#got a couple more square feet to roll my chair around at the end of it huh)

[beanmaster-pika]

My mom nixed the lemons so now I’m gonna smell like cinnamon for the rest of my life (<- exaggeration)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All together now

Warnings: noncon sexual acts and rape, violence, blood, breeding/forced pregnancy

This is dark!Stucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this drabble request: Stucky + “You take him so well, just not as good as you take me.” + breeding/forced pregnancy + Steve and Bucky realize they both have their eye on the same girl. They decide to work together to get what they want. @river-soul​

“It’s just Bucky,” Steve waved for you to get your hand off your gun.

“What’s he doing here?” you left the pistol on the metal table and went back to the pot of canned soup.

You stirred the pot and looked around at the small safehouse as you heard the car door and the ensuing steps. You tapped the excess broth from the metal and turned back to cross your arms as you leaned on the counter.

“He does realise we’re hiding out here?”

“I asked him to come and have a look at these,” Steve jabbed his finger towards the manila file as he peeked out between the slats across the window.

“Wha-- I already translated them for you,” you huffed, “and we don’t have enough soup for him.”

“He knows Hydra better than anyone, he can tell us what the symbols mean,” Steve took a deep breath.

“We could have waited and got them back to intel in New York--”

The deadbolt turned and you shut up as Steve pulled the door open. You turned back to the stove and watched the soup. You had no issue with Bucky really but the last time you saw him, he’d confessed things to you that made it hard to look at him. And he hadn’t reacted well when you didn’t reciprocate.

“There,” you listened to the two men move around, noting that you didn’t even get a hey from the third agent, “thanks for coming, Buck.”

“Mhmm,” you heard the chair groan tellingly and you turned off the burner. 

You took out two metals bowls with a clink and poured the beefy stew into them. You added a spoon to each and turned to hand one off to Steve as he sat on the only other chair. You stood by the counter and slurped yours.

“It’s a map,” Bucky said, “the star, the five points,” he took out his phone and flipped through. He leaned forward and pointed to five different cities, “up in Siberia, Hydra checkpoints.”

“Shit,” Steve sat back as he scooped up his soup, “well, we should��ve caught that.”

“How could you, it’s not exactly marked on Google,” Bucky closed the folder and placed his phone on top of it, “how much longer you here?”

“Couple days at most,” Steve answered and you felt entirely ignored in the two way conversation.

You gulped down your food straight from the brim and rinsed your bowl. You wiped off your hands and checked the time on your watch. You took your gun and cleared the chamber.

“Early morning,” you said, “I’m gonna hit the hay, let you guys catch up.”

“Alright,” Steve set his bowl down on the small square table beside him.

“Night,” Bucky said, his first word to you, “sweet dreams.” His voice trailed after you and you felt both watching you as you pushed into the bedroom. You didn’t look back as the door clicked behind you.

You and Steve settled in easy to the meagre safehouse. There were missions you slept on concrete or in dirt so the dusty old mattress you shared wasn’t anything to gripe about. You changed into your plain grey sweats and your military issued matching tee. 

You dropped down onto the mattress and listened to the drone of the male tones through the wall. You stretched and rolled onto your side and closed your eyes. Hopefully he sent Bucky away by morning.

⭐

You grumbled and rolled over as the other side of the mattress shifted. You hid your face in the pillow as you hugged it with one arm. You tried to ignore Steve as he settled onto the flattened springs. You needed whatever rest you could force out of the short nights.

You went rigid as you felt his warmth against your back and his arm wrapped around your middle. You grabbed his wrist and froze. The vibranium was shockingly cool against your palm. Your eyes shot open as you were pulled flush against Bucky and Steve lowered himself on your other side.

“What the fuck are you doin--”

The vibranium fingers smothered your voice and you grunted in surprise at Steve’s nakedness. Your hand grazed against Bucky’s nude thigh and your heart began to pound. You reached for Bucky’s wrist again and Steve snatched away your arm and slung it over his shoulder.

You mumbled into the hand across your mouth and tried to push away from Bucky. You only served to brush his prodding excitement with your ass as your other hand beat against Steve’s chest. You tried to shake your head as the super soldier in front of you tugged at your loose pants.

You threw your head back and Bucky grunted and retracted his hand as you smashed your skull into his nose. You drew your hand from over Steve’s shoulder and punched him across the jaw. You pushed yourself up and tripped as Steve kept hold of the sweats and you fell at the foot of the bed.

You were tugged back as Bucky swore and flipped over as you reached for the end of the mattress. Steve peeled away your pants and you kicked out at him as the other soldier cradled his bloody nose. He spat a glob of saliva and blood onto the floor and got to his knees to help Steve wrangle you in.

They pinned your arms above your head as you kept kicking and flailing, snarling at them.

“What the fuck? Let me go?” you gritted.

“It didn’t have to be like this,” Bucky growled and sniffed as the blood trickled from his nostril, “I was nice and patient.”

“Steve,” you hissed at the blond, “you’re really gonna let him do this?”

“Him?” Steve’s jaw ticked, “Us.”

“What--” you grunted and fought harder, bringing a knee up far enough to catch Bucky’s ribs.

Both soldiers turned to grab your thighs and held you flat to the bed, gripping both wrist and legs. They looked at each other over your body and shared a conspiratorial moment.

“We should have sedated her,” Steve said.

“No, I want her to feel it when I fill her up,” Bucky scowled, “you got ties?”

Steve stared back a moment then nodded. They flipped you over and Bucky quickly straddled you as he twisted your arms back and held them to the middle of your back. Steve got up and disappeared through the open door.

“Why are you doing this?” you huffed.

“Why’d you lead me on?” Bucky snarled.

“I didn’t--”

“You didn’t,” he scoffed, “no you just flirted with me then laughed in my face.”

“That’s not what happened,” you wriggled and he squeezed you between his thick thighs.

“I wanted more than this but… you’re good stock, strong,” he fingers tightened painfully on your wrists, “all the genetic markers for a successful term.”

“What--”

“Shut up,” he stretched his fingers around both your wrists and freed a hand to pin your head down. Steve entered and you could only watch his feet as he neared. You closed your eyes as he got to his knees and Bucky helped him bind your wrists. “You got anything to gag her with?” the latter asked.

There was silence and you were lifted again and put on your back, your head between the pillows. You flung a leg up and it was caught easily. Your legs were forced down and your ankles held far apart. You opened your eyes and watched Bucky step between your legs as Steve kept your feet in place.

“Steve, don’t let him do this,” you begged, “please, whatever you’re thinking--”

Bucky dropped to his knees and his hand grasped your throat. He applied enough pressure to smother your voice.

“He’ll have his turn too,” Bucky wiped away the last of the blood from his nose with the back of his real hand then shoved it between your legs.

You gasped as he poked around impatiently. He moved closer and you felt his tip against you. Your hands throbbed as you laid atop them painfully and you whined through your tight throat. Steve’s hold on your didn’t waver as your legs tensed at Bucky’s violent intrusion.

He slammed into you so that your back arched and you pushed your shoulder down into the mattress. Your breath crackled in the air as his fingers squeezed firmer with each long thrust. The mattress shifted with his motion as he rutted into you.

He stretched his finger up your cheek and turned your head straight. He bent over you as his hips kept their pace. “Look at me,” he rasped and your eyes met his stormy one, “that’s it, I want you to look at me as I fill you up.”

He fucked you harder and panted as you gasped past his grip on your neck. Your ankles were released but you could do nothing as Bucky brought his legs back under yours and pushed them wide. He leaned most of his weight on your throat as he rammed into you.

“I want you to… remember,” he said through thick breaths, “the moment I… fill you up…” he bared his teeth and thrust frantically, “the moment you… become a mother.”

His voice fizzled and he bent to rest his forehead against yours as he came. You whimpered as his hand slipped from your throat and he slowed his hips. You tried to move your wrists as your fingers throbbed painfully.

He sighed and lifted himself off of you. He slipped out and you winced at the warmth leaking from your cunt. You couldn’t look at them as their figures moved at the edge of your vision.

You were flipped over again. Weak, your resistance was met with a sharp slap to the back of the head. You lifted to your knees and Bucky stood in front of you as Steve got behind you on the mattress, his legs between yours as he gripped your hip.

Bucky stroked his dick as he gazed down at you. He shivered with the overstimulation but barely softened as he kept on. Steve angled himself past your ass and squeezed until you tilted your hips. He slid into you and groaned as he reached his limit.

“Ah, please,” you lowered your head and Bucky caught your chin.

He shushed you and pressed his tip to your lips as Steve began to rock cautiously behind you. Bucky pushed past your lips and sank down your throat as he forced your head back. Steve’s hot breaths grew ragged as a sharp clap came with each deliberate thrust.

“You take him so well, just not as good as you take me,” Bucky purred as he glided in and out of your mouth, your spit dripping down your chin and smeared around your mouth. He grabbed your head between both hands and rubbed your cheekbones with his thumbs as he moaned in delight, “fuck, I hate to waste it on your mouth,” he rasped, “better fill her up good, Steve.”

The man behind you seemed enlivened by his name. His hand went to your neck and he felt Bucky inside of you. Steve crashed into your harder and faster, the noise of wet cunt around him added to the steady slapping of skin. Your eyes rolled back as you struggled to breath and your body struggled to adjust to the constant barrage.

You almost choked as Bucky emptied himself down your throat and coughed as he pulled out. He let you fall forward onto your face as Steve kept his rampant pace. Your cunt thrummed around him and your entire body ached as he reached his peak. He slammed you back and held you there as he came in a fit of spasms.

Steve hummed and tickled your ass as Bucky lifted your head and poked his thumb into your mouth. The soldier in front of you helped push you up as Steve sat back and you were held in his lap, completely full with him.

“Got your story straight?” Bucky asked as Steve began to move you again.

“Think so,” Steve panted and Bucky rolled your tee shirt up and hooked it behind your head. He bent and played with your chest as Steve fucked you from below.

“She went missing, right? You got that intel but she was gone. You called me to help find her,” Bucky paused and teased your nipple between his teeth, “got it?”

“Got it,” Steve leaned back and groaned as he moved you in his lap.

“Don’t…” you begged in a desperate whisper.

“We’ll take care of you,” Bucky trailed his nose between your tits, “for the baby’s sake.”

⭐⭐⭐

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[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Ink on his heart

Summary: Here’s how Bucky Barnes got a haircut and then decided it was about damn time he controlled his own destiny - starting with a bit of ink. 

Star Spangled Bingo Square: “A thoughtful gift”

Characters: Bucky Barnes x TattooArtist!Reader

Words: 7,400 Warnings: Tattoo experiences, a couple stories about war. Some swearing. Mostly lots of feels and fluff.

A/N: This one has been in my head a long time, I love tattoos and I love the idea of Bucky getting them! While I desperately wish I could draw the designs in my head, hopefully you get enough of a word picture to imagine. And yes, it is kinda long (I know, I know), but I couldn’t stop myself! 

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

Not that Bucky’s counting, but it’s been three days, 18 hours and 26 minutes and he can’t get over it.

In the damp, chilly hours before dawn, he sits on the floor of the tower living room, watching the marshmallows in his hot chocolate melt in white swirls. Now and then, he lifts his eyes to the windows, finds the faint edges of his reflection in the dark glass, and tilts his head. Tentative fingers scratch through close cropped hair and a slow smile appears. Even now, he expects long strands trailing through his fingers. Believes he can feel the phantom tug of a snarl.

It was just a haircut. What a simple, ordinary thing.  

But Bucky Barnes has never been ordinary.

That small act triggered a startling transformation. Decades of heartbreak fell away with that dark hair, revealing the shape of a man he begins to remember, and it makes him think. About small things, about change. About simple acts making an extraordinary difference.

The last haircut Bucky remembers before the beginning of his first ending, was January 1945. The memory came back one evening, of a tent in Austria, the heavy silence of snow drifting down. He remembers Steve with a dull scissors, snipping carefully along his ear, remembers the catch of a knife gently shaving his neck. It was a ritual they shared for years. When pennies were tight and life was tough, they took care of each other.

And then? Then there was after.

After the fall, after capture, after the world went pear-shaped. Hydra wasn’t concerned with the formalities of self-care, a haircut was functional. Sharp scissors biting into his scalp, rough hands tearing his hair, a harsh slap if he considered resisting. Get it done and get it done fast. The Asset has work to do.

He despised those haircuts.

But now, here he is. No more handlers and horrors. No more running. No more hiding. No more ropes dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Wresting back his independence was exhilarating.

When Steve had finished this haircut - because Bucky still preferred a Steve Rogers special to anything - he’d dusted off Bucky’s shoulders and waited. Sam stood behind him, and Bucky rolled his eyes, expecting a barrage of sassy comments.

But Sam just ruffled the freshly cut hair and laughed.

“Not bad old man. Still not as handsome as yours truly, but hey - maybe someday.”

Such a simple thing, a haircut.

It makes him wonder what else he might do, just for himself.      

Fuzzy and disconnected, an old memory flickers to life. It buzzes in his brain, images and connections filtering through the cracks and Bucky lets out a breathless laugh.

“Yeah,” he murmurs to himself. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes and sips his hot chocolate.

*****

Steve yawns when he answers the door. Blond hair spikes in every direction and he rubs his eyes, looking for all the world like a sleepy, overgrown toddler.

“Hey, man. Everything okay?”

Bucky leans against the doorframe and chews his thumbnail while he gathers his thoughts.

“Sure, just - can I get a favor?”

Bemused, Steve ushers him inside and Bucky plops in the red bean bag chair Steve keeps tucked beside his dresser. Stretching out his legs, he waits for Steve to flop back into bed and snuggle his pillow, before he speaks.

“Remember back in ’37 when we were coming home from that shitty bar in Midtown, and we saw that sailor getting a tattoo?”

Whatever Steve expected, it wasn’t this. It takes him a moment to conjure the image, but when it comes he belts out a laugh.

“That terrified kid gettin’ a big heart on his arm? Looked ready to shit his pants?”

Bucky grins at the memory, a milk-faced kid with hair dark and shiny as an oil-slick.  

“Thought he was gonna puke on the guy.”

“Yeah, and didn’t we stand outside that window arguing while you tried to convince me we both needed one? Something about good girls liking bad boys?”  

“Hey, I stand by that statement!”

“Oh fuck off, you know exactly what your Ma would’ve said if we’d come home with tattoos.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckles. “God, she’d a skinned me alive.”

“Damn straight,” Steve agrees and they fall quiet, momentarily lost in shared memories of a woman with a voice of steel and a heart of gold.

Bucky leans forward and rests his chin on his knee.

“You know, all these years and I’ve never really - done anything like that,” he admits wistfully. “Gotten something done to me, I mean. Something I decided on my own. If that makes sense?”

Controlling his own destiny, choosing to do something by himself, instead of always accepting things done to him - the idea is intoxicating. He remembers the pained grimace on that sailor’s face and he relishes the prospect.

Pain you choose to feel holds a different meaning, than the torture he knows.

“S’never too late, Buck,” Steve says drowsily. “You can do anything you want.”

Bucky contemplates Steve’s words. He can do anything he wants. Heart beating fast, he takes a deep breath.

“So listen, I was thinking -”

*****

For two straight weeks, Steve works on ideas.

The floor of his bedroom is littered with sketches and concepts, crumpled sheets of paper dappled with flowing lines. Finally, after midnight on a dreary Thursday, he knocks on Bucky’s door. The moment it opens, he shoves his tattered leather portfolio in Bucky’s hands.

“So, I guess, uh - here.”

Steve crosses his arms, his toe tapping nervously, and Bucky chokes down a laugh. Some things about Steve Rogers remain comfortingly unchanged. No matter how incredible his work, all confidence seems to evaporate the moment Bucky lays eyes on anything.

—

“Give it back asshole!”

“God dammit Steve, YOU’RE the one who asked me to look!”

“Yeah well, I changed my mind, now give it back!”

—

Bucky remembers laughing while Steve chased him around their apartment. He remembers the neighbors banging on the wall, shouting at them to shut up, and he remembers the smell of their forgotten scrambled eggs burning. But most of all, he remembers that drawing - he tucked that portrait of his mother in his rucksack the day he shipped out and it stayed there, a good luck charm all through the war.

Steve had cried when Bucky told him.

Because Bucky’s opinion was always the one that mattered. Seventy years changes nothing.

Tonight, he opens the leather case, revealing three separate drawings. Outlines of black ink and a rainbow of colors paint over the curves and breaks of a human form and he pores over each page. Each drawing is utterly unique, telling the story of Bucky Barnes in metaphors and moments.    

There are no words.

His throat feels suddenly thick, cotton lodged in his windpipe.

“I can redo them,” Steve blurts out. He snatches at the paper, but Bucky spins sideways, blocking the reach.

“The fuck you will. You ain’t touching these,” his voice cracks. Blinking back the flood of emotion, he looks up. “This is - they’re perfect, Steve. Thank you.”

Steve blushes petal pink and coughs to hide his delight. He fails miserably, of course, but that’s one more reason Bucky loves the little punk.

*****

One week later, Bucky stands before a demure brick storefront on a slow Brooklyn side street, the portfolio housing Steve’s three precious drawings clutched tight in a sweaty hand. Glancing at the address in his hand, he looks up to find stenciled letters curving across a glass window.

BROOKLYN INK ESTABLISHED 1973

“Here we go,” he mutters. Before he can lose his nerve, he shoves forward.

Three steps inside the tattoo parlor, he pulls up short.

Wow.

Black iron chandeliers hang from the ceiling, splashing sparkles across plush velvet chairs, rich violet and bright turquoise. The floor is an eclectic mix of reclaimed barn board, full of knots and whorls in every shade of brown. Artwork in black and white frames line the brick wall, tattoo designs, letters and fonts, photos of finished work. The entire space overflows with warmth, and Bucky feels instantly at ease.  

The front desk is empty, but he hears someone rattling around back, so he takes a seat. Piled high on an end table are bundles of photo albums, full of work; he sinks into the cushions and starts flipping through.  

Immersed in the images, he misses the sound of quiet footsteps.

“Are you James?”

The voice startles him and in one swift move, he manages to throw the album on the floor and tumble from the chair. Pages of photographs spill everywhere and he crawls over, hastily scooping them up and babbling one inappropriate apology after another.

“Shit! Sorry, I’m sorry! Shit, I mean I’m sorry for saying shit. Fuck, I didn’t - oh my god, I’m sorry, I’m not usually so - ”

Soft laughter greets him and he looks up in panic, a more refined apology on his lips, but the words evaporate.

Crouching beside him, graceful hands gather up the mess of photos, slipping them back into the album. Dropping it carelessly on the end table, she bounces back to her feet and offers him a hand.

“No worries,” she says with a breathtaking smile. “I shouldn’t have startled you.”

Although he has no need for the support, Bucky reaches mutely for her outstretched fingers because he can’t help but take them. When she tugs, he allows her to pull him up.  

“I’m, um - Bucky. Please, call me Bucky.”

“Hello Bucky,” she says. She shares her name and he repeats it slowly. Clearing his throat, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks for meeting me so late, I know it’s after hours.”

“Sure,” she says lightly. “So, what can I do for you?”

This is the tricky part.

“On the website, it mentioned you had experience with - with tattooing around scars,” he begins carefully. “Scar tissue I mean. Is that right?”

With his question, her expressions turns serious. She observes him for a long moment.

“Yes, I do. Can I ask how long you served?” she asks delicately and Bucky acknowledges her perception with a short nod. He toys with the zipper on Steve’s portfolio, debating his response.

“Seemed like forever,” he finally says, and it’s the most honest answer he has.

Nodding silently, she motions him behind the counter.

“Come on back, let’s see what you had in mind.”

Hugging the pictures to his chest, Bucky follows, eyes saucer wide as they weave through the work area to her space. The shop smells like the woodsy smoke from the candles sitting along her table, mixed with ink and latex and an odd sterile tang. He inhales and discovers he likes it, the strange scent lighting him up.  

Dropping to her stool, she gestures for him to have a seat. Bucky sits gingerly, wide eyes still staring. When she catches his eye, he flushes.

“Sorry. First time I’ve been in a shop.”

“That’s okay, there’s lots to see,” she says easily. Looking at the portfolio still clutched against his chest, she grins. “Did you have some ideas already?”

He thrusts the portfolio at her. Propping it on her knees, she flips it open and he beams when he hears her astonished gasp.

“I like the colors there, if you think they’re possible?”

“Sure, might take some extra time, but I can do it,” she murmurs, pinching her lip. Turning the page sideways, she examines every minute detail, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is exquisite.”  

“I’ll tell my artist. He’s a real diva sometimes.”

“I’d say he’s earned that right,” she laughs, tracing the paper with a light finger. She flips to the second picture and tilts her head. “The grays and silvers might look nice with midnight blue for contrast?”

Bucky nods eagerly. “Yeah, I love that idea.”

She looks again, examining the intricate design.

“Can you tell me about your pain tolerance? The designs are beautiful, but they’re complex. Each will take multiple sessions to finish.”

Bucky drops his eyes. He heaves a sigh at the obligatory question.

“It’s high,” he mutters. “Very - high.”

Silence follows his admission. When he dares to look up again, he feels a twinge in his chest at the compassion he finds. He offers a rueful smile and she slowly returns it.

“Would you like to come after hours? It can get noisy during the day, if you prefer things quieter. Most soldiers like that better.”

There is a sweep of relief at her casual acknowledgement. He huffs out a shaky breath.

“That would be great. If you don’t mind, I mean.”

“Not at all. I’m a night owl anyway.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “Me too.”

She looks back to the portfolio, carefully shuffling the pages.

The third picture appears.

And Bucky sees it, that precise moment when realization sinks in. When she realizes exactly who is sitting in her chair tonight. There is no doubt the drawing gives that fact away. Heart pounding, he flinches, steeling himself for the inevitable.

But nothing happens.

She meets his nervous gaze head on and yet - that gentle smile remains.

“Bucky,” she repeats and this time she understands. “Oh. It’s nice to meet you, Bucky Barnes. Come back tomorrow night, 9pm. Don’t be late.”

He leaves the tattoo shop feeling lighter than he has in years.

*****

TATTOO 1: FOREARM

“Show me a man with a tattoo and I’ll show you a man with an interesting past.” - Jack London

*****

Perpetually early for everything, Bucky arrives at 8:45pm the next night.

The bell over the door tinkles when he enters, and she looks up from the front desk and waves. His stomach unexpectedly leaps and he thinks it must be nerves.

“Hey, Bucky,” her voice is soft.

“Evening,” he says shyly.  

“You ready to do this?”

“Could hardly sleep last night,” he confesses with a grin.

Sliding timidly into her black leather chair, he watches her arrange tools on a shiny silver tray. An arm rest is attached to his right side, and he dries his sweaty palm on his jeans before easing his arm onto the cushion, palm up. When she drops onto her stool at his side, he offers a weak smile.  

“You got the email I sent with all the information, right? Did you have any questions?”

He scrunches his nose, recalling the long, detailed summary she shared. For each of the three tattoos he requested, she gave him a detailed analysis of the process for creating each design; broke down how long each session would take; gave explicit instructions on the healing and care process; confirmed each individual color and how it would be applied; clarified the tools that would be used, including their brand names and how each one worked; she even provided floor plans of her shop - outlining entries and exits and bathrooms and locations of fire extinguishers.

It was a novel of information that must’ve taken her hours, and he was inexplicably grateful for the time she spent just to make him comfortable.

“No questions, I just, uh - thanks. For putting all that together. It was helpful to have all the information. Helps me keep my head on straight.”

“Of course,” she says. “So this first design should take probably 5-6 hours. Since you’re new, we’ll start with short blocks and see how it goes.”

Bucky gives a jerky nod and she pauses, pressing her fingertips against the smooth skin of his forearm.

“Here are the rules. You’re in charge, okay? We can go as fast or as slow as you need. This is not a race, and I have nowhere to be but here. Any time you want to stop, you say the word and I stop. We can take a breather, grab a cup of coffee and start again - or we can call it a night. This is your experience, Bucky. You’re in control. Understand?”

There is a fierce surge of gratitude at her words. Gratitude for her kindness, for her acceptance. Gratitude for her.

“Got it,” he whispers.

And with that, they begin.

Bucky follows each step, while she measures his arm, while she considers the contours and angles of his muscle, while she cleans and preps his skin. When she finally applies a stencil, his heart is hammering so hard his teeth are chattering.

The low buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears with a click.

When the needles touch his skin, sweat instantly beads his neck. Adrenaline drenches his tongue and for one wild moment, Bucky panics. Wonders if this was a terrible idea, because what idiot asks for pain, seriously Barnes, what the hell is wrong with you, why’re you so stupid all the -

And then - oh.

Huh.

Interesting.

Wide-eyed, Bucky follows her careful strokes, black lines appearing on his skin.

It does hurt - sort of. Obviously nothing he can’t handle; in the grand scheme of his life, this would register as a minor inconvenience, but there is a pinch.

But that spark of pain vanishes, when the raw symbolism behind Steve’s design hits him full force.

Holy shit.

How many times through the decades did Bucky Barnes die? And how many times did he rise, born again from the frozen ash of oblivion? It was simply what the Soldier did. But it was a shadow-life, nothing more. Bucky never knew how close he was to giving up, until that day above the Potomac, Steve’s bloody face beneath his furious fists. He was so far gone, so lost and forgotten, until those memories cracked the Soldier’s fierce veneer.

And suddenly he was Bucky again. Awake and alive. For the first time in 70 years he felt fire in his soul. For the first time in 70 years he could breathe.

Tears inexplicably fill his eyes.    

“All okay?”

Through a tunnel, Bucky hears her voice. Hypnotized by the metaphor inking itself into his skin, his head feels waterlogged when blinks up at her.

“Sorry?”

She scans his face, her thumb rubbing the pulse thrumming at his wrist.

“Everything okay?” She asks again and Bucky feels a potent rush of euphoria.

“Yes,” he says slowly. The excitement bubbles over and he lets out an ecstatic laugh. “Yes! This is incredible. This is - fucking hell, this is amazing.”

Chuckling to herself, she bends back to her task.

“So I guess we’ll keep going?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Yeah, let’s keep going.”

Two hours later, the outline of the Phoenix is inked into his skin, crisp black lines like fresh paint. Long tail feathers are curled around his wrist, the lush feathered body splashed over his forearm, her wings spread open and curving around his arm, her head reaching toward the sky.

Born from ash. Alive again.

Bucky hates to cover it up, but she insists.

“Follow the cleaning instructions and it should be fine. We need to wait between the sessions, give you time to heal.”

At that comment, he fidgets.

“Actually, I heal pretty - fast.”

“I assumed you might. Usually I say 2-3 weeks between sessions, so how about you come back in 1 week and we can see. Let’s just make sure. Does that work?”

Bucky glances at the crisp white bandage on his arm.

“Okay, that works,” he says.

She squeezes his hand and he meets her eyes.

“You did great,” she tells him.

Bucky smiles in return. And he doesn’t stop for the next six days.

*****

When he walks into the shop for his next session, he carries a large coffee for himself and an extra large iced peach green tea for her. When he gets to the front desk, he thrusts the cup at her.  

“Evening. Um, here. Saw you had one last time, so - anyway.”

“Bucky, thank you. I’ve been craving one all day.” She gives the straw an experimental bite, before taking a long drink and for some reason, the silly quirk makes his heart bounce.

After a quick check on how he’s healed, she declares him perfect and they get started, settling into a comfortable silence. After an hour of buzzing, Bucky clears his throat.

“Is it okay to talk while you work?”

“It is,” she affirms, dabbing at the ink. Glancing up, she sees hesitant blue eyes. “I’m good at listening too. Sometimes it’s nice just to listen.”  

Bucky figures that’s a fair statement. He fiddles with a stray thread on his shirt.

“Do you read much?” He asks hopefully, picturing the teetering stack of books beside his bed. She perks at the question.

“I love to read. Have a pile of books on my nightstand waiting for me to find time. What about you? Are you reading anything good now? Any favorites I should know?”

Bucky swallows the happy surprise. If he could, he’d be content to spend the rest of his years with a comfortable chair, a cup of coffee, and an unending supply of stories. He could talk about books for days, he just normally keeps quiet, because most people aren’t interested in that facet of Bucky Barnes.

So he begins to talk.

He tells her how Natasha lent him all her Russian copies of Pushkin and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky, insisting that reading in the original language was infinitely better. He describes how he found a copy of Rumi’s poetry at a yard sale, and what an incredible treasure it was. He flusters recounting how much he cried reading ‘A Fault in our Stars’ and says he was scared shitless to even see a clown for a full year after reading Stephen King.    

He talks and talks and talks, and when he finally stops to breathe, she glances up.

“It’s nice to hear a man who’s so well read,” she says and Bucky preens at the compliment. “Do you have an all time favorite? Something you never get tired of?”

A favorite? No question.

“Yeah, I do. Something I read during the war and kinda fell in love. It’s about here, I guess. About Brooklyn.”

At the description, her mouth quirks, but she keeps working.

“Did you ever think about a book quote for a tattoo?”

Now there’s an idea. He makes a mental note to think of a quote he could add as another tattoo. Or maybe another couple tattoos. Hell, one session in and he’s already addicted.  

The comment tumbles free before he realizes he’s spoken out loud. He blushes at her laughter.

“It can be addicting,” she agrees. Bucky understands completely, seeing the vibrant crimson ink soak into his skin, painting the bird’s feathers. And then she pauses, meeting his eyes with a peculiar expression. “The right words can make you feel invincible.”

Setting the tattoo machine down, she rolls her chair back a bit and sits up straight. Lifting the hem of her shirt, Bucky sees a line of gold text inked below her ribs, his eyes following the flowing cursive.

“She was all of these things and of something more,” he reads aloud.

“‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’ is my favorite book too,” she says quietly. There is a long, unbroken moment where they stare into each others eyes. He should say something, he thinks. Something intelligent or witty or anything, but instead he just thinks about the fact that he found a woman in Brooklyn to permanently carve pictures into his skin and she has the same favorite book as him.

Bucky always was a sucker for fate.

“That’s - that’s really - I love that,” he finally says instead.

*****

A week later, Bucky arrives with a bundle of folders and an exasperated expression.

“This is really annoying, but do you mind if I finish some reports while you work? Got behind, someone’s gonna have my ass.” Bucky raises the papers apologetically.

“No problem,” she says easily. “Let’s keep your ass safe.”

Bending back to her task, Bucky snorts a laugh. They’re just a handful of mission reports, normally he types them soon as he returns, but lately he’s been slacking, because lately he has other things he finds more interesting.

Like the scene in front of him.

Together they work, each with their own pen. Bucky writes, she colors, and the clock on the wall ticks along. After awhile, she takes a break to stretch. Rolling her shoulders, she observes him.

“Are you left-handed?” she asks curiously and it takes Bucky a moment to think.

“Oh. Uh, not really,” he says. “But I can switch. Never been a problem.”

At the confession, she raises her eyebrows.

“That’s impressive. I wish I had a talent like that.”

He ducks his head at the praise. And he keeps writing, of course. Maybe adds a bit more flair. After all, the old Bucky Barnes did like to swagger.    

*****

“Well, I think that’s it.”

It takes a beat before Bucky understands what she means. Confused, he peers up at her with a dopey expression and she gestures at his arm.

He feels his heart lurch.

It flames to life along his arm, painted in vibrant ruby red and rich crimson and deep plum, highlights edged in shining gold. Mesmerized, Bucky stares down at the lines of ink and he flexes, the tendons of his arm shifting, and the bird moves. For one wild moment, he believes if he stays still, it could leap from his skin and take flight.  

It leaves him breathless.

“God, this is better - fuck, it’s so much better - than I ever imagined. How did you - wow. I don’t know how you did it, but - thank you. Thank you so much.”

Unanticipated emotion makes his voice tremble. Because this is the first time Bucky Barnes chose something permanent for himself. Serums and metal arms and bullets and blades, those were always forced upon him, his pleading refusals met with violence and sneering indifference.

But this?

This.

This.

This is all his.

*****

TATTOO 2: BACK

“Wear your heart on your sleeve in this life.” - Sylvia Plath

*****

“So, uh, how exactly does this work?”

Standing beside the leather chair while she organizes her inks, Bucky wrinkles his nose. She looks up and motions for him to turn, straddling the chair with his chest pressed against the back.

“Are you comfortable completely removing your shirt? Or would you prefer to leave it part way on? I’ll just need it out of the way for the right side of your back.”

Bucky grimaces. Eventually she’s going to see his shoulder - he knows that - but he’s not in the mood to rip that band-aid off yet.  

“Uh - let’s do part of the way if that’s okay?”

“That’s okay,” she confirms and he awkwardly tugs his right arm free, baring the broad expanse of his back. Tucking his arms in front of him, he slings a leg over the chair and rests his chin carefully on the headrest.

He says nothing, simply stays still while she absorbs the sight. Littered up and down his back are a litany of scars, puckers from the occasional bullet, thin lines from errant blades, and a few other marks he prefers not to define. His voice is muffled when he warily asks.

“Are you able to - work with it?“    

“Absolutely,” she answers firmly and Bucky warms at the decisiveness in her tone. Her confidence makes him feel infinitely more positive.

This is the largest of his three tattoos, stretching from the tip of his shoulder blade and flowing down to his waist. It will also take the longest, but Bucky assures her he has no issue sitting perfectly still for hours.

It’ll be worth it. He can’t wait to show Sam - he’ll get a kick out of this one.

Once she applies the stencil over his skin, she goes to work, dropping into that headspace of deep focus. She works so quietly for so long, he falls into a trance, lulled by the melodic buzz.

When she speaks, it startles him.

“What made you decide you wanted a tattoo?”

He lays his cheek along the edge of the chair so he can see her from the corner of his eye when he answers.

“S’random, but back in ’37, me and Steve were out and I remember walking by this old tattoo shop over in Midtown. They had one of those big glass windows with the chair in front, so people could stand and watch. Anyway, we walk by and there was this kid sitting in the chair, and no fuckin’ joke, he was getting a big heart on his arm with ‘MOM’ written in the middle.”

“Ah yes, the ever popular ‘mom’ tribute. I’ve done a few of those,” she says and Bucky grins.

“Well anyway, I always kinda wanted something, you know? Thought about getting one before I shipped out, but I didn’t, and then it was - “ he pauses for a moment, but she encourages him with a questioning hmmm? and Bucky bravely pushes forward. “I had lots of years where I didn’t get to make my own decisions. And there was so much - bad shit that happened to me. Anyway, I guess I thought if someone’s gonna do something to me, I wanted it to be on my own terms. You know?”

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “I think that makes perfect sense.”

Bucky sits quietly, contemplating. The question has been rattling around his brain for awhile and it spills free before he can stop himself. 

“The whole process, it feels sort of  - intimate, doesn’t it?”

He flushes at the insinuation, but intimate is the best way to describe it, he thinks, this practice of someone permanently carving their art into your skin.

“It is intimate,” she says softly, leaning closer. “It’s almost like you’re - leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin? I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s what it’s always felt like.”

Bucky nods, watching her capable, artistic, beautiful hands as they move, slowly transferring bits and pieces of herself to him.

What a gift. He holds on tight.

*****

It was bound to happen at one of the sessions.

It’s been dark and rainy for days, buckets dumped from the heavens, the perpetual grumble of thunder always near. When Bucky comes through the front door, he feels like a wet dog. He shakes out his jacket, stomps his boots. He feels off base tonight, the result of bad sleep, bad dreams, and one particularly bad mission. He’s frustrated with himself for bringing it with him, thinks maybe he should’ve cancelled, but the thought of skipping his session - both the ink and her - was too depressing.

So instead of holing up in his room and moping under the covers, he braved the storm.

The one inside and out.

Searching for calm, he licks chapped lips.

“Hey,” he says, cringing when his voice cracks.

“Hey, Buck,” she turns cheerfully, but when she sees him squinting at her through the droplets cascading down his face, his shoulders hunched and tense, she stops. Looks him up and down and her expression softens. Beckoning him back, she digs up a towel and a dry t-shirt with ‘BROOKLYN INK’ stamped across the front, ushering him to the bathroom.

“Take all the time you need. No rush.”

Bucky mumbles his thanks and shuts the door. Gripping the sink, he glares at the mirror, at the smudge of dark beneath his eyes, at the clench of his jaw. Closing his eyes, he breathes slow and deep.

“You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He repeats the mantra, determined to settle. He’s been eager for this session all week, he’s sure as hell not ruining it because he can’t get his idiot brain to stop spinning.

When he finally emerges, he finds her arranging her work space. Halting in front of her, he keeps trembling hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes downcast.

“I’m afraid I’m poor company tonight,” he admits quietly.

“That’s okay. We can reschedule, Bucky,” she says softly and Bucky feels the disconcerting sting of tears. He rubs the heel of his hand against watery eyes.  

“If it’s okay, I’d - I’d rather go ahead. Been looking forward to seeing you - uh, seeing you work, all week. It was just - “ he pauses and fights the temptation to spill his guts. No, he snarls internally, she doesn’t need to hear all your shit.

