#hopefully an amusing one which is what i mostly intend them to be

[vixstarria]

A night at the inn (part 1)

A night of relaxation at the inn. Inspired by a cursed screenshot of Astarion looking loopy, drunk and high.   

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, tbc in part 2

Comfort, fluff, humour, banter, goes from very silly to very horny 

Bits that are definitely not canon that were written solely for my (and hopefully your) amusement. 

TW: It’s all very much in jest, but maybe give this one a skip if you’re struggling with any kind of substance addiction.  

Approximately 2,000 words 

AO3

“Don't be ridiculous, these silly druidic herbs have absolutely no effect on me, vampires have a natural immunity. Pass me the pipe again, I’ll prove it,” Astarion giggled uncontrollably.  

“Just hold on to it, friend, I don’t think anyone else will benefit from it,” replied Halsin. 

You, Astarion, Halsin, Karlach and Shadowheart were gathered in one of the inn’s rooms.  

Gale and Wyll were off doing whatever people who didn’t like having fun did. Possibly playing chess or reciting poetry to each other. And Lae’zel had had one look at your gathering before chk’ing, saying that someone competent needed to keep a cool head, and stalking off. 

You and Astarion were sitting crosswise on one of the beds, you nestled between his legs, your back against his chest. Shadowheart lounged on the opposite bed, with Karlach and Halsin settling on the floor between the beds.  

A scattering of glasses and opened bottles surrounded you, and a light haze hung in the air. Tadpoles, vampire lords, demons and gods could all wait until tomorrow. Tonight, for all you cared, all was well in your world.   

Earlier, Halsin had laid out an assortment of herbs, most of which you couldn’t name, and busied himself with mixing them in varying proportions and stuffing them into several smoking implements. Karlach had declined, saying there was no point and that she would stick to grog. You and Shadowheart partook in Halsin's ‘herbalist mastery' together with the druid. And now, to everyone's disbelief and amusement, so did Astarion. 

“What in the hells is in this?!” Astarion tittered, leaning back against the wall, his eyes shut and an idiotic smile on his face. You couldn’t look at him, lest it set off yet another chain reaction of giggling. 

“Part of it is moonflower, which mostly serves as an amplifier,” Halsin answered, cautiously. 

“And? What else?” You wondered whether whatever it was might help Astarion with his nightmares. The scent of the herb was vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place what it was.  

“Wait! I want to guess.” Shadowheart leaned over to whisper to Halsin. He shook his head at her suggestions. Once he whispered back to her with the correct answer she collapsed on the bed with a guffaw. “Oh gods... So it is official.” 

“Halsin...” Astarion croaked. “Halsin, I will stab you... What did you give me?!” 

“I had a hunch, but it was intended as a joke – I didn’t really think it would do anything.” Halsin almost sounded apologetic.  

“Well, spill the beans, what is he smoking that’s so damned funny?! Vampire dust? Cow dung? Some kind of goblin foot fungus?” Karlach was also growing impatient.  

Halsin shook his head, laughing.  

“It’s catnip,” Shadowheart managed, still doubled over. “He’s losing his mind on catnip!” 

Once Astarion regained his ability to speak coherently, you couldn’t get him to shut up.  

Astarion hardly ever took lead in group conversations. He tended to stay on the outskirts of discussions, albeit always ready with a quip or observation. You wondered if his newfound loquaciousness was a glimpse of what he might have been like some 200 years ago. 

It helped that Karlach was bombarding him with questions about vampirism, which he was ordinarily reserved about.  

“So what happens if you consume normal food? Can you drink?” she asked. 

“Well... Kind of..? Although I think the tadpole has had some additional influence. I can drink liquids without becoming ill, as long as it’s not too much. They tend to taste vile or like nothing at all, or not have any effect on me. Coffee smells amazing but tastes like dirt, for example. But potions work, somehow,” he rambled. “Solids are a complete disaster though”. He refused to elaborate.  

“And the wine?” she persisted.  

“Red wine is palatable,” he said, swirling some in a glass that he held in his hand. “But if you want better than ‘palatable’ you really need something of good quality.” 

“You’re just a snob,” you interjected. 

“That may be so, but this is about having something called standards, darling, I’ll teach you about them someday”, he said with a kiss to your temple, as you elbowed him. “But there are ways of going around poor wine.” 

