecting the dots to give a final full picture. Closing the folder up and moving it to the side table, Tim rewrapped his arms around her waist, taking smug satisfaction at successfully transferring her fully into his lap without it seeming to be on purpose.

"You make a good duck."

"Told you it would work, Drake."

"You sound like my brother."

"Hmm, don't call me a duck and I won't call you a drake."

"You're the one who brought up being my metaphorical rubber duck. You only have yourself to blame."

"And your the one who's last name literally means 'male duck', Drake," she deadpanned back to him.

Narrowing his eyes, Tim stared her down. However, Marinette was not one to back down to a challenge and only quipped, "So, still going to call me a duck?"

"I'll concede this round, but you're not cuddling back up to me until you find something else to call me. I'm not trying to hold my brother's clone here."

"Oh? But you are trying to hold your little brother's best friend?" She teased, turning a little pink and marveled at his own flushing face.

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who came in seeking My attention."

Giggling, she squirmed so that one leg was curled over his, torso shifted to in between his side and the couch once more, and tucked into his neck for the second time that day, smile pressing into his skin.

"Not denying it, Mon Cher."

Not expecting agreement nor the endearment, Tim gave a hum in response, not wanting to let on how flustered he felt. Lifting a hand, he hovered it over her head, not sure it'd be welcome, but holding a sigh of relief when she pressed up towards it, as though sensing its proximity and craving the affection it seemed to promise. Which is how he found himself nuzzling the side of her head, hand running down her hair in a soothing pet, listening to the almost purr that reverberated from her into his skin. 

"You cut off earlier. How did the case end?" She spoke, lifting only enough to speak, but close enough that her lips still brushed his neck with every word before lowering back in.

And so Tim told her, giving her the answer before going back and explaining the connection and then finally the less notable details as he sensed her slowly falling into a light slumber listening to the low timber of his voice warm in her ear.

With a small smile, soft and unsure, he settled further against her, pulling her tighter just a moment before allowing himself to drift as well.

…..

Every few days, Mari would seek him out. The same tired, pleading look. The same gentle tugs and soft embraces. Helping him finish whatever he was working on before falling asleep curled up to him, humming with his hands in her hair and warm breath fanning across her skin. Sometimes the side of her head, other times murmuring random details into her ear, and on one notable occasion, down the side of her neck.

Sometimes they wouldn't sleep, just pass jokes and obscure references or talk about her latest project, finding rest and solace in one another without the need for immediate sleep.

And then finally, finally, one of them took a step forward. 

… maybe not the way either of them planned. They'd been running this routine for three weeks straight but now.. It'd been 4 days and Mari had yet to come find him. This did not sit well with Tim, who counted on her to enforce something along the lines of regular sleep for him. Even if it was only in the form of long afternoon naps every couple days. Needless to say, he was grumpy, over caffeinated, and not entirely in his right mind when he sought her out. 

Tim found her eventually, probably in Damian's room based on the bed and katana above the headboard. He hadn't paid attention enough on his mindless search to be 100% sure. Either way, she was there and that's what mattered. Taking a page out of her book, Tim walked over, took ahold of her wrist and tugged her up and towards the door, grip loose enough to slip out if she so desired, only to be stopped by large hand gripping his own wrist. 

That's when Tim decided to actually take in the room fully, surprised to see Damian standing there, scowling with a raised eyebrow, not appreciating the abrupt interruption or kidnapping attempt.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"It's naptime," Tim stated, blinking back with a blank, unfazed expression.

Taken off guard, Damian stared at him, speechless, hand falling back to his side. Tim decided to take advantage of this and made way for the door once more, only to be blocked off once more, tired anxiety and frustration building by the moment.

"That doesn't explain you bursting in here and kidnapping my Angel." Damian stated, arms crossing in defiance, more annoyed at the lack of permission to enter his room than the way Tim sought her out.

"Mine."

"What?" The two younger occupants voiced.

"It's not naptime without Mari. You've been monopolizing her time. Mine now."

Neither of the younger could make heads nor tails of that. One use to Tim cutting off emotions and speaking so directly without consideration, but not the possessiveness being displayed. The other use to the clinginess and sleepless, unthinking words, but not the deadpanned delivery. It was weird to see the two sides mix together into this.

Mari was yanked from her stupor as Tim wrapped his arms around her, chin resting on her head, uncaring of their audience for the moment.

Eyes wide, she turned towards him and tilted to look up and meet his own dead ones.

"Yours?"

Reigning her in again, he rested his cheek in her hair, murmuring, "Mine."

Her and Dami met eyes and a smirk stretched across his face as he realized what this finally met.

"It's on."

"I suppose it is. If you'll excuse us, I think my attention is being demanded elsewhere."

"Oh, you think?"

"Mhm."

With that she allowed Tim to tug her away from the room, surprisingly not questioning the exchange, only to hear more invasive voices from down the hall. Not wanting to deal with the inevitable teasing and questions, he twirled on his heel, bringing her back past Damian and over into his own room. Surprised, but willing, Mari allowed him to lead her into his bed, hands holding her to him as he curled around her petite form, blanket coming up around them.

Finally finding her words, bright red painting her face, she turned in his arms, "Where'd that come from?"

"It's been 4 days. You never take that long."

"Miss me?" She teased, but the effect was ruined by the hope her voice betrayed.

"Terribly," he admitted unflinchingly. Surely, he was going to have an absolute anxiety attack when he woke up, but for now, his thoughts weren't coherent enough to be monitored or analyzed before falling out.

"What took you so long?" He wondered, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Kept getting too busy. You're not the only one who gets sucked into too much to think of sleep." She whispered, settling closer and running her hands over his shoulders in a soothing manner, "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

" You should be apologizing to yourself. You need our naps as much as I do." 

Humming, she guided her fingers up into his hair, glancing at his lips without thinking, "Do you think we could watch that movie you promised me next time?"

Waking up a little more at the seriousness of the question, even under the pretense of playfulness, he sent her a calculating look.

"I'd like that, ma lutine. Sunday night? We can watch it in my apartment..." He asks, purposefully looking down to her own parted lips before meeting her eyes again.

Silvery blues lit up at the endearment slipping out, moving further up into his space, lining up without touching.

"Yes please," whispers out.

Taking the plea for what it is, Tim slowly cups the back of her head in one hand, the other moving to tilt her chin. It's only for a moment, but he kisses her with such sweet affection, she feels dizzy with it.

He pulls away to her soft, happy humming, sleep creeping into the edges of his mind. Tucking her back under his chin, he falls into slumber with a quiet murmur.

"It's a date then."