He clamps his mouth shut and shrugs instead.

She says nothing, but when she gives his hand a comforting squeeze, Bucky feels that familiar surge of gratitude. She guides him carefully toward the chair and he slumps into the seat, automatically tugging up his new shirt.  

“Just close your eyes and breath. You’re okay.”

Bucky rests his chin on the edge of the chair. Troubled eyes flutter shut, and the comforting buzz of the tattoo machine fills his ears, muting the sound of the storm raging outside. When he feels the prick of the needles, he lets out a weary breath. And when he feels the easy pressure of her fingers, he begins to relax.

For hours, she works. Firm strokes, painting the story across his skin.

The dark night begins to fade before she finally sets her tools aside. When he climbs to his feet, she pulls him into a gentle hug.    

Bucky sinks into her arms.

That morning, the sun begins to shine.

*****

Bucky’s been sitting for a couple hours now, eyeing the brick wall behind the chair. A question pops into his head and he feels like a jerk for not asking sooner.

“Hey - all these hours together, and I never asked you - what made you want to draw on people for a living?”

She hums at the question, and he can hear the happiness in her reply.

“Well, I always wanted to be an artist. For my eleventh birthday, my best friend Mike gave me this set of gel pens, there were a million colors. When I told him I wanted to be a tattoo artist, he let me draw pictures all over him for practice. He insisted on being the first person I inked, once I got my license. Would always tell people he was the ‘original canvas’ for my brilliance.”

When she laughs, Bucky chuckles with her; it reminds him of Steve.

“Sounds like a good man,” he says.

“Yeah, he is - he was,” she quietly corrects herself. “He was an EOD specialist in Afghanistan. Right before he left for his last tour, I drew up plans for the arm sleeve he always wanted; he planned to get it when he finished. A month later, he was in a convoy that was moving through the Gereshk Valley in the Helmand Province, when an IED hit his vehicle. He didn’t make it home.”

The story hits home like a kick in the face.

Too many soldiers, too many lives. Bucky reaches back to still her hand. He slowly turns to face her, gently tugging the tattoo machine free and setting it aside. Wordlessly, he offers his hand and she accepts it gratefully, weaving her fingers through his. It takes a few attempts before she speaks again.  

“It took me a long time to get through that. One day I met a friend working down at the VA, and I heard a vet talking about the scars on his legs. He sounded so - sad about them, you know? Kept saying he didn’t recognize himself anymore. And I just stood there thinking, maybe I couldn’t help Mike, but I could still do something.” Staring resolutely down, she considers her fingers still entangled with Bucky’s. “I did some research and took some classes and - learned how to tattoo on scar tissue.”

Bucky gazes at her. He feels a sweep of pride at the way she turned her tragedy into something beautiful.

“I’m so sorry that happened,” he says and she finally looks up, meeting blue eyes bright with compassion. “But you should know, what you’re doing for people, it’s incredible. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think he’d be real god damn proud of you.”

A tear slips down her cheek and she ducks her head, her whisper so low he nearly misses it.

“Thank you Bucky.”

*****

Hours later, Bucky hears a clatter of tools and her huff of relief.

“All done.”

Wiping her hands, she pops excitedly up from the stool and Bucky pushes back from the chair to follow. Without a thought, she grabs his metal hand, tugging him impatiently over to a set of floor length mirrors along the wall. Bucky grips tight and obediently follows, his pulse racing. When she positions him at the mirror, she adjusts the panels so he can see himself from all angles.

“There, have a look.”

Along his spine, the single metal wing bursts free, so intensely realistic, Bucky’s jaw drops. It arches gracefully up, curving over his shoulder blade and sweeping down his back, razor sharp feathers tickling his rib cage before billowing out above his waist. Made from silvers and grays and shaded hints of midnight blue, it glows in the light. When Bucky reaches toward the sky, the muscles shift beneath the ink and it creates the strangest sensation of feathers unfolding.  

All the scars littering his back, a flesh and bone patchwork of memories left by vicious handlers and fights too close for comfort, have disappeared. Blending into the steel of his new wing, their only purpose is to strengthen the image.

After all this time, he’s come to terms with the metal arm so unwillingly gifted all those years ago. But it’s remained a relic of a past life, something heavy, to drag him down.

But now, he rolls his shoulder back and his new metal wing lifts him higher than he’s felt in a long, long time.

*****

TATTOO 3: SHOULDER

“I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.” - Haruki Murakami

*****

“So our last session.”

“Our last session,” he murmurs.

Bucky thinks for a moment that she seems glum, but maybe that’s wishful thinking.

“This is a tough one,” she warns, “but I think we can do it in one session. I won’t try and cover them up, it won’t work. The best solution is to incorporate your scars into the design. Make sense?”

Bucky pictures the pattern Steve drew, bright green leaves and vines tracing the seam of his arm, melding with the thick ribbons of raised tissue. It doesn’t matter, but he timidly asks anyway.

“Will it hurt?”

“No,” she says gently. Pressing her hand to his galloping heart, she shakes her head. “It won’t hurt much there, but you need to tell me if it hurts here. You need to tell me if I should stop. Remember, you’re in charge, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers.

Steeling himself, he whips off his shirt, balling it up in nervous hands. The cool air blowing through the shop is a relief for his overheated body.

“Do you mind if I feel the skin here? So I can make sure I approach it right?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Bucky mumbles. Staring at his hands, he waits.

Leaning close, her fingers brush over him, feeling the lines and ridges, assessing the canvas. For ten minutes, she tests his skin, lightly pushing and pressing, observing the scars and bumps where metal meets man.  

“Does it still hurt?”

She doesn’t want to ask, but needs to know what she’s working with. With a grim smile, he shrugs.

“Not really. Aches sometimes, but doesn’t hurt. Can’t feel much there besides some pressure.”

Nodding, she pinches her lip. “I was thinking last night, um - would you want to add anything else into the design? Nothing big, but a few flowers? Some daisies maybe?”

“Sure, I’d like that. Any reason for daisies?” Bucky asks curiously.

Pulling out a few additional bottles of ink, she absently touches the necklace at her throat, and Bucky sees a silver daisy spinning.

“Daisies represent new beginnings. Thought it might be a nice way to end, if you like?”

Does he like it? The idea of having this small thing in common?

Hell yes he likes it.

Maybe - maybe he even more than likes it?

“Yeah. That sounds perfect,” he says softly. He swallows hard and she nods encouragingly.

“Okay. Remember - stop me if you need a break.”

This one, Bucky knows will be hard. It was the reason he left it to the end - the mental fortitude required here is much different.

As she begins, he contemplates the pink furrows gouged into his skin. The memory of how they got there flashes before him, a sick image of shredded skin raked bloody beneath his blunt fingernails. Faint screams of a past life echo in his ears, the smokey cry of his own voice desperate for relief from the pain.

Cold sweat slides down his face and he slams his eyes shut, but that seems to make it worse. The images glow technicolor bright, and he grunts a frustrated breath.

And then, through the thin latex of her glove, he feels her cool hand press against his pounding heart. Cracking an eye open, he finds her calm face and he focuses on her, until his breathing begins to ease. Blinking rapidly, he drinks in the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the beauty of her eyes.

His heart stutters, stunning him into a different kind of breathless.

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, wide eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m okay. You can keep going.”

When she bends back to her task, Bucky melts. It occurs to him, that perhaps if she might let him, he could be content watching her forever.

But for tonight, this forever lasts only a few hours before she’s done.

And there it is.

Shades of green line his shoulder, the vines curling and winding around his scars, blending them seamlessly into the foliage covering his skin. Spidering vines trail across his chest, and it seems incompatible in a way, something alive bursting from the stark metal, but the leaves look so real, he swears they flutter with each breath he takes. Strewn throughout the greenery, small splotches of yellow and white reveal her daisies and he sucks in a breath.

For the first time in his life, Bucky stares at his scars and a foreign word comes to mind, one he never, ever thought to use.

“Beautiful,” he breathes. “They’re beautiful.”

*****

And so, after 3 months and 30 hours together, they were done.

Hands in his pockets, Bucky gazes at her. Ink on her hands, ink on his heart. It hits him then, this is it. They shuffle, making small talk, neither ready to say goodbye.

“Promise you’ll come back if you decide on anything else. Tattoos, piercings, anything,” she teases and Bucky laughs.

“Told you, I might be a little addicted,” he admits, knowing full well he means to tattoos and to her. “Soon as I can think of a reason, I’ll be back.”

“I hope so,” she says. There is a brief moment where she seems to gather her courage and then she leans in to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re a work of art, Bucky, but - you were before any of this. Remember that.”

Dazed, Bucky touches his cheek.

Indelible and perfect, the tattoo of her lips inks itself straight onto his heart.

*****

When she arrives at the shop the next day, there is a new sight sitting on the front desk.

Daisies, their white petals and yellow faces as fresh as the afternoon sunshine filtering through the window. Bemused, she looks around the bustling shop and spies the card propped beside the overflowing vase, her name scrawled across the front.

-

“When I got home, I stood in front of the mirror for hours, staring at your artwork. Every time I told myself to go to sleep, I found something new I loved. The tail feathers on my Phoenix or the petals of your daisies. What you’ve given me is more than I ever hoped - I can never thank you enough.

But anyway, I remembered what you said - how this kind of art is like leaving a piece of your soul under someone’s skin.

Well, I won’t lie - you must have done, because I miss you already.

So at the risk of being forward (although I did break into your shop and leave this, so maybe this won’t seem that forward), would you have dinner with me?  

I think there’s another new beginning waiting out there, if you’d like to find it with me.  

Yours,

Bucky”

-

At the bottom of the note, a phone number is printed.

Brushing her fingers over the delicate white petals, she pictures him, that dark haired man with eyes like blue ink, so heartbreakingly beautiful inside and out. She feels the unconscious pull of her heart, telling her all she needs to know.

A new beginning.

She says yes.

*****

[hb-writes]

Warmth

1920

Tommy didn't quite understand how his sister was fast asleep at a pub, but she had been at it for near to two hours. Clara usually woke at the slightest of interruptions—horse hooves on the cobblestone, sunlight intruding through parted curtains, nightmare-induced muttering through thin walls—but the shouts and music and laughter of the Garrison hadn't stirred her.

The pub had been more subdued for about half an hour now, just family and a small group of Blinders left to celebrate the final minutes of Polly Gray's birthday, but with John and Arthur drunk, and the Shelby siblings, minus Ada, all confined to the snug, one could hardly call it quiet. 

Still, Clara slept soundly. Tommy had barely noticed when she stopped participating in the conversation, her sentences gently shifting from her usual witty banter to single-worded answers before those became mere nods or hums of acknowledgment, and then nothing at all.

Clara had rested on her brother in some manner or another for most of that transition, her head leaned back on the arm he draped on the bench behind her, and then against his shoulder or chest. He had barely reacted when Clara repositioned herself after a long bout of silence, resting her head against his leg with her body stretched out down the bench, his coat tugged over for provisional use as a blanket.

A handful of people had offered to get the sleeping girl settled at home when they extended their own farewells—Uncle Charlie and Jeremiah said they could drop her on their way, and even John, drunk as he was, insisted that Esme could take her when she went back down to their house. And though Tommy would have trusted any of them with the task, each time he spared a glance down at his sleeping sister and simply waved them off.

Clara seemed comfortable enough, and Tommy had no place else to be. It wouldn't harm her any to sleep on the bench for a few hours, so Tommy let his sister be, their laughter and conversation unchanged in either volume or content as she slept beside them. They stayed that way until it neared midnight and Polly voiced a desire for the celebrations to be through, and for everyone to head home to their own beds. 

Arthur and John both voiced a preference for simply carrying on, with the lot of them continuing to drink and sleeping at the pub, but it was Polly’s day, and she decreed that the kids needed to get home, decreed that a pub was no place for a couple of twelve-year-olds to spend the night.

Tommy nodded at Polly when she said it, their silent agreement overriding the argument John and Arthur were still voicing about staying the night. Their feelings on the subject didn’t truly matter. John and Arthur would eventually slink off to their own homes, but Tommy still lived above the shop on Watery Lane. It would be him making sure the twins got into proper beds. It most often was. In a twist that would surprise most of Birmingham, Thomas Shelby was the one most often responsible for seeing to the basic welfare of his youngest siblings, if only because he was the most convenient custodian. 

He supposed Clara and Finn mostly looked after themselves by this point though, able to adequately prepare themselves a meal or find someone to feed them, able to do enough chores to help keep the household running without him or Polly doing much prompting. And they were both kept busy enough that they didn't have too much room for causing idle trouble. Tommy supposed that was what had Clara sleeping in the pub. They were keeping her too busy. 

He moved his hand to Clara's shoulder and said her name along with a prompt calling her awake. She didn’t acknowledge his gentle shaking or his gentle words though. 

"Gentle won't work with her, Tom,” John said. “Have to be more forceful to get a reaction from our Clara." He balanced on the back legs of his chair, teetering back and forth. He cupped both hands around his mouth as he allowed the chair to slam down on all four legs. "Oi! Clara! Wake up!" 

Tommy snorted as Clara lifted the coat over her head, rolling over so her back was to John, Arthur, and Finn, and she faced the wall. 

John had gotten a reaction alright. 

"Let me wake her," Arthur said as he pushed himself up from his chair and plopped down onto the end of the bench, lifting Clara's legs and settling her feet in his lap. 

"Arthur," Finn warned, "I really wouldn't."

Arthur glanced at Finn with a dopey smile on his face, but didn't heed his warning. He grasped one of Clara's feet, his fingers lightly grazing the arch, applying only a small bit of pressure. 

Clara stayed beneath the coat this time too, but both of her legs jerked, the heel of one foot whacking Arthur square in the gut and knocking the wind out of him. He dropped his hold on her to hug his middle instead and Clara quickly tucked her body in on itself, curling into a ball as she moved even closer to Tommy. 

Tommy pulled the coat back to see his sister's face. He thought he heard a snort come from beneath it, a bit of a laugh in response to Arthur's predicament. With the sound almost entirely muffled by the thick fabric and Arthur's hollering, he couldn't truly tell.

Pulling back the coat gave Tommy little by way of confirmation. Clara's face was shielded by the hair fallen over her face, her body already rising and falling with a regularity that lent itself to a state of sleep. 

Tommy pushed the hair from her face and saw a small upturn at the corner of her mouth before she turned her face to hide against him.

"C'mon, Clara." Tommy fit a finger beneath her chin when her only response was to tug the coat up closer to her face. "It's time to get you home."

Clara caught her brother's hand before he could make contact with the sensitive skin of her neck. She held his hand close, captured within both of her own and then she stilled completely once again, the perfect picture of an innocent sleeping child. 

“Good luck with that, Tom,” John said.

Arthur clapped Tommy on the shoulder as he and John headed out into the pub. 

Tommy's breath deepened as he summoned a bit more patience to continue dealing with his sister’s act. There was no questioning the fact that she was awake now and the performance was quickly beginning to lose its luster.

"Well, if we can't wake her, I suppose we should just leave her then," he said. "Lock her in and hope she'll be alright until one of us can come to collect her in the morning, eh Finn?"

Clara still didn't react, so Tommy made to slip out from beneath her and stand up. Clara quickly shifted her hold in response, wrapping herself around him more completely.

"C'mon, Clara. Enough with the show," Finn said, standing up.

It was a bit of a performance, but also it wasn't. Clara was dead tired and resting against Tommy was the most comfortable sleep she'd had in weeks, even with most of her body stretched out on the hard wood of the snug’s bench. 

"Clara, let's—" Tommy grasped her arms and attempted to release her hold, but Clara simply gripped him tighter, her face crushed against his chest, facing up at him.

"No." 

"No?"

"You're warm," she mumbled.

Finn and Tommy's eyes met across the table and Finn rolled his eyes. 

"And you'll be just as warm tucked into your own bed," Tommy said. "Now, come on."

"No, To—" Clara didn't even get his full name out before Tommy looked away from her towards their other brother.

"Finn, find her coat."

Finn tugged her coat off the back of a nearby chair. He could have placed it in Tommy's outstretched hand, but he plopped it down on top of his sister instead. Then Finn picked her discarded boots up from the floor, tossing them at the lump under the coats as well.

Tommy sighed half a second before Clara shot up straight. "Finn!" she shouted, slinging one of the boots back across the table at him. It would have hit him square in the face had he not put up his hands to block it. 

Clara reached for the other boot as well, swinging her arm back to send it across the table, stopped in her pursuit only by Tommy catching her wrist.

"Put it on your foot," he warned.

"I'd rather toss it at Finn's—" Clara stopped as she turned to face Tommy's raised eyebrow. "Fine, but I'd like it known that I'd rather—"

"Toss it at my head," Finn answered. "Well, I'd like it known that we've all been wanting to toss something at your head for the last quarter-hour at least." 

"Just shut your mouth and give me my other bloody—"

Clara and Finn yielded the match at the exact same moment. Tommy smacked the back of Clara's head as he met Finn's eye and they both did as he wanted without a bit of discussion, Finn setting the previously flung boot down gingerly within his sister's reach and Clara pulling both shoes on her feet without another word. 

The pack tumbled out onto Garrison Lane within a few minutes and Tommy took the keys off Arthur as he struggled to lock up. By the time he managed it, the boys had already set off down the lane, but Clara stayed behind shivering as she waited. She quickly fit herself against Tommy’s side.

"It's cold." 

"Why didn't you go on ahead with your brothers, then?" 

Clara shrugged. "You're warm."

She’d already said it once in the course of the night. And it could be argued that the spaces against John or Arthur or Finn's sides were equally warm, but she hadn't settled on walking home with any of them so Tommy didn't question it further. He wrapped an arm around Clara and pulled her closer, making sure she felt the warmth too. 

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

[alj4890]

Hello dear! I have an ask I just recently read TRH book 1 what if we get Liams POV when Riley goes into labor and when he has to make that awful decision. What are his thoughts when Riley passes out and there’s no doctor? Maybe we can find out how they got the door open?

I replayed TRH book 1 & 2 recently, so this ask couldn't have come at a better time 😂. I wonder though if anyone else thinks it was odd that Godfrey was put in charge of installing new security at the Palace. I mean, why wasn't Liam and his King's Guards handling that? I don't know, but those chapters of Riley giving birth are some that hurt me, and only because the poor woman is denied an epidural 😂 I would have Godfrey strung up by his thumbs for causing that and allow Olivia to torture him to her heart's content. But enough of my revenge ideas, let's see what I can do with this for you.

@gkittylove99 ​ @krsnlove ​ @kingliam2019 ​ @texaskitten30 ​ @yourmajesty09 ​ @mom2000aggie ​ @ofpixelsandscribbles ​ @twinkleallnight ​ @lodberg ​  @amandablink ​ @neotericthemis ​  @mm2305 ​ @sfb123 ​ @iufilms​

Masterlist

The Decision

It was too much to comprehend.

One moment, Liam was confronting the man who killed his mother and the next was nothing but chaos and darkness.

Screams rent the air as flashing red lights revealed steel enforced doors dropping down over the ballroom's doors and windows.

Liam knelt beside his wife when he realized she had been knocked down by a panicking guest.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, gently brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"Only my pride." She tried to smile but a painful tightening around her middle struck.

Her eyes widened when she felt a wetness between her legs.

"Liam!" She gripped his arm. "My water broke!"

"What?" He searched through the crowd for their friends. "Now?"

She nodded while breathing through another contraction. "We have to get to the hospital."

"We will." He helped her up. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable while we get a door open."

"Liam!" Riley doubled over. "I don't want to have our baby in a ballroom filled with people."

"Is there a problem?"

The couple stiffened when they heard Isabella's voice. Her husband Bradshaw smiled at them.

"Our guards would be more than happy to help with the door situation," his smile held a hint of smugness, "as long as your child is betrothed to one of our twins."

Olivia arrived at that moment followed by their other friends.

"Are you saying your guards won't help rescue you without a betrothal?"

"We're in no immediate danger." Bradshaw explained.

"In fact, we're quite comfortable waiting for your pitiful little guards to find a way out." Isabelle added. "No need for us to cross international lines and damage delicate feelings with our more than capable personnel."

"Delicate!" Olivia heaved a deep breath. "We don't need your help to get out of this."

"We don't?" Maxwell asked. He let out an oomph when Olivia elbowed him. "I mean, yeah we don't! This isn't the first time we have been faced with a challenge."

"No steel door will ever convince us that their baby should be forced to be with one of your twins." Drake added.

Olivia beamed at him before turning her fury on the visiting monarchs. "I'll have it opened in no time."

"Yeah!" Maxwell cheered. "Go Nevarkis Ingenuity!"

She rolled her eyes while going to examine the metal door that covered the double doors into the ballroom.

"Oh!" Riley eased back down into a chair. She raised her eyes to Liam's. "They're getting stronger."

He gently rubbed her back. "Have you had any pains this evening?"

"It was all in my back. I thought it was from being on my feet most of the night." She took deep breaths to calm down. "But now--"

The flashing red lights and alarm stopped. The couple turned to see a proud Olivia slip a strange looking quartz bladed dagger back into a garter under her dress.

There was a square shaped hole cut within the wall with numerous wires exposed.

"That's going to be difficult to repair." Maxwell muttered.

Liam could not have cared less about the damage. If Olivia wanted to tunnel underground to get them out, then he would gladly rip up the marble tiles himself.

Riley cried out as a strong contraction struck.

"I need a distraction!" She puffed through the pain.

"How about some music?" Hana asked. "I composed a new piece recently."

"Or we could sing." Maxwell offered. "Any song you'd like."

"We could?" Drake shook his head. "Sorry Brooks, but that's not happening."

"You would deny her a song when she's in labor?" Maxwell's jaw dropped.

"I doubt our singing would help her any." Drake replied. "Might even double her pain."

While his friends bickered, Liam found his thoughts drifting back to the secret chamber they had unearthed less than an hour ago. He slipped his hand into his breast pocket to touch the letter he had discovered.

His mother's words about how much joy he had brought her echoed in his heart. He wished she could have lived to see the type of man he had become. He had tried with everything within him to live up to her expectations. Would she have noticed? What would she think of him as king now? What would her opinion have been on this choice he and Riley were given for an arranged marriage for her grandchild? Would she approve of them wanting to give their baby the right to choose his or her own spouse?

He wished he knew. He wished she was here guiding him in not only capturing her killer but in also knowing what to do for his wife and unborn child. He would have given anything to have her wise counsel once more.

"Hana!" Riley yelled to stop the argument between her three friends. "Please play whatever you like." She glared at Drake. "Someone's voice is getting on my nerves."

Hana hurried over to a piano and began to play a soothing song.

"I'm going to check on the door situation." Liam pressed a kiss to Riley's cheek. "I'll be back in just a moment."

"Hurry, please." She pleaded.

"I'll watch over her." Maxwell promised.

"I'll go check on the door with you." Drake added.

Liam made his way through the crowd, pausing here and there to reassure everyone that they would be out soon.

"Give me a boost." Olivia ordered.

Drake squatted down and linked his fingers together.

Olivia slipped her heels off and placed her foot in his grasp.

"One...two..." He heaved her up in the air, "three!"

Olivia steadied herself and quickly studied the mechanism that had allowed the door to drop. A lock had formed thus causing them to be unable to lift it up.

After poking and prodding with one of her stilettoes, she noticed the thin metal holding the lock in place.

"Bring me down." She ordered.

Drake grunted as he brought her back down. "Next time, stand on my shoulders."

"Did you figure out how to get it open?" Liam asked.

"I think I might be able to weaken the lock with heat and one of my daggers. Once we destroy that, we should be able to lift it." She explained.

"Can't we hotwire it?' Drake asked, gesturing toward the exposed wires.

"Not since I had to cut so many to get the alarms to turn off." She remarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if there is some emergency failsafe in place for an enemy's attack on the wiring. It might even drop another door on us."

Liam ran his hands over his face. "Do whatever you can to get us out of here."

"Good." Olivia nodded towards the bar. "Drake, we will start with the brandy to use for fuel."

Liam shook his head at her plan to start a fire of sorts. He hoped she didn't end up hurting herself in the process. Honestly though, he couldn't seem to focus on what he could do to help get the doors open.

"Your majesty! I don't think I can breathe in here another second!" Penelope grasped his arm while hyperventilating. "I don't do well in enclosed spaces."

"When will we get out of here?" Another noble demanded.

Questions began to be thrown at him as the crowd closed in a circle, trapping him directly in the middle.

"Is Olivia trying to burn us up in here?"

"We're going to die!"

"What are the guards doing to save us?"

"Auvernal's guards will have us out in minutes, if your king agrees." Bradshaw yelled out over the crowd. His smile was the final straw to break Liam's barely restrained temper.

"Enough!" Liam roared. "We are not going to die in here. The guards are doing all they can and Olivia is graciously assisting." His eyes zeroed in on Penelope. "Go sit down to try and calm your breathing. You're in the same ballroom you have danced in for years." He then turned to Auvernal's king. "As for your assistance, it isn't needed at this time."

Bradshaw shrugged his shoulders as if it wasn't a big deal, but his eyes held a deep seeded anger as he looked upon Liam. "If you think your guests wouldn't prefer to get out of here as quickly as they can, then I suppose there is little we can do."

Murmurs rose once more around him. Liam clinched his fists then pushed his way through when he heard Riley call out for him.

Will this night never end?

It was becoming too much for him. The whining of his people, his wife in pain and in need of medical care, his own innate need to chase after Godfrey and make him pay for poisoning his mother...he needed it all to stop for a minute to allow him to think.

"Liam!" Riley had tears falling down her cheeks. "We need to go to the hospital now!"

She gripped his hand as Hana finished the last few notes to her song.

He knelt before her chair. "Olivia has found a way to open the door. We'll soon have you out of here and--"

The sound of metal screeching had everyone turning toward the double doors.

Seeing the steel door go up caused Liam to scoop his wife in his arms and rush toward the exit.

Their friends and guests spilled out after them to only stop short.

Godfrey had installed these same safety measures on every window and exterior door along the first floor.

"Liam?" Riley puffed through another contraction. "What are we going to do?"

"I found a way out of there." Olivia boasted. "I'm certain I can--"

Bradshaw clucked his tongue. "This isn't the same type of door, your grace." He smirked at her. He knocked against the thicker steel door. "My guards could find a way outside to open it, but only if you sign this."

He produced a betrothal contract.

Riley whimpered as she looked at it and then her husband.

"Get. That. Out. Of. My. Face." Liam ordered.

He turned on his heel to take his wife upstairs to their chambers. Once he reached the first step he spoke over his shoulder. "Olivia, we trust you to handle this. Hana, please call Riley's doctor and ask her to meet us here instead of the hospital."

***************

The hours dragged on as they waited. Olivia appeared periodically to vent her frustrations with getting the door to open. Drake, Maxwell, and Hana attempted to keep Riley's spirits up as she endured the ever increasing contractions.

Liam felt absolutely useless. He didn't know what to do to help his wife. He didn't know the first thing of helping a woman give birth. What if there was a complication? What about their child? What if he couldn't clear the baby's airways? What if--"

"Liam?"

He focused on Riley, weakly gripping his hand. "Yes, my love? What can I do?"

"I feel...odd."

Maxwell nudged Liam out of the way to check her blood pressure.

"Where did you find a blood pressure kit?" Drake asked.

"I know it's hard to believe, but Bertrand has high blood pressure." Maxwell winked at his friends. "I can't imagine where his source of stress comes from."

Riley tried to smile at his teasing. She could feel whatever it was pulling her under making every movement feel like it she was wading through quicksand.

Maxwell's smile disappeared. He studied Riley's flushed cheeks and stepped back.

"What is it?" Liam whispered as his friend pulled him away from her bed.

"Her blood pressure is really high right now." Maxwell glanced over his shoulder. "I don't know if that's normal for a woman in labor, but I do know that this is when I would be calling an ambulance if it was Bertrand with this reading."

Liam rubbed his hands over his face. This entire night was one nightmare after another.

"Riley?" Hana shook her by the shoulders. "Riley?!"

Liam rushed back to the bed to see his wife passed out. He took a cold rag and wiped her face, hoping it would bring her back to them.

"Riley?" His voice cracked. "Please, wake up." He looked around at their friends. "What should I do?"

"I don't know." Drake draped his arm along Hana's shoulders when she began to softly cry.

"Keep talking to her." Maxwell jogged out the room. "I'll see about the door!"

Liam turned back toward Riley. He placed his hand on her stomach and could feel the tightening of contractions along with the faint movements of their child.

Riley opened her eyes.

Liam gently cupped her cheek.

"What happened?" She asked.

"You blacked out." He explained. "Your blood pressure--"

Maxwell returned with a frustrated Olivia.

"...short of dynamite, I don't know how I'll--" she stilled when she saw the color drain from Riley's face.

"I think it's happening..." Riley became unconscious once more. Her head dropped back on the pillows.

"We have to get that doctor here now." Liam looked up at Hana. "Any word from her?"

"She is right outside." Hana explained. "And so are Auvernal's guards."

Liam took off out of the room. His long, deliberate strides had him at the balcony overlooking the entryway where the Auvernal monarchs stood talking to some of the guests.

His friends had to nearly run to catch up with him.

Bradshaw looked up and curved his lips. "Trouble, King Liam?"

Isabella snickered. "I hope Queen Riley isn't suffering unnecessarily."

Liam launched himself at the smug king when he brought up the severe pain Riley must be in at this moment.

Shouts from his friends, guests, and the King's Guards drowned out him telling Auvernal's monarch to have his guards break down the door.

"No." Bradshaw's easy smile grew into an evil smirk. "I don't see any reason to have my men do anything like that to help a woman who isn't a part of my country nor one who wishes to ally herself with mine."

"You bastard!" Liam jerked his arm back. His fist formed as he prepared to beat this man within an inch of his life for denying his Riley a doctor.

It took Drake, Maxwell, and Bastien to hold him back from starting a war with Auvernal with a single punch. Olivia and Hana got between the two kings while Isabella merely looked on in glee.

"My wife and child are going to die if I don't get that doctor in here now!" Liam shouted. "And you stand there refusing to--"

"Not refusing!" Bradshaw snapped. "I'm trying to help you." He snapped his fingers and was handed the engagement contract by a nearby Auvernal guard. "Sign this and my men will have your doctor in here within five minutes."

Liam felt all the adrenaline that had rushed through his veins when he tried to punch the man leave his body. He felt not only weak but utterly worthless. He couldn't see any way out of this. He couldn't lose his wife. He couldn't lose the child they had eagerly waited for.

He couldn't get the damn door open without the very people he had grown to loathe these past nine months.

"Liam," Olivia whispered, "it's the only option we have now."

"We'll find a way to break it." Maxwell whispered.

"Yeah," Drake patted his shoulder. "Right now, you need to just accept the deal to get Brooks and the baby some help."

Liam glanced over at Hana to get her advice.

Tears filled her eyes. "I--I know this isn't what you want, but we have no choice."

Liam swallowed and snatched the paper from Bradshaw's hand. He signed the cursed document and tossed it in his face.

"There! Now get that doctor in here before it becomes null and void."

Bradshaw quickly gave the orders for his guards outside to break down the door with a battering ram.

In three minutes, Dr. Ramirez was following Liam up to the royal chambers.

She helped rouse Riley and then guided her through the delivery.

Liam watched in awe as his wife produced the most perfect baby girl he had ever seen.

Tears of joy and immense relief trickled down his cheeks as he held his daughter for the first time.

"I think we should name her Eleanor," Riley said, watching him kiss their little one's forehead, "in honor of your mother."

His eyes practically glowed as he looked upon his wife. "Thank you, my love."

She snuggled her head on his shoulder as they both gazed down at their own miracle.

Liam knew he needed to tell Riley what had happened with Auvernal yet he didn't want to ruin this first moment of them as a family.

He silently vowed as he held his daughter that he would somehow find a way to save her from an arranged marriage.

[captainsolare]

Also Sol, I'm here to request for your Event, if I may 🥰🙈 The dice is such an awesome idea 🥰♥️

May I please have a Rhya (Black Clover) fluff, roll 2 times for AU, 3 times for dialogue prompt and 1 time for trope, please? 💘🙈

I hope I got that right, sorry if it isn't right 😂😭 anyway happy writing! And feel free to ignore it if you don't feel like writing it 💓 also happy anniversary and happy birthday Sol darling 🥰♥️

A/N: Hello my lovely!! I hope you enjoy this! I apologize that it's so late :)

Rhya Fluff + Teacher AU! + My friends dared me to ask you out but you actually said yes + “You’re such a dork.”

The faculty lounge was largely empty, save for Rhya, the chemistry teacher, slumped over his desk snoring lightly. You stood in the doorway, sweaty hand clutching the strap of your bag tightly. You sighed quietly, cursing your fellow teacher friends for making you agree to this.

Making your way across the room you stopped at the sleeping man’s desk, heart pounding as you stood over him.

“What’s up Y/N?” He asked, voice gravelly from sleep.

“How did you know it was me?” You blinked, taken aback.

He sat up straighter and stretched, arms shaking as the muscles began to wake up. A finger pointed to the floor, “It was your shoes, they make a distinct sound. That’s how I knew it was you.”

“Oh.” You swallowed uncomfortably, suddenly feeling self conscious as you glanced at your shoes. Do they really make a specific noise?

“Well, did you need something? It’s unlike you to come into the faculty lounge this late.”

You tucked your hands behind your back, rocking on your heels.

“Um… well you see… You can totally say no, but I was wondering if you’d be interested in going out on a date with me?” You clasped your hands tightly together, half praying he’d say no and put you out of your misery.

Rhya stared at you for a long moment, if he was surprised he didn’t show it, instead he had the same bored expression he usually did.

You braced yourself for the impending apology.

“Sure. Tomorrow night sound good?”

You took a sharp breath, surprised by his answer, “Sure, that sounds great! I can meet you out front after work?”

He nodded, “Sounds good. See you tomorrow Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Rhya.”

You tried not to listen to the sound of your shoes as you walked across the linoleum floor. As you paused in the doorway to risk one last glance into the room, you could have sworn you saw him smile.

-

Your phone landed on your bed with a thump, the ringing tinny as it rang on speakerphone.

“Hey there Y/N! What’s up? Got the hot goss?”

You rolled your eyes, “Would I be calling this late if I didn’t?”

Practically feeling Kasumi smiling on the other end of the line you relented,

“We’re going out tomorrow night.”

Kasumi gasped, “Oh my gosh! He really said yes? That’s so exciting! What are you going to wear? Where are you going? Eek! I’m so excited for you, you’ve had a crush on him for like, forever.”

You took a deep breath, Kasumi was always like this; her mind ran at about a hundred kilometers a minute, fast and incessantly making your life more interesting, sometimes, like tonight, more difficult.

“Yes, he said yes. I don’t know what I’m wearing or where we’re going. And it has not been forever! More like 2 months, if that.”

She tutted at you through the phone, “You know we all see the way you two looked at each other when he came into the lounge for the first time.”

You scrunched your nose at her even though she couldn’t see it, “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I just hope it goes well.”

Kasumi’s laugh was crackly through the speaker, grating on your already frayed nerves, “Don’t worry! It’ll be fine.” A brief pause, “Well, I’m exhausted, so I’ll catch you tomorrow ‘kay? I expect you to call me with all the juicy details afterwards.”

“Yeah, goodnight Kasumi.”

The call ended with a beep and you collapsed on your bed, her words echoing in your mind.

It’ll be fine.

-

You fussed over your appearance in the staff bathroom mirror. Did you look okay? Where were you going? Did Ryha say yes as a joke? Did he like you too?

The questions ran through your mind like a swarm of bees, a low hum that wouldn’t go away.

Finally, you decided that you could put it off no longer, you needed to go outside and face the man you’d asked out on a date.

He was standing by the school gate, a dress shirt and slacks with a blazer looked wonderful on him. He still had the same bored expression on his face, but it brightened slightly as you approached.

“Hey there, you ready? You look good by the way.”

Your cheeks grew hot at his words, “Yeah, I’m ready. You… look good too.”

He extended his elbow as a gesture for you to take it and you did, hooking your arm gently through the gap.

You walked down the street for a while, light from the street lamps illuminating the pools from the rain earlier in the day.

“So,” You said after a while, “Where are we going this fine evening?”

The corners of Rhya’s lips turned upward, “It’s a secret, but it’ll be great, I promise.”

Finally, you turned a corner and stopped outside a quaint looking restaurant; there wasn’t an obvious name anywhere on the establishment, but Rhya didn’t hesitate to open the door.

You walked inside and were greeted by a woman with pink hair, a flower crown placed lightly on her head.

“Hello! I have special seats reserved for you.”

“Thank you Fana.”

Rhya smiled thankfully, and you were led outside to a patio garden straight out of a fairytale. There were trellises covered in roses of all shades, bird baths and small fountains scattered around.

Fana led you down a stone path to a table in the center of the patio, lanterns hung around tossed delicate light over the space, lending to an atmosphere that felt ethereal.