Astarion took your hand in his, pressing his lips against it. 

“May I?”  

Once he had your approval, he carefully punctured the tip of your ring finger with a fang. You idly mused about how completely unfazed you had become by having your skin pierced, as he dripped some of your blood into his wine. 

“Now stir.” He licked the drops of wine from your finger once you were done, and had a sip from his glass. “Like adding honey to tea... Now it’s delectable.” 

“Freaks,” said Karlach, lovingly.  

The conversation moved to him debating wines from various regions with Shadowheart, a subject they were both perhaps unsurprisingly well-versed in.  

“How kind of Lady Shar to leave you such detailed knowledge of something that truly matters, when wiping out so many other memories,” he observed.  

Eventually, the topic changed to Karlach’s years in the Hells, and what it had been like to set just about everything she touched ablaze until Dammon’s recent assistance.  

“Could you do me a favour and hold my hand in yours for a moment?” said Astarion, leaning towards and holding out a hand to Karlach.  

“I haven’t done this in so long this still makes me nervous, you know,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “Sorry if I lose my cool and burn you.” 

“I’m sure I’ve had worse,” he replied humourlessly. “...That should do it,” he said after a short while. “Gods, you really do run like a furnace.” You wondered where this was going.  

“Now could everyone look away? I’m about to do something disgustingly sentimental.” 

Immediately, four pairs of eyes including your own were locked on him.  

“Voyeuristic pricks...” he sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

He ran the back of his fingers delicately down your cheek before cupping it in his hand. It was warm, almost hot, as you nuzzled into it.  

“Well isn’t that cute,” Shadowheart remarked into her glass of wine.  

Astarion wasn’t always cold to the touch, not exactly. He became warmer after drinking blood. His body was heated by sunshine on sunny days, just like anything else. And after spending some time under blankets with you he felt almost cozy to snuggle against. But he’s never radiated heat the way the hand against your cheek did now.  

“It doesn’t feel like you,” you mustered, looking into his eyes. He gave you a wistful smile.  

“...If there is any other bodypart you’d like me to warm up for Tav’s benefit, do fuck off before you even ask,” said Karlach, breaking the brief silence that had descended onto the room, and the tender moment was gone, overtaken by yet another uproar of laughter. 

Things quieted down as the evening wore on. 

“I wonder what Lae’zel is doing,” said Shadowheart, who had been silently gazing off into space and occasionally blowing smoke rings for the past while. “Probably something infuriating.” 

“You should go tell her how utterly unimpressed you are with her,” goaded Astarion. 

“I should... I will,” she said, suddenly getting up, determination writ on her face, exiting the room with a surprisingly steady step. 

Karlach sighed. 

“I better go look after her and make sure they don’t need to be taken apart. ...Or that no one else does, if they don’t.” She followed Shadowheart.  

“Nature calls,” said Halsin, also getting up. “And I don’t think anyone’s fed Scratch and the owlbear cub.” 

It was just you and Astarion, who had been grazing your neck with his fangs with increasing impatience. 

“Do it,” you said as soon as the door shut behind Halsin. Instantly, you felt an icy chill in your neck and released a small moan as he bit down, drawing your blood, his hands roaming your body.  

“I’ve been thinking of nothing else for hours,” he breathed hoarsely, once he had his fill. Having a miniscule amount of your blood in his wine and then being unable to sate himself more thoroughly would have been the ultimate tease for him. He really did not think that through, per usual.  

You could have offered him your wrist at some point, your companions had witnessed that on numerous occasions. But you knew you both wanted something more intimate. And private.  

You sank onto the bed with Astarion on top of you, as he continued to lick at the puncture wounds, to get them to stop bleeding.  

“Think Halsin’s coming back?” you murmured.  

“Of course he is. Haven’t you seen how he’s been looking at us?” He wedged his hips between your legs as he continued to suck and lick at your neck, more slowly now.  

"Oh, has he been looking at us in some particular way?” you feigned ignorance. Astarion raised his head briefly to shoot you a look that said ‘oh please’.  

“Do you want him..?” He rolled his hips deliciously into yours as he asked that.  

“Stop teasing,” you whispered. You knew he wasn’t going to let you do anything with the erection you felt pressed against you. 

“Never. Do you want him?” He gave you a mischievous look.  

“I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sorry darling, I’ll try to do a better job at explaining.” He raised himself back up, his face hovering just above yours. “Do you want to feel his hot, hard cock pumping in and out of you, while I watch?” He studied your reaction closely. “Oh you would like that, wouldn’t you..?” 

“Astarion-” It wasn’t easy to make you blush, but somehow he always found a way when he wanted to.   

“Shh love, I already know everything you’re going to say.” Astarion raised his voice in pitch (resulting in something that definitely DID NOT sound anything like you) and returned to your neck, planting a kiss further down with each sentence: “’I love you, Astarion. I only want you, Astarion. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Astarion. You’re going to regret this, Astarion.’” 

“How about, ‘you’re intoxicated, Astarion’?” 

“Barely,” he scoffed. “It’s worn off.” He tugged at your blouse’s lacing with his teeth. 

“Or maybe it’s ‘no, I don’t want that, Astarion’,” you lied.  

He chuckled at those words and came back up to whisper in your ear. 

“My love... You’re forgetting I can hear your heartbeat. I can smell your arousal. Every time your breath hitches and your heart speeds up – I know. Any time blood suddenly rushes somewhere in your body – I know...”  

“That is an entirely unfair advantage,” you protested. 

“Yes, having a lover that anticipates your every need and reads you like a book is so, so tragically unfair, your poor, poor thing...” 

“And also it’s not what you said, it’s how you said it!” you continued. 

“Porridge,” Astarion whispered in his most seductive voice, grinding against you. “The philosophy and theory of divination, volume four. A bulging coin purse. Gale’s purple pajamas. ...Nope, nothing.” Astarion smirked, and continued in a more normal voice, stilling. “Now let’s try... You dripping wet and begging us both for mercy before the night is over.” He grinned wryly as you let out an involuntary whimper. “I thought so...” 

“You’ve told me yourself, you don’t want to share me with anyone,” you persisted.  

“It’s your heart I can’t bear to share. And he’s a wood elf,” Astarion said dismissively. “He may as well be a walking penis, who would get emotionally involved with that?” 

“You did not just call our honourable companion, the esteemed archdruid of the Emerald Grove a walking penis!” you hissed, choking on laughter, covering his mouth with your hand.  

“A giant phallus on legs,” Astarion mumbled stubbornly against your palm, licking it.  

You heard footsteps approaching the door.  

“Do you really want this?” you whispered, angling Astarion’s face to make him look you in the eyes, and releasing his mouth. “Be serious for a second.” 

“I want this,” he said, holding your gaze. “I really want this. As long as you do too.” 

The door opened, and you both turned your heads to regard the tall, broad figure that paused in the entryway, leaning against the doorframe.  