There was a single tea light candle on the table, along with a single red rose in a vase.

Rhya pulled your chair out for you and you sat down, a menu soon placed in front of you.

Once Fana left you looked around, marvelling at the beautiful garden you were sitting in.

“Rhya, what is this place?”

“This is a little restaurant owned and operated by a few childhood friends of mine.”

Your mouth opened in a small ‘o’ as you looked around once more, seeing the setting in a whole new light.

-

The meal was enjoyable, Ryha was surprisingly good at making conversation once you got comfortable. By the time you were leaving the restaurant, you were grateful that your friends had made you go through this dare.

“Want to go on a walk before we head back to the school?” Rhya asked quietly once you were outside on the street.

You contemplated it, and decided that you weren’t ready for the magic of the night to end just yet. He gave you his arm to take once more and he led you down the city streets.

Wandering aimlessly you ended up in a square, there was a fountain in the center and a musician playing for patrons. It was a charming sight, the lights bathed the square in a soft light. Rhya cocked his head in a silent question and you nodded, making your way to the small crowd around the musician.

The musician’s assistant caught sight of you and smiled brightly, “Does the lovely couple want to dance?”

Both you and Rhya faltered, cheeks warm from being called out in front of a crowd and at the assumption that you were a couple. Rhya recovered quickly though and before you knew it he was extending a hand for you to dance with him.

He was surprisingly light on his feet, and dancing with him was easy. With several cheers from the crowd you danced to a few songs, hearts thrumming from the close contact.

-

Out of breath from dancing, you laughed and chatted on your way back to the school, hands barely brushing as you walked.

The parking lot was empty save for your cars. Your keys were in your hands but you were both still, not wanting to leave just yet.

Rhya caught your lingering gaze and you mustered up the courage to speak.

“Hey Rhya, would you maybe want to go out again?” You asked, hoping your voice didn’t betray just how hopeful you were.

“Yeah, I’d like that. I think we have a lot of chemistry.”

You smiled, then it dawned on you, “Rhya did you just--- did you just make a dad joke?”

He shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Maybe I did.”

You rolled your eyes, “Gosh, you’re such a dork.”

Rhya cocked his head, a mischievous glint in his eye, “Yeah, but I could be your dork.”

Giggling, you gave him a swift kiss on the cheek, “Yeah yeah, see you tomorrow. Text me when you get home safe.”

“You too Y/N.”

As you drove away, Rhya stared after your car, fingertips lingering on the spot you had kissed.

“Wow.” Was all he could manage to whisper.

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Lost Years

Summary - After spending five years in LA, Dean comes back to Lawrence and meets up with his bestfriend or rather his then bestfriend. Y/N isn't exactly happy on seeing Dean either. Will he be able to fix his strained relationship with her?

Pairing - Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Y/N

Warning - Cheesy fluff, angst, mentions of unrequited love, mentions of divorce, parents separation, drinking, bad dates, kissing, unprotected sex 18+ (wrap it before you tap it), p in v smut, oral sex (fem receiving), sex in the Impala.

WC - 5.3k+ (....oops)

Square filled - Angst ( @girl-next-door-writes ) and “Why the fuck would you laugh at that?” ( @anyfandomgoesbingo )

A/N - This is my submission to @downanddirtydean's 500 followers writing challenge (Congratulations again, Lyd). Prompt is in bold.

This is an AU. Flashbacks are in Italics.

Beta'd by @miss-nerd95 (Thank you so much, hon) and thank you to @whatareyousearchingfordean for giving this a read and leaving some valuable comments❤️

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

“Fuckin’ brilliant!” A weary exclamation left the woman's mouth as she read the text displayed on the device's screen in her hand.

There was a very significant reason why she didn't believe in blind dates, but Jo had been stubborn and insistent. And with Valentine's Day approaching, Y/N didn't want to spend the day in her pjs, crying over The Notebook again. So she had agreed to give a chance to Jo’s friend, or to be more precise, her friend's cousin. His name was Gabriel, and from what she had heard from her mutual friend circle, he seemed to be a decent guy.

But now all she wanted was to go back in time and change her decision to give into Jo’s request, because looking at the empty chair in front of her, she regretted allowing her friend to even try to interfere in her love life.

She signaled the waiter to bring over her check after downing the entire glass of wine. The restaurant was quite busy tonight. It was packed with people on this fine Saturday evening - from lovestruck couples to families with crying kids, Y/N found herself feeling quite lonely as she had stupidly waited on her date to show up for such a long time. Heat crept up her neck in embarrassment when the waiter showed up, the latter’s eyes filled with sympathy as Y/N paid the price of her drink.

Within no time, she was out of the restaurant.

Glancing down at her green dress, she swore under her breath. She tried to book a cab to return to the comfort of her home when her eyes caught the glowing signboard of The Roadhouse right around the corner of the street. The only thing she could think of was to get black-out drunk now. Y/N, still in her high heels, trudged down the path to Ellen’s bar.

Dressed up all for nothing. Rolling her eyes at herself, she went inside the establishment, heading straight towards the counter and taking a seat there. Like any other weekend nights, the place was stuffed. Y/N let her eyes trail over the many patrons of the dingy bar, landing finally on the middle-aged brunette who ran the place

“Ellen!” She called out to the woman.

“Hey, honey,” she approached Y/N, all the while glaring daggers at the drunk she had just previously been arguing with, “A bit overdressed for this place, don't ya think?”

“Your daughter is officially fired from matchmaking services,” Y/N sighed.

“Boy troubles, huh? What can I get ya, hon?” Sympathy was evident in Ellen’s eyes as she spoke. Y/N was as much of a daughter to her as Jo was. The girl had been through so much heartbreak, all Ellen wanted was to see a smile on her face.

“The usual,” Y/N gave a sad smile.

“Rough night indeed, huh?” She raised an eyebrow. The woman in question shrugged defeatedly. Ellen patted her arm in comfort before she left her to arrange for her drink, leaving Y/N to wallow in self-pity.

She thought back to when her life had taken such a traumatic turn. All her friends were either getting engaged, married, or popping out kids. But not Y/n... she was in her late twenties now, and she couldn't even find herself an eligible man.

Ellen pushed the glass towards her. Sighing, she picked it up as she admired the liquid in it. She drank slowly, every sip creating a burning sensation at the back of her throat. Fingers still wrapped around the glassware, she set it down, looking around the bar. The place was filled with mad chatters and howling laughs along with the music blasting from the stereo placed on the deck inside the room, a stark contrast to how lonely she felt. She signaled Ellen for another round, who nodded before giving her that sad understanding smile Y/N was now starting to hate. Frowning, she dropped her head and exhaled.

“Sweetheart, where did that pretty smile for yours go?” Y/N was quickly pulled out from her daze by a very familiar voice; a voice she hadn't heard in a few years. It couldn't be him, he was supposed to be in LA!

“Ella?” The term of endearment brought back dozens of memories, some good and some bad, but all were about him - the freckled face teenage boy with dirty blonde hair and eyes as green as the forest in the summertime she had once fallen for. It brought up the painful memory of their first meet which she had tried to forget so hard.

She remembered the day of their first drama practice when Dean had grudgingly walked into the room. He had reluctantly agreed to play the Prince in the Cinderella act after Cas who was supposed to be the Prince had accidentally ended up with a broken leg. He didn’t know her name, so he had called her ‘Ella’ to get her attention which was the start of their epic friendship.

Y/N didn't dare to turn around to look at him, after all, he wasn't the scrawny teenager from Lawrence anymore. He was now the lead singer and guitarist of a popular rock band with a fancy name and songs that were in the top ten of Billboard music charts. Yes, she did keep up with his rising fame, sometimes even listening to one of his songs before she was once again reminded of the heartbreak he had caused.

“You can't even look at me.” His voice was barely a whisper but loud enough for her to hear as he slid into the stool beside her.

Gathering enough courage, she raised her head. “Dean.” His name rolled off her tongue so easily, but her heart ached for the past. Dean cracked a smile at her as his emerald eyes did not leave hers once. It was as if he was memorizing every tiny detail of her face and if anyone would've asked him, he would've replied that he was.

Y/N hadn't changed much over the years he had spent in LA. She was still the same girl he had first met in school and the last time he had seen her at their graduation. She was a shy girl but they had clicked instantly. Growing up, she was his best friend, his person, his escape.

“Dean Winchester has walked into my bar. Must be my lucky day!” Ellen’s voice thundered across the room, grabbing the attention of a few intoxicated people. “How's LA treating you, boy?”

“Ellen! It's awesome to see you again.” A grin broke out on Dean's face as he jumped out of his seat and pulled the lady into a bear hug. “LA’s pretty okay. It is as good as the industry can be.”

“Heard some of your songs, I knew you had the talent,” Ellen said, jabbing her finger into his chest to prove her point. “Now what can I get ya? On the house.”

“A beer will be just fine. Don't want to show up to the Winchester house drunk!” He chuckled.

“Alright, coming right up. Y/N, honey, you want another round or a glass of water?” The lady asked.

“I'll be leaving in a few. Glass of water it is, El.” She replied but was then interrupted by Dean.

“One drink, with me. It's on me, Ella.” There it was again, that fucking name. A few years ago, that name would have made her cheeks heat up but now, it just made her blood boil. She clenched her hand into fists, tears pricking at her eyes as she swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Do not call me that.” She hissed, surprising Dean. Y/N turned towards the man, finally taking a good look at him. He had changed a lot, had become more handsome but LA had not modified his clothing style because he was still wearing his signature flannel and jeans accompanied by a jacket. She wondered how many girls had stopped him for a picture or an autograph on his way back to Lawrence, jealousy seeping into her. She hated the way he still had that effect on her.

“Y/N-” She knew what he was going to say. ‘I am sorry’, but she wasn't ready to forgive him now, if ever.

“No. Don't.” She stopped him mid-sentence, hands digging into her purse as she pulled out the money for her drinks, dropping them on the counter.

“El, I am going home.” Ellen, who was silently watching their whole exchange, nodded her head before asking, “Want me to call a cab for you?”

“No. I'm going to crash at your place. I need to have a word with Jo.” Y/N said since it was near impossible for her to walk back to her house, considering she was quite tipsy and still in heels, but she also didn't want to wait until the woman called a cab with Dean Winchester anywhere nearby. After getting her belongings, she got out of the barstool and left the place on wobbly legs. Her feet would no doubt be screaming in pain the next day.

Stepping out, she inhaled deeply, letting a few tears fall as the cool air hit her face. After their graduation, Y/N had sworn she would try her best to forget the older Winchester. She wasn't quite successful in her aim, because many times she would come across his gorgeous face on the cover of a magazine or his song would be playing on the radio, striking up old memories of their time spent together in high school.

Still lost in her thoughts, she took a step forward, only to misjudge the cobblestone path and end up losing her balance. She braced herself for the impending fall but was saved by a pair of strong hands wrapped around her waist.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” Dean said, letting her down gently. “Lemme see, did you hurt your ankle?” He went down on his knees in front of her, pulling a low gasp out of her as he examined her feet.

“Were you following me?” Y/N gritted out those words.

“No.” He shook his head but she clearly saw through the lie.

“I’m fine. You can go now.” She said, her eyes looking everywhere but the man.

“Come on, don't be so stubborn. Get in the car, I'll drop you off at your house or Jo’s place if you want.” He said looking up, trying to catch her eyes but she was adamant about not giving him that satisfaction. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering before she answered.

“Leave me alone.” She muttered, a tear running down her cheek. All that preparation for not breaking down in front of Dean and her body still betrayed her. The man got up. Y/N noticed that he was now wearing a cap, probably to hide from any bystander who might recognize him.

“Y/N/N, I-” Dean was at a loss of words. He hated seeing her so heartbroken and he loathed himself for being the cause of it. He tried to reach out and hold her hand but she recoiled back, making him wince. “Please, Ella.”

“Stop calling me that, Winchester. How many times do I have to repeat that?” Her voice came out as a little whine, making Dean chuckle. He missed it - her tone, the timbre, the intensity in her pitch, and the words it said, which used to be his voice of reason; he missed his best friend. “Why the fuck would you laugh at that? I am not doing stand up comedy out here.” Y/N was still the strong-headed girl he adored.

“You'll probably hurt yourself if you walk in those heels again with how tipsy you are right now. Get in the car, I know you missed cruising around the town in Baby because she missed you for sure.” And that thankfully got the exact reaction out of her that he had anticipated. She finally looked right at him, her face lit up at the pretense of seeing the beloved black car again.

“I thought she was in LA with you.” Y/N said and then it dawned on her, “Did you drive across the States?”

“Damn right I did!” He beamed in reply like he had won a trophy, his heart swelling with happiness when he saw the smile forming on her face mixed with awe and surprise. He still had to go a long way to get her back, but he had to take baby steps. At least he managed to make her smile. “So? Want to go out, just like the old times?”

The smile instantly disappeared from Y/N’s lips and Dean knew he fucked up right then. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned the good ol’ days. “Sweetheart, I'm sorry-”

“Just drop me off at Jo’s. That's it.” She said, lowering her gaze. He waved her over to the direction where his car was parked. Y/N started to walk along as Dean wordlessly followed her.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea hit her. She didn't do well in social gatherings and this was her graduation ceremony. One wrong step, one wrong word, or a wardrobe malfunction, and the day could turn into a disaster in an instant.

“Honey, you're gonna be excellent out there! We're all very proud of you.” Mary said while hugging Y/N tightly as they both waited on the former's older son to come downstairs who was running late, as usual. She had grown incredibly close to the Winchester family over the years. They were her rock, especially Dean who was there with her at every step as she went through the separation of her parents.

“Are you and John going to join my parents at the ceremony? Someone needs to stop them before they end up killing each other.” She grimaced.

“Isn't this going to be the first time they are together in one single room, since their….you know-” Sam asked as he came out of the kitchen, a green smoothie in his hands. Dean might have been her best friend, her confidante, but Sam was the little brother she never thought she needed.

“First get that green drink outta my sight, I already feel like I'm gonna throw up. Second, you can speak about the divorce. It's not taboo and it was a long time coming. Everyone knew that.” Y/N reluctantly said. The separation of her parents might have been foreseeable but, nevertheless, it still hurt her to see her parents walkout in two separate ways once the divorce was finalized. The house had become much quieter these days which she was thankful for but she also felt the evident absence of her father.

“Mom and Dad will definitely be there!” Dean announced loudly as he came down the stairs. “Come on let's go. Don't wanna be late for our own graduation ceremony!” She could always count on him to make her day better.

“I should have told you.”

“W-what?” Y/N asked dumbfoundedly as Dean’s gruff voice broke her out of the reverie and pulled her back to reality. A minute passed when she noticed even if his hands were on the steering, he wasn't driving anymore.

“This-” she looked out of the window, “this isn't Jo’s place.”

“No, this is our place,” Dean said.

“Dean.” This was the last place she wanted to be at, let alone be here with Dean. It had taken every ounce of her strength to not run back to this place over the past few years whenever she missed her best friend, only to realize that he had left her in the dust on his path to fame and didn't care about her as much as she used to think. Too many memories were attached to this particular place.

“I missed this, Y/N.” He said, killing the engine and slowly opening the door on his side. Y/N understood what he was trying to do and her mind screamed at her in protest to not follow him but her heart told her to follow the man it belonged to.

Dean finally stepped out of the car and walked over to the closed door on her side. She opened the door herself before he could and stepped out as well with a huff. The place was the same as it ever was. “I haven't been here since graduation.” She blurted out.

“I should have told you,” Dean said as they started to walk to their spot. Y/N chose to remain quiet. “Ella, please say somethin’.”

“I am not your Ella anymore, Dean. Stop calling me that.” She said but this time it wasn't a whine, instead, she yelled it out. She was sick and tired of yearning for the man who had broken her heart several years ago and now she was scared that he was gonna leave her once again.

“You'll always be my Ella.” He said.

“The Prince didn't lie to Cinderella and leave her behind but you- it hurts me to remember how close we were then. You left me without even a simple goodbye, so no, I am not your Ella anymore.” She flinched when he reached out for her.

He had stopped walking now and so had she. Dean moved closer to her before standing exactly in front of her. His hands lightly traced her jaw as she looked up at him. She looked just as enchanting under the moonlight as he remembered. He cupped her face in his hands, thumbs gently caressed her cheeks. She had given up fighting herself now, driven only by instinct. All the walls that she had put up came crumbling down with one touch of his.

“Why do you think I didn't say goodbye to you?” Dean whispered.

“Maybe all the years that we spent together meant nothing to you.” Her voice was like a melody to his ears but the words broke his heart even further.

“Because it was too damn hard. When RC Records called me up three days before graduation, you were the first person I wanted to tell, but I couldn't, ‘cause if I did, I wouldn't have made it to where I am right now.” He said, not a trace of mirth on his face.

“I wouldn't have held you back.” It was simple. Y/N always wanted to stay in Lawrence and look over her mother's bakery shop, and that's what she ended up doing. She now owned the shop and her business was thriving. Dean had wanted to become a singer ever since he was ten when he was forced to play the Prince, opposite to Y/N’s lead. He had found his passion and she had always encouraged it, even when John had strongly protested against him choosing music as his major. “You know I always supported you.”

“I know that, but thinking about not seeing you every day made me not want to go. I kept imagining you upset and that's why I didn't have it in me to tell you about my break.” He said. Y/N grabbed his hands pushing them away from her face.

“You ended up making me sad anyway. So why the fuck are you back?” She was enraged.

“Ella-” Dean tried to come closer but she stepped back, “I came to see my family.”

“Then why are you wasting your time here with me?”

“Because you're the most important person in my life and every day I spent away from you, you were the only person on my mind.” Dean smiled.

“What?”

“You were the first thought when I woke up and the last thought when I went to sleep.” He said and pulled her close when she finally stopped fighting. “I love you, Y/N Y/L/N. I know I am late and probably missed my chance, but five years in LA have taught me to take the risks. I love you, Ella.”

“I can't-” Dean’s smile felt but he quickly recovered.

“I-I understand.” He let out a dry chuckle, “You got a man back at home waiting for you. He sure is one lucky bastard.”

“No. You do not fucking understand! You are just so in your head, it's just-” She flailed her arms around in utter frustration. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move on? I have been on so many dates but no man was ever enough for me, all because of your sorry ass! The Graduation Day - I knew you always thought of me as your best friend, so I had decided to ask you out myself,”

“Y/N-”

“No, let me finish. You have to fucking listen about how much pain you put me through these five years! The next day, I went to your house only to hear from your parents that you were on your way to LA. I fucking hate you!” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “I fucking hate how much I still love you, Dean!”

His eyes widened in surprise as he kept opening and closing his mouth like a damn fish. He was unable to form a coherent sentence and so he cupped Y/N’s cheeks in his big, warm hands once more, but now he dipped down, tilting his face and pulling her in for a kiss. His teeth grazed her bottom lips, making her moan into his mouth. She could feel the blood rush to her cheeks as she found herself completely enamored by him. Her hands snuck to the back of his neck as she steadied herself. Her knees buckled under his hypnotic touch as he slipped his tongue into her mouth, her whole body tingled and toes curled up as his tongue explored every inch of her mouth.

“De,” Y/N tried to catch her breath when Dean finally let go of her lips, already missing the feel of her on him.

His hands traveled down her body, making her gasp aloud at the feel. He lowered his mouth as he started to leave a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck. “Dean, please. Don't.” Her three short words made him stop.

“Alright.” He gulped.

“I don't want to get my heart broken again, Winchester, I don't think I can survive it again.” Y/N knew he would return to LA within a week, and so she didn't want to take this any further. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me, right?”

“I won't. I am not going back.” Y/N looked at him, surprise evident in her eyes, “I don't care about my career anymore. Five years without you was like living in hell and my bandmates are probably so tired of hearing how much I missed you. I will write my songs from here in Lawrence if it means that I'll be closer to you.”

“You would do that for me?” She asked sincerely.

“I would. I was a stupid kid back then but now I have realized that nothing's more important to me than you. I don't want to lose my Ella ever again.” He said, “I'm sorry for taking so long to understand that. There is no way-” His words were cut off as Y/N captured his lips with her own. The sudden kiss caught him off guard but he quickly pulled himself together to kiss her back. “Shit, Y/N-” he gasped when he felt his dick twitch. He picked her up in quick motion and went towards the car. Y/N giggled when her back lightly collided with Baby’s door. Dean dropped his head, nipping at the pulse point on her neck.

“Dean-” She moaned, which was better than any music he had ever made as his hands slipped under her dress, his fingers hovering over her soaked panties. Her thighs clenched in anticipation.

“You have no idea how long I dreamt of having you. You're soaked, sweetheart. ” He huskily said, his fingers hooking on the waistband of her cotton panties. “Tell me to stop and I will, in a heartbeat. No questions.”

“N-no. Don't stop.” Y/N cooed. Dean dragged down her panties which pooled at her feet. He picked it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Thankfully, there was no one around but the thrill of being out in the open with Dean got her even more hot and bothered. Her hands grasped onto his biceps tightly so that she wouldn't topple over when Dean slipped a finger into her tight pussy. Her mouth fell open, her head dropping on his shoulder as he started pumping slowly, every drag of his finger pushing her closer to the edge.

Dean felt his pants tighten as he heard the sweet moan of his name leave her lips. Her raspy voice was one he could hear all day long, her heavy pants tickling his skin. With one hand he unbuckled his belt, trying to relieve himself a little, but when a cry of pleasure left her lips as he slipped in another finger, he hoped that he wouldn't cream his pants like a freaking teenage boy.

Y/N felt the coil in her stomach tighten as she inched towards her climax. Dean quickened his pace, curling his fingers inside her and brushing her g-spot, each time eliciting a low moan out of her. “Dean….” She couldn't form any coherent words other than chanting his name over and over again and a moment later, the coil snapped as she felt herself coming undone. He delicately pulled his fingers out of her, which were covered in her juice. Dean reached behind her, yanking the door open as he nudged her to go in. She readily obliged and slid into the seat with shaky legs. He climbed into the backseat after her, closing the door behind him.

Her dress had ridden up her thigh, exposing her glistening pussy. Dean’s eyes darkened at the sight before him as he swiftly pulled his shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere in the front. He pushed her dress further up. She raised her hands as he successfully got her out of the garment and unhooked her bra. Y/N moved further back into the seat, her back resting against the door on the other side as Dean started to leave kisses down her body.

“Have you ever thought about this? ‘Cause I did, every freaking day.” Dean asked, kissing the valley between her breasts, the rumble of his voice sending shivers down her spine.

“E-every time I touched myself, I thought of you.” She said, gasping out loud at every word when his mouth found her breasts and started to suck on the soft skin, flicking a nipple with his tongue and twirling the other within his fingers.

“Oh-” Dean raised his head to look at her before he moved south, “Did you think about me between your legs just like this-” He said as he left kisses along her thigh, his stubble creating soft burns on her skin in its wake that she would definitely remember. He finally stopped at her nether regions, his hot breath fanning against her throbbing pussy. “Did you think about me tasting you like this?”

Y/N threw her head back in pleasure when his mouth latched onto her sensitive bundle of nerves, his tongue flicking at her aching nub. Her hands traveled down to his head, her fingers getting tangled up in his soft hair and pulled at the strands, making him groan.

“Fuck-” She exclaimed as Dean hungrily devoured her, his tongue repeatedly assaulting her sensitive pussy, sucking needily on her bundle of nerves. Y/N threw her head back in pleasure as she felt the coil in your stomach tighten before a wave of pleasure washed over her. “Shit!” She gasped as Dean’s tongue lapped her juices hungrily.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good.” He panted before he unbuttoned his pants pushing them down along with his boxers, freeing his erection sprung from his confines. “Son of a bitch, I don’t have-” Y/N sensed his uneasiness.

“I’m on the pill.” She smirked as she stared at his toned body.

“Well, I’m clean.” She reached out to touch his stomach, hands then traveling down to his length. Dean dropped his head, biting down on his lips, “Y/N-” He pushed her hands away, smirking as he ran his hand along his hardened cock, giving it a few strokes, the tip beaded with precum. He looked at Y/N once and lined himself with her dripping entrance when she gave him a nod to go ahead.

His swollen tip teasingly nudged at her opening before he pushed himself into her.

“Shit Y/N-” Dean grunted, simultaneously as Y/N hissed out at the painful sensation at the beginning as he pushed himself into her, letting her adjust around his size before she told him to move. He circled his hips as he slowly pulled out, leaving only the tip of his engorged cock inside her, before pushing back in again, deeper than before.

“Holy fuck-” Y/N moaned out when he quickened his pace, hitting her g-spot repeatedly with every thrust as they both inched towards their release. Dean kissed her as he continued to thrust deep into her, their breathing growing erratic, the windows of the chevy fogged up and the car filled with their groans and moans as they both chased their release. She hooked her arms at the small of his back as he started to nibble at her sweet spot. His hand moved south, his thumb rubbing circles on her clit which further edged her.

“Shit De!” Y/N cried out loud as her walls fluttered around his pulsating length when she felt herself coming undone. Dean’s thrusts became sloppy as he grunted into the crook of her neck before he spilled into her with one cry of her name, painting her walls with his seed. He dropped his head, trying to catch his breath before he gently pulled out.

“Fuck sweetheart.” Dean panted, beads of sweat lining his forehead as they both laid in each other’s arms, basking in the post-coital bliss. “Was this better than your fantasies? ‘Cause, ‘twas surely better than mine.” Dean smirked, reaching out to grab a piece of cloth to clean themselves up. “We should have done this sooner.”

“If only you hadn't been such a coward.” Y/n teased with a giggle.

“Your dumbass could have called me up. I wasted five years being one, terrified to hear how much you hate me.” He grumbled, cleaning up the mess on the seat. Honestly, she could have but she didn't ‘cause she was scared to hear the truth as well; that Dean had truly left her.

“So, you’re sayin’ we’re both a couple of dumbasses.” Y/N chuckled, putting on her bra.

“Your words, not mine.” Dean gave her a sly smirk. “The Winchester household will be so delighted, once they know I finally got my head out of my ass and looked at the beautiful woman right in front of me.” He was right in every sense. The Winchesters, all of them had always believed that those two would end up together. Everyone saw how in love they were except Y/N and Dean.

“Isn't it too early for the introduce-the-girlfriend-to-the-family thing?” She asked which got an eye roll out of the man. “Panties?”

“I don't have them.” Dean sneakily raised his hands.

“I saw you stuff them into your pocket.” He grabbed her dress from the front seat, throwing it at her.

“Put this on, or preferably, just don't.” He gave her a boyish smile, getting a raised eyebrow in reply, “Oh I'm not done with you. Gotta make up for the lost years, sweetheart.” Dean's eyes darkened at the thought as Y/N gulped, knowing she wouldn't be able to walk properly for weeks.

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[tojakku]

✶ - sugarplums and stardust 

pairing: fpopstar! reader x arc trooper fives                                            summary: you, sugarplum, galaxy-wide adored popstar. fives, galaxy-wide renowned idiot.                                                                                  warnings: rated m for mature! this chapter includes: smut (18+), oral (female receiving), dirty talk, implied rough sex, pee pee in v, the beauty of checking up on your partner, mature language... a hot clone trooper, flirtation... alcohol... etc... fives being a little slut 

THE BARRACKS ARE ALMOST ENTIRELY QUIET. Almost. The centre of Coruscant never quite escaped from the thrum of late-night traffic, or the sing of the planet throbbing right below their feet, through canals and chambers and pipes of sewers crawling with scrap rats. 

Sometimes too much silence wasn’t good for Fives’ brothers. Sometimes it made them more restless, tossing and turning before eventually leaving to the gym, to push weights and punch bags until their tiredness had them collapsing on the mats. It was an uneasy and unpredictable world in the barracks- right where it should be predictable and easy.

The 501st are on shore leave along with a good handful of other battalions, a couple from the Inner Rim, the 13th Battalion from Sullust, even Wolffe and Cody were sticking around somewhere. Fives, although he was meant to be raving and silly and wild, was feeling a little… well, he hadn’t eaten much at dinner.

Something about the last campaign on Bothawui, a second, months after the first, and being soaked through with blood and gunfire, had just dulled him a little. Maybe he just needed sharpening.

He muscles his helmet in his hands, trudging down the main corridor through the barracks. There were separate rooms inside now, the one he shared with the rest of Rex’s squadron far at the end. The lights, although top of the range, working perfectly, were too bright, flickering off the durasteel of the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Fives wrinkles his nose. Too bright.

There’s the slightest shimmer of music, though, and for a brief fleeting moment, Fives is convinced it’s coming from outside, from Coruscant, but when he pushes through into his part of the barracks, his stomping ground, he stops still.

Now, the 501st have always been fans of partying, music, drinks, cantinas, women, but Maker, Fives was not expecting four full-grown men huddled around a datapad, nodding their heads to a silvery voice accompanied by a thrumming beat. He didn’t expect, either, the harsh shushing he receives from an irritated Kix.

The medic holds up a hand and starts rabbiting on to Jesse, perched on his left on the bunk, leaning his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Damn batchmates. 

“See? She’s amazing,” Kix mutters, gesturing at the datapad. “She was on the radio the other day, little Tano said something about her and I looked into it.” Fives tosses his helmet on the opposite bunk and takes a peek at what exactly they’re watching.

Oh.

A popstar. Shimmying. Rather precariously. 

She’s all clad up in pale, pastel lavender, her cheeks dusted in a thin film of shimmering pink, her mouth painted a matching shade. She’s even got this wild, bright yellow hair. Kix takes a wary glance at Fives before angling the screen a little more.

“Sugarplum.” 

“She’s some babe from the Core Worlds, a superstar,” Hardcase supplies, chewing on a bar of some unidentifiable substance with a grin. “Hot,” he comments, when she turns to wink at the camera.

“What is this?” Fives asks, leaning heavily on the bunk. Her shimmering, glittery skin seems to just seep through the datapad with every shift, shimmy and spin. 

“She’s doing concerts all over Coruscant in the next few days. Then Corellia, then the other ecumenopoli.” Echo speaks as if it’s common knowledge. Fives scowls at his twin, shoving his shoulder with a hand. 

Kix swipes left on the datapad and suddenly a rather risque picture flashes up, Sugarplum’s tongue out, her eyes rolled back. A ripple of chaos from the boys as they try to cover the datapad, and a roar of laughter from Hardcase when the pad goes flying over their heads.

“What the fuck?”

“That is not my datapad, I swear-”

“Yeah, it’s Tup’s!” 

“No, no, it’s definitely ‘Case’s.”

Fives snorts, throwing himself onto his bunk, listening, happily, to his brothers bicker.

“Want to bet she wants a piece of clone ass?” A murmur of dissent and discern when Jesse speaks follows- Fives struggles not to burst into a laugh. The cog-faced trooper looks down in embarrassment when he’s knuckled into a headlock. “Come on!”

“Yeah, maybe she does, but we weren’t going to say that!” A pause. “It’s practically gospel truth all of the beautiful ladies want a piece of us.”

The door busts open again, on four troopers in a pile, and Fives, beaming happily away on his bunk. It’s Rex, ole’ Captain, and he looks once at the pile, once at Fives, before moving into the barracks, silent as night- not on Coruscant, silent somewhere else.

Fives wriggles under his Captain’s gaze, uneasy. Sometimes he made him uneasy when he didn’t talk, didn’t even greet them. Sometimes it meant the end of shore leave. Fives swallows, stuffing the panic hard down in his stomach to edge himself along the bunk with a little more formality. Rex catches his gaze.

“You lot looking at Sugarplum again?” There’s an uproar of disagreements, denials and something else, just Jesse relenting with a sigh. Fives stuffs a fist against his mouth, trying to contain his laughter at the four troopers fumbling over each other, even as Rex stares, unimpressed. 

“Yeah,” Fives mutters. “They were, but we saw some of Hardcase’s secret bank and they threw the-” A pillow hits him square in the face. “Hey!” 

“You guys are bad as cadets,” Rex huffs, laughing softly, bringing his datapad up. He looks more tired than usual, rings under his eyes.

“You tired, Rex?” Kix asks, suddenly fluttering into medic-mode. He touches Rex’s forehead with the back of three fingers and draws an amused sigh from the Captain. Fives watches over the edge of his fist. If something’s wrong with Rex, that means no drinking themselves into inhibition later that night. 

“Better not be! We’re out tonight,” Jesse knocks his hand on Rex’s shoulder as he throws himself up from the bunk. “And I’m dreaming of beating Commander Wolffe in a drink-down this time. This time.”

“Don’t you say that every time, vod?” Hardcase levels a gaze back at the now-scowling Jesse. 

“What clubs do you think Sugarplum goes to?”

“Those glitzy ones on the upper levels, probably, the ones suspended in the air,” Rex joins in then, making weird shapes with his hands. “You’ve seen.” A moment of silence. “Okay, well, the General told me they sell sunfruit liquors there for five credits a shot.”

“Is it supposed to be better than the shit they sell us at 79’s?”

“Who fucking knows.”

“The General, apparently-”

“Kenobi was the one who told him.” 

Another round of laughs. Fives sighs, smiling, before wrestling Echo into a headlock.

“Ready to get out-drunk tonight, brother?” A shove, a scoff, then a grin. “You better be. You owe me three drink runs.”

“Three?” 

“Three, vod, three. For the last time I saved you.” Echo shakes his head, pushing a hand through his dark hair- same as them all, deep down. “Three.”

“Two.”

Fives laughs, bumping forearms with his brother. Echo knocks his temple against Fives’ and a moment of softness breaks the twins’ bickering.

“Fine, two.” 

Fives never could refuse his batchmate. 

-

You weren’t, and never will be, completely keen on Coruscant. Too much… difference. No, it’s not that, it’s just the deep tunnels into the ground and the rumours you hear sometimes, through your girls, through… well, anywhere.

‘Disease grows twofold as the lower levels of Coruscant are ignored for a Senate sickness’, or ‘The lower levels of Coruscant- most dangerous place in the galaxy?’. No, of course not. There’s police, you stupid news writer.

You pick idly at your nails, smoothing your thumbs over each metallic-blue painted tip to soothe your nerves. 

Eva and Lirisa had planned for a club outing tonight. The concert earlier had gone perfectly fine, just amazing, really. Everything was on point, the dancing, the singing, the backup vocals, the crowd… it still tingles on your skin like a second skin. The thrill would never hit any different.

You’re hidden away in your dressing room back in your apartment, slumped over a chair like a swooning lady. Lirisa is fixing her hair around her three little head horns, a bright, vivid purple like her skin, frowning in the mirror over your shoulder. She catches your gaze after a moment, face folding into concern.

You stretch out in the plum velvet chair, legs in fluffy slippers spreading when she gets that look. That look meant questions.

“Why are you so down?” You frown, shaking your head, returning your gaze to the datapad in your hands. A news article about you paints the screen. Lirisa looks down, once, twice, realises, and snatches your chin away from it. “Stop reading it if it’s bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s good.” She pouts, letting you go with a soft pat to the shoulder. You shuffle uncomfortably in your feather-trimmed robe, the sheer material not offering much of a comfort in the face of a wide-open balcony window a few paces away.

Eva appears seconds later, looking plump and perfect in her eye-snatching candyfloss pink minidress, feet hidden in peculiar fur-cuffed ankle boots. She shifts, eyes ducking against the ground, her tattoos across her nose, little black diamonds against pale green skin, vivid and stark. 

“Oh, wow!” You exclaim, turning the spinning chair with a free hand. Lirisa squeals, rushing forward to tug at the hem of the dress, pulling the daring v-neck even lower. Eva hisses, batting away her friend’s hands.

“Don’t pull it down that far!” 

“I wasn’t!” 

A giggle and a sigh, then attention flickers back towards you. Your gut drops when they rush forwards, springing upon your wardrobe like it was their job- well, it was, but that doesn’t matter. There’s two options for dresses and you’ve already made your decision. A deep blue second skin, a dress that shimmered like a starlit night under the right light. The front was a simple scooped neck, low enough that your cleavage could make a gasp for breath, but not low enough you’d be recognised for a sleaze. The back is a square of sheer material until your hips, a little more than daring, a little less than risque, perfect for a night of dancing and drinking. 

There were even little silver stilettos in the corner. 

“No one will recognise me in blue, so stop trying to find other dresses,” you chide. “I’ve already made my decision.” A pout from Lirisa doesn’t move your hard-as-steel expression. Sometimes the Theelin girl had the ability to actually change your mind, but now, you sit there, waiting patiently for her to stop sulking. “Are we still going to that… um, that bar?”

“‘That bar’,” Eva mocks, turning you sharply to the mirror to start fiddling with your hair. It rests, untouched, until she starts pulling it up. “The clone bar.”

“Are we even going to be allowed in?” Eva nods, twisting a coil of hair around her finger. It’s not the same electric yellow it was on stage- the wig was long gone. “Who have you bribed this time?” You grin, glancing at her in the mirror. She shakes her head, disgusted at the pure suggestion of bribery. 

(Wouldn’t be the first time she had… well, Eva had once tried to bribe a club bouncer with a tray of meiloorun fruit.)

“I heard from a reliable source in the GAR offices that a whole bunch of sexy, all-too-willing clones are on shore leave.” You sigh, tugging on a forlorn strand of hair. Eva grabs your shoulder, firmly. “Don’t pull, your hair is almost done.”

“Shouldn’t I get my dress on first?”

“You’ll only spill blumfruit juice on it.” You scowl. “And we’re leaving in twenty minutes, standard. I already called a speeder for us.” 

“No paps?”

“No paps.” A pat on your shoulder and you relax. “Anyway, we’re going to have fun tonight!” Lirisa moves around in the background, now clad head to toe in what looks like skin-tight purple leather. She smiles, fondly, smoothing down a crease at her hip. The neckline plunges low below her sternum, but she acts as if she’s wearing Jedi robes with a swish and a sashay. You redirect your eyes when you get a rather tasteful flash of sideboob. “Looking good, Liri.”

“Thank you!”

“Is it a new suit?” A pause, a shrug. “Is it from my wardrobe?” You ask, eyebrow cocked in question. She nods, coyly smiling. “Fair enough.”

“Huh! If I took that you’d scream at me.”

“No, because I’d never confidently display so much sideboob at a club, Eva,” you mutter. Eva ponders it for a moment, but agrees, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Well, let’s just get to the club first, then we’ll decide how much ‘sideboob’ you’ll display after a few drinks.”

-

If there was one thing Eva was right about, it was the abundancy of rather good-looking men in the same place. Getting in had been easy- just flutter your lashes at the Coruscant guard on the door, he’d step aside and let you straight in with promises of a kiss later. 

Inside was beautiful, purple and blue lights swinging low from a long-greyed ceiling, huge yellow holograms with all manner of languages on them- news, nunaball, flashes of the GAR-droids, the ones that present it. Then, even a flicker of your own face. A familiar beat begins thrumming ten steps into the bar.

Eva barks a laugh, hooking her pale green arm through yours, tugging you closer towards the bartender. She starts ordering shots in a rapid call, smiling politely at the droid behind it. You lean an elbow on the bright, turquoise counter, relishing in the sultry high notes of one of your latest tunes. Lirisa throws her arms around your waist, humming softly.

“Three.” Eva holds up her fingers. “Thank you.”

You flex your hands under the glow of a green-yellow menu. It’s fascinating, being suspended in a place like this and being able to take your eyes off the crowd for just a moment without being scared of being hustled. Eva touches your shoulder momentarily, her usual gesture of reassurance.

Your gaze slips from the bar- it’s fascinating, yes, but more fascinating are the similar faces flashing around you. Each one the same, but slightly different. Silver hair, shaved head, tattooed, long hair, dark hair, pale hair, wider smile, careful gaze. You wet your lips and catch the gaze of a trooper a few seats down.

He’s broad, like the rest of his brothers, but something else settles about him like a halo. Dominance, confidence. He’s got one cybernetic eye, too, but the gruffness of his expression as he moves from his seat has your eyes fixated.

Suddenly, you catch another gaze of another set of troopers some ways away.

Huddled in a booth, an entire squad is staring right at you. With a startled huff, you cross your legs, tugging gently on Lirisa’s leather sleeve.

“I think I’ve been made.”

“Where?” She looks over your shoulder, brown eyes searching against the near-darkness of the club. She raises an eyebrow, slowly. “Oh. Just troopers, it’s okay. They won’t bother you.” You frown, interlocking your fingers and moving, slowly, to lean awkwardly against the counter. Their gazes reside on your back, sticky like syrup, until someone speaks roughly at your side.

“You’re not a clone.” 

You turn, matching the gaze of the gruff man from before. A glance over his armour tells you nothing- great. He’s patched in a pale, unforgiving black, and he moves, tilting his body to rest on the countertop. 

“No,” you murmur. “I suppose I’m not.” Your fingers go immediately to your necklace, a thin chain of silver studded with transparent stones, to tug. It’s a habit. The trooper looks at you for a long moment, dark eye and silver eye roving until he smiles, a little. Something tells you smiling isn’t normally what he’s used to. “Is that a good thing?” A look through your lashes and a splutter of drink from Eva over your shoulder has you struggling to hold in a laugh. 

The man’s eyes flit to the screens, then back to you.

“Is that you?” You purse your lips, glancing at the hologram. “Nice.” Nothing else is added before he prepositions: “Want to dance?”

It’s only a moment after he offers his name, ‘Wolffe’, that you agree, letting him lead you to a writhing pack of men, clones and civvies, a few girls of all species. Your fingers thread through his and with a giggle, you sit your drink- a sunfruit cocktail- now finished, on an empty table. A rivulet of excitement ripples through your stomach when he tugs you firmly to his chest, roving a strong-fingered hand over the small of your back.

He asks a soft ‘this okay?’, but you’re too far flushed with music and finally, relaxation. You throw your arms around his neck and sway to the upbeat bass. A few more moments and your head drops back with a soft sigh, Wolffe’s fingers catching against the thin seam where the sheer material turns back into oil-slick silken fabric. Your breath hitches.

“Never did get your name,” he huffs, nose brushing yours. You sigh, smiling politely.

“They call me Sugarplum,” you murmur, letting his hands on your hips move you a little more vigorously to the disco-beat. Wolffe grins, wolfish, before flipping you around, a hand flattening against your stomach. 

The music continues, and you continue to let Wolffe roam his hands along your midriff until he’s heaving heavy breaths in your ear and becoming slowly less dancer-like. You had to admit, the clones seemed like they were lithe bands of silk ready to snap, but you were dying for a drink.

When the song starts to pulse out in favour of a quicker, sharper tone, you slide your hands against his and softly remove them.

“I need a drink,” you shout over the music. He swipes a hand over his sweat-stricken hair and nods, dropping himself into a booth. “Thanks for the dance.” You brush your lips against his cheek and dart through the crowd, desperately searching for a flicker of pink, or purple. Luckily, Lirisa’s still at the bar, pressed against it by someone in red armour, perhaps, but there nevertheless, and smiling, sober. “Liri and… friend.”

“This is Thire,” she calls, patting his hand. “Coruscant Guard.”

“Fancy.” You stare at him for a moment, trying to decide on his intentions when he gives the brightest, sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. You feel your cheeks rush with heat. “Nice to meet you.”

“Plum,” Lirisa mutters. “How was your dance?”

“Oh, fine… you know me…”

“What, a prude?”

“No!” You bat her arm with a hiss. “Picky.” You flag down for another drink, dumping a pile of credits on the counter. Thire’s brows skyrocket, his face a portrait of shock when the droid picks through and takes only what’s needed. “Oh, I don’t know the prices…”

“That’s a lotta’ credits.”

Lirisa tilts his chin with one long, lavender finger and captures his mouth, eyes settling on you with a meaningful look. You swipe the credits up, dumping them back in the little silver shoulder bag she’s got on the counter. Oops.

You hear yourself in the speakers again.

“Huh. Whoever’s DJ-ing has nice taste.” Lirisa pulls away from Thire after a long moment, her lipstick a little smudged, but with a warm smile, Thire swipes it back into place. “Thank you, baby doll.” Thire darkens. “I’ve always liked ‘Popgloss’.” 

“It’s not my best,” you murmur, eyes fluttering with shyness. 

“This is you?” Thire asks, gesturing at the screen. You look at yourself, bearing a bright, fluorescent blue wig and matching lipstick. “That’s you?” He huffs a laugh of surprise. “Nice lipstick.”

“Thank her,” you reply, jabbing a thumb in the Theelin’s direction.

The droid slides a new drink over. You frown, staring at it. The glass is literally glowing, a white-ish liquid simmering inside. 

“Courtesy of the 501st, ma’am.” The droid trundles away and you stare at the bright blue liquid with a smile. 

“Boys in blue, huh?” Thire looks at the drink, then back at Liri with hooded eyes. “That looks like a mist-cocktail.” He turns, glancing over his shoulder towards where you’d seen the table staring at you. You follow his gaze, but only a few troopers remain. One of them raises a hand in a two-fingered salute, though. You smile coyly, waving in return. 

With a careful touch, you raise the glass to your mouth and take a sip. It’s warm, warm down to your toes, and tastes amazing.

“Tastes great,” you say, a little surprised. “I should go thank them.”

“No, you should leave them waiting, maybe they’ll come up to you!” You scowl, shaking your head. Another sip of your drink and you turn, walking swiftly towards the table where only three troopers remain out of what was a lot more. One with long hair, another with lines tattooed down his face, grinning roguishly, and the last with a buzzed, blonde cut. 

“Um, I just wanted to say thank you for the drink.” You fiddle with the draw, lashes fluttering of their own command. All three troopers are staring, two at your face, and the other quite firmly at your legs. “And, well… thank you for fighting. Your service,” you murmur, suddenly taken aback with shyness. Come on, superstar personality! Make your appearance.

The blonde grins.

“You’re welcome. On both counts.” His demeanour is remarkably similar to that of the Wolffe from earlier. Perhaps a Commander. “We’re quite enjoying your music tonight.” You chew idly on a thumb, smiling bashfully. “And we enjoyed Wolffe’s poor attempt at dancing.”

“Oh!” You snort. “He wasn’t that bad!” Eyes follow your hips as they turn, swaying back and forth as you try to plant yourself firmly and more confidently at one side of the round table. “Um, well, thank you anyway.”

“Thank you, Sugarplum.”

You make a wild getaway before you can embarrass yourself further or faint in the lap of the blonde, who was staring a little too sharply for your taste. The music seems to pulse louder with every step you get back to Lirisa, who is now firmly shoved against the counter and smothered by Thire’s mouth. Eva is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Eva?”

“She ran off with a Twi’lek lady.” 

You smile, huffing a chuckle of disbelief, leaning forwards to finish your drink in two more sips, when slowly, you notice a presence approaching you from the side.

Hands, well-defined, lined with veins and a few here-and-there scars, draw your attention like an industrial magnet. His skin is bronze, a dark, deep gold, like his brothers, but he plants his weight on the bar and clears his throat softly before speaking.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, dark. You swallow, hard, turning your head. He’s quite a face. He’s got quite a face- sorry, he’s… got quite a face. Right below his hairline, there’s a little ‘5’ tattoo, nestled there, inked in night-black. You take another sip of your drink for courage.

Alone, it’s easier.

“Hello.” Your voice is a little uneasy, but the trooper smiles, his eyes shining with politeness. Your eyes flutter shut when another one of your songs bursts through the speakers, but the trooper’s grin only grows.

“I’m not boring you, am I?” 

“No! No, sorry, I’m just… I don’t know.” His smile softens at the corners, less devilish, and he shifts his weight, spine arching with the movement. You let your gaze flicker along his lithe body, contained in blue-stained armour. ‘Boys in blue’, Thire had said. “Oh! You sent me the drink… it’s delicious.”

“Yeah? One of my favourites.” He moves a hand back through his dark hair, eyes ducking for a brief second, before meeting yours once more. You feel your chest swoop and you smile, wide, wider than usual. “Fives.” He offers a hand, a handshake, and you accept it, only for him to flip your wrist. His lips ghost your knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You can call me Plums,” you supply. “That’s what all my friends call me.”

“Friends?” A coy, cocked brow. Your chest flutters and you nod, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ve probably got dark lipstick all over your teeth by this point, but the way Fives poses the question has you suddenly not-so-bothered. Lirisa’s knuckles jabs your spine twice, a signal. You’re pretty much alone now. She’d bring Thire back to her apartment, two floors under yours, and Eva was wherever that Twi’lek took her. “We like your music in the barracks.”

“Oh? Thank you,” you murmur, gazing into the bottom of your glass. “I wish you could all come to one of my concerts, that’s the only place I sound good sometimes. My studio stuff is a little-” 

He suddenly tilts your chin with the knuckle of his finger, still grinning brightly.

“Don’t want to lose my beautiful view.” You chew helplessly on your lip, chest releasing a sort-of sigh, more like a swooning hum. “And I like both. All of it. The boys were playing a couple clips of your concert today.”

“Really?” You fiddle with the stem of your glass, not letting your eyes drop from his face, chiselled and kind, warm. 

“Yeah. I like the pink, but if I’m honest, I like this blue on you even better.” He taps your lower arm, where the sleeve ends at your wrist. “We’re matching, see?” He gestures at his blue-painted armour. You suddenly smile, nerves dissipating. 

“Seems like we are.” A smile shared, and Fives shifts forwards. His fingers skim your waist as he signals the droid for another drink. “You want me drunk or something?”

“How many have you had?”

“I can handle another. For you.” He raises a brow, eyes suddenly narrowing with a wild grin. “I suppose.” You rest a hand against his chestplate and he huffs a noise of near-surprise, before taking your fingers in his. He brushes his mouth against them and thanks the droid when he appears with another mist-cocktail, no, two. “What are these even made from?”

“Good question,” he murmurs, taking a long sip of his. You stare at him, unabashedly, for a moment, watching the light flicker through his long lashes, then the twitch of his mouth when he realises you’re staring. “Something you like?”

“You have the most beautiful profile I’ve ever seen,” you gush, turning his head with the tips of your fingers, smiling. His breath comes out in a slow whirl when you slide a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “Like a statue. One of those ones on Naboo in the big fancy halls.”

“You callin’ me handsome?”

“I’m calling you more than that.” 

He takes another long drink of his cocktail and you follow, letting it warm your stomach. You glance at his blue armour, touching the lines of his arm.

“Boys in blue?”

“501st Legion.” He bows his head. “At your service, I’m certain. In fact, half the GAR will probably fall at your feet, princess.” You smile, sheepish. “Don’t be so unsure of yourself,” he murmurs, touching a curl of fallen hair at your temple.

“Who said I was unsure? Maybe I’m just faltering in the sheer radiance of your beauty.” Fives laughs, a low rumble in his chest, finishing his drink in one swallow. “501st… are you a Commander?”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“ARC-trooper. Advanced Recon Commando.”

“Oh? So… elite of the elite?” Fives’ eyes flutter, sliding over your features in one long, languid sweep. “Am I stroking your ego?”

“I’d much rather you stroke something else.”

You hum, head turning. You want to pretend the crude line has made you suddenly disgusted, but when he fastens a hand around your waist, you’d rather fall into him, onto him, onto him. He radiates energy. 

“Can you kiss me now?”

His eyes widen, at least a little, and he smiles, eyes lidded, gaze smokier than a Sullust sunrise.

“Can I kiss you? That can be arranged.”

Fives leans, capturing your lips in a soft, chaste kiss. He tastes of cocktails and fruit and something else sharper, darker, but you don’t care. It’s suddenly rather hard to care as he brushes a thumb along your ribs and leans you back further. Your chest hisses a content sigh when he tilts your chin, pulls back, then takes your mouth a little harder. 

He’s soft as silk for a soldier with calloused hands, his touch careful, hesitant until you moan quietly into his mouth and he touches his tongue against the seam of your lips. You let your jaw open, and he slides his tongue along your teeth, grins, then groans when your hips cant into his. 

“Fives, do you want… do you want to come to my apartment?” He huffs, almost as if he can’t believe his luck, mouth shining with moisture. His head dips, claiming your lips once more like he’s got unfinished business there. 

His thumbs ripple over the creases in the dress at your hips, his index, middle, ring finger pressing into your ass, pulling you closer. He knows how to work himself, that’s for sure. You shudder, one hand threading into his hair, the other fastening firmly around his bicep like a vice. He slides his tongue into your mouth and sucks at your bottom lip with a chuckle. You muffle a choked whine, desire suddenly starting to yap at the gates like a feral beast. 

“Yeah…” he replies, finally, eyes fluttering to kiss you again, twice, three times.

There’s gazes on you from the boys in the booth, you know, you feel them, but you don’t take a chance at them until you can lean back for a cool breath of fresh air. They all sit there, slack-jawed, wide eyed.

“Your friends are looking at us,” you murmur, fingers digging into his upper arm.

“Let them look. They’re not the ones getting an eyeful of this masterpiece up close,” he hums, nosing along your jaw. “You should be painted.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“The truth.”

“You’re the first one it’s true for.” You feel your heart thrum a little quicker, his fingers pressing hard into your ass, then relaxing. “You wanna call a cab?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come on,” you murmur. You’re more out of breath than you’d like to admit- than your ego would like to admit. Fives steals another cool kiss in the entrance to the club, greeting a few of his brothers in a language you don’t understand, before ushering you in his warm, huge hands, to the cab drop-off.  His arms suddenly hook around your waist and you sigh, softly, contently. 

After dialling in the address to your apartment, the cab takes only another long two minutes to show up, of which consists mainly of Fives drawing his tongue in teasing circles on your neck, and hot, heavy touches along your ribcage.

You step into the cab first, smiling politely to the driver, only to be pinned to the seat by a suddenly ravenous Fives. He pulls you up, over, onto his lap and keeps you there with a hand on your thigh.

“What do you want from me?” He asks, voice low, rough. “I want to be sure you want this.” A finger gestured between your chests and you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair. “What’re you laughin’ at?”

“How could it be possible anyone wouldn’t want you, Fives?” You tug gently at his roots, smoothing kisses on both of his cheeks with a coy smile.

“You haven’t met my brothers,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “They don’t want even to bet on me when we spar.” You sigh, stretching. “Do you normally do this?”

“Do what?” You ask, certain your eyes are probably blared with lust and something more primal, more dangerous. Fives smothers his face in your throat, nipping gently at your pulse, breath more of a growl now. “Invite handsome men back to my apartment? You should ask my friends.”

“The Theelin and the Mirialan?” You nod. 

“They think I’m quite picky, so nine out of ten nights end with me alone, eating ice cream and watching limmie.” Fives laughs, stroking a thumb over the crease of your knee. “So, you’re lucky.”

“Oh, yeah,” he growls, thumbing at your bottom lip with a grin. You take the digit into your mouth with a hum. “I’ve hit the jackpot.”

The cab stutters up to the dock at the very bottom of the apartment block, and it takes Fives a moment to stare up at the towering building before you can pay the driver and usher him into the doors. Islair, the Nikto receptionist, raises his hand in a polite wave, before doing a double take at the trooper on your arm. He still smiles, though, when you step into the lift.

“You aren’t afraid of heights?” You ask, when Fives leans against the metal bar on the opposite side of the half-glass lift. It slides smoothly through the building, leaving Coruscant more and more distant with every floor climbed.

“No.”

“Good. We’re going to the fiftieth floor.” You smile, fluttering your lashes, crooking your finger towards him. He crosses the lift, boots thudding against red carpet beneath your heeled feet, before shoving you roughly against the wall. His lips break your resolve as soon as he presses them against yours, tongue sliding through into your mouth with a hard groan. He shifts his hips against yours and hooks your wrists beside your head.

“You… we have to make sure there are boundaries.”

“You’d be surprised how much I can take, Fives.” He huffs, a low, gasp of a breath, fingers running up, below your dress. “How much can you give?” 

“You’re really riling me up, princess,” he whispers, voice sharp. “How long till your floor?” You glance at the numbers, ticking up through thirty.

“Not long, handsome,” you murmur, sliding the tips of your fingers down his stomach, along his codpiece, until he groans, planting two hands hard on either side of you He could almost bend the metal. “Relax.”

“Tell me to relax while you’re doing that?” He grumbles, smothering you in another rushed kiss when the lift pings, and the doors open. In one graceful swoop, he hauls you into his arms and waits for you to flick out your apartment key. You rustle through the black, studded purse in your hands and quickly draw it out, a shimmery, pearlescent card. 

“Apartment Three,” you whisper. Fives hurries along the carpeted hall, lowering you to your feet in front of a rather decadent black door, watching as you flick your card over the scanner. A soft, delirious scent of vanilla hits him right in the face when it opens, and he lets you tug him inside.

There’s a moment of silence.

“So, this is my apartment,” you mumble, feeling his presence creeping behind you. His hands snake around your middle, to the hem of your dress and up once more. He takes his time, like he’s standing in front of a painting at a gallery, pushing himself along your spine. You arch your back, sighing softly when he cups your breasts in his hands and kisses your throat, once, twice. “You don’t care…”

“Nice place.” Is all he manages, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, hardened against the silk of your underwear, underneath your dress, but he knows- he grins, smoothing his hands down your sides. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” You turn, fiddling with the latches of his armour pieces, kneeling on the cool wood of the ground. His throats jumps, but you ignore it, finely, too, as you release the rest of his white and blue protection onto the floor. “There. All done.”

“Uh, uh,” he calls, wrapping a hand around your wrist when you try to escape. Your breath hitches. Your back hits against his chest. “Your turn, princess.” His fingers play with the hem of your dress, spreading out along the warmth of your thighs. 

“Zip.” He leans back, moving a hand to slowly drag the zip along your spine. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder, your throat. “Beautiful girl.” You exhale, sharply, shifting the dress from your arms with a wriggle. “Fuckin’ Maker,” he huffs, reaching forrwards to skim his thumbs over your bare skin. You’re suddenly quite happy you wore the black, slightly sexy underwear rather than the black, completely mismatched pair you were rushing for a few hours earlier. 

“You like it?”

“Who were you planning to snag at the club? Wolffe wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with you. He’s hard on the outside, soft on the inside.” Fives smooths the pads of his thumbs across your breasts, nipples hardened in the cups of your bra, before lowering his mouth to the crevice between them. He runs his tongue, slowly, carefully, along the cool silk of your skin. “Fox, maybe. No… no, he’d finish and kick you out. Rex? My Captain? My brother?” You gasp, cupping his face between your hands. “No. Too soft. Too slow.” 

“What are you trying to say, Fives?”

“That I’m the brother for you.” You giggle, throwing your arms around his neck. “I promise, I promise from the bottom of my heart… I am the clone for you.” He offers a goofy smile.

“I trust you, Fives,” you whisper, brushing his nose with yours. “Do you still want to try it, though?” You stroke a finger down the nape of his neck. “Figure out whether I’m the woman for you?” He tucks an arm below your hips and hauls you up, up into the air. 

“I already know.”

“You don’t even know my favourite colour… my favourite flavour of ice cream, my favourite meal!”

“All in good time. For now,” he busts open a door at random. “Good choice.” It’s the bedroom. A wide bed, perfect for ignoring alarms, and what seems to be, to Fives, a good throwing range. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you bounce, just a little, watching him from the head of the bed. “Comfortable, too.”

“Come here,” you call, springing onto your knees. Fives reaches over his head and tugs in one mighty pull, his shirt off. You swallow, dry-mouthed, when he displays deep bronze skin, six lines of ridged muscle, broad arms, broader shoulders. His grin grows. 

“You like what you-”

“Yes.” You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back onto the bed, hauling him below you. Bare skin against bare skin, you tremble with every hot, silky-smooth touch he ghosts up your legs, over your knees, along the curve of your spine. You shift your hips against him, pressing purposely along the velvet length hidden in his blacks. Your fingers splay against his chest, sliding along his stomach, into the waistband of his trousers.

A husky gasp and a growl when your fingertips fuss through the downy triangle of hair at the very centre of those defined lines of muscle, a perfect V. He thrusts his hips up, planting himself at an angle on his elbows. You grin, wrapping a hand around his cock.

It’s broad, long, big enough to make you wince, and hot to the touch. You sweep a thumb over the tip, wetness pooling there somewhere, a drop, more than that, a rivulet running along the underside of the head. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” You smile, capturing Fives in a hard, rough kiss. His teeth clack against yours, but he doesn’t care, all he seems to care about is keeping that pressure on his dick and keeping you right there, beside him. “Oh, Maker.” 

“That feel good, soldier?”

“Pull rank on me and I’ll cum in your hand right now.” He grins. You sigh, tapping your chin with your free hand. 

“What comes next, I wonder?” Fives growls, tossing you on your back in one hard motion. He kicks off his pants, exposing bulking, heavy thighs corded with muscle and a long, thick cock. You grin, going to crawl forwards, but Fives presses you to the bed with a hand. 

“No, no. Just stay there.” His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties. They’re lace and silk, elegant, and he tugs them down, slowly. “You’re beautiful.” You feel your body flush, Fives’ breath quickening against your stomach, your knees, the apex of your thighs, before he presses his mouth into your heat. 

“Oh, Gods, give a little warning next time-” He squeezes the skin of your right thigh with a sigh, running his tongue up the liquid warmth between your legs, between your folds, along the petal-pink flesh, wet with desire. “Fives.”

“You’re sweeter than sugar, princess. Sweeter than anything.” He taps your hips and pins them into the bed, nose brushing your clit with dangerous precision. “So pretty, soft.” His tongue thrusts into you, gathering your slickness in one long motion. He moves his fingers slowly, carefully, along your skin, rubbing one against your entrance in a wolfish, evil way. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“Hm?” Fives croons, biting softly at the skin of your thigh. “You say something?” He hums, licking his lips before shoving his face back between your legs. With the quick shift of his head, his finger eases into you, slowly, carefully. You groan, pushing your hand through his hair. His tongue is teasing at your clit, his finger shifting delicately inside you, slower than anything, but electrifyingly so. 

“Fives, you tease,” you groan, eyes screwed shut. “Stop playing around.”

“You’re asking me to stop playing around?” He adds a second finger, stretching you to the knuckle. You hiss, a hand latching around his upper bicep like a vice. Fives grins. He pecks you twice on the hipbone, then returns his attention to between your legs. “I’m quite enjoying playing around.”

“You’re being a tease. I’d much rather give you attention- ah, fuck, fuck- too. Please,” you hiss, eyes shuddering back as he coaxes the oncomings of an orgasm out of you. A grin against your skin- you feel it. His teeth graze your skin, then his mouth latches onto you once more. Liquid heat burns through your gut, coiling you tight. “I’m going to…”

“Yes, pretty girl, give it to me.” He flicks his tongue over your clit. “Give it to me, Sugarplum. You got it, baby.” 

You choke on a moan as your orgasm snatches you away. It’s a thrumming feeling, a wheeze that escapes through your lungs and burns you hot inside out. A grin spreads onto your face, your skin is vibrating, shivering under the still-relentless touch of Fives between your legs. He eases up onto the bed, then, smoothing your breasts into his hands.

“Perfect tits,” he whispers.

“How do you want me?” You ask, breathless, eyes still spotty-white from the blinding climax rushing between your legs, rendering you twitching, shaking. 

“Get on your back for me?” He asks, pinching a nipple between two deft fingers. You keen, shuffling beneath him. Your hand snakes between his leg and slowly strokes his cock, carefully, quietly. Fives groans, capturing your mouth with his. A moan is lost into his tongue, wetting your lips then moving against them once more. He’s a battering ram- no mercy, a perfect soldier. 

“Fucking hell, Fives,” you whisper, raking nails over his scalp. He moans. You feel your stomach drop to your feet. “You like that?” He nods, parting your legs with two rough, callused hands. Your fingers pull hard at his hair and he whines, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, sliding his hand between your legs once more. He plays with your clit, your hand around his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he rasps, nipping at your bottom lip. You let go of him, reaching up to slide your arms along the hot, hard planes of his back. Fives stares at you, just for a moment, eyes dark like smoke, before he grips himself and pushes against you. “Slow?”

“Whatever you want,” you whisper, mouth cracking open when he impales you carefully in one liquid thrust. “Oh, shit. Now is probably a good time to tell you I’m on suppressors.” Fives tries to speak, but his words are lost in a broken groan into the hot crook of your neck. Your nails push crescent moons into his shoulders, letting him stretch you carefully along his generous length. “Are you all your brothers… this big?”

Fives huffs a laugh, nose brushing your pulse.

“Weird question.”

“Yeah,” you gasp, fanning your face with a hand. “Yeah, you’re right.” You stifle a moan between your fingers, eyes ducking back into your head. “Fuck, fuck, Fives, just a little quicker.”

“Quicker?” His hips snap against yours with a sharpness you haven’t felt before. Your chest drops out, but he continues, thumbs digging into your hips when he tilts you upwards, finding the best angle. His fingers slide beneath the small of your back to suspend you there, perfect for his ruin, when he brushes his mouth over your nipple and ruts firmly into you. “That, ah- that better?”

“Hm, yeah, yes.” You slide a hand into the hair at the back of his head, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slipping open with every thrust of his hips, every shift of his cock inside you. “Yeah, baby, that’s better.” You scratch gentle nails over his back, admiring his warmth, before tugging carefully at his hair. He groans, pinning you into the bed.

Your eyes slide shut. Stars begin to speck behind them and you think he knows by the breathless laugh against your throat, then the broken moan into your jaw, your mouth. He tongues your mouth gently, bruising your lips swollen with the fervent touches. 

“Fives-”

“Ah, yeah?”

“Touch me, just a little more,” you plead, nose brushes his as he pecks you once more, thumbing your right nipple, then finding your clit beneath a rough finger. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You like that, pretty girl?” He huffs, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Yeah?”

“Yes! Gods, yes, please!” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against your chest. Fives’ eyes disappear beneath his eyelids, his chest rumbling with soft, persistent groans every other thrust. You whine, pulling at his hair, scratching at his back. 

“You’re a little… fuckin’... ah, keep pullin’.” You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair, kissing him twice on the mouth, once on the jaw, angling his head as you see fit. “Yeah, baby, that’s right. Tight little pussy.”

He squeezes your waist with one hand, still flicking at your clit with the other hand, desperate to chase your orgasm out of you, and it works, he gives you one in moments. You stiffen, back arching, fisting a hand in the sheets, the other smoothing over his neck. Your moan echoes in your bedroom, and Fives eggs you on with gentle praise.

“Good girl, yeah, keep… fuck,” he wheezes, hiding his face in your shoulder. His arms are so tight. “Can I move you?”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you whisper, letting him shift you into a lower position, where he impales you so suddenly your breath hitches and you shriek, turning into a whimpering mess. “Oh, that’s so good!”

“That’s good?” He breaths, pupils almost completely lost in black-brown irises.

“Yes, Fives, it’s good,” you whisper, smothering your mouth against his with a giggle, a grin, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He grunts, releasing your clit to roll a nipple between finger and thumb. You hiss sharply against him, forcing your heels into his back to push him deeper, harder. “Harder, baby, please.”

He quickens his pace, the bed shaking a little under his force.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Sweet angel,” he reaffirms. “Heaven sent.” His fingers wrap around your free wrist, pinning it against the silken sheets below your head. Your back arches with the pressure, a grin spreading along your face. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m gonna cum.” 

You hiss when he touches your clit, so eager, so painlessly prepared to give you what you want- another orgasm, more pleasure, anything. He coaxes it out of you, another climax, relishing in your writhing against him, your low whine in his ear, the shiver that follows, the sweat that slicks him head to toe. 

“Fuck!” You cry, shuddering back into the sheets.

Fives’ hips falter, his eyes scrunching shut, his groans lower, deeper, until you wind a hand into his hair and kiss him once more, and his thrusts pause.

“Inside?”

“Yeah.”

He finishes, coating you with one hard grunt, a sharp sigh, his eyes finally opening to find yours, a grin eventually appearing on his tired features. You let him fill you, for a moment more, before he pulls away a little.

“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling out. You huff at the cool touch of air against the wetness sinking deep into your skin, and watch him do a quick double-take around the room for the bathroom. With a snort, you point at the door on the left. He punches the release and wanders in, clattering around.

“Under the sink, baby.”

“Yeah! I got it,” he calls, reappearing after the tap runs for a moment. He kneels between your legs and gently, softly, wipes the warm cloth over you until he’s satisfied you’re cleaned up well enough. “There, princess.”

“Thanks.” 

He disappears back into the bathroom, and a wet slap suggests he’s just tossed the rag into the bath tub. An muffled ‘oops’ and there’s another sound of running water. 

You stifle a giggle behind your hand, darting from the bed to snatch up his long-sleeve top. It had the Republic branded right in the middle, grey against the black, and you snuggle into it, sliding your arms into too-big sleeves. Fives reappears after a moment and grins, crooking a finger towards your shrouded form.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, quietly, sincerely. “I’m assuming ‘no’ since you’ve stolen my shirt,” he hums.

“No, stay, please.” You usher him towards the bed, hands on his ass. You squeeze once with a snort and toss his trousers at him. He eases himself into them and pulls you into his chest. 

“Are you okay?”

“Better than okay.” Fives grins, craning his neck to kiss you softly on the mouth, the nose, the forehead. You stare helplessly at him, your heart suddenly quite warm, and collapse onto the bed. “Come sleep.” You pat the space beside you and watch as he slides himself in. “Never had a double?” His look of confusion is an easy tell.

“Nope.”

“Comfy?”

He turns, half buried in thick duvet and silk sheets. You can barely make out his nod but slide down beside him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. He’s like a furnace- probably going to irritate you later in the night- but you relax against his chest.

“‘Night.”

“G’night, pretty baby.”

*

for the bbs always: @thegoodbatch @djangofetts​ @jangohshit​ @queenofheavenandhell​ 

[emkay512]

Once Upon A Time

Chapter 1

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: This is my FIRST EVER post and it’s literal trash 😅 I’ve never written before I found you all, and I’ve never had so much fun reading all the stories I found. If you read this please know I’m a complete rookie and I have no idea what I’m doing haha. I welcome and encourage any thoughts and feedback!

A/N 2: my biggest thank you’s to @queenrileyrose and @bbrandy2002 for pre-reading and giving me endless boosts of confidence!!! This first ever, cherry popping post, is in honor of you ❤️

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m tagging those I’ve connected with and thought would be interested. Please let me know if you do or don’t want to be tagged!

@burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis

The welcome ball had been exhausting. Riley finally saw them, all of them, the good and the bad. Mostly bad with Liam being the exception.. except the fact that with him came his stupid fiancée. She was forced to deal with the Penelope’s and Kiara’s of the court, and got none of the Olivia’s and Drake’s of the world, with Olivia blackmailed and Drake most likely avoiding the court. Majority of the conversations she had to deal with throughout the night consisted of her rebutting all the allegations against her, most people believing that she had jilted their king. At least she had Maxwell and Bertrand, her home away from home. With the maybe two seconds she had Liam to herself and the amount of work and effort she had to put into her first public appearance, she was completely drained and changed from a gown and into more comfortable leggings and tank after she got back to her room of the Fydelia estate. Just as she was decompressing from the stress of her night, there was a knock on the door. She opened the door to see a particular grin on the face of one Maxwell Beaumont carrying a vase of two dozen roses.

“Greetings, little blossom! One of the staff members stopped me on the way of delivering these, asking what room you were in and I insisted on catching you myself.” Maxwell invited himself into her room after handing her the arrangement. Riley pressed the roses to her nose, inhaling the beautiful scent, and she noticed a note wrapped around one of the stems. She unwrapped the note and turned to Maxwell, who had already cozied himself up on her bed, clearly excited to hear what was on the note. “I noticed the paper in the arrangement too, it’s clearly from Liam isn’t it? You did so great tonight and he had the biggest puppy dog eyes on you, I knew his Prince Charming ass would pull off something like this.. well, go on! Read it!”

Riley quickly unwrapped and read Liam’s note, she had no idea the girlish grin she had plastered on and Maxwell was beaming. He had hated these past few weeks so much, he had been watching one of his closest friends, his makeshift sister, live in desperate torment, questioning her worth after hearing nothing from those she cared most about. She put the roses down and placed the note down next to them and looked up at Maxwell, “He wants me to meet him on his balcony in 20 minutes..”

“That is charmingly romantic, but did he slip in his royal socks and tumble down Madeleine’s overly buffed stairs?? He’s clear across the estate, it’s way too dangerous for you to get out of here alone.”

Riley sighed and collapsed onto the bed with Maxwell, “I don’t know Max, his note is sweet and remorseful, but.. maybe this isn’t about getting back together.. maybe I should just focus on helping house Beaumont and getting home..”

Maxwell stretched across to Riley and smacked her across her head, “Come on, Riles! You have been unable to go a single day without asking about him.. at least twice a day! You NEED to go meet him, otherwise I think both of your little fairy tale hearts will die.”

Riley smirked and rolled her eyes, “You’re so dramatic! And please tell me what fairy tale involved a half nude photo scandal and public humiliation leading to a bullshit engagement between a king and the only ice queen that would rival both Olivia and Elsa while singing let it go? Plus, didn’t you just mention that it’d be too dangerous for me to get to him?”

“Hellooooooo?? Ok first of all, literally all fairy tales are structured that way, couple meets and falls in love, and a public enemy curses them with a dramatic, heartbreaking lie, and then they defile all enemies and live happily ever after.. you’re just living the 21st century version of that! Nudes are basically the most vanilla scandal these days anyway. And secondly, have you JUST met mr covert ops extraordinaire, Maxwell Beaumont!? I said it’d be too dangerous for you to go out alone. Let’s just simply walk out together, and if we get any questions, we can just say we’re meeting my brother for.. you know.. this and that diplomacy reason.. whatever, I’ll wing it. Plus, look at you, you’re already dressed for stealth. I just need to get you outside, and then you can scamper over to Liam’s side of the building. Whaddya say, blossom?”

Riley was exhilarated. Maxwell always knew how to say the right things. She locked eyes with him, pointed straight to his chest and said, “You son of a bitch, I’m in.” They shared a mischievous smile and giggled their way out of her room, totally giddy without even shutting the door all the way. They were completely unaware of the royal guard that had been manning her room and slipped inside.

Thanks to Maxwell, Riley had successfully snuck out of the estate and crept to below the balcony of Liam’s room. She had to think fast as to how the hell she’d get up there, and then she spotted the flower vine growing on a trellis against the building, and she let out a small victorious, “Yes!”

But as soon as she took a step in that direction, a hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around so she was facing one of the royal guards. “I don’t think so, lady Riley,” he put a heavy sarcastic emphasis on the term lady, as he was clearly disgusted by her newfound tarnished reputation. “You’re coming with us.”

“Us?” And then from behind her, another guard bagged her head and she felt the grip of two men on each of her arms as they forced her to their destination, practically dragging her as they went. Riley’s heart was thundering in her chest. Where were they taking her? Back to the airport? A jail cell? A dungeon? A firing squad? She wasn’t at all expecting what she got. She was sat on a decently comfortable chair. The guards removed the bag and revealed to see she was in a study. A large one. And there before her on the opposite end of a mighty desk, was the king father, Constantine.

Constantine nodded a dismal to both the guards, and they took their leave. “Well, well. If it isn’t the disgraced American.” Riley was utterly confused and could feel the former kings command in the mood of the room. He did not like her, and she could feel his dislike radiating off of him. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, you foolish girl?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You had your exit, your out. You were scandled. Ostracized! I even had you as far as at the airport gates. But no, you came back. You came back and left me back at square one on how to get rid of you!”

Realization dawned to her, “It was YOU!” Riley leapt to her feet. She felt no fear, only anger coursing through her. “YOU staged those photos, YOU unleashed Tariq on me.. and you timed the release of those photos, at the most prime time allowing maximum humiliation and zero time in between Liam’s announcement. You’re despicable, I bet you’re even disappointed that Tariq’s attack on me didn’t end.. didn’t end up the way he planned.” She had deliberately slowed her speech as each new revelation came to play in her head, she had lowered her voice with disdain and disgust.

Constantine let out a scoff-laugh at what he considered to be a poor attempt of exerting dominance. “You’re right, and quite honestly I don’t care what that pompous buffoon would have done to you, but I must say, those pictures certainly did deliver.” Constantine was teasing and patronizing her, “And now you’re here, still trying to get to my son.”

Riley crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him, “I don’t know what you’re tal-“

“Enough. I know everything.” He waved in front of her the very note that Liam had written inviting her to his balcony that he got from one of the guards. “You poisoned his heart, and now his marriage. And with that, the entire kingdom is poisoned, all because your feelings.” He spit the last word out as if he found it vile.

“I wish feelings could be helped, but they can’t.”

“Of course they can. Love is a disease, and like all diseases, it can be vanquished in one of two ways. A cure, or death.” Constantine stood and leaned both of his palms flat on the surface of the desk. “Do you know where your beloved is right now? He’s right down that hallway, he should be packing for his new life, prepared to take on his engagement tour to unify two Cordonian houses and assume the responsibilities and sacrifices it takes to be king. But no.. He’s pining for you. Awaiting your arrival.”

“And I suppose you intend to keep him that way? Waiting for me, only to be rejected, never knowing I came for him?” Riley’s voice was desperate, but still cunning in reality. She needed him to know her questionnaire was not doubtful, but challenging. That she hated his deliberate intentions.

“No. In fact, you’re gonna walk down that hallway. You’re gonna sneak in and tell him you got his note,” Constantine slid the note across the table, no longer wanting it in his possession, and Riley picked it up. “You’re gonna tell him why you answered his call.. Because you don’t love him. It’ll break his heart.. And that will cure him.”

Wide eyed, Riley could only assume the consequence if she didn’t do as he said, “Or you’ll kill me.” She stated with no question in her mind.

“Oh no. I’ll kill him. Killing you would only make him love you more. And the marriage and kingdom would ultimately crumble.”

“And what about your precious Madeleine? I know how this works this is all about mergers and business transactions. How else would you get Godfrey and his house to join with yours?”

“Please, if Liam were to die at an assassin’s hand, he would die a martyr. Godfrey would forgive, even laud, the death. And the merger would be complete.”

“You would do that to your own son?”

“I’m doing it FOR my son.” Love was once Constantine's weakness and it led to Eleanor’s death. It scarred him and he became brainwashed. Convinced love was the enemy. And now, the product of his foolish love, was Liam, who he groomed to be the perfect king. Constantine applauded himself all these years. It was clear as day that even Leo knew the job belonged to Liam, so Constantine did everything to assuage any of Liam’s hesitation into taking on his duty. He always planned on Liam being the logical one, ready to take on the duty and a loveless union. Then that damn New York trip happened. And that damn Riley came in the picture. Immediately Constantine couldn’t tell if he actually hated Riley, or if he hated the idea that Riley was basically the new version of Eleanor that he’d never have.

[rostovs-lover]

roy rogers

brian may x reader | cursing, some suggestive language, a little bit of anxiety, alcohol consumption | she/her pronouns | fluffy? slow-burn?? | wc.3667

i’m low key tempted to make a part two,, 

anon : Can I request a super cute fic where Bri needs more money for uni, so he starts offering guitar lessons and the reader has a little brother who really wants to learn how to play, so she signs him up. Maybe her brother is extremely good with a guitar and he has a lot of lessons with Bri. He also sees the reader a lot and he catches feelings HARD. Maybe the reader’s little brother spills something to both of them with the help of the rest of the band and they end of together. I just need major FLUFF

your younger brother thinks his guitar teacher is perfect for you and he’s adamant about getting you together. requests open!!

     A Roy Roger’s is a nonalcoholic drink made of cola and cherry grenadine and topped with a maraschino cherry.

     Your younger brother, David, practically lived in your apartment. For a fourteen year old he was brilliant and very, very sneaky. Sneaky enough to creep out of your mother’s house in the dead of night and crawl up to the fire escape of your second story apartment.

    When you’d stumbled to the kitchen, half asleep, he’d been at the table thumbing through a cookbook. He’d also had the audacity to laugh when you screamed, thinking he was an intruder. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and it most definitely wouldn’t be the last either.

    “One of these days something is going to be thrown at your head,” You hissed, setting a bowl of cereal in front of David, who looked at it with the utmost disgust.

    “What is this?”

    “Quisp, either eat it or starve.”

    He glowered at you, “I like Waffelos,”

    “That's so sad, I have no money, its Quisp or nothing.” It was quiet for a while as you both ate, David still looking through your cookbook.

    He closed the book, examining the cover as he spoke, “Mum said you have to sign me up for guitar lessons,”

    “Mum said what?”

    “You have to sign me up for guitar lessons, she’ll pay. I have a well of untapped potential in the musical realm. That's according to her coworker, Deirdre.” He sighed, exasperated, “Mum trusts Deirdre apparently because now I have to learn guitar.”

    “Where on earth does mum expect me to sign you up, I mean did she give you any specifics, like a price range? Do you even have a guitar?”

    “First, I have mum’s old guitar. Second, she just said lessons. I think she trusts your judgment.”

    Despite how much you appreciated your mother trusting your judgment, finding reasonably priced guitar lessons with someone who wasn’t a creep was harder than anticipated. You had collected a handful of flyers and business cards, all offering said lessons. The first call you placed was to a nice old lady looking to take up some spare time by providing lessons but she lived too far away for your mother to drive every week. The next was almost promising until you told Robert MacIntere that the lesson was for your brother, not you and he hung up the phone. One woman had too many cats, another man asked for your shoe size, someone else cursed you out when you said you couldn’t do their outlandish prices. The only promising thing you had gotten was a History professor, a very nice man too. You were thrilled when the lessons had finally been scheduled until he bowed out at the last minute and you were back at square one. 

    You had almost given up when, one rainy Thursday evening, you found an advert pinned outside of the auditorium. Guitar lessons, not too far away, open every Tuesday and Wednesday after three o’clock. The document was typed, all except a phone number scrawled on the bottom, almost as if an afterthought. You scratched the number on the palm of your hand and called straight away when you got home.

    The line wrung for several seconds, “Yo?”

    “Hi. Hi, yes I’m calling about a flyer I saw posted at Imperial College? It was an advert for bi-weekly guitar lessons, and your number was on the paper. I was wondering about booking a couple of weeks?”

    The person on the line snorted, “Sorry dear, that’s not me. I assume you’re looking for my mate, just one moment and I’ll gather him-” You heard his hand cover the receiver as she called for someone, “Just one sec’ lovie,”

    The phone was audibly handed off, “Hello?”

    “Hi, um I’m calling about the guitar lessons?”

    “Oh!” His voice, “Yes, of course! That's me, are you looking to schedule one?”

    You had scheduled for the following Tuesday at four, to meet at his apartment. In the car on the way there, David rambled on about everything he wanted to learn and exactly how ecstatic he was for this. He had named his guitar George, after George Harison, who he admired. On the elevator ride up to Brian’s apartment, David was practically vibrating and he bounced on the balls of his feet as you waited at the door.

    The door was opened by a blond, clad in a bathrobe and flannel pyjama pants who puffed at his cigarette as he stared at you, “What brings you here?”

    Before you could speak David, who the blond hadn’t noticed until just then, piped up, “The guitar lessons. I’m the one being taught, [Name] is just sitting in.”

    “Oh, well come in then, I’ll go and get Brian.” He tucked his cigarette behind him and lead you inside, “Um, make yourselves at home, couch is all yours.” He howled Brian’s name and ducked into the kitchen, snuffing out the smoke in an ashtray.

    David got settled on the couch, tugging out his guitar, and you set into a chair. From around the corner rushed a very frantic body, clutching his own guitar. He was very tall, and the black pants he wore made his legs seem unproportionate to his body. What caught your eye the most though was his hair, he had a thick mane of tightly wound black curls, which also added to his height.

    “Hi, I’m very sorry about this, I got a touch caught up in a bit of school work.” He settled onto the couch next to your brother, “You must be David, I’m Brian.” He gestured a hand to your brother.

    David, ever the charmer, shook firmly as he spoke, “Its pleasure meeting you. I wasn’t quite sure that lessons were even going to happen, no one seemed right, according to mum, but you seem nice! Your guitar is neat. Oh! That's my sister, [Name], I believe you spoke on the phone.”

    “We did,” Brian leaned forwards to shake your hand as well, “Its nice to meet you,”

    A better teacher would have been hard to come by. Brian was patient and soft spoken, he worked at your brother’s pace, never rushing past anything he didn’t fully understand. The lesson was only an hour long but it seemed much shorter, with a book in tow you didn’t pay much mind to anything else. That was until you caught yourself glancing over the cover to watch the lesson. Brian was attractive and he had very nice hands. You were somewhat aghast you’d never seen him on campus, he seemed hard to miss.

    The lessons became weekly, and despite trusting Brian and his roommate, Roger, you still opted to stay for every one. It was always pleasant, the apartment was nice, Brian was nice, and you had begun to get acquainted with his friends. During the third week, Roger had let it slip that they were in a band. Brian’s face had flushed scarlet and he’d played with his fingers as he explained that it wasn’t anything serious. On that same visit, you’d had a conversation with Roger in the kitchen while he got you a glass of water. He was nice, only half awake at the time, but you’d realized you had an evolution class together at school. He had also given you his number, and David would absolutely not let you hear the end of it.

    “Please-” Your brother cried as he threw himself onto your sofa, “You haven’t had a boyfriend in ages. The last one was, what was his name?”

    You rolled your eyes, “Chet?”

    “Chet Robbins! Chet the safe bet!”

    “Chet the safe bet? Did you make that up?”

    David smiled, very proudly, “I did! Just now actually, because it's true! Chet, the business student, trust fund child, frat boy. Why not date a drummer?”

    “Because I like stability David,”

    “[Name] date the drummer. I beg, I plead. He was so into you, he gave you his number!”

    “If you will recall, I have his number. Because his number is the apartment number and that's what I called for the lessons. I also refuse to date your teacher’s best friend. How would I approach that, ‘Hi Brian! You’re teaching my brother an instrument, I did your friend last night. How have you been?’”

    David gasped in mock disgust, “I never said a word about doing him. You foul wench, I simply implied dinner. Maybe seeing one of his shows.”

    “Oh my dear, when you date a drummer it's never just dinner.” You snorted.

    “Well, when I date a drummer it will be. Only dinner, no foul play.”

    “Please, please keep that attitude for the rest of your life.”

    It was quiet as he mulled over your words. You started off, putting away your bag and coat when he abruptly sat up, “You don’t dislike the drummer, in fact, it has nothing to do with him. You don’t like my teacher’s best friend, you like my teacher.” He grinned when your face lit up, “Oh you do, you absolutely do! I’ve never seen you blush that hard.”

    “You little twit,” You hissed, “If you say a word about this I will have your head. This stays between us and us only.”

    David was sneaky, very sneaky. Your conversation had planted an idea in his head like a seed and every brief glance and soft smile you shared with his teacher was water. He was growing a downright devious plan, with you directly at the center of it.

    David, after quietly looking over the house and picking up on Brian’s affinity for science fiction, had been the one to recommend you start reading George Orwell’s 1984. He had also purposely disappeared to the restroom when he caught sight of Brian eyeing the cover.

    Brian carefully cleared his throat, “Do you read much Orwell?”

    “Oh, Orwell? No, not really. I, um- I read The Road to Wigan Pier for a book club a while ago. Are you a fan?”

    “Oh yes,” He smiled, leaning forwards, “I’ve read that, actually. I was in a band a few years back by the same name,”

    You cocked your head, closing the book against your finger, “1984?”

    “Yes, quite silly, I know. Never was much good at naming.”

    “Roger said you’re in a band now, what's that called?”

    His cheeks were beginning to pick up a soft pink again, “Um, Queen. Our singer named it-”

    David sat back down, “Did I miss anything important?”

    Brian looked away and you went back to your book. The only noise became the guitar residing between the two boys on the couch. David had learned enough to start on a song, I Walk the Line by Johnny Cash. It was recognizable enough to draw your attention, and it was lovely at first until it was all David played. When you returned home, when you visited your mother, he played it so much you had memorized the fingering to it.

    It was at another lesson, several weeks later, when you had been left by your lonesome. David had gone to get a drink and Brian had run to retrieve something from his room. All alone and with nothing to tell you not to you settled into the couch with the guitar and tried at the song. It was choppy, a bit off-key, but mostly there.

    “I didn’t know you played?” Brian’s voice was soft but you still jumped, shooting around to find him. Leaned against the back of the sofa he twirled a coin between his fingers, grinning down at you.

    You swallowed, “I don’t, no, not really. Dave’s just played this so much I remembered how it looked.” 

    He propped his chin in his hand, “I think you could be quite good. Just, here-” He slipped the coin between his teeth to reach down, softly grasping your wrist, adjusting your placement on the neck. His hands were warm and it sent a shiver up your spine as he carefully moved your fingers, “That should do nicely, I trust you’ll do well with the right placement.” He was quiet for a moment, silently pondering something, “Friday night we have a show at about ten o’clock, say you come and maybe I could show you something on the guitar afterwards.”

    You considered, “Where is it?”

    “The Cameo, downtown London.”

    “It sounds lovely, very, but I have to admit I’m not big on the downtown London clubs. I actually don’t know where that is. Although I do have a friend whos well versed with the scene, I could ask her to show me there?”

    “Wonderful,” He grinned, “It's a date!” Something else David wouldn’t let go of. Usually, all he talked about was the music he learned but now he was enthralled with the prospect of a new romantic venture. You had been informed on exactly how to dress, what makeup to wear, what drink to order. He also picked the exact shade of blue for you to paint your nails.

    You called Marilla after your mother picked David up and she had agreed, enthusiastically, to show you to the club. When she arrived you had been called ‘prudish’ and were forbidden to dress yourself. In the very back of your closet was a floral dress you’d bought for a wedding reception that never happened. It was supposed to be returned but you just hadn’t gotten around to it.

    “It doesn’t scream rock n’ roll,” She inspected the green fabric under the kitchen light, “But anyone can look like Twiggy with enough eyeshadow so it’ll have to do. You should invest in club clothes, you might have to if anything goes with this guitar player.” Her eyebrows wagged.

    You rolled your eyes, taking the dress from her, “Hush, you’re just as bad as David.”

    “Your brother?” Marilla snorted, “What's he got to do with this?”

    “He's an insufferable little shit, that's what-” You pushed off your top, “At first he tried to get me with the guitar player’s flatmate but when that didn’t work he really pushed Brian and I,”

    Marilla was amused, far more amused than you, “He's a cunning thing, I’ve always liked him. Oh boy, now I really want to see your guitarist, Brian was it?”

    The club pulsed, dull lights glaring down against everything. It was smokey and smelled of weed and whiskey. The band onstage was far too loud and you clung to Marilla’s hand as she pulled you up to the bar.

    “What do you want?” She practically had to yell for you to hear but it went through you, you couldn’t think with all the noise and lights. She sighed and patted your hand, “A Moscow mule and a Roy Roger’s please.” She shouted at the bartender, “It's alright babes, no alcohol, just fancy cherry coke.” You nodded and accepted the drink, taking a tentative sip as you scanned the crowd. The band onstage had seemed to conclude their set but it didn’t make things any quieter. It was overwhelming really, moreso as Marilla started to pull you up to the front.

    “Come on, it's almost ten. Your boy’ll be up next!” She settled in front of the stage, rooting you to the spot next to her.

    Brian’s flatmate came out, twirling a drumstick between his fingers and he was met with loud cheers. Marilla whooped, waving big up at him. He was followed by the bass player, Brian, and the singer. They were all enthralling, and you were enraptured. The boys on stage looked ethereal, in flowy tops and sparkly makeup. The frontman was clad in glittery jewelry and the bass player wore platform boots. Their music drew you in and eased your nerves about how crowded the club was. The last song had a guitar solo and as he played Brian’s eyes met yours. A rose of warmth bloomed into your cheeks and he grinned, fingering at the chords.

    Marilla, immune to none, elbowed you in the ribs, “That's him?!”

    You nodded, “It is,”

    “Damn girlie! Good for you! But for the record, I think I like the drummer,”

    “His name is Roger. If you come backstage with me you can meet him.”

    She grinned, “I’m so proud of you, getting connections!” As they finished Roger flung one of his drumsticks into the crowd. You flinched as Marilla’s hand shot out. She squawked as she caught it, quickly tucking it into her pants and taking your hand, pulling you towards the back lounge. She pushed at the thin curtain to the side, slipping in.

    It was quieter and you watched people in glamorous outfits dally about. A redhead in hot pants dropped onto the shabby leather sofa, passing glass bottles of something to both the drummer and bassist. The singer was swirling what you could only assume to be a cosmopolitan. He looked up, catching sight of you and Marilla, both looking a bit lost.

    “Hello, come come!” The singer waved you over and Marilla practically dragged you.

    “You are spectacular!” She raved, “All of you, magical!” She tugged the stick out of her waistband and made her way to the drummer.

    You cleared your throat, “You really are amazing, you have a lovely voice.”

    The brunette smiled, “Thank you! I’m Freddie by the way, our charming drummer is Roger. The lovely John plays bass and Brian should be around here somewhere, he plays the guitar.”

    “It's nice to meet you, Freddie, I’m [Name]. I was actually looking for Brian,” You twiddled with your fingers, looking down, “He asked to meet here tonight. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is would you?”

    “You know, he may have popped to the kitchen. I’ll show you,” Freddie stood up. He seemed to catch your hesitation, glancing back to Marilla, “I’ll keep an eye on her. Roggie really is no harm, he plays much bigger than he actually is, I don’t think he could hurt a soul. Not an undeserving one at least.” He started towards the kitchen with you in tow.

    Aforementioned kitchen was small and shockingly clean. Your guitarist sat on the counter with a glass of water.

    Brian seemed to be in his own world until Freddie caught his attention, “Someone’s been looking for you, my dear,”

    Brian looked up, “[Name]! Hello, I’m so glad you came!” He slid off the counter setting his drink down, “Did you bring your friend?”

    “I did, she’s become infatuated with Roger though.”

    He grinned, “Oh Rog seems to do that to some people.”

    “Well, I'll leave you to it!” Freddie called, waving and walking back to the lounge.

    When the door shut Brian began to fiddle with the bottom of his shirt, “I left my guitar in the other room, I could go and grab it if you’d still like to learn that song.” He studied your face, “But you don’t look comfortable, are you alright?”

    “Yes, this just isn’t really my scene. I’m not used to the noise and everything, there's a lot of people here.”

    He smiled sympathetically, “I know, it's crowded. There's a nice little diner just down the road, we could walk there and talk if you’d like.”

    You nodded, “Sure, that would be lovely.”

    The air was crisp and it brought you back to reality from the club. Brian had lent you an extra sweater he had brought, it was warm but you had to roll the sleeves a few times. It was quiet as you walked, the occasional car rushing past. The sidewalk narrowed as you got closer to the strip of restaurants and you felt the back of Brian’s hand brush yours. You caught his fingers, lacing yours into them and nervously looking up. His expression mimicked yours, jittery and shy and totally taken.

    “You look very pretty,” He murmured, thumbing over your knuckles, “That green looks very nice on you.”

    You smiled, “Thank you, you look lovely as well.”

    “Oh pish posh, this is just stage wear. But I’m glad you think it looks okay, Rog said I looked frumpy.”

    You giggled, “Marilla, the one who brought me, called me prudish earlier.”

    His laugh was soft, “Well, we can be fashion disappointments to our friends together,” He pulled open the door to MaryAnne’s Diner, holding it for you.

    You were settled in a booth waiting for your order when Brian spoke, “David really has potential,”

    “With the guitar? I’m not surprised, he's always been good at everything he tries. It's really quite annoying, how brilliant he is.”

    “He seems so, a very nice kid. Does he live with you?”

    “No no,” You smiled, “No he lives with our mum, he just sneaks out to see me more than he should. I don’t know if I ever thanked you for letting me sit in, I know it's not common practice. I just worry about him, he seems so much older than he actually is and I’m worried it’ll get him in trouble one day.”

    Brian patted your hand, “Oh darling, I understand. I really don’t mind at all, I’m glad I met you.”

    “I’m glad I’ve met you as well.”

    He had walked you home, contently explaining the story behind one of the constellations he saw.

    He stalled at the door, keeping your hand in his, “So I suppose I’ll see you next week?”

    “Absolutely,”

    He moved one hand to push a piece of hair out of your face, “Well until then I suppose,”

    You leaned up, closing in on him. You felt his hot breath against your cheeks, “Is this okay?”

    He nodded, “More than,” And pulled you into him. 

     He was as gentle in kissing you as he was in everything else, carefully nudging his nose against yours. His mouth was warm and he stroked your mandible, easing deeper into the kiss. He relished in the taste of maraschino cherry from the Roy Roger’s you’d had earlier. You gasped softly as he nipped at your bottom lip, pulling away. The lipgloss he had been wearing was smeared against the corner of your mouth and he carefully wiped at it with his thumb.

    David would never let you hear the end of this either.

[bruhlsbees]

garden of eden - preview || alex kerner x fem!reader

summary: alex kerner loses a bet to reader and reader thinks on her relationship with alex

pairing: alex kerner x fem!reader

warnings: cute moments between alex and reader, feet - not sexual,

word count: 1,649

a/n: this is the preview for my upcoming alex kerner fic, garden of eden! i hope you enjoy it and the fic! :) i will have chapter one posted sometime on tuesday!!

if you'd like to be on the tag list for this fic (or any fic) please send me a message with what account to tag and what fic you'd like to be tagged to!!

You had been gnawing away on the cherry stem for ten minutes now - twisting, tugging, and biting down to form a knot. Sucking on the stem, moving your tongue around in your mouth to guide the stem in between your teeth to loop, when you finally felt the loop be made, you shot up from the couch, letting out an excited screech before clapping, pulling your fingers to your mouth before pulling out the saliva coaxed cherry stem, shuffling in your spot with a cheesy happy dance, turning towards the couch that you had jumped up from.

“Cough it up, Kerner. I told you that I could do it!” You extended your hand out to your best friend, Alex Kerner, a proud smile on your face as you still held the cherry stem knot in between your fingers.

For the past half an hour, after watching an obscene clip on the television of some girl tying a cherry knot in her mouth, with just her mouth, you and Alex began to have a heated argument as to whether or not someone could tie a cherry stem into a knot, or if it was all a joke. When the two of you finally decided to try it, you rushed to your fridge and pulled out some cherries from the bag, pulling the stems before heading back to the couch. It took you ten painful minutes before you finally got the knot.

With a groan, Alex fell back into the couch, still chewing on his own cherry stem before shaking his head, reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet and a crinkled five deutsche mark. When he begrudgingly began to hand the bill towards you, you went to snatch it, missing as he dropped his hand suddenly, causing you to stumble forward, a gasp escaping from your lips.

“No fair! Come on, Alex! I won that fair and square!” You launched forward, making another poor attempt to get your winnings before feeling him grab you by the waist, throwing you back on the couch beside him. With a laugh, Alex grinned cheekily, putting his sock-clad foot against your stomach to prevent you from trying to lunge at him again.

At first you were no match to his large foot, the weight pinning you just right into your couch that prevented you from moving. When you grabbed his ankle, trying to move his foot off of you, you only managed to slip it up, his foot connected the side of your face, “Oh, Alex! Get your foot off of me! God, it smells!”

Watching as you squirmed under his foot, Alex erupted in a string of laughs, holding his stomach as you swatted his foot away, “Well why did you put it there if you didn’t want it there?”

“I’m going to kill you! I’m seriously going to kill you.” Moving your face into his foot, you groaned before opening your mouth to bite the side of it, feeling him quickly rip his foot away from your mouth and off you, giving you the chance to make an attempt to get the money again. Pushing yourself up from the sinking cushions, you jumped forward, grabbing him by the shoulders and dragging him, literally, onto the floor with you, landing on him before pinning him down, snatching the bill from his hand.

Sinking back down onto his lap, you held the mark high before bringing it down, kissing it sweetly before waving it in his face teasing him, “Thanks for that! I’ll be sure to buy myself something nice with it.”

As you stuffed the bill in his pocket, you noticed him fake pouting, his head turned to the side, his dark brows bunched together. Rolling your eyes, you leaned forward, squeezing his face in your hands, putting on your best baby voice.

“Awe, is Alex upset he lost the bet? Is the poor baby pouting because he lost five marks? Does the baby need a hug? A kiss to make it better?”

You smirked when you saw him beginning to crack, feeling his mouth turn into a smile before you placed wet grandma-style kisses all over his face, hearing him groan as he pushed your face away from him, “Oh, get off!”

Falling back, your body now nestled in between his legs with your own on top of him, resting on either side of him, back pressed against the couch, you could only smile at the moment shared with him. Even after everything that happened with his mother falling into her coma, the end of the GDR, and him switching jobs - he still seemed to be the enthusiastic Alex you met when you were a teenager.

You must have been staring at him for some time now, deep in though, because you felt a flick to your nose that pulled you out of it, “Ow! What was that for?”

Falling back, propped on his elbow, Alex laughed and shook his head, “I asked you a question...although you seemed to be pretty spaced out with something else. Wanna share with the class?” He teased, shaking your foot in his hand obnoxiously before your rolled your eyes, pulling your foot from his grasp, moving it to drape over his stomach to the other side with your other foot - although you seemed to drop your leg more heavily on his stomach than you imagined, hearing a grunt come from him.

“Nothing important,” You explained casually before shrugging, “What’s up?”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you smiled at him back as he flashed his signature crooked toothy grin your way, “I asked if you were hungry. And if so, do you got anything here or do you wanna go out?”

Rolling your eyes, you moved off of him before standing up, making your way to your kitchen, “You always ask me if I’m hungry, which means you’re hungry and you don’t want to be the only one eating.” You stated, opening the fridge to look for what you had. It wasn’t that full, but you had enough to make something work.

Hearing him get up, you listened as he made his way into the kitchen as well, standing behind you as he reached over your, pulling open the freezer. “How old is that pizza?” When you opened the box, Alex shrugged and took it, nudging the freezer shut with the pizza box before turning to go back to the couch.

To anyone outside of your friend/family group, it looked as though you were both living in a perfect domestic relationship- but that was just it, you weren’t. Alex and you were painfully close, dancing in an unknown realm that left you sometimes confused. There were times that he treated you like a guy would treat a girlfriend and then there were other times he treated you like his older sister, Ariane. You weren’t as delicate as the other girls were - you punched back and knew how to wrestle him to the ground to get what you wanted. But it felt as though sometimes Alex took that as you being ‘one of the boys’ as you’ve heard many guys say at your job down at the club. Though, just because you were less delicate than most girls, did that mean you couldn’t be seen as a girl?

Your love for Alex was something you didn’t like to think about. When the two of you first met as teenagers, love was something simple. You told him over and over again that you loved him and hung onto him like he was your rock - because he was, but the older you got, the more you began to wonder if that love was really all that simple?

Shaking your head, as if trying to shake the thoughts from your mind, you reached to grab the bag of cherries, shutting the fridge door behind you as you went to sit back on the couch beside Alex, sinking in before popping a couple cherries in your mouth, chewing at them. You took the cup used for ashes when Alex came over to spit the seeds into, holding onto the cup with one hand while the other grabbed at the cherries.

You didn’t know how, but you got stuck watching some movie that was being played on one of the channels. It was quite boring, but must have held Alex’s attention as he didn’t seem bothered to change the channel. You, however, grew incredibly tired, your eyes heavy as your head lulled to the side. It didn’t take long before you fell against Alex, snoring slightly, the cup of cherry seeds still in one hand with the bag of cherries in your lap.

Glancing over to his right, Alex smiled at your sleeping form. Setting the empty pizza box on the ground, he moved the bag of cherries off your lap and on top of the box, taking the cup carefully from your hand to set back on the table beside you. Doing his best, he scooped you up in his arms, standing up to carry you into your room.

It didn’t take him long to get you into bed, not bothering with putting pajamas on you as you already had comfier clothes on. Pulling the blankets over you, Alex tucked the blankets tight around you to keep you secure, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder, “Sleep well.”

Pushing off the bed, Alex turned to leave, careful to not trip over anything you had laying around on the ground. He shut your door quietly, carefully making his way back to the couch before turning the television off, grabbing the blanket and pillow from the chair to ready the couch to sleep on. When he unfolded the blanket, curling up the best he could on the couch, it didn’t take long for him too to be taken by sleep.

[desiraypark]

Ominous (2/2)

CHARACTERS: Adam Sackler x Brenda “Bree” Sackler x Jessa Johannson CONTENT: I’m sorry. PART ONE

“Adam!”

Adam didn’t want to seem ungrateful, but fuck, he just wanted to get home. He wanted to catch a fucking cab, get home and shower, call Bree--maybe jack off--and go to bed. Having fans was great but having a nice apartment that he could walk around in with his balls out was even better. Adam heard his name and his 180 was almost complete when the voice registered. Among the ever-moving scatter of pedestrians--there she was. 

“Jessa?” 

She’d let her hair grow out again. The emerald green dress looked perfect on her, as did her signature red lipstick. She smiled and waved awkwardly, then walked toward him. He finally unplanted his feet, met her halfway, and gave her a hug.

“How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m great. Not as great as you, though--superstar!”

Adam blushed, tilted his head, and looked away from Jessa. Of course, in turning away, he was only greeted by a poster near the entrance of the Hudson Theatre--"Adam Sackler” in a large font on the glossy sheet. If he took a few steps back, he’d see his name on the theater’s marquee. Jessa began to dig in her purse.

“I actually wanted to come last night, but I figured things would be too hectic for you to stop and chat with an old friend.”

She found her pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Adam looked past the top of Jessa’s head, not wanting to be tempted by the smell of tobacco and nicotine. “Yeah, it was pretty busy last night. Nothing abnormal.” His eyes returned to hers. “But I still would have spoken to you.”

Jessa blew a puff of smoke and chuckled. “Would your wife have been okay with that?”

Air left Adam’s nostrils in a scoff. He looked Jessa square in the eyes and shook his head. “You don’t even know her.”

Jessa placed her free hand on her hip and rolled her eyes. “It was a joke, Adam. Don’t be such a curmudgeon.”

"Well, she would have been happy to meet you. So...” 

“That’s good to know,” Jessa said, slightly bowing her head. “I suppose you’re ready to get home to her.”

Adam chewed on the interior of his lip. His eyes scanned the street--looking beyond the heads moving along the sidewalks. “Yeah...”

Jessa nodded and leaned forward in a slight lunge. She looked Adam in the eyes. “I’m very proud of you. Happy for you. And, I’m sorry for how things ended between us.”

Adam shrugged. “Well, I haven’t been holding any grudges. Have you?”

Jessa’s eyes narrowed and she blew more smoke into the air. “No. No, I haven’t.”

The diverse sounds of footsteps filled the air. The wheels of vehicles squeaked to slow stops. Adam and Jessa became reluctant to look at each other. 

“Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?” Jessa asked. 

He looked into Jessa’s eyes, and for the first time in past couple of minutes, he noticed loneliness in them. Melancholy. A sad story she’d been writing for about five years. Again, he looked away. But he nodded. 

“Sure.”

~~~~~~

Adam had made numerous bad decisions the entire night--saying ‘yes’ to a cup of coffee. Then, ‘yes’ to another cup with a pastry. Jessa was lonely these days--and he wasn’t. Guilt nipped at his heart. 

Maybe they could be friends again, however. She looked like she needed one. 

He’d said ‘yes’ to a short walk--and ‘yes’ to continuing the walk to his fancy apartment--a far cry from the apartment they once shared. He’d made the mistake of ignoring Bree’s call. It was just one call. 

And he’d made the mistake of holding Jessa’s hand to assure her that she would be okay. That she would find love and drive again. He made the mistake of gazing into her eyes once more.

~~~~~~

Adam washed the bedding twice the next morning--a Thursday--making sure to add a few drops of Bree’s lemon oil inside. He called Bree to apologize for missing her call. He spent Saturday cleaning the apartment more than it needed to be clean--sweeping a dustless floor, vacuuming the pristine carpeting. The fridge was full, but still, he bought some of Bree’s favorite things: ice cream, Bruce Cost Ginger Ale, and three packs of Ghirardelli chocolate squares. It was Sunday afternoon when she touched down in New York.

The North Carolina sun had been good to her--adding a glow to her skin. He caught her big smile and he saw it quickly disappear. His brain told him to rush to her and take her in his arms, but his feet wouldn’t move. She noticed. And he knew that she noticed. Suddenly, Adam felt like he didn’t deserve her. 

But he had to prove to himself that he did. She could never know what he’d done...

Even when he’d managed to do it two more times. 

~~~~~~

THE SUNDAY AFTERNOON IN AUGUST

For a brief second, his dick hardened at the sound of Jessa’s name rolling off his own lips--still fresh from three nights before, the second and last time. But immediately, he fell limp inside of his wife. His eyes met her face, frozen and horrified. Her breasts rested near the sides of her chest--nipples rising up and down with her deep breaths. 

“I knew it...” she mumbled. “I fucking knew it!” 

Bree climbed from Adam’s lap and rushed away from bed. He remained in his spot, frozen and guilty. Bree shook her head and fought back tears. 

“Who the fuck is Jessa?”

Unable to look at Bree, Adam stared at his feet and listened to his own breath. “My ex.”

The sounds of New York City spilled into the Sacklers’ bedroom, overpowering the couple’s audible breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” Adam mumbled. Finally, he looked up Bree’s face. She shook her head, and snatched her robe from the back of the door and rushed out of the bedroom. 

Adam couldn’t afford to keep his feet planted this time. He jumped out of the bed with a sheet tied around his waist and followed Bree into the kitchen. Right away, she went for the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon that she kept tucked away. Cheap bourbon for her culinary experiments. Bourbon that she hid from Adam. Bourbon whose hiding spots she frequently changed because she loved him so much. 

Before she got the cap off, Adam wrapped his arms around her and crushed her with his body. “I’m sorry, honey. I’m sorry...”

“Get off of me!” she demanded--her voice soft, but low with a slight rumble. Adam obliged and was thanked with a slap to the face. Tears welled in his eyes--not because of the sting on his cheek, but the sting in his heart. 

He didn’t raise his voice at Bree, and she didn’t raise hers at him. Adam and Bree didn’t throw things at each other or scream “fuck you’s” across the room. He found peace in Bree--Brenda, his wife, his partner. Now, they would no longer know peace. And it was all his doing.

Bree had shocked herself. But Adam’s tears enraged her. How dare he let a tear fall? She drew back her hand with the plastic bottle still tucked in her palm, but Adam grabbed her wrists and held her against the counter--the counter that had been marked three times with their cum and sweat: when they first moved in, when Adam was nominated for a Tony, and when Bree returned from a week in North Carolina.

“Stop...” Adam whispered--the veins pulsing in his fingers as he held Bree’s wrists tight.

Bree looked up at him again. Guilt painted his silent face--and it had since May. It had coated his voice the morning after he ignored her phone call that night. He didn’t put a mask on--that guilt had been there for months. And suddenly, Bree hated herself. She hated herself for not identifying the guilt right away. 

She sank to her knees and sobbed. Adam fell with her and pulled her into his arms--the sheet had long abandoned his hips, leaving Adam bare and flaccid to Bree.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any excuse, babe. It’ll never happen again. I’m so sorry...”

Bree’s shoulders bounced as Adam’s chest absorbed her tears. She stared into the dining room--the table, chairs, and painting looked wavy behind the coating of the salty water in her eyes. 

She didn’t know this Jessa. She didn’t know what she looked like. But now, despite her clouded vision, she saw her sitting at her dining table--certain to stare back at her until divorce and/or death did her and Adam part.

[it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream]

Silva Lining (Saul Silva x reader) Chapter 6

Okay so you asked for fluff here it is, I hope I did okay... this chapter will be split into two parts because it was so damn long <3

Warnings: None

Word count: 2.2k

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

“Wrap up warm, were going out. Meet you outside in 10” Saul smiled at you like a little kid through the door to your room. You hadn’t heard him come in so you jumped, one of the other girls must have let him in. Going where? Before you could ask he’d gone, leaving you slightly confused while the rest of your roommates filled in one by one smiling like idiots. 

“What are you guys planning, what’s going on?” You eyed your friends wearily, you couldn’t help the smile that fluttered on your face. 

“You heard the man, get dressed up warm, you’re going on a date!” The girls squealed and you jumped up excited. It was like a typical scene from any romcom movie, cue the cheesy 90’s music in the background, there you were being dressed up by your friends, searching for the perfect but comfortable outfit. 

The air outside was mild, almost sunny, it was early in the morning so the fog hadn’t lifted yet, you know that the day would be a hot one, so why were you wearing a padded coat? He was leaning lazily against the gate at the front of the school, he hadn’t noticed you yet. You couldn’t help but admire him and just watch as he looked so at ease, at peace, if only for a moment. There was still a lot going on, but it was moments like this that made you remember that the burned ones were a temporary problem, life wouldn’t be like this forever. He wasn’t hurt anymore, you weren’t hurt, apart from the graze on your head, and for the first time since you’d arrived in Alfea, the day felt like it would actually be normal for once. 

Looking around, the grounds were clear and from where you were standing you knew that no one would be able to see you and Saul, most people were still in bed, others studying or just hanging out with friends. You stifled your giggles as you snuck up behind him, all the while not noticing the grin that was plastered on Saul’s face. When you got near enough, you ran a couple of steps and attacked him from behind and by attack, you meant you jumped on him knowing he would catch you, planting kisses over the back of his neck. 

“You know I knew you were behind me right?” He jumped you up his back a bit, making sure your legs were secured around his waist, taking your hand in his kissing it softly, his other hand supporting your legs around him. 

“Yeah yeah whatever Mr soldier man. So, you’re going to piggy back me to wherever were going?” You felt him shrug. 

“Do I need a reason to hold my girl?” You blushed and rest your chin on the top of his head as Saul walked to the barrier, if you didn’t know any better you swear he could feel your heart stutter as you moved closer the the protective shield that hid you from the monsters on the other side. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I had people scan the area before we left, you won’t be able to see them but there’s senior specialists hidden in the woods, we’re just going to the portal door, it’s not far.” He let you down slowly, settling you on your feet now that you’d both reached the barrier. From under his parker you watched as Saul removed his sword, now on alert, just as a precaution. You could feel the magic inside you swirling around, ready for anything. Luckily none of it was needed, you made it to the portal door that you and Bloom had slipped through that time and watched as Saul produced a familiar ring from his jacket pocket. 

“Wow, Stella let you have her ring? I didn’t think she’d part with it after what had happened last time.” He winked at you, pushing you in front of him slightly to make sure that you were still safe as he operated the portal door.

“You ready Y/N?” He reached for your hand smiling, taking it and pulling you into his side. He looked down at you, it wasn’t difficult when he was a whole foot taller than you. Slowly, he leant down, still looking in your eyes, connecting his soft lips to yours. It took your breath away just like always, it still surprised you that it was capable of doing that every time, you didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the butterflies that swam around your belly every time he kissed you, looked at you, said your name. You just knew you never wanted it to end. 

“I’m ready, lead the way."

Where you arrived was nothing you could have imagined. Being from earth, you knew of places around the world, you’d never got to travel, but you liked to read and watch documentaries when you could. The place you were in wasn’t one you recognised. You could feel the magic coming off everything. The bustle of people, the shops, the hovercraft cars that wizzed through the middle of the town. It was something out of a fairytale. You laughed to yourself, who would have thought that you, a mere human.. or so you thought… would be rescued by your handsome prince and taken away to some fairytale kingdom, girls in your situation dreamed of the day it would happen, and luckily for you your dreams had become a reality. 

“Why does it feel like i’m standing in the fairy version of Diagon Alley.” You whispered in awe to yourself.

“Babe, you know I don’t get your otherworld references.” Silva laughed at you. The expression on your face priceless. “Welcome to Magix City.” What a suitable name for somewhere so magical. The whole place was alive. It was completely different from your school. Come to think of it. This was the first place you’d been since moving to Alfea that wasn’t the dreaded woods. Men and Women walked around laughing and talking like it was the most normal thing in the world, but then it would be, this was their world, your world now… You guessed that the only place that had to be on the look out for the burned ones threat was Alfea, but then you noticed men and women clad in black uniforms pop up on the top of buildings every now and again adorned with multitudes of weapons. The only way your mind could describe what you were seeing was a mixture between the stories you’d read of Harry Potter crossed with The Hunger Games. 

“Sweetheart, today is all about us, this is where, if the school wasn’t in danger, you and your friends would be able to come and spend your free time. When I was a student at Alfea, they used to have portal busses that would take us back and forth, but they stopped them to have more control over who could come and go. The plus about us being here, is there’s no students, no one will care if were openly a couple.” He wiggled your eyebrows which made you snort, earning a belly laugh from the man in front of you and a shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen anywhere like this in my life, thank you for bringing me here Saul.” You flung your arms around his waist and buried your head in his chest, his heart audibly skipping a few beats. “What’s with the jackets though? Isn’t it a bit warm to be wearing them.” You comically tugged at the collar of the parka and fanned your face. Saul just rolled his eyes. 

“Come on drama queen, this way.” He took your hand in his, walking down a couple of streets to your destination. On the way you couldn’t help but look around at everything. The plants seemed to be alive, swaying a moving as if they were animated. Lavish buildings lined in a row, all different shapes, sizes and colours. The street you had walked down lead out to a big square where restaurants and small art cafes littered the cobbled stones. A grand building stood off to the side, books made from wooden sculptures adorned the roof and in big bold letters across the front of the door read “Magix Bookland.” You knew you’d have to stop off there before you went home. 

Your attention was grabbed when you stumbled a little, Saul had come to a halt in front of two large glass doors. You could already feel the chilly air coming from inside. Maybe this is what the jackets were for. You were too caught up in awe that you hadn’t noticed the sign on the door. 

“I know you’ve always wanted to do this, but you said you’d never got to on earth.” No, he couldn’t have remembered that story you’d told him.. it was the week you’d first met, surely he hadn’t remembered. But he had. Your eyes lit up when you entered the arena, big bright lights, stadium chairs lining the walls and in the centre of the building, an ice rink surrounded by plastic walls, the place completely empty, you had the place to yourselves.

“Ho-how, what. Oh my god Saul you remembered.” You didn’t know wether to laugh or cry. Saul came up behind you slinging an arm across your shoulders, kissing the side of your head, his favourite thing to do. 

“Of course I remembered darlin, I remember everything you say to me. We have the place to ourselves, a buddy owed me a favour.” You squealed in excitement and grabbed his hand pulling him along eagerly. The want for trying ice skating had been something you’d dreamt of since you were little, but with no family, friends or stable living situation, there was a lot that you’d had to sacrifice. So there you were, a week from turning 18, and only now were you ticking off the very first thing on the top of your bucket list. 

You’d both skated for a couple of hours, Saul a pro, funnily enough the ice rink was used regularly by specialists for training, they had to be able to adapt to any terrain, you thought it was pretty clever actually. It hadn’t taken you long to get the hang of it either, in the beginning you’d fallen down.. a lot, making Saul laugh and panic all at the same time, but by the end of the second hour, gone were your great big jackets and you’d successfully mastered the art of stopping without crashing full force into the plastic shield walls. Both deciding to leave when your stomachs started to rumble, Saul lead you through the streets to one of his favourite places. You enjoyed that he was showing you so much of his world, now your world too. It was nice to see this other side of him, the carefree, child like, giddy side of the normally pretty strict, strong, rough man you’d fallen for.

The building you stopped in front of was small, the windows crooked in a charming sort of way, wooden benches and flower baskets lined the outside and the smell of coffee wafted through the french doors. 

“I know how much you love coffee, this place does the best around, and I promise it won’t taste like any of that shite they call coffee on earth.” Saul rolled his eyes playfully and you nudged him, both of you making your way inside. Pastries and cakes lined the glass cabinets in front of the till area, the waitresses wore different coloured pinafores and you could hear the busy noises from the kitchen floating through along with the wonderful smells of food you couldn’t place. Saul had found you a cosy booth at the back of the cafe, private, cosy, quiet. You appreciated the time the both of you were getting to spend with each other. Part of you never wanted it to end, but you knew that at the end of the day you’d be pushed back into reality. 

You sat opposite each other, both smiling like idiots. You were so in love sometimes it made your heart hurt. A big part of you thought that you’d never find love, that you were destined to be alone forever, but you couldn’t have been more wrong. Your hands crossed the table and Saul took them in his larger ones, using his thumb to trace patterns across your knuckles, your foot inched its way up his combat clad leg and his breath faltered, moving it ever so slowly you continued teasing it up, higher and higher until the tip of your foot was resting above his crotch. His adam’s apple bobbed up and down and your stomach flipped when you noticed his perfectly sculpture jaw clench.

“Sweetheart, you’re playing a dangerous game.” Your eyelids fluttered and you wiggled a little in your seat the warning tone sending shivers through your body. You dint know how far you would go in your secluded booth and you weren’t about to find out as you were abruptly interrupted by a sugary sweet voice.

“Saul Silva? Is that you?” 

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

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CHAPTER 6 PT 2 -------- CLICK HERE

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[a-vintage-snake]

Don’t Make Me Be The Bad Guy

Pairing(s): Pre-romantic Moceit

Warnings: Dystopian future, implied torture

Characters: Janus Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders

Summary: After seven years of fighting, Patton and his superhero team finally capture the super villain known as Deceit. But when Patton discovers evidence that sheds a new light on their nemesis he starts to wonder... Did he do the right thing?

Word Count: 9411

Author’s Note: For @dramaticsnakes, who’s a wonderful reader and writer. And special thanks to @rainbowbutterfrosting who helped me finish this when I almost wanted to give up. (Also, as always I upload and edit the mistakes out after, so bear with me)

Read on AO3

In the end, it had been Patton who had struck the final blow.

It had been mostly a matter of luck, really. One moment where Patton managed to break through the henchmen’s defences. One moment where he saw that their nemesis’ back was turned to him. One moment where he made a split decision.

One moment. And that moment had made all the difference.

He didn’t quite realize he had thrown one of his famous lightning bolts until it hit square between his enemy’s shoulder blades. He stood there, paralyzed, as Janus Lyre (alias Doctor Deceit) crumbled to the floor. The battle around them grounded to a halt as well, as the henchmen saw their leader unconscious at the feet of their enemies. His teammates froze as well, looking up at Patton in gaping disbelief.

When time finally seemed to start again, everything went by in a blur. The henchmen managed to escape, unfortunately with the super weapon Patton and his team had come to destroy. But it didn’t even seem to matter.

“By Odin’s beard, Padre!” Roman lifts him up in a hug. “You did it!!”

“I… I did?” Patton confusedly asks, still feeling a little dizzy.

“You got him! You actually got him!” Roman puts him back on his feet with a giant grin on his face. “We can finally put him away!” “But the weapon-!”

“Forget the weapon! We’ve got the bastard, Heart!” Virgil grins. “After seven years we finally got him! It’s over!”

“Well, not exactly,” Logan pipes in, although he can’t seem to stop grinning too. “There’s still the matter of rounding up the rest of his organization-”

“Technical details, my friend!” Roman dramatically waves Logan’s objections away. “We got their leader! Not a henchman, not some lackey, their actual leader! How long do you think until their little League of Losers falls apart?”

“Even so,” Logan says. “Better not celebrate until Doctor Deceit is safely behind bars. You three search the building. Who knows, maybe some of his henchmen are still hiding somewhere,” Logan throws a scornful look down at the unconscious Janus at their feet. “I will stay here and stand guard.”

“Ah yes, I was just about to suggest that!” Roman says as he flips his hair proudly. “Great intuition, Nerdy and the Brain!”

“Yes, sounds like a good plan!” Patton quickly squeaks as Logan gains a look that says he’s about a minute away from using his telekinesis to throw Roman across the room. “How about you call in our superiors, Logan? We need to put this villain behind bars!”

“Excellent idea, Heart Shock.” Logan says gratefully, while ignoring Roman’s protesting noises. Roman loved making the calls on jobs well done (which to be fair hadn’t occurred often lately).

“Great!” Patton grabs the hand of the still protesting Roman and pulls him along. “Come on Prince!”

Roman pouts and grumbles, but allows Patton to pull him further into the dark lair. He catches a glimpse of Virgil’s grin before he turns a corner.

“Bet you I can find something cool before you do!” Patton smiles up at Roman. His teammate’s grumpy face instantly brightens.

“Oh, you’re on Padre!”  

Dissolving into giggles Patton and Roman run down the halls. Roman could easily outfly him, yet he chooses to run alongside Patton for now. Giddily Patton runs towards a promising looking door at the end of the hallway.

Throwing it open he however sags in disappointment as the room they found only holds a couple cardboard boxes.

“Bah, nothing of importance,” Roman says as he kicks over the boxes and nothing but rusty spare mechanical parts fall out. “I suppose even villains need a trash cupboard. Come Heart!” Roman levitates from the ground. “Let us find something more dastardly!”

Before Patton can say anything Roman flies out of the room. Judging from the clanging sounds he’s already searching in a room further ahead. Patton casts one last glance around the room before he shrugs and turns to follow.

He pauses.

Uncertainly he turns around again. Something about the room doesn’t feel… Right. He knows it, yet he can’t put his finger on it why exactly. His powers crackle in his veins, sensing the off-ness in the air.

Cautiously Patton walks around the room, circling the walls slowly with one hand trailing amongst the bricks. The sense of wrongness only increases until…

In front of a seemingly bare wall he stops. There it is. He feels an unusual amount of electricity clustering behind the stone, yet the wall shows no outer signs of being anything else than… Well, a wall. Curiously Patton puts both his hands on the bricks and closes his eyes.

The world behind his eyelids lights up in bursts of electricity. His power hums in tune with the wires inside the walls, stringing all over the building and mapping out the lair in his mind’s eye in perfect detail. Patton only takes short notice of it before he calls his powers back and focuses it all on the wall before him. Yes, there it was. His powers outline a door in the wall, carefully hidden behind a buzzing security system.

Well, no match for him! Patton only needs to concentrate for a few seconds to have the electricity revert and change directions. Flexing his fingers and furrowing his brow he wills the electricity to move into the opposite direction, to change their route, until finally he hears a click. Patton opens his eyes. He pulls his hands back as the wall shifts and a door opens, so seamlessly hidden in the brick it was invisible to the bare eye. Patton allows himself a proud grin. Oh, he was on a roll today! Patton steps into the room, his footsteps echoing in the darkness. He searches for a light switch, but he can’t find one nearby. No matter! With a soft snap small lightning bolts dance on his fingers, revealing rich red walls which somehow complimented the flickering lightning in his hands.

The room is mostly bare, apart from a table in the centre of the room. It’s covered with various maps, some showing population size while others showing outlines of cities, roads and shops. There were some pencils and pens in the middle of the table, most sharp and pointed while a few were so dull that they couldn't be used anymore.

Patton noticed only one chair at the table. He only looked at it, remembering the times were Logan lectured him about not touching the crime scene unless absolutely necessary. Still, the chair seemed comfortable, the black leather clearly in great condition.

His eyes drift slightly downwards towards the cabinets under the table. They all looked the same to him, a spruce colour with a silver handle that could be pulled out. He crouches as he tries to pull open the drawer without ruining the possibility of getting fingerprints. What kind of horrors would he find in there? Knowing Janus it was probably something awful, like torture devices, or puppets of them with their eyes crossed out, or… Or…

Not able to take it any longer, Patton pulls open the drawer. He draws back, covering his face with his arms and waiting for poisonous darts or something to strike out and hit him. After a few seconds of nothing happening, Patton carefully peeks over his arms.

Inside the drawer... is just files. No cyanide, no razor-sharp knives, just... files. Patton lowers his arms and opens the one next to it, with more haste than the last one, only to find more files. Huh… That’s… Not what he was expecting? He honestly didn't know what he expected to find. It's not like the files were bad to find, it just didn't give him the rush of putting in the last piece to a puzzle. Capturing Janus almost felt like that. He knew he should have been more proud of himself, but this wasn't even close to the end of it. There still were all of Janus' accomplices and the propaganda he spread throughout several cities to take care of after all. Maybe the files had the names of his accomplices in them?

Forgetting Logan’s warning about contaminating the crime scene Patton grabs one of the files from the drawer and absentmindedly flips it open.

A scream echoes across the halls. Patton jerks up, forgetting the papers in his hand as the sound of struggle trail toward him. He jumps up, stuffs the files in his jacket before he runs back to where they left their enemy tied up.

It appears that backup had arrived, and in that same time their enemy had woken up. Several soldiers struggle with restraining a livid Janus, who trashes in their grip as they try to drag him into an awaiting prison van. They had managed to gag him before he woke, a muzzle strapped to his face to protect the soldiers from the venom of both his words and his fangs. He fights wildly, but in the end he is still one man against too many. As they finally wrestle him to the ground to clap him in handcuffs, he and Patton make eye contact.

Despite that he just knocked the man unconscious, despite that Janus is currently lying on the ground restrained by ten men, Patton instinctively takes a step back from the pure fury in those mismatched eyes.

Janus looks at him like he singlehandedly doomed the world.

One soldier pushes a taser onto his neck. Janus’ eyes roll back in his head as he convulses on the ground, muffled cries coming from behind the muzzle. When the taser withdraws Janus slumps to the ground, unconscious once more. Finally the soldiers can drag him into the prison van.

“Haha, yes!!” Roman yells. “You shall taste justice now, villain!”

Roman laughs, but it is only when the doors of the van close and they drive off that Patton feels like he can breathe again.

--

The press conferences were always Patton’s least favourite part. To stand next to their CEO, listening to a briefing of yet another failed mission while the people in the crowd shook their head in disapproval had always been torture. The longer the years went on the worse the pressure to actually defeat their villain became. To come back to the cameras every time Janus escaped became worse and worse as the years went on. The disappointment of not only the AEP, but of the people… That alone felt worse than any punch he had ever gotten in battle.

Now however Patton felt like he could just burst from all the excitement. He could barely stand still enough for his stylists to brush his hair into a tamer shape. He peeked behind the curtains to the gilded ballroom beyond. The AEP had chosen this specific ballroom to announce the big news on purpose. Just two years ago Janus and his horrid crew had crashed a fundraiser being held here and had stolen all the people’s so graciously donated funds for a new hotel. They hadn’t been able to capture him. It had been an awful night!

To be here again was to show that villain they were not afraid. That they could claim back the spaces he so rudely invaded. Seeing all the people in their beautiful evening gowns and best jewellery now made Patton want to burst out from behind the curtain to yell at them that they were safe!! He wanted to shout it from the rooftops, wanted to yell at the entire world!

You are safe! We rescued you! I defeated the villain, I did, I did-!!

“Here are our heroes of the day!”

Distracted Patton looks back to see their CEO has come backstage. Bentley Ceund is a man in his late fifties, with a bleach blond hair dye job that does not quite hide away his grey roots, as always dressed in a stylishly expensive suit. He was the one who had founded the AEP, or An Endless Peace organization, all those years ago. Yet outside of press conferences they did not see him often. And even when they did, it were often meetings filled with harsh words and bitter disappointment.  

“Have I wasted all my money on THIS?!” Their CEO had bellowed at them the last time they had seen him, when Janus had destroyed several important construction sites. “On FAILURES who can’t even capture ONE MEASLY MAN?!” Angry spit had hit Patton in the face as he struggled to hold back tears when Bentley had moved in close and screamed in their faces. “You’re a fucking EMBARRESEMENT to ME and the company who RAISED YOU FROM BIRTH!! UNGRATEFUL, WORTHLESS WASTES OF TIME!!”

Their TV and leisure time privileges had been taken away from them for quite some time back then.

That screaming man from last time was a far cry from the smiling one that approaches them now however. No, he in fact gives the others a joyful hug and praise. Roman and Logan beam, and even Virgil smiles hesitantly. When he turns to him Patton nervously fidgets for a moment, but Bentley gives him the possibly the grandest smile out of all of them.

“Heart Shock!” Bentley laughs as he draws Patton into a hug. He never uses their real names, even though he knew them by those well before their superhero names. “Well done, my boy!”

“T-Thank you sir!” Patton says excitedly, almost melting into the hug despite the overwhelming smell of body spray. He can’t help it. It wasn’t often he was the one who got most of the praise. That was usually either Logan or Roman. “I couldn’t have done it without the others though-!”

“No need to be so modest,” Bentley draws back from the hug, put keeps his hands on Patton’s shoulder. “I’ve read the report. You are the one shot down that son of a bitch!

“Oh, well,” Patton flusters. “Anyone could have done it-!”

But in the end it was you.” Their CEO chuckles, almost fondly. “Be proud of yourself, son. Thanks to you…” Bentley pats him on the shoulder. “The company is safe again.” “And the innocent civilians, sir!” Patton helpfully says.

“Hmm? Oh yes, those too I suppose.”

Patton frowns lightly, but before he can say anything Bentley’s PA interrupts.

“Mister Ceund? The program is about to begin.”

“Ah, yes! It’s time boys!” Bentley grins towards his superheroes. “Let’s tell the world what we have achieved today!” He gives Patton a pat on his cheek before he turns and walks to the curtains, waiting for the moment to make his grand entrance. Patton frowns, but he doesn’t have the time to think for long. Their CEO walks onto the stage where thunderous applause greets him. Eventually Patton just shrugs and stands with his teammates, dismissing the uncomfortable thoughts.

As the applause slowly grows to a halt, Bentley takes centre stage. “Today is a momentous occasion,” He says into the microphone. “After seven years of making our streets unsafe, the villain known as Doctor Deceit has finally been put behind bars!”

The crowd erupts into applause, filling the gilded ballroom with cheers and cameras flashing. Beside him Virgil flinches from the sudden noise. Patton discretely slips his hand into Virgil’s and squeezes. Virgil gives a grateful squeeze back.

“Today, history has been made. Today this organization has finally achieved that which we have promised you, all those years ago…” Their CEO pauses for a second, before proudly continuing. “An Endless Peace.”

The crowd applauds again, laughing politely at the reference of the company name.

“But of course, we did not do it alone!”

Patton and the others took a deep breath. Right. Time for the show!

“Please welcome your heroes! Here is Prince Charming!”

On that cue Roman flies up from behind the curtains and the crowd erupts into cheers. Roman flies his usual round over the crowd, occasionally sharing a high-five with an audience member and flashing his fans a million-dollar smile. Several men and women giggle and blush behind their hands as he flips his hair and blows kisses to the crowd.

“Show-off…” Virgil silently scoffs beside him.

“Come now, Virge,” Patton whispers back. “You know Roman loves the cameras! Let him have his fun.”

Virgil rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but still a fond smile curls up his lips.

“Next, give it up for Brain Teaser!”

Logan purses his lips and sighs, but makes his entrance from behind the curtains anyway. Virgil and Patton exchange a knowing look. They’d listened to plenty of Logan’s rants about how ‘utterly illogical’ the serious man thought his superhero name was. Unfortunately the public was by now too familiar with the name to even suggest renaming him.

“Let me hear you for Stormcloud!”

Virgil supresses a shudder yet he still reluctantly dematerializes, only to rematerialize on stage in a cloud of shadows. While the crowd only grows in volume Patton winces in sympathy. The EAP knows how much Virgil can’t stand loud sounds, but for the audience he has to bear it with a smile. It was a weakness their enemies had exploited frequently. Janus would often blast high-pitched noises at such a volume Virgil would crumble where he stood, allowing him to escape over and over.  

Well, Patton thinks with a tinge of pride, he won’t harm his friends ever again now.

“And of course, last but certainly not least… The man of the hour! The hero who struck the deciding blow! Put your hands together for HEART SHOCK!”

The curtains are drawn and Patton is momentarily blinded from the hundreds of cameras flashing and deafened by the crowd cheering. Squinting Patton stands in the spotlight, dizzily smiling at the onslaught of praise that is directed his way. He walks forward- Although it feels like stumbling is a better word- to the front of the stage to where the CEO waits for him with a smile. Journalists crowd the stage as they shout questions.

“Heart Shock!! Heart Shock, over here-!”

“Heart Shock, how do you feel-?”

“What was going through your head?”

“How did you take the villain down? We want all the juicy details-!”

“Everyone, everyone! Please!” Bentley laughs. “One question at a time, please!”

Patton yelps as Bentley puts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him into a side hug like he’s a proud father. The cameras around them go nuts as their CEO smiles and poses with Patton.

“How are you feeling, Heart Shock?” One journalist manages to yell over the cacophony of questions.

“W-Well…” Patton stammers into the microphone. “I-I feel quite proud-!”

“A well deserved pride, my boy!” Bentley says jovially as he squeezes his shoulder.

“Yeah… I suppose it is-!” Patton smiles.

“Heart Shock! How do you think the villain will react to his status as prisoner?” One journalist yells, a question that is met with gaudy giggles.

“I guess…” Patton says with hesitant excitement. “He’ll find it…” He snaps his fingers, lightning dancing over his hands as he finger guns at the audience. “Quite shocking?”

To Patton’s bewildered delight the entire audience erupts into laughs. Even Bentley next to him laughs, while he had always disapprovingly glared before when Patton made a pun. Patton can’t stop the grin that spreads on his face even if he had wanted to.

The rest of the evening goes by in a haze. As the press conference part of the evening ends and the superheroes must mingle with the guests, the praise just keeps on coming. Patton gets patted on the back, hugged and complimented. The sheer amount of attention is dizzying. Patton can’t stop smiling throughout all of it. It might just be the best evening in his life.

It isn’t until he’s in bed, still glowing with pride and from all the praise, that Patton remembers the files in his jacket.

His superhero jacket lays thrown into a corner, cast aside earlier as he quickly got into a clean, more sleek version of his hero outfit for the press conference. Giving it a glance from where he sits on his bed he’s almost tempted to leave it until next morning. His handlers had actually given him hot chocolate and two cookies before bed! Two!! That was a treat he didn’t often get! He just wants to enjoy them in peace.

Still… Perhaps he could hand them over tomorrow, announcing all the wicked plans that are undoubtedly in the files that he had also stopped when he captured Janus. Grinning at that mental image Patton gets up from and retreats back into his comfy bed with the files, munching on a cookie as he lazily starts skimming through the papers.

An hour later his hot chocolate has long run cold and the second cookie lies forgotten on its tray. Patton sits straight up in his bed, the files open on his knees and his gaze firmly locked on the wall in front of him. His first cookie feels like lead in his stomach.

It couldn’t be the truth… It couldn’t be, it couldn’t be!!

Abruptly coming back into motion Patton stuffs the files under his mattress and turns off the light to sleep, determined not to even consider or think about what is in them anymore. Yet it takes him until the first rays of dawn to finally fall asleep, and even when he does sleep his dreams are filled with mismatched eyes that look at him with a gaze that burns, burns, burns…

During the days of the week that follows he’s fine. He can smile and take the praise that he’s still showered with daily, with the files only a distant memory.

During the nights, however… Patton can’t seem to shake the image of those eyes. Furious, loathing mismatched eyes, looking at him like he singlehandedly doomed the world. The files underneath his mattress seem to burn a hole in his soft bedding, demanding his attention.

It is only a week later when he awakens from yet another nightmare plagued by those accusing eyes that Patton realizes this can’t go on. He has to know what it all means, or he might go mad with the questions that swarm his mind.

--

The next night Patton foregoes his bed in favour of slipping out of his room into the quiet halls of the facility, the files tucked away in his jacket. Sweat beads down his forehead, the familiar thrum of electricity inside the walls only a faint comfort. Although he only needs to make the barest effort to make the security cameras divert from him, the action still makes his hands shake. As he sneaks into the elevator at the end of the hall he inspects the buttons. You need a special pass to go to the very lowest level. But Patton only needs to send a pulse of electricity into the elevator to make the security system think he’s been granted access. As the doors close Patton swallows. No going back now.

The elevator ride feels both too long and too short. When finally the doors glide open to reveal a long hall Patton fastens his pace. He passes other closed cells, some of which he hears murmurs from behind their closed doors, but he does not slow down until he reaches the door at the very end of the hall. Door 409… Holding the highest level of security prison cell they have.

He glances backwards for a second, before he takes a deep breath and places his hands on the door. He feels the electricity answering as he redirects the flow. It’s hard. Harder than the vault in the lair, harder than tricking the elevator had been. Sweat starts to bead on his forehead, as he carefully has to divert his powers through layer upon layer of security, careful in case he triggers an alarm somewhere.

He isn’t quite sure how much time passes, but at long last the door finally, finally opens. Patton enters, and quickly slides the door closed again. His heart hammers in his throat as he presses his hands to the door and listens for the sound of the alarm going off.

It doesn’t come. He had done it. Exhaling a shaky breath Patton leans his forehead against the metal door, cooling his flushed skin.

“Well, well, well,” A smooth voice drawls behind him. “Look what the cat dragged in…”

Patton’s shoulders tense. He had hoped to never hear that voice again. A part of him is tempted to leave, but the files pressed against his chest still burn. So he gathers all his courage and slowly turns around.

The cell in the middle of the room is a monstrosity of glass and metal, bare apart from a simple bed. The security system surrounding it buzzes with the sheer amount of electricity it needs, making it dizzying even to Patton. It is only a small distraction however from the person all that electricity is holding prison, standing in the middle of that glass cell with his arms crossed at his back. Like he had been expecting him.

“My sincerest apologies for the mess. I wasn’t expecting such important company,” Janus grins. “Should I feel honoured that the famed Heart Shock is visiting little old me in my cell?”

Patton swallows. He had hoped that the villain would have been less frightening now, pulled away from his usual shadows and dragged into the light for once. He wasn’t. If anything the simple white prison grubs he wore instead of his usual black suits and the bright LED lightning only enhances how alien, how otherworldly he really is. The green scales trailing down his sharp face, the fangs glistening in that all too familiar mocking grin, the tall willowy frame that nonetheless packs a surprising amount of strength… The man in front of him is more monster than human. Patton wonders for a second if he ever was human to begin with.

“Oh, look at you,” Janus chuckles softly as the silence between them stretches on. “Like a frightened little mouse in the snake’s den… Whatever will he do now?”

Patton puffs out his chest indignantly. “I’m not afraid of you!” He says, ignoring how Janus raises an eyebrow with an amused smile. “I’m not! You have no power here! You’re our prisoner!”

“Really?” Janus mockingly drawls. “Well, pardon me for not believing you whilst you look like that.”

Patton belatedly realizes what kind of picture he paints. Pressed up against the door, as far away from the glass as he possibly can. Not exactly the fearless superhero everyone expected him to be.

Closing his eyes for a second, Patton takes a deep breath and steps forward. Cautiously he approaches the cell, his footsteps in sync with Janus’ until they both halt at the glass, right in front of each other. Patton stares up at his nemesis, more confident than he feels. Right into the mismatched eyes who have haunted his nightmares for almost a week now. He swallows, clenching his fist to hide that they’re shaking.

“While I’m definitely thrilled to have you here,” Janus smirks down at him. “I’m afraid I’m a very busy man, and don’t have time to have a staring contest with you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Patton opens his mouth to ask what the heck he would be busy with, he’s a prisoner, but stops himself. That’s a discussion that would lead him nowhere, and he came here with a purpose.

“I’m here to talk with you.” He says instead.

“Congratulations, you just did,” Janus yawns, a forked tongue lazily flicking out from between sharp fangs. “If that was all, darling-”

“No! I mean-” Patton zips open his jacket and pulls out the files. “I’m here to talk about these.”

Janus’ eyes narrow when he spots the files, the only outward reaction he shows. Yet the temperature between them seems to drop to freezing level.

“I’ve never seen those before in my life.” Janus says airily.

“I found them in your lair!” Patton counters. “In a hidden compartment in the wall!”

“Did you now? How interesting.” Janus lazily inspects his fingernails. Patton frowns as he spots Janus’ left arm is completely wrapped up in white bandages. He can’t recall that they gave him an arm injury. He opens his mouth to ask, but shakes his head. He had to focus on this.

“These are your plans!”

“No they’re not.”

“Oh yeah?” Patton flips open the files. “Then how do you explain your name on top of these papers?”

“Can I help it that ‘Janus’ is such a popular name?”

“These are all written in your handwriting!”

“Preposterous. My handwriting is much neater.”

“All your old plans are in this, and some future ones!” Patton shouts exasperatedly.

“Pure coincidence.”

“Stop,” Patton grits out through clenched teeth. “Stop denying! I know these are yours!”

“If you’re so sure, why ask me at all?” Janus disinterestedly brushes away some invisible dust from his shoulder. “Why haven’t you immediately shown them to your superiors, like the good obedient lackey that you are?”

“Who says that I haven’t?” Patton responds heatedly.

With a growl Janus suddenly throws a fist against the glass, his eyes flashing dangerously. Patton jumps backwards, his throat squeezing shut before a startled scream can escape him.

“Don’t. Lie. To me.” Janus spits. “If you had shown them, you wouldn’t be here chatting with me in the middle of the night. Admit it.”

“I… No.” Patton finally shakes his head, gripping the files tightly between his hands. “No, I didn’t…”

“There we go…” Janus draws his hand back and crosses his arms again behind his back, his easy smile back. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, Heart Shock. Have your masters never told you it’s bad to lie?”

Patton bites his lip. It was true that he’d be in so much trouble if his superiors ever found out that he lied. But surely they would understand him lying to their enemy, wouldn’t they?

“You’re one to talk!” Patton says instead. “You lie all the time!”

“Says who?” Janus drawls with a mocking smile.

“Says me! You lied every time we fought, you just lied multiple times to my face-!”

“No I didn’t.”

“-And you lie in these files!!” Patton shrieks, waving the files in front of the villain’s nose. Janus’ smile falls and his face darkens.

“Oh? Pray tell, Patton.” Janus sneers, and Patton snaps back in shock at hearing his actual name coming from the villain’s mouth.

“H-How did you-?”

“Why exactly would you think I lied in these files?” Janus tilts his head. “If I wrote them, that is.”

“Because... Because-!” Patton flips angrily through the files. “Because these files say you used the money you stole from the hotel fundraiser two years ago to finance black market medication research!”

The hero looks up triumphantly, expecting Janus to laugh and simper about how gullible he is for believing such an obvious decoy. Janus however doesn’t laugh. He shows not even a hint of his mockery as he silently listens. Patton’s triumph falters, and he flips once more through the files to avoid that calm gaze.

“A-And here!” Patton pulls another paper from the file. “In here you claim that you kidnapped the scientist Emile Picani because the AEP made him design weapons, not new mental health robots!”

Still no response. Patton scowls as he holds up another paper. “This says you destroyed a construction site for a new factory because the output would pollute the town’s only water resource!”

“They were also exploiting the builders,” Janus finally interrupts. “Forced them to work under horridly unsafe conditions for barely a quarter of the salary they needed to support their families.”

“Yes!!” Patton throws the files down with frustrated force, making the papers fly everywhere. “You… You… You keep lying in these files, making us appear like the bad guys! Is this what you tell the people? To brainwash them into joining your stupid little gang?”

“Me? Brainwashing? HA!” Janus shakes his head. “That’s a laugh and a half…”

“I’m onto you, Deceit!” Patton proudly puffs out his chest. “I see right through your tricks!”

“Oh, of course you do,” Janus smiles down at him like he’s a child who just badly solved a puzzle game. “Nothing gets past you. Truly, I’m so impressed.”

Patton’s certainty wanes. Villains who just got their plans exposed should look angry, not like they’re secretly laughing at you.

“Well, if you’re done spouting wild accusations, would you mind closing the door behind you?” Janus stretches his arms above him. “I want to get my eight hours of sleep in before I get thrown into the next torture session tomorrow, thank you very much.”

“Torture-? Oh, haha, very funny!”

“Not joking, unfortunately-”

“Why do you do this??” Patton has to resist to stomp his feet in frustration. “Why do you keep on lying?”

Janus lowers his arms, his smile falling away. “I don’t.” He says. The seriousness of his voice throws Patton off, but even so he scoffs.

“Yes, you do!”

“I really don’t. There’s not a single word in those files that isn’t the honest truth.”

“Yeah, right,” Patton crosses his arms. “Tell that to the people outside! Or to my superiors!”

“Oh, by all means, bring them in,” Janus says seriously. “Bring them all in! Your precious masters, all my supposed victims… I think you’ll find that they’ll all agree with my side of the story.”

Patton opens and closes his mouth a few times, uncertainly. The rigid seriousness of the other makes him more nervous than he hopes he lets on. He was so used to the dangerously charming smooth talking Janus that he had no idea what to do with this calm, somber Janus. Oh, why hadn’t he taken Logan with him? He would have known what to say!

“Oh really?” Patton eventually says, sounding more sure of himself than he actually was. “What exactly is ‘your side of the story’? Go ahead, I could use a laugh!”

“You want to know, little mouse?” Janus says, and just like that the dangerous smile was back. “You really want to know?”

Patton swallows, but tilts his chin up defiantly. “Yes.”

“Well, you asked for it…” Janus hums thoughtfully, gathering his thoughts for a second. “My side of the story is about how years ago a small company gained interest. Funded by the richest of the rich of the world this company created unwilling abominations. Children reared only to use as weapons to hold the world hostage. So that those richest of the rich could create a planet where the lowest of the low were forced to work for them. Leeching of the world’s natural resources like parasites, while the rest of us peasants suffer as a result. Of course, that was the system even before these children became their shiny new atom bombs, but now… Now they had safeguard. A safety net that ensured no one would ever dare to rebel against them. Well…” Janus smiles. “Almost no one…” Janus inspects his fingernails casually again. “Of course, to make sure they wouldn’t be bothered by such things as icky morals, they justify their actions by saying it was for the greater good! By saying this system created…” Janus raises an eyebrow at Patton. “An Endless Peace?”

A silence falls between them. Then Patton lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“Really? You think I’m going to believe that? I’m not dumb, you know!”

“Dumb, maybe not,” Janus shrugs. “Naïve, however…”

“I don’t believe you!” Patton says proudly.

“You were born and raised at AEP, weren’t you?” Janus asks. “Told from a young age you were born to be a superhero? To help people? Tell me Patton, have you ever been away from this building for anything else than superhero business? Or talked to anyone who isn’t approved by EAP first? Anyone at all?”

Patton tries to think of an answer, but comes up empty. “The people in this building protect me,” He answers instead. “Protect me from people like you, who would exploit my powers for evil!”

“Trust me honey, you’re not the one who needs protection out there…” Janus mutters.

“I don’t believe you.” Patton repeats, a bit more uncertain this time.

“Fine. Don’t then.” Janus shrugs. “I don’t need you to believe me for it to still be true.”

The absolute confidence in Janus’ voice infuriates Patton, anger bubbling up in his chest.

“EAP is a good company! We actually help people, unlike you!” Patton yells, now actually stomping his foot. “You stand there trying to tell me you’re so noble, when you have NO PROOF for anything you claim!!”

“Proof?” Janus growly lowly. “You want proof? Fine!” Angrily he grabs the edge of his bandages and starts unwrapping his arm. “I’ll give you proof!

Patton inhales a sharp breath as Janus unwraps the last bandages. His arm is completely raw and swollen, oozing with barely healed wounds. His stomach turns at the sight of angry deep black burns strewn over any flesh that got spared.

“They tore the scales off my arm,” His cool façade finally shows cracks as Janus’ voice shakes. “One by one they ripped them off my skin. Even when I finally talked they didn’t stop. They continued on until my arm was bare, and the iron they placed in the fire was white hot. That’s how I got these…” Hovering his fingers over one of the burns he swallows. “Obviously I told them old hiding places, long since abandoned. It will keep them busy for a while, but when they realize I’ve given them old information…” He rubs his jaw absentmindedly. “They said they would take my teeth next. Too bad... I’ve grown quite fond of my fangs.”

“They…” Patton shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from Janus’ tortured arm. “They wouldn’t do this…”

Janus’ eyes turn cold, his collected mask back on. “Obviously, they did. Or do you think I would do this to myself to gain sympathy points with delusional so called ‘good guys’?”

“B-But-!! We are the good guys!! The people, they love us-!”

“Oh, please,” Janus rolls his eyes. “The only reason the ‘common’ folk sing your praises is because they’re too afraid that their ‘beloved rulers’ send you to destroy their homes next.”

“T-That-! That’s NOT true-!!”

“Do you know what they call your little ‘hero’ group outside of the little circle of rich assholes you protect?” Janus says with a nasty smile. “They call you ‘The Executioners’. Because the minute someone refuses to obey, to fall in line… They send you. To make sure the people know who’s in charge. To destroy any ounce of happiness they scraped up and make an example out of the corpses you and your friends leave behind in their wake!”

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!!!” Patton shakes his head, covering his ears in a vain attempt to block out that damned smooth voice.

“Face it, kid. You’re no hero. No… You want to know what you are?” Janus continues on mercilessly. “You’re a tool. A sharpened axe the elite of the world hold over the necks of the common people, so they continue working as proper frightened little drones. Nothing like a good threat to keep their servants from revolting against them.”

“YOU’RE LYING!!” Patton screams as he throws his fists against the glass, the lights above them flickering in sync with his outcry. His powers bursts out of him with a force he hasn’t experienced since he was a kid. Electricity climbs over the glass cell in living lightning, framing the villain like a cursed portrait. But Janus barely blinks as the electricity crackles around him.

“If you are so sure that I’m lying… Why are you still here?” He asks thoughtfully. “Why come here at all if you truly think I lied in these files? Unless…” Janus says slowly, understanding dawning on his face. “Unless you’ve already seen the cracks in their pretty façade. Is that it?”

Just as quick as his power had acted up it retreats. “I… I… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Patton stammers as he pulls his hands away from the glass, the bright glow of the electricity dying in his fingers. He steps back but Janus follows, like a shark that smells blood in the water.

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Janus breaths out a disbelieving laugh as he shakes his head. “When did you start to notice the holes in their logic? Started to taste the bitterness in their pretty lies? How long have the doubts been eating at you, Patton?”

“That’s not…” Patton starts weakly, but any other rebuttals wither and die before they can leave his mouth.

“You’ve seen glances of their true faces,” Janus continues. “And you hoped that I would what? Comfort you? Deny everything and let you wallow in your own self-denial? Be the so-called ‘villain’ you think I am so you can continue feeling good about yourself?” Janus chuckles, lowly, the sound wrapping around Patton’s throat like a noose. “Come now darling… Did you really think I was that kind of person?”

It distinctly feels like something inside him breaks. The pretty wall of his superhero persona crumbles and crashes down, leaving Patton with only the ugly truth that wall had kept hidden from him. The pride and praise of the past week now suddenly tastes like bitter ash in his mouth.

He hurt people. He hurt the world. He did he did he did he did he DID-!!

He can’t take any more. Patton’s legs give away beneath him as he crumbles in front of the glass, his chest heaving with sobs. Pulling his hands through his hair he buries his face in his knees, tears dripping down his cheeks. Janus says nothing while Patton’s sobs echo in the room. He only stares down at the shattered hero at his feet with a distant kind of satisfaction.

"What do I do...?" Patton eventually whispers when the tears finally slow. "What can I do to make this right…?"

Janus grins, kneeling down to look the hero straight in the eye.

"You could start," He purrs. "By getting me out of here."

--

Patton walks through the halls he’s walked through a thousand times. His heart hammers a mile a minute in his ears, almost deafening him. Yet it can’t keep him distracted from the person currently running after him, sticking out amongst the grey walls like a sore thumb in his bright white prison grubs. They halt at an intersection, pushing their backs against the wall and holding their breath as soldiers run past in the next hallway.

“I’m going to need your phone.” Janus suddenly whispers, making Patton bite back a yelp.

“I-I don’t have one-!” He stammers. Janus gives him a long-suffering look.

“I’m not surprised, yet somehow still disappointed.” Janus sighs as he impatiently moves past him. Just as Patton wants to ask what he’s planning, Janus darts out of the dark corridor, as quick and ruthless as the snake he is and grabs the last soldier in the platoon that passes them. He gives her no time to alert the others in front of her as Janus covers the soldier’s mouth, drags her back into their corridor and sinks his teeth into her neck.

“What are you doing?!” Patton hisses.

“Making sure we can get out of here!” Janus hisses back as he pulls his teeth from the soldier’s neck. The woman’s eyes are already drooping, despite her effort to raise her voice in alarm. By the time Janus lowers to the ground she has fully lost consciousness.

“You can’t do that!! She’s just doing her job!” Patton furiously whispers as Janus searches her pockets.

“Yeah, well, currently her job would be to shoot me on sight, so excuse me if I would rather not die!” Janus finally victoriously pulls a phone from the soldier’s pocket. Grabbing the soldier’s hand for a second to make her unlock the screen, he then furiously starts texting.

“What are you doing??” Patton repeats, just as frantic.

“Arranging our getaway ride, if all goes well,” Janus says as he finishes the text and hits send. “Now we just need to get out of here and keep hidden until they can come for us!”

“Right… Right!” Patton nods. Oh, why did he do this again?? “I know how we can get out of here! We’ll have to follow-!”

“Patton?”

Patton freezes at that familiar voice. Turning he comes face to face with Virgil, wrapped in his favourite hoodie and sleepily rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. How could he have forgotten his teammate’s insomnia? Or his habit to wander around until he got sleepy??

“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” Virgil yawns. “Do you want a lecture from Logan about proper sleep schedules? Because trust me, they’re not very-”

Virgil freezes as Janus rises to his feet behind Patton. His eyes dart between him and Janus, gasping as he finally spots the unconscious soldier on the ground.

“You…” Virgil’s voice turns dark, the shadows behind him moving on his unspoken command. “I don’t know how the FUCK you got out, but you will step away from my teammate RIGHT NOW and get back to your cell, or you’ll regret it!”

“No thank you,” Janus smirks. “While I thoroughly enjoyed your hospitality, the room service here is positivelyabominable. Not to mention the horrid excuse you call cuisine. I don’t think I’ll return here soon.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that!” Virgil growls, gathering his famous shadows in his hands.

“Virgil, NO!!” Patton screams and steps between the two before Virgil can throw his attack.

“Patton, get out of the way!”

Patton shakes his head. “No! You have to let us pass, Virge!”

“What do you mean-?” Virgil stops, furious disbelief etching across his face. “…It was you… You helped him escape-!”

“I…” Patton swallows and nods. “Yes, yes I did… But Virgil-! It’s not what you think! We’ve been lied to, Virge!”

“Yes, by HIM!!” Virgil points at Janus, who wiggles his fingers in a mocking wave. “You know, the enemy that we’ve tried to capture for literal years??”

“No, not him! The AEP! They’re the ones who lied to us! They’ve been using us, Virge! They used us to… To attack innocent people! We’ve hurt the world instead of saving it! We have to set this right!!”

“What the hell are you talking about-??”

“Virgil, please,” Grabbing Virgil’s hands in his Patton gives his teammate- No, his best friend- a pleading look. “Come with us! Help me take down the organization! They’re the bad guys, Virge! It was never him!” Patton gestures to Janus.

“Oh that’s fine, just talk about me like I’m not here.” Janus mutters.

“We can fix this, Virgil. You and I!” Patton says, fragile hope growing in his voice. “Please, trust me on this! Let’s run away together from this place and actually help!”

Virgil stares at him, the tense silence stretching on in the hallway like a wire slowly growing taut. Virgil’s eyes flicker between him and Janus indecisively. Patton hopes for a brief second that maybe, just maybe-

His stomach drops when Virgil’s gaze remains on Janus, and just like that the wire snaps.

“You…” Virgil snarls. “I don’t know what lies you fed him-”

“Virgil, please no-!!” Patton pleads, but Virgil shoves him aside.

“But I will not let you get away with it!” The shadows behind him move again, answering their master’s call as they gather around him. “I will take you down for this!!”

“Must we?” Janus sighs exaggeratedly before he straightens himself and grins his lengthening fangs bare. “I suppose I have time in my busy schedule to teach you some manners, Stormcloud.”

Virgil growls and aims his hands towards Janus, the shadows behind him brewing and moving in dark colours without hesitation. Patton doesn't think. Later on he wishes he had. He doesn’t remember moving, yet he sees his hand grab onto the back of Virgil's neck. He doesn't want to see the sparks fly out of his hand, making the Virgil’s body go rigid before promptly becoming weak in his grasp. But it doesn’t matter what Patton wants, as Virgil's body hits the floor with a thud quieter than it should've been.

Paralyzed Patton makes eye contact with Janus over Virgil’s unmoving form. The other man stares at him dumbfounded, uncertainty and shock fighting for the same place on his eyes. Patton looks down, trembling.

Oh god what had he done.

For the second time that evening Patton felt his knees give way beneath him as he fell next to his friend.

“Virge…” Patton whispers, pained regret shaking in his voice.

“Patton-!” Janus walks up to him, putting his hands on his shoulders but Patton barely feels it.

“I’m s-so sorry-!!” Patton sobs over his friend’s unconscious body.

“Patton.” Janus says, his voice so calm that Patton’s muddled mind readily clings to it. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“I-I c-can’t j-just leave him h-here-!!”

“You must. The commotion must have alerted someone. This place might be crawling with guards soon. We have to go.”

Patton looks up in Janus’ eyes, their mismatched colours strangely grounding him and he nods. Janus helps him to his feet, and after one last look towards Virgil, Patton turns and they run.

Much later Patton would look back on this night and barely remember their escape. He leads Janus through the facility on automatic pilot, only managing to avoid capture because of Janus’ vigilance and sharp hearing. In the end Janus has to take out only one additional guard, who had been watching the emergency exit that Patton had lead them too. This soldier went down much easier than the first one. Patton supposed he hadn’t expected anyone to come to the quiet, halfway forgotten exit. But how could Patton forget it? He and Virgil had used this door as kids to escape from training once in a while.

Virgil…

Janus hastily runs through the emergency exit with Patton closely following behind. The cold night air finally shakes Patton's mind awake, away from the phantom feeling of Virgil's neck and how his hand tingles slightly. He almost wishes the tingle hurt.

They run loudly on the pavement, aiming for speed over secrecy. Patton’s breath comes in heavy pants and his lungs prickle, yet he dares not to stop or to look back. When they reach the high fence it takes Patton’s every bit of concentration to stop the electricity singing in the fence, guiding it away from Janus as they climb over it.

The sirens start as they safely land on the other side of the fence.

With the alarms blaring behind them Patton follows Janus to where the concrete leads into worn-in dirt, and where that leads to sticks, leaves, and not many traces of society. Patton's breath hurt in his chest, but knows he can't stop for a moment. He doesn't bother looking behind him either.

After what feels like hours but were more likely minutes, Janus skids to a halt, his breath forming clouds in the cold air as he leans heavily against a tree. Patton leans his hands on his knees, catching his breath. In the distance the alarms continue blaring.

“D-Do…” Patton gulps, exhales. “Do you think we’re safe…?”

Janus looks at him. “I don’t know…” He says, and Patton hates the raw honesty he hears in his voice. He suddenly much prefers the smooth lies his former enemy could spin at a drop of a hat. If they’re caught, he'll suffer Janus' previous fate or worse. Patton doesn't want to think about how it could get worse.

Just as he’s about to sit down, resigned to his new fate, a bright spotlight illuminates their spot in the forest. Patton can’t stop the startled scream as spots dance in his vision at the sudden brightness, the rumbling of an aircraft above them finally overpowering the sound of his wildly beating heart. They had found them already??? Or…

“Ahoy down there!” A nasally voice shouts down over the intercom as a rope is lowered from the aircraft. “Did some clown order a clown car??”

Patton puzzlingly frowns, but besides him Janus grins.

“Hold on, Heart Shock!” Janus grabs the rope with one hand and throws his other arm around Patton’s waist to hoist him up close. “Our ride is here!”

Before Patton can form some kind of protest the rope is hoisted up. A high-pitched shriek tears from his throat as the ground falls away beneath them. Patton never liked flying or heights in general. No matter how many times Roman took him for a flight he never got used to it. So he throws his arms and legs around Janus koala style and buries his face into the other man’s scaled neck. He dares not to peek as they dangle above the ground until he feels hands grab him and Janus. Excited voices ring in his ears as the hands drag them both into the aircraft. As they land on the metal floor with a heavy thud a blush creeps in on Patton’s cheeks when he untangles his arms and legs from Janus’ frame.

“Snake Daddy is in the nest!!” The same nasally voice shrieks over the roaring engines. “HIT THE GAS!! GO GO GO!!!”

The door behind them slams closed, and the aircraft flies off with a speed that throws Patton backwards, making an inelegant roll on the hard metal floor. Janus on the other hand sits up his knees, giving the man that runs up to them an exasperated look.

“Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?” Janus sighs. The man gives him a grin that makes his moustache curl up mischievously. Either Patton’s eyes are deceiving him, or the man resembles Roman to an uncanny degree.

“And I told you to get used to your new codename, Double-D!” The man joyfully says. “Deal with it!”

Janus rolls his eyes, but nonetheless grabs the hand stretched out to him. As he’s pulled to his feet Janus throws his arms around the other.

“Remus, you absolute insane wonderful man you,” Janus breathes shakily. “How the fuck did you get here so fast?”

“Are you kidding me??” Remus eagerly returns the embrace. “We’ve been hiding around here for five days now!”

“You what-” Janus reels back, grasping Remus by the shoulders “Why??”

“To rescue you, of course!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake- You promised that if I ever got captured you would continue where I left off! Not risk everything by trying to rescue me!”

“Yeah, well,” Remus shrugs. “You promised me that I would get to watch you use the president’s head as a football some day! And god fucking dammit, you are not getting out of that promise, no matter how hard you try!”

Patton flinches at the gruesome fantasy, but Janus only wetly laughs and draws Remus back into a hug. Over the whole aircraft relieved and excited voices ring, welcoming Janus back.

Amidst the excitement Remus halts as he finally spots Patton, who still sits quietly amongst the excited rebels.

“No fucking way…” Remus breathes. “You actually got us a hostage?”

Patton freezes. As all eyes turn to him, he suddenly remembers again that he’s surrounded by people he previously thought as his enemies. And to them, he still was the enemy.

"Double-D, you should've warned me you would bring a hostage! I would've brought the rougher rope with us!" Remus pulls away from the hug and quickly moves towards a container, which once opened Patton could see was full to the brim with rope of various colours, each appearing thick and rough enough as they were.

Janus dramatically sighed. "He’s not a hostage."

Remus stops rummaging through the container and quirks an eyebrow. "But Heart Attack or whatever is one of those stupid guys! Wait.” Remus squints suspiciously at Janus. “Don't tell me you're breaking up with me and joining his side."

“Not quite,” Janus says as he extends a hand to help Patton to his feet. As he stands Janus lightly places his arm over Patton's shoulders. A shield against the suspicious glares from the rebels around him. "You see, my darlings… He's joining ours."

[twistedtummies2]

A Feline Valentine (Che’NyaXReader; Stuffing)

HUZZAH! It took me writing well into the night last night, but I was able to complete my Valentine’s Day Special after all! Hope you all enjoy! :D

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Six o’ clock. Tea Time. You really wondered (with a sigh) how Riddle got along so well with your boyfriend at times like this. Granted, you loved the fluffy-eared gremlin to bits, but if there was one thing he never seemed to care about… …Well…actually…he cared about very little. It was probably part of why Riddle didn’t dislike him for going to Royal Sword instead of Night Raven; the Cheshire Cat was by no means a hero…but he was also by no means a villain. And he was certainly by no means punctual. You paced around the table you had set up in the Tea Garden of Heartslabyul. In the light of the golden afternoon, you paused to look around. You had to admit, you’d always found Heartslabyul to be one of the most beautiful dorms; if the historic Rose Garden owned by the Queen of Hearts was even half as beautiful as the one Riddle Rosehearts and his pack maintained, it still would have been perfectly enchanting. It was an unseasonably warm afternoon, but with a light breeze that whistled through and cooled it pleasantly to a perfect temperature. The heart-shaped topiary sculptures and vibrant red roses that poked from the great green hedge rows were the perfect natural decoration for a day like today…only helped by the special scarlet paper lanterns that had been strung up, in place of the usual blue and yellow. The paper was patterned with images of hearts. Similarly, instead of the black, red, and white bunting that was usually set out, you had purposefully selected pink and purple flag streamers, which lightly fluttered and flapped in the delicate wind. You frowned as you looked back to the table; you were actually starting to feel a little worried. You’d taken a lot of time to prepare this occasion. Riddle had even allowed you to make use of his personal table; he claimed it was due to Rule 214, but he never explained WHAT Rule 214 was, so you didn’t know why that was. You checked your cell phone to see the time; it was now a couple minutes past six, you still found no sign of hide nor hair from him. You bit your lip as you stuffed your phone back in your pocket; had something happened to him? Even on a day like today, when everyone was spending time with their special someone (presuming they had one), Night Raven had plenty of troublemakers out and about…and while your beau was no pushover, especially for the “pompous, pampered little princes” who stayed in the Dorms of Royal Sword Academy, you didn’t want to risk he’d run into beasts somewhat fiercer than himself. He only had eight lives left, after all. “Come on, kitten,” you mumbled to yourself, tapping your foot with impatient nervousness. “Where are you…?” “Twaaaas brillig, and the slithy Toves did gyre and gimble in the waaabe. All mimzyyyy were the Borogoves, and the Mome Raths outgraaabe!”

You knew that strange, up-and-down, melodic voice, naturally. You knew that song, too, and therefore knew who was singing it. You glanced about curiously, but you saw nothing; this wasn’t surprising, however. Your boyfriend from Night Raven’s rival college had a habit of being non-corporeal. “Che’Nya?” you called out, then smirked. “You might as well show yourself, that ‘ghostly singing’ thing isn’t as impressive as you think it is.” A pouting meow was heard, from seemingly everywhere at all. “I thought you liked my singing. In fact, I thought you said it was The Cat’s Meow!” You blinked dully. “Those puns are going to get you in trouble, you know that, don’t you?” you droned. “I suppose it ‘hiss’ possible.” “That one,” you snapped out, lifting a finger in emphasis. “That one was ‘Meowsy.’” “Awwww, my little bunny is making cat puns now, too!” crooned the voice of the Cheshire neko. “I’m so proud!” You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I learned from the best,” you drawled, waving a hand dismissively. “Now come on out!” A pause. No response. “I’m waiting!” you called out, louder. Right on cue, you felt a tap on your right shoulder. You turned…and spotted nothing. Then came a tap on your left shoulder. You rolled your eyes, turned again…and once more spotted nothing. Then you started to turn around…and found yourself almost eyeball-to-eyeball with two large, glowing, golden eyes. “BOO!” “GYAH!” You yelped and jumped about six inches into the air, catching yourself on a nearby chair as you stared up at the disembodied head floating before you, a few feet above the surface of an empty table. The head giggled in a high-pitched, half-hysterical way; an unhinged but not necessarily dangerous sort of laugh, followed by a teasing grin filled with many large, sharp white teeth. “Gotcha! Nya!” sing-songed the fair-skinned face of your beau, his purple ears twitching where they sprouted from under his equally purple-haired head. A faint jingle came from the ears, courtesy of the little brass piercings shaped like signposts in each. You blinked…then frowned, blushing a bit at being caught off guard so easily. “Very funny,” you grumbled. “I thought it was!” chirruped the Cheshire Cat-Boy, his head spinning in place a full three-hundred-sixty degrees. You quivered. “How do you do that?” you muttered. “A good meow-gician never reveals his secrets!” “A GOOD magician,” you responded dryly, “Would be on time and not make such terrible jokes.” “Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not one of those!” “…Yet you won’t reveal your secrets anyway.” “Nya-ope!” “…Your jokes just get worse from here, don’t they?” Your boyfriend giggled and rolled his eyes, then his head swooped forward. You went stiff as he sniffed at your hair, and his head began to orbit around your own. It was an unsettling feeling, and you squirmed a bit, blushing as he meowed and leaned close, the lone head nuzzling your cheek as you heard the big kitty purr. “Awww…no need to be so mean, my little bun-bun,” he crooned…then licked your cheek and rumbled as he added in a whisper: “It makes you taste less sweet, you know.” You blushed bright red, and he giggled more. “Awww, bunny-bun is so cuuute when they’re flustered!” he mewed, and once again came around to your front. “Don’t worry, my little rabbit! This big kitty won’t gobble you up! Today, anyway.” “That’s a shame…” “Hm? Nya? What was that?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head, then tilted it as you added: “Can you make your whole self visible? It’s…weird chatting with a talking head.” You had a feeling your significant other shrugged, but since you couldn’t see his shoulders at that point, you weren’t sure. In any event, slowly but surely, the physical body of Alchemi Alchemivich Pinka – alias, Che’Nya the Cheshire Cat – finally began to fade into view. He looked the same as he always did: dressed in a white dress shirt that was several sizes two big, under which he wore a pink-and-purple-striped t-shirt. A ring with the image of a smiling cat’s head was on one of his fingers, each of which ended in short-but-sharp claws, painted the same shade of purple as his hair. A matching purple belt held up the blue jeans he wore; it bore a silver buckle, and the words “Can You Stand on Your Head?” stitched into it with silver thread. All over the legs of his blue jeans were various colored patches, resembling mushrooms, trees, and Mome Raths – strange creatures that inhabited the realm of the Queen of Hearts. Purple boots with black laces were on his feet; they were decorated in gold chains with pendants that spelled the phrases “This Way” and “That Way.” Your boyfriend smiled and blinked his huge yellow eyes. His two canine teeth stuck out from his mouth, and with his large eyes and the way he cocked his head, you couldn’t help but smile; he really did look so much like a big, curious kitten, bushy purple-and-pink-striped tail swishing behind him and all. “Can I ask you a question, Bunny?” he mewed, as he hopped down and sat the wrong way on a chair. “Sure,” you nodded. “Oh, good!” grinned Che’Nya. A pause. “…So?” “So what?” “What was it?” “What was what?” “The question!” “What question?” “The one you just asked!” “I asked a question?” “Yes, you asked if you could ask a question!” “Well, then I already asked you a question, didn’t I? In fact, I think I just asked…” He tilted his head and counted on his fingers. “…Six! A half dozen questions! Now, isn’t that great? OOH! That one makes lucky number seven!” “But…that…that doesn’t…!” Che’Nya grinned and placed his head in his hands, his chin against the back of the chair, eyes half-lidded. Try me, bunny, his smile seemed to say. Go ahead. You blinked…then grumbled and reached out, booping him on the nose. Che’Nya’s smile fell. He blinked…then sneezed, and pouted as he covered his nose. “Heeeey, no booping!” he meowed, childishly. “Then stop talking in circles.” “I don’t talk in circles,” he smirked. “I talk in squares, triangles, occasionally hexagons, and even a few parallelograms, but NEVER circles!” “You’re impossible.” “Hardly,” Che’Nya chuckled. “I do believe in Six Impossible Things before breakfast each morning, though…then I usually go out and eat them.” He winked and licked his lips as he added: “For instance…Thing Number Five this morning was believing I had the best little human in the world as my S-O. Now, doesn’t that seem impossible?” You blinked. “…I can’t tell if that was a compliment or not.” “Then I have done my job,” Che’Nya said. So saying, the Cheshire Cat got up from the chair and hugged you close. You froze up, not expecting the sudden show of affection…but when he started nuzzling your neck and purring, you smiled and returned the hug. “You may be impossible…but you’re MY kind of impossible,” you whispered. “Awww…bunnyyyyy, you’ll make me blush,” mumbled Che’Nya. “Then I’ll have done MY job,” you teased. Che’Nya giggled. “Touche! Nya!” he sang out, then pulled back and grinned at you excitedly, tail twitching as he clapped his hands. “Oh! Oh! I almost forgot! I wanna show you a trick! Can I, can I? Huh?” You chuckled and smiled; his exuberance never ceased to make you grin almost as widely as he could. Almost. Aside from maybe the Leech Twins, no one could smile as wide as the Cheshire Cat…and certainly no one could do so and NOT make it absolutely mortifying to behold. “Sure,” you said, and sat down on a chair, figuring the big event could wait till after he’d gotten it out of his system. “Go ahead, kitty.” Che’Nya let out a “squee” of delight, then made a show of clearing his throat. He then adopted a dramatic pose and waggled his fingers as he tugged on his baggy white sleeves. “Nothing up my sleeves!” he declared…then reached out with one hand. “But something back here…” You smirked and rolled your eyes as he reached behind your ear; this was an old trick, you knew how it- “Boop!” You let out a mousey squeak as suddenly something bopped your nose…then blinked as you realized, instead of a coin, he had pulled what appeared to be a golden pocket watch, tied to a matching gold chain, and had gently tapped your nose with it. Che’Nya grinned as he then lowered the watch into your waiting hands. You blinked as you looked at the gold watch; the outside was etched with your name, and when you flipped it open, the ticking watch hands inside were designed to look like Che’Nya himself (as the minute hand), with you as the hour hand…chasing him with a newspaper. You blinked…then looked up. The catboy’s eyes were very wide, and he was fidgeting anxiously. “Nya? Do you like it?” he meowed, sounding more nervous than you felt he wanted to show. “I…I do! It’s…it’s lovely!” you chuckled, and chastised yourself for using a word like “lovely,” before going on: “How did you get it? Did you…make it?” “Nope. But I have a friend who actually makes clocks and watches. He’s a bunny – actual bunny, not just cute-bunny-like-human, the way you are.” He took a moment to smirk at your blush before going on. “He gave me a discount, so I asked him to make that for me, custom. Oh! And there’s more!” Che’Nya added, and reached into the pocket of his jeans, sticking out his tongue as he focused on trying to fish something out. It took him several tries; he pulled out a yo-yo, a bag of jelly beans, a teacup, and a kitchen sink (you were NOT going to ask), before finally finding what he was looking for. “Aha! Purr-fect!” he exclaimed, and smiled as he handed over a large paper card. It looked like an oversized Ace of Hearts. Curious, you took the card, and realized it opened up; a greeting card. You looked at the words written inside; they were written over an image of a huge, cat-toothed smile. You read them aloud. “Keep Smiling, Bunny. Happy Valentine’s Day.” You looked up; Che’Nya’s eyes were very, very wide again, once again looking anxious and eager. You smiled and stood on tip-toe, kissing him on the nose. He mewed and you chuckled. “Thanks, kitty. I appreciate it a lot.” “Hey, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Che’Nya smiled back, swishing his tail happily as his ears twitched again, once again making the piercings tingle like little bells. “I would be a pretty meow-sy boyfriend if I didn’t get you a gift and a card.” “Now you’re just stealing MY puns, that’s plagiarism.” “I think you mean…” Che’Nya paused…then blinked…and tilted his head. He mouthed a few silent nothings to himself…then shrugged. “Never mind. I can’t think of a pun with that. There’s glory for you!” You crinkled your nose, and remarked, “I don’t know what you mean by glory.” “Of course you don’t, till I tell you,” Che’Nya sniffed, and explained: “When I said ‘glory,’ I meant ‘there’s a tough puzzle for you.’” “…Um…glory doesn’t mean ‘a tough puzzle’ though.” “When I choose a word,” Che’Nya responded, sagely, “It means precisely what I choose it to mean. Neither more nor less.” “Yeah, but the question is whether or not you can make a word mean-” You were stopped by Che’Nya placing a finger on your lips. His smile was indulgent, as if he were talking to a child. “The question,” he said, gently, “Is which is to be the Master. That’s all.” You were much too puzzled to respond to that properly…so you instead reached out and gave the mischievous kitten a tickling poke in the tummy. Che’Nya mewed and giggled backing up and placing his hands on his belly to protect it. “H-Hey! No! No tickling!” he meowed, blushing a bit. You smirked triumphantly…but your triumph was short lived, as the moment was broken by a deep, gurgling rumble from the belly you had just poked. GRRROOORRRLLLLBG… “Oooh,” murmured Che’Nya, wincing a bit and giving a more strained sort of smile as he scratched the back of his head with one hand, the other clutching his belly more tightly. “H-Heh…I think you woke up my tummy. I, um…I might have skipped lunch today…” “Awww, poor kitty,” you cooed, teasingly, then grinned back. “Well, thankfully, I asked you over here because I have my own Valentine’s Day gift for you.” Che’Nya’s ears perked up and he smiled wider, yellow eyes brightening. “Nya? You did? How purr-fectly wonderful of you, bunny-bun!” he sang, clapping his hands together in joy, and looking around. “Where is it? What is it? Show me, show me!” A twinkle was in your eye that might have made the Cheshire Cat proud as you stepped aside and gestured to the long table under a tree in the Tea Garden. Che’Nya stepped forward to inspect the table…then stopped in place, eyes widening all the more at what he saw. You chuckled as you looked to the fruits of your labors: with help from Trey, you’d gotten quite the little feast prepared. Half of it was store bought, the other half homemade. Given the spirit of Valentine’s Day, it was a feast that was sugar saturated: the only things not involving a great deal of saccharine sweetness were a basket of chicken tenders from Che’Nya’s favorite restaurant, and a Salmon Filet that you had gotten from the Mostro Lounge. Of course, Che’Nya’s love of tuna was renowned (right on par with Grim’s taste for it), so you had to have tuna at the table…but in the spirit of the holiday, you’d taken a different route than usual. Trey and yourself had looked up a recipe for CANDIED tuna: strips of the fish cured with salt, pepper, and maple sugar. From that point on, everything was sugary: a box of gourmet chocolates and a vase of chocolate roses were obvious must-haves for a Valentine’s meal. Vanilla cupcakes with purple hearts made in icing were also prepared, set beside a box of marshmallow bluebirds. A carton of Neopolitan ice cream was on the opposite side of the cupcakes…and last, but certainly not least, the favorite food of EVERYONE in Heartslabyul, and second only to fish and poultry for Che’Nya’s tastes: strawberry tarts, crisply cooked, and so fresh they were still steaming. You looked back to Che’Nya; his expression reminded you of a meme of a kitten looking at Christmas Tree lights for the first time, and you couldn’t keep the soft “d’awww” that escaped from you. “Like what you see?” you checked. Che’Nya blinked…then looked back at you. “You do know all that sugar is going to go to my hips, right?” “You say that as if it would discourage me.” Che’Nya smirked, and this time HE tapped YOUR nose. “Naughty-naughty, funny bunny,” he sing-songed. You blushed and grumbled to yourself as you brushed his hand away. Che’Nya sniggered, then made a show of cracking his knuckles and neck as he strutted towards the table, big bushy tail whisking about behind him. “Well…you know what they say: time to take the tiger by the horns.” You started to agree…then paused when you actually digested (no pun intended) that saying. “Wait…that’s not-” “ITADAKIMASU!” meowed Che’Nya, as he hopped into his seat at the table…and without so much as another word, grabbed hold of the cupcakes and began to eat. Ten cupcakes had been placed upon a plate, organized into a heart shape. The Cheshire Neko snatched up one of them and, without even the slightest ado (nor any sense of decorum) stuffed the entire cupcake into his mouth. NOMPH! You watched, wide-eyed and very still, as Che’Nya’s cheeks bulged with the cupcake inside his mouth; his eyes closed as he chewed slowly – GRUM, GRUM, GRUM – tail swishing, the look on his face like that of a very happy kitten as he purred softly at the flavor…then – GRULPH! – swallowed the cupcake whole. He licked some crumbs off his cheeks…then, his jaws opened wide again – wider than many would think should be physically possible – fangs parting as he began to shovel the remaining nine cupcakes into his mouth at record-breaking speed. CHOMPH-NOMPH-GROMPH-HROMPH…! You slowly began to approach the table, watching with something approaching awe as the half-cat tore through the pastries like famine was fast approaching. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen your kitty eat so much and so fast, and you knew it was only the beginning…but that never made it any less phenomenal. Between himself and some in Savanaclaw, you wondered if it was just a cat thing to be a living bottomless pit…though while some in that dorm preferred tons and tons of meat, Che’Nya was more well-known for his sweet tooth, when it came to his appetite. The cupcakes had soon been guzzled; Che’Nya next turned his attention to the chocolate roses, there were three in the vase. He plucked one free, and began to untie the wrapping around the chocolate bulb in thin strips… “Hmmm…my bunny loves me…he hates me not…he loves me…he hates me not…” You smiled as you pulled up a seat beside him and kissed the hand holding the rose playfully. “Either one works,” you shrugged cheerily. Che’Nya let out a giggle, and finished unwrapping the rose…before popping the chocolate into his mouth. He smirked around his closed mouth, winked…and then – SCHLUPK! – pulled the rose free. Only the plastic stem, wrapped in green paper, came out…he had managed to ingest the entire piece of chocolate. Che’Nya rumbled and moaned around a closed mouth; you watched as his right cheek bulged, and then his left, as he swirled the chocolate around, letting it melt in his mouth for a few moments…then, he swallowed faintly – GLURK – and you watched as his throat rippled every so slightly, Adam’s Apple rising and falling subtly, as he let the melted chocolate trickle down his throat. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, as he plucked a second rose up. “Roses are red, violets are blue, chocolate is tasty…” He paused…then you let out an “eep!” of surprise as he leaned forward and licked the very tip of your nose. “…And so are yooouuu,” he sang, with a big, teasing smile. You blushed and half-heartedly swiped at his ears. He cackled and dodged, then chomped down on the second rose. You heard his teeth saw through the chocolate before he swallowed, then treated the third and final rose in much the same manner. This was evidently enough sweetness for the catboy, at least for the start, because the next item he selected was the salmon filet. As he pulled it closer, you reached to helpfully grab a couple of plastic utensils from a box you’d provided… …Then stopped short as the cat tilted his head back, and lifted the entire filet up over his head. His jaws fell wide open, tongue rolling out like a red carpet…before he dropped the pinkish-red fish meat in and slurped it up noisily before swallowing it all in one bite. SCHLUGULP! You watched, eyes tracing the bulge the salmon made in the Cheshire Cat’s throat as it slithered down his esophagus, before dropping past his chest, and vanishing into the belly behind his shirt. The shirt fit very loosely, so you couldn’t tell what it was like behind the garment…which only made you feel a bit disappointed… …No matter. Very soon, that would be changing. “Ahhhhh…tasty fishy!” chirruped Che’Nya, and blinked his big yellow eyes at you, one ear flicking as he asked: “Did you get anything to drink?” You nodded and held up a finger in a “one moment” gesture, before reaching under the table; you pulled out three large bottles, each containing three liters of cherry soda. Che’Nya clapped his knuckles together his grin widening and eyes all but sparkling at the sight. “Oh, YAY! My favorite flavor! Thank you, bunny-bun!” “Don’t mention it,” you chuckled, and cracked open the bottle for him. The playful feline made grabby-hands at you as you offered him the bottle, which he wasted no time in placing to his lips as he began to chug down the bubbling, fizzing, dark red liquid within. GLUG, GLUG, GLUG… With every swallow Che’Nya took, his neck bobbed and pulsed, the super-sweet, tangy soda pop gushing down his gullet almost by the cup-full. You admitted it was slightly surprising that cherry was Che’Nya’s favorite soft drink; based on color, you would have presumed he’d prefer grape. But then again, the Cheshire Cat was nothing if not frequently surprising. As the soda sloshed down his throat, your eye fell towards the feline’s abdomen again; you could actually hear the fruity beverage dropping down, cascading like a waterfall into his burbling belly. Finally, you saw a sight that made your heart sing and brought pinkness to your cheeks once more: that baggy, ill-fitting white shirt began to became more taut and stretched around the middle of the Cheshire Cat’s lean, lithe midsection. It was finally starting to press out… …And it must have been by quite an amount, because as soon as he finished off the bottle, pulling it away with a somewhat dramatic “Pah!” and tossing it away (one of you would pick it up later; littering was against Rule Thirty-One), he grunted and reached down, adjusting his belt and loosening his waistband, sighing as his stomach no doubt sagged from the weight within… …If that knowledge didn’t make you blush enough, what happened next as the pressure was released slightly did. “BRRRRRUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRP!” the Cheshire catboy burped, surprisingly long and loud for such a slippery creature. He blinked, seemingly surprised at the volume and power of the eruption, one ear flicking…then laughed childishly. “Hoo hoo hoo! I think my tummy’s getting a little bit bubbly,” he cooed, then smirked at you and reached out, taking one of your wrists. “Hmmm…c’mere…feel.” Even if you had wanted to resist, the firm grasp on your wrist denied you that privilege. So, instead, you scooted closer…and blushed more than ever as Che’Nya managed to lift up the veritable blanket of his oversized white shirt…revealing to you the pale, silky skin of his normally concave belly, now swollen by a few solid inches till it looked like he had swallowed a small melon or some sort of ball. The Cheshire Cat meowed softly as he guided your hand to his belly…and then released your wrist as your fingertips, and then your palm, rested over the curve of his midsection. His belly was textured softer than velvet, warm as a heated pillow. When you pressed upon it, it gave ever so slightly under your pressure. Che’Nya hiccuped and then stifled another burp, catching it in his cheeks… “HIC-MMMRRRRRLLLLPH…phoosh.” …Before teasingly blowing the gas right in your face. You coughed and blushed, tears springing to your eyes as Che’Nya smirked lazily at you. “…C-Cat Breath,” you gasped out. “You know you love it,” cooed Che’Nya, licking his fangs and winking…then giggled as he lifted one arm. “Hey, check this out…” He waggled his fingers…and, before your very eyes, the hand that had been there wasn’t there any more. There was no flash of light, no puff of smoke; one second the hand was there, the next, it wasn’t. “Nothing up my sleeves again!” he sang out. You rolled your eyes…then yelped, momentarily allowing your hand to leave his belly (which you instantly regretted, perhaps more than you cared to admit aloud), as the hand reappeared, floating in mid-air, and holding the basket of chicken strips. You looked from the hand and the basket, and back up to Che’Nya…who, with his one remaining hand, gave you the biggest, widest “kitty eyes” he could…and then pointed into his mouth. “Feed me?” he meowed, innocently. …You couldn’t decide if that was cute, attractive, or both. You decided on both, and nodded with a wide smile, taking the basket from Che’Nya’s…disembodied…floating…hand (yeah, having the Cheshire Cat for a boyfriend was WEIRD sometimes), and placed it in your lap as you adjusted your chair. Che’Nya “recalled” his hand (it vanished from thin air and reappeared back in place at the end of his arm), and happily wiggled as he reclined slightly in the well-padded throne Riddle usually occupied. You dimly imagined Riddle complaining about cat shedding all over his cushions, and couldn’t help but snicker as you lifted one of the crispy, perfectly seasoned tenders from the basket. “Open wide,” you said. Che’Nya was only too happy to oblige, closing his eyes and letting his mouth fall open expectantly. You could have sworn a puff of steam came from his salivating jaws as he did so…you opted not to comment on it, for numerous reasons. You blushed as you had a very good look at the deep red, saliva-dripping interior of his maw, framed by pointed white fangs, including those two elongated canines that had a tendency to stick out in an (adorable) overbite…fangs that were primed to cut and rip into anything that got too close and tasted delicious… You quivered, suddenly imagining yourself being dangled over that wide maw like a mouse…and shook your head quickly to clear it before holding the chicken strip over his mouth. Your lips quirked as you saw his nose twitch in a decidedly catlike way, ears pricking up happily as he no doubt smelled the spices and seasonings used in the batter to bread the tenders. Without any further ceremony, you let the chicken tender drop…and Che’Nya quickly scarfed it up in three fast bites, like a cat snarfing down a very fat rodent. He rumbled pleasantly, sighing through his nose as he chewed, teeth piercing into the juicy white meat…before – GRULP! – swallowing it down in one bite. Your eyes followed the lump in Che’Nya’s throat as it vanished…and you let out a soft squeak as the cat let out a low, rumbling burp, once again right in your face. “Uuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrp…hoo-hoo, excuse me…more, please!” You didn’t have to be told twice. One by one, you fed the boy with the catlike ears all of the chicken tenders. There were eight in total; the first four, Che’Nya chewed up happily…but with the last rest, he didn’t seem to chew at all, wolfing them down (ironically for a big cat) and swallowing them whole. Hot, moist breath pelted your face, steadily smelling more and more strong as you added food to the organic cauldron deep within the catboy’s core. As you watched him scarf down the last chicken strip, and put away the empty basket, the purple-and-pink tail of the felid hybrid swirled out and swept up the heart-shaped box of gourmet chocolates you had chosen, and carefully desposited it into your hands. You smiled and opened the box. “Any you would like first?” you said, offering to show him the contents…but Che’Nya shook his head, looking quite excited. “Surprise me!” he meowed happily. You chuckled and looked into the box briefly, trying to decide…before plucking up the chocolate of choice: a simple mini-bar drizzled with a spiral of white chocolate. Che’Nya stuck out his tongue, and you blushed as you placed the chocolate onto the tongue directly…then yelped, barely having time to pull your fingers away before the tongue retracted and the sharp teeth snapped shut. Che’Nya chewed a few times and purred. “Mmmmm,” he murmured, and swallowed before commenting: “GULP…orange crème! Yummy! More, more!” You smiled wider, and, just as you had with the chicken strips, began to feed the big kitty one chocolate at a time. The orange crème was followed by one of raspberry crème, which was then followed up by caramel, then nougat, then a chocolate truffle… GLUPP-GLUPP-GLUPP… The purple-and-pink-haired catboy happily swallowed each chocolate, purring pleasantly as each morsel was placed inside his mouth and sent rolling down his neck and into his stomach, melting into cream and pooling in his tummy, which gurgled in a happy, high-pitched sort of way as the sugary, milky confections plopped half-solid into the pit. Every so often, his slippery, sloppy, somewhat sandpapery tongue would brush against your fingers, slurping over your hands…the first couple of times, this MIGHT have been accidental…but after the third slurp, you caught the hungry gleam in his golden eyes, and knew it wasn’t. There were two dozen chocolates in the box; two of each kind available. Ironically, the last chocolate you gave to Che’Nya turned out to be identical to the first: an orange crème-filled morsel drizzled with white chocolate in a spiral shape. You reached out to place it in his open maw… NOMPH! “YEH?!” You yelped in surprise and instinctively tried to pull back…and blushed when a playful growl and firm resistance met your efforts. You felt as if steam might be pouring from your cheeks, as Che’Nya had somehow managed to wrap his mouth around your entire hand. You felt his tongue slurp over your fingers as he suckled on you with a deep rumble; you barely even noticed the moment when the chocolate was flicked away and sent tumbling down his throat to join the rest in his guts. Finally, Che’Nya released you – after what was probably less than a minute, but felt like more than an hour – and you absent-mindedly wiped your hand clean with a napkin. Che’Nya licked and smacked his lips, before letting out a short, sharp sort of belch. “BRUPK! Mph…yum-meow!” he declared, snickering at his horrible pun. You blinked slowly. “…Are you referring to the chocolate, or me?” you asked, dryly. Che’Nya grinned and winked. “Yes.” God dang this teasing cat. You grumbled and tried to bap him on the nose…only to swat at thin air as his head disappeared from his shoulders. Just as you registered this anomaly, you nearly jumped a foot in the air as a loud, abrasive noise blasted like an airhorn in your ears from behind you. “BOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” “GAH! D-Don’t…don’t DO that!” You panted, startled and blushing all at once. The belly of the headless body of Che’Nya bounced as his disembodied head spun around in mid-air, laughing good-naturedly. “Sorry, sorry!” he chuckled out, and winked teasingly. “No need to LOSE YOUR HEAD about things.” You grumbled and huffed, trying to show him you were ABSOLUTELY mad at him, yes, totally. He blinked, and meowed…then his floating head nuzzled your shoulder. To anyone else, this would have been surreal and disturbing. To you…at this point, it was just Sunday. “Will you feed me those bluebirds if I say I’m sorry?” he mewed, glancing towards the marshmallow birds and giving you his most innocent eyes. You blinked at him…then smiled, and scratched him behind his ears. He purred happily, a cheery smile on his face at the attention. “Sure,” you said, in a warm, simple voice. There was a pause. “Well?” “Nya?” Che’Nya murmured opening his eyes as his head pulled away and floated just out of reach. “Well what?” “Say you’re sorry!” “I already did!” he grinned happily. Your mouth opened and closed a few times…but you finally just gave up, throwing your hands up and half-sighing, half-chuckling before reaching for the marshmallow birds. Che’Nya smirked triumphantly, and his head flipped clear over yours before landing back in its proper place atop his neck, fingers drumming over his already bloated tummy, which inched out further and further… You opened the box of candy bluebirds; there were only a half dozen of them in total. Feeling rather playful yourself now, you mouthed the word “Catch” to your half-cat boyfriend, and lifted one of the marshmallow treats, preparing to throw it. Che’Nya nodded, catching onto what you were thinking instantly, and opened his mouth. You thus tossed the six birds – once again, one by one – into his mouth.

Che’Nya did not close his mouth nor swallow till all six of the marshmallow goodies were dropped into his craw…then, and only then, did he shut his jaws tight. He chewed three times, grinding away at the squishy, spongy stuff…and then swallowed it all in one go. GLULP! A thick, round, distention formed in Che’Nya’s neck. He grunted and thumped his chest as it passed behind his ribcage…then sighed and patted his belly, which let out a deep “glort” as the food was dropped into place. “Oof…nya…I think I need to wash that one down,” he mumbled, and grabbed hold of the second bottle of cherry soda himself. He cracked it open, paused to allow the pressurized air to settle…then unscrewed the cap and rapidly began to swill down all three liters. His Adam’s Apple bobbed and bounced as if suspended in tumultuous water… GLUG, GLUG, GLUG…! You listened to the sound of the soda pouring down into the Cheshire hybrid’s belly. GLORSH, GLORSH, GLORSH…your mind began to wander, conjuring up a mental picture of what it must have been like inside that swollen stomach, as it continued to expand, creaking against the waistband of the cat’s trousers, the pulled-up shirt draped over its upper curve. Dark…swampy…slimy…smelly…the walls ever moving, always working to stir up the contents of the beast-man’s bowels…you imagined being squeezed in-between them, the soda pouring down over your head as the stomach growled hungrily in your ears… …The rumbling belch from your boyfriend snapped you out of it. “GWWWUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRP! Ahhhh…you chose the BEST soda, bunny!” Alchemi smiled widely, tail flipping happily behind him as he grunted and once again adjusted his belt, groaning with relief as his gut was allowed more breathing room. “Ooof…I’m feeling kinda heavy now…mmmmrrrrroooowwwwl…” “I’m not surprised,” you mumbled, eying that engorged stomach, which was now bigger than a basketball, tightly compressed behind the waistband of the kitty-boy’s patched pants. Your fingers twitched and fidgeted, but you somehow restrained yourself, watching as Che’Nya rubbed over his belly himself, claws lightly brushing against his sensitive, supple skin… “Oooooh…soooo full already,” he half-moaned, half-purred. “I can feel it all getting sloshed and churned around in there…” He patted the side of his belly and hiccuped before sighing and going on. “HIC! Ohhhh…all that sugar’s making my tummy feel all hot and heavy, too…I might not have much money, but I’m gonna be a literal ‘fat cat’ when it’s all done, I know it…” “One can only hope.” “Nya?” “Nothing, nothing,” you said, shaking your head…then reached for the dish of candied tuna strips, holding it out with a hopeful smile. “Sure you don’t have room for more?” Che’Nya blinked; one of his ears flickered and he leaned close, innocently sniffing at the dish; his gut let out a powerful, NEEDY roar as the scent of maple and that wonderful fishy odor all cats seemed to like teased his tastebuds. He licked the very tips of his jagged teeth. “…Well…no, I don’t have any room,” he admitted. You turned your head down, a little disappointed…not only because you wanted to see your boyfriend even more stuffed than usual, but because you’d really been looking forward to him trying the tuna… …But your spirits were lifted when Che’Nya added, “But I think I can fit more in my belly. Always space for tasty fishies!” “But…you just said you don’t have any room.” “I don’t,” the Cat sniffed, somewhat snootily, and gestured about with his ring hand. “We are here in the great outdoors, and there are no rooms out here! MY room isn’t even at this CAMPUS, so therefore, I can’t have it. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t space…” He poked his belly with one finger; it wobbled. “…In. Here.” You squirmed a bit and let out a whimpery noise…which you immediately covered up with a cough. Che’Nya tilted his head, as if confused by your reaction…but you waved him off and simply offered the plate again. “Whatever…go ahead and dig in, you silly kitty.” “I can’t dig without a shovel; I’d get dirt under my claws!” pouted Che’Nya. You responded by giving his belly a light shove…which resulted in him grunting and burping crudely out the side of his mouth. “Mph…BWWWOOOORRRRRK! Heeey, not nice!” he huffed, brushing the burp aside. “Actually, that sounded VERY nice to me,” you muttered. Che’Nya’s face immediately became a smirk, and he playfully tousled your hair. You swatted at his hands with a half-hearted sneer, and he chuckled before finally beginning to eat the candied tuna, picking it up two strips at a time and dropping them into his wide open mouth. He growled, the caramelized coating on the fish creating a sweet-and-salty taste that ignited his tastebuds, making the feline’s golden eyes roll in his head as he crunched them up like pieces of bacon – MUNCH, MUNCH, MUNCH – before swallowing and chomping down on two more slices. There were eight pieces of candied tuna, just as there had been eight pieces of chicken. After four rounds, Che’Nya put the empty plate down on the table, and purred as he licked and sucked on the fingers of his other hand. “Mmmmm…sooooo tasty,” he crooned, and grinned widely at you. “One of the best things I’ve ever tasted! It’s purrrrrrr-fect! Can I have more of that? Pleeeaaase?” “Some other time,” you chuckled, smiling very wide at the exuberance of the kittenish imp, and pointed to the table. “There are still two more courses left.” Che’Nya nodded, and hummed thoughtfully, one hand scratching his chin, and the other scratching his “slorshing” belly as he tried to decide between the tarts and the carton of Neopolitan ice cream. “Hmmmm,” he murmured…then, seemingly out of nowhere, summoned a silver coin into his hand and looked to you. “Quick! Heads or tails?” “Uhhh…h-heads?” you exclaimed, taken off guard. Che’Nya flipped the coin and caught it again, checking it quickly. “Well?” He looked to you…smirked…and you blinked as his head AND his tail both disappeared. “That,” his disembodied voice answered, “Would be telling.” So saying, his tail suddenly reappeared, and tickled your nose. You sneezed and glared half-heartedly as his head returned with a laugh, and he reached for the ice cream, as well as a plastic spoon. He opened the carton, dropping the lid onto the table…then smirked at you as he scooped up a spoonful from the strawberry side of the carton. “Nya…THIS is ‘digging in,’ funny bunny,” he winked…and proceeded to shovel the ice cream at record-breaking speed into his mouth, arm practically a blur as he gobbled up the cool, creamy dessert dish… GLOMPH-GRULPH-NOMPH-MRULPH…! Globs of ice cream chased each other down the Cheshire Cat’s gullet as he guzzled it up as fast as he could; it was like his esophagus had become a cooled conveyor belt. Idly, you marveled at how he didn’t seem to get brain freeze from slurping it up so rapidly. Che’Nya alternated between the three flavors in a rhythmic pattern: strawberry, vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, vanilla, chocolate…he chowed down, lapping up the melted cream like a cat might lap up milk before continuing to virtually inhale the more solid stuff. He soon finished a quarter of the carton…then half…then two thirds… “Guh…oooof…fffaaahhhhaaaa…” Che’Nya panted, dropping the spoon into the empty carton, and then dropping that into the grass at his feet. He panted, clutching his belly with one hand as the ice cream sat heavily in his belly; his guts sounded like a processing vat at a factory, stirring and swirling the thick mush within, thickened by the sweet, cold cream he’d pumped down into the pit. “BLLLLUUUUUURRRRRRRLLLLLLLLUUUUUUUGLP!” he belted out, and sighed deeply. “Nyaaaaa…tummy’s sooooo – HIC-URP! – so gurgly…I feel – HIC! – so heavy…” You were red as a strawberry as you glanced between Che’Nya’s face and his belly. He seemed to know what you were thinking, as he looked to you with his widest, most innocent, most pleading “kitty eyes” and mewed sweetly. “Tummy rubs?” was all he said. That was all the invitation your twitching fingers needed, as you had to hold yourself back from lunging at his bloated gut. You reached towards his waistband; he rumbled curiously as you unfastened his belt, and then the button of his pants… ZZZRRRIIIP! BLORGSH! “NYYYYYYYYYYAAAAOOOOORRRRRRUUUUUUUUUEEEHHHUUURRRRRRRP! Ahhhhhh…sooooo GOOD…” Your eyes widened as Che’Nya’s belly poured out like a huge ball of dough into his lap, completely freed from restraints, surging forth from under the draped portion of his baggy white shirt. His navel was stretched into a tight ellipse, and you felt your heart pound faster in your chest as you looked upon the bloated mass of his middle. “…Eeee…eeeeeeeeeeeeee…” “Awwww…bunny liiiiikes?” Che’Nya breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he grinned at your expression and let out a giggle; his gut sloshed and jostled with his mirth. “C’mon, bunny-bunny…it’s nya-ot gonna rub itself…” Once again, you needed no further invitation. Your hands soon found their way to the warm, soft belly one of them had been pressed to earlier, and you began to tend to your boyfriend’s big, bulbous belly. Across the silken surface, your fingers caressed the softest, most tender portions of the belly of the beast-boy, and kneaded and massaged at the tenser areas. You let your hand wander to the side of the burgeoning belly, the size of a large medicine ball, and gave it a few hearty pats; each little slap made a satisfying thump, like smacking the sides of a ripened gourd. Che’Nya meowed and purred deeply; for several moments, he didn’t move or say a word, eyes closed as he just enjoyed the wonderful gut rubs you were giving him: a gift almost as good, if not better, than the bountiful, super-saccharine feast you had prepared. He lay limp and totally relaxed, crooning and meowing a few times as you scritched and scratched at the upper curve and the sides of his globular gut…being pampered was soooo good… …Then his nose twitched…and he opened one yellow eye. The glimmering golden iris smoldered like a dying candle as he eyed the last dish on the table. An arm draped over your shoulder, momentarily stopping you…and you watched as Che’Nya pointed with his other arm at the strawberry tarts. There were five of them arranged on the plate in a neat little array. He said nothing, but simply pointed into his open mouth, then poked his giant belly with one finger. You smiled, nodded, and paused to grab the plate. You placed it upon his gut…and with one hand gently rubbing back and forth over the center-part of his gastric globe, you used the other to feed him the tarts. The first tart was finished in just two bites…but after that, the cat ate more slowly. His teeth sank into the crispy, warm, buttery crust and pulled away the strawberry filling within with a growl as he chewed steadily before GULPing down huge mouthfuls…but the mouthfuls came with greater gaps between them. The feline breathed more heavily, even letting out little keening sounds as he went on: the second disappeared into his guts in another two bites, though more widely spaced out…but the third went down in three bites. The fourth went down in four…and, at last, the fifth and final tart was eaten in a number of bites that matched the pattern. Che’Nya licked his chops, lapping up some stray crumbs…then coughed and grimaced. “That…th-that last one was…a little dry,” he panted out, clearly finding it harder to breathe from the sheer weight in his bowels. You nodded and reached for the final bottle of soda, offering it to him. Che’Nya eyed it almost distrustfully, very much like a spoiled pet cat not sure what to make of a new brand of cat food…then shrugged and took the triple-liter, cracking it open and slugging it down as he had the two before. GLUG…GLUG…GLUG… The half-cat drank more slowly as he began to drain the final three-liter of strong-and-sweet cherry soda. You watched as it flooded down his gullet in waves. Unable to contain your flustered curiosity, you carefully lowered your head, and rested it upon the belly of the beast-man like it was your own pillow. The first thing that registered was the wonderful warmth of your kitty-cat’s body…then, you could hear the gurgles, louder than ever. The splashing noises as soda slushed down into bubbling mire, making it froth more than ever as the muscular contractions swished the fluid and sludge inside. You closed your eyes, and you could almost imagine those sounds surrounding you…the borborygmi a peculiar lullaby, making you feel as if you could melt away and forget your problems… …Not literally, of course. You were kinky, not suicidal. And besides, while Che’Nya may not have been the most heroic student of Royal Sword…the fact he chose that over Night Raven said something about his ethical viewpoints. With some, like Leona Kingscholar or Floyd Leech, you had no clue if their threats to devour and digest you were truly jokes or not. With Che’Nya, there was always that safety blanket: he really was just a big, fluffy kitten at heart. “Gruh!” grunted said fluffy kitten, as he polished off the last of the cherry soda…and you could actually hear the gases in his belly ROAR as it rumbled deeply before a HUGE eruption sounded off just above you. “BYYYUUUUUUUUHHHHHHUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLLPK!” Che’Nya sighed deeply and let out a long, moaning meow before speaking: “That…was…a GOOD meal..mmmmmmmaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh…” You smiled and gave his bloated tummy a chaste kiss. He mewled and wiggled a bit under you, gut sloshing and bobbling more as a result. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, kitty-cat,” you said, and nuzzled against his belly lovingly. “Mmmm…I think I’m enjoying my own way right now…heh heh…” Che’Nya gave a lazy, languid smirk…and rested a hand over your head. He didn’t press down, didn’t exert any force at all…he just let it rest there. That was fine. You were in no hurry to move your head away from his pillowy, plumpened gut. “So…how do you feel?” you asked, tracing circles around his belly button. “Satisied?” Che’Nya growled deeply; you swore you could hear his toes curl in his boots. “I feel – HUUUURRRRP! – ohhhhh…I feel like I ate away one of my eight remaining lives…” He slurped over his lips and added with a low, bubbling belch: “Worth it.” You chuckled and moved your hand down towards the underside of his gut; the softest, warmest, most sensitive part of his belly. He gasped sharply…then sighed, melting at your touch as you carefully moved your hand with a feather-light sensitivity over that region. “Nyaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaa…so THAT’S why you’re my favorite human,” he mumbled out, slurringly. You sniggered and gave the underside the very softest of pats, biting your lip and pressing into it slightly, just to feel how very, very warm and tender it was. “I try,” you said, simply, and paused before adding: “It helps that you’re my favorite kitty.” “Well, I’m clever and adorable, so I better be.” You smirked, and responded by giving his gut a shake and saying: “Well, you’re not very humble.” “BUUUUURRRRRRP! Ahhhh…humble is not in a cat’s vocabulary,” Che’Nya responded with a shrug. “Or have you ever known a cat that didn’t show some level of vanity?” You felt this could not easily be denied, so you just decided to stick your finger in his navel and move it around in there to distract him. Che’Nya’s eyes fluttered closed and his tongue flopped from his jaws. He panted heavily, tail flopping limp as he relaxed all the more. “Ooooooooh…bunny? Have I ever told you you’re the Cat’s Meow?” “On many occasions,” you answered, choosing not to remind him he’d used that joke already, too. “Mmmm…well…telling you one more time won’t hurt,” Che’Nya murmured with another shrug, twining his fingers in your hair. You rolled your eyes with a loving smile. There was a pause. “…Thank you.” “Nya? For…mph…for what, my bunny?” “The pocket watch. And…and for just being you. Every greedy, confusing, fun, silly, wonderful thing that is you. I…sometimes feel like, since we’re from different schools, so I can’t see you as often as I like, you may not realize how much I-” The hand in your hair gently lifted your head…and the other hand placed a finger on your lips. Che’Nya smiled with a half-lidded, affectionate light in his eyes. “I realize, bunny. I realize,” he said, simply. Those were all the words you needed, and you gave him a peck on the cheek. He blushed and mewed before letting go of your hair and letting out a deep yawn. “Nya…I think I need a catnap…wake me up before it gets dark, so we can clean up. I don’t want Riddle to have a cow…or a horse…or any other farmyard animal. They’d make an awful mess…” You rolled your eyes, but said you would. “Rest easy, my kitty…and Happy Valentine’s Day.” Che’Nya smiled, but he didn’t say Happy Valentine’s Day back. His eyes had closed, and he had already fallen asleep…but the warmth in his smile, the way his arm tightened around you protectively and possessively, and the lustrous purr that thrummed through his core, said everything for him. You smiled just as warmly, then shook your head with amusement and closed your own eyes as you rested your head happily against his sugar-laden stomach once more. “Heh…asleep within seconds. I guess that’s a cat thing, too…”

 The End

[antisocial-af]

Title: A Chance at Forever

Gift for: @brightasstars

Chapter: 3/3 COMPLETED

Square Filled: Free Space (For @shadowhunterbingo​)

Raiting: T

Wordcount: 1839

No Major Archive Warnings

SFW, Angst with Happy Ending, Time Travel, Malec Fluff.

Author’s Note: I am still under the weather and have been for a bit. But I wanted to finish this Bingo Square before the event closed. 

Summary:

Alec and Magnus travel to the past and make a big decision about their future.

Read on Ao3

Story:

The portal threw the couple out on an expensive-looking rug, causing them both to groan in discomfort. 

"Where are we?" Alec questioned as he started to straighten himself out. 

"Not really where darling," Magnus corrected him as he held his hand out to help his husband up. "More like when."

"When?"

Magnus looked around and confirmed that Ragnor's portal actually worked. "we are in the past, Alexander."

Alec just looked at his husband, confused. He didn't understand what Magnus was going on about. Finally, Alec took his husband's outstretched hand and replied, "Magnus did you hit your head hard on the landing?"

"No, but darling, we must get moving," Magnus stated as he started to pull Alec through the old house. "We can't stay more than an hour, or else we might be stuck."

Alec stumbled after his husband at the insistent tugging. Magnus had never led him wrong, so he trusted the other but still didn't stop the confusion growing within the Shadowhunter. 

Alec watched as his husband's eyes darted around the room till a smirk played onto Magnus' lips. 

"There you are!" Magnus declared in an excited tone. He moved forward, pulled on the bookshelf in front of them, and sent a pulse of his magic through the vault’s lock. He had to make sure that even if someone found his vault, they wouldn't be able to open it without his magic signature. 

"Magnus?" Alec called out, even more confused than before. He looked around the room and saw old reports laying on a desk. Alec's breath caught when he noticed the dates on them. 1989.

"Just a sec, darling," Magnus called back as he shifted through the small vault. He was sure he put the vial in here. He was positive about it. Magnus pushed back some old photos till a small purple vial attempted to roll out and onto the floor. He quickly wrapped his magic around it and saved it from a shattering fall. "Got you.' 

Magnus couldn't help the small thrill and anxiety that shot through his body as he looked at the flask. This small ingredient held the key to his happiness. 

"We should get going, Alexander," Magnus stated as he turned back to face his husband, who was now reading through reports Magnus must've left out in the past. He could see the horror and strain on his archer's face. "Alexander?"

"In Idris, all these are locked away and censored," Alec managed out as he kept reading the orders the Clave had signed off on in the past. "Magnus, I had no idea…." 

Magnus pushed the vial into his vest pocket and made his way to Alexander. He moved the files away from the Shadowhunter and cradled his husband's face gently. "My love, you aren't them. What they did in the past, you have worked relentlessly to reverse and amend. It is a part of our past, but it doesn't define us."

"They took so much from you all," Alec whispered as he leaned into Magnus' touch. "I'm sorry."

"Darling, what they did is not for you to apologize for," Magnus continued. "Now we can talk about more when we go back, but we really have to go, darling.” 

“Cause Rangor and the portal?” Alec asked as he nodded. 

“Yes, I’m not sure how long our dear little cabbage will be able to stabilize this magic,” Magnus replied, tugging on Alec’s hand towards the unstable-looking portal. He assumed the way back was the same way he got here. He just needed to think back to the present day for the portal to push them back into the loft. “Make sure you don’t let go, darling.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alec smiled and pulled Magnus closer. He didn’t exactly understand how he ended up here, but he knew those documents. He had so many questions, but they could all wait until they got home and far away from this time period. 

“Always the charmer,” Magnus winked and closed his eyes, thinking of the potion he left on stasis in his apothecary, of Chairman probably looking around for him for lunch duty and of all of Alec’s gear and things around their home.

Alec watched his husband concentrate and, like always, swooned at the tiny creases around Magnus’ eyes as he focused harder. He cherished the small details of his husband. The Shadowhunter tightly wrapped his arms around his warlock and closed his eyes, putting his complete trust in him. 

“Let’s go back home,” Magnus smiled as he pulled both of them through the portal. Magnus felt the volatile pull again as the magic ripped through time to push them back out to his present-day loft. 

“Took your time, didn’t you?” Ragnor groaned, exhausted as he tried to bat away the small feline making circles around his feet. “Your beast seems to be hungry as well.” 

Magnus patted himself down, checking everything was in order and the vial still secured in his vest pocket. He quickly turned around to see Alexander doing the same. 

"We got the ingredient," Magnus confirmed as he snapped his fingers, summoning Chairman Meow's food dish filled for the small cat. 

"I'm glad," Ragnor groaned as he fell onto Magnus' desk chair, exhausted. "I've already contacted Cat; she will be here to collect me shortly. But, be warned, she is furious." 

"At you or me?" Magnus asked as he quickly started to pull out the rest of the ingredients Catarina had written down in the recipe. 

"Both." Catarina's voice rang through as a portal appeared in the room. "I can't believe you both would be so reckless."

"Really? I thought this would be expected. I have different cure vials prepared at my home for whenever Magnus calls," Ragnor joked as he started to cough and groan. "Speaking of, do you have magic exhaust remedies on you?"

As Ragnor and Catarina kept going, Magnus gathered all the ingredients and started to measure them out. 

"So it was for a potion?" Alec asked, walking around Magnus' workstation, careful not to get in the concentrated warlock's way. 

"Not just any potion, darling," Magnus confirmed as he dumped the last of his Seelie tears into the pot before vanishing the jar with a mental note to contact Meliorn for more. "This is one of the most important potions I have made." 

"For a client?"

"No, it is for you, my dear husband."

"For me?" Alec questioned as he kept watching Magnus add ingredients before letting the potion simmer. 

Magnus walked forward and took Alec’s hands, and tugged him close. “Remember how we had talked about immortality in the past?”

“We agreed that if it came to it, I would get Raphael to turn me,” Alec nodded as he remembered the conversation that came after he had convinced Magnus to tell him what was bugging him. His husband had been reluctant at first to confide his newest fear with him. It had taken some coaxing till Magnus finally informed Alec that a life without him was not something he was looking forward to and often kept him up at night, especially on those that Alec was off on a mission. 

“What if there was another way?” Magnus asked, bringing his hand up to caress his Shadowhunter’s cheek. 

“Is there?” Alec asked while attempting to temper his excitement. He wasn’t too fond of the idea of changing to a liquid-only diet but would if it meant he would be with Magnus forever. 

“We will see in a few minutes; the potion needs to set for ten minutes before it is safe for you to take it,” Magnus confirmed.

“Will I still be a Shadowhunter?” Alec asked as he looked between Magnus and the resting potion. 

“As far as Catarina found, you will remain the same,” Magnus answered. “You will stop aging within a year of taking it, but there is a slight side effect of it.” 

“What is it?” 

“The potion was created by a Seelie so that they could keep their partner without binding them to the Seelie Realm,” Magnus explained. “In doing so, the partner, later on, developed some extra abilities. Abilities that are usually only Seelie. Random plants growing at will and the sort.” 

“So I will be part Seelie and part Shadowhunter?” Alec questioned as he kept counting the seconds for the potion to set. 

“Not enough Seelie to cause a ruckus but enough that I won’t have to worry about you around my greenhouse,” Magnus teased, trying to lighten the mood. “We can wait, you know. I could put the potion into stasis and look for more ways before we settle on this one.” 

Alec looked between his husband and the potion. With the potion, he could maintain a close to normal Shadowhunter lifestyle. Sure, Alec might have to quit later on once people start figuring out he isn’t aging, but he could have a few more years protecting his Parabatai and sister. Alec wouldn’t have to put Jace through the pain of a broken Parabatai bond. The potion was a blessing compared to other methods they have explored. 

“I want to do it,” Alec confirmed and kissed Magnus’ cheek. “This way, you can also still show me all the great food around the world like you enjoy doing.” 

“I won’t hold it against you if you want to wait, Alexander,” Magnus conveyed, not wanting to push his husband into a choice. He didn’t want Alexander to come to regret it and their relationship to suffer for it. Magnus was aware he was already selfish by making his lover immortal but, he refused to let it cause a rift between them. If Alexander wanted to wait years before making the decision, then Magnus was ready to accept that. 

“Magnus,” Alec called softly. “I don’t want to wait. I want to spend the rest of your forever together. I want to take the first step into our forever.” 

Magnus leaned forward and sealed their lips together, relishing the stubble that brushed against him and the soft reply from Alec as he returned the kiss. “You will never cease to amaze me, my love.” 

Magnus lifted the pot and poured it out to a small glass, observing the potion for discrepancies. Finally, he turned to Alec and handed him the violet drink. “It might taste a bit like metal, but that is normal.” 

Alec smiled and looked at the half-filled cup. He thought that it would be filled with fanfare and dramatics when the moment came to be immortal. Alec believed that he would be nervous, and he still was but not the type of nervous he expected. He was nervous because he would be ensuring his fairy tale with Magnus would never have an end date after this drink. Instead, he would get a happily ever after. Forever after. With one more look at his husband and even the two still bickering warlocks in the background, Alec tossed the potion back like a shot of alcohol and swallowed it all.