“Is it company or privacy you desire?” 

~~~~~

Part 2

More of my chaos gremlins

AO3

[arlechinav-blog]

Krotala of the Cult of Artemis (Part II)

Picking up where we left off with Part I.

These are dancing spoons. They are made of wood and you can see how they are held in the hands in this second image. I use rubber bands on mine, like you see in the first image, because it helps to keep them from sliding while you are trying to get your groove on. These are most commonly used today in what is now Turkiye.

Next we have a few examples of nacchere. These are used in Southern Italy in tammurriata traditions.

And for your delight and amusement, here are a few samples of an Egyptian version dated to around 1900BCE. Funsies. These are made of hippopotamus ivory.

What I really want to highlight in that 2nd image just above with the whole scene of musicians and dancers laid out are how the drummers are playing and the difference in the size of the dancers. This is a single-handed frame drum style that was once prevalent all over the Mediterranean and Aegean but is now only found in a few isolated areas--mostly Islands and in the South of what is now Italy. As for the dancers, this dance family tree is strongly associated with youth. As I said in Part I, it was a normal part of a young girl's education in martial arts and courtship that would prepare them to hopefully find a good mate and also give them the building blocks to defend themselves.

Just a little close up on what they are holding in their hands. This was a dance family that was very popular all over the Med and Black Sea regions. I have followed it all the way out to the Canary Islands in the Atlantic and, more recently, it has gone on to influence some South and Central American dance traditions. I am a big ol' dance nerd so I just love seeing all the ways this dance family tree has spread and what different groups of people have done with it over time. It was known to be an import to Egypt, it was not reportedly a native dance there. The Egyptian court had a very long standing tradition of importing performers from all over the place. They just liked cool dances.

Back to Artemis and what this all has to do with her cult!

Artemis had a lot of weapon based dances back in the day. Shield dances (prulin eonoplion) were very common in her worship especially. A funerary dance called prylis is a very good example of that. Prylis was a shield dance that was danced around a funeral pyre, culminating in the dancers depositing their wooden shields onto the pyre to help the body burn. It was a way to show deep grief and honor. This dance was featured in the Iliad as King Priam performed it for the burning body of Hector. So, there are some funerary associations for Artemis for you.

There were also sword dances, spear dances, archery dances, etc. If it was a weapon or could be used in defense, there was probably an associated dance for Artemis tied to it. Such pyrrhic dances were used to train for warfare and self-defense. They were basically a series of weapon drills set to music and often done with a partner. This would result in trading blows with your partner, and since these were kids initially doing it, those blows would go clack--because they were made of wood. Over time, the rhythmic sound of the wooden clacking came to represent Artemisian dances and became an essential component in them. To the point that weapons and shields were replaced with krotala in the courtship version of this type of dance. This allowed people to dance more freely with each other, without smacking your potential mate in the head. Which, I shouldn't have to tell you, is not a great start to a romance. There were other versions of this dance that replaced the shield with a cape or mantle. That one was usually accompanied by a sword or a spear and was intended to look extremely elegant.

The Music

These dances were set to music utilizing a single handed frame drum in a 1-2 1-2-3 type of pattern, and involved singing layered over the top of this. Different cults paired different types of instruments and songs together so the unique combination of: single handed frame drum + vocals + wooden hand clackers + the 1-2 1-2-3 rhythm pattern + paired dance with elements of self defense and courtship = a rather specific thing. Makes it very easy to track. There are many surviving examples of this rhythm out there today. Tammurriata is one of them! Which is part of the reason why I set my version of the Orphic Hymn to Artemis to a Tammurriata.

To be continued yet again...

[the12thnightproject]

A Mitsunari Night's Dream Chapter 34: Dereliction of Duty

Maybe Okatsu and Mitsunari should have told someone where they were? Also... Hideyoshi wants to know what Okatsu's intentions are.

Excerpt:

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Okatsu is asleep. Not the restless sleep that plagued her when we were in Genba castle – she appears relaxed. She curls up into me the way Kitty does (I hope this will not cause a problem with Kitty when we return to Azuchi, as I intend to continue sleeping with Okatsu). I believe she is happy.

I am certain I am… this happiness is something I never expected for myself. In fact, I did not realize that people could experience this depth of feeling.

She says that I don’t need to be more than I was… but that doesn’t matter. I already am.

We are-

She is awake.

Wait… who is at the doo-?

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

I’m not sure what woke me up. It might have been the sun, slanting through the window at an angle far too high to be morning. It might have been Mitsunari’s fingers as he traced a line from my cheek to the corner of my mouth.

It might have been the sound of running feet and angry voices…

Whatever it was, by the time the door slid open and-

Hideyoshi…

Mitsuhide…

Nobunaga…

and Mai piled into the room…

I was awake.

“Where the hell have you two been?” Hideyoshi yelped it over Mai’s apologetic, “I tried to stop them.”

“Oh my.” Mitsuhide leaned against the wall. “There was no need to take your fake engagement all the way into a fake honeymoon.” He sent a mocking look toward the pile of disheveled bedding that was mostly covering us up. “That is rather going far and above the call of duty.”

I refused to cower in front of either Hideyoshi’s disapproval or Mitsuhide’s teasing. At least Nobunaga seemed to be taking things calmly – ok, well, he seemed amused at Hideyoshi’s bristling and Mitsuhide’s sarcasm… so… calmly amused.

With perhaps a slight bit of bravado, I rearranged the blanket to confirm that the important bits were covered, then said, with equal bravado, “If you believe anything here was faked, you don’t know Mitsunari as well as you think.”

That, at least got smiles from Mai and Nobunaga, the expected scowl from Hideyoshi, and well, no response at all from Mitsuhide.

“During your activities,” Hideyoshi sounded like he was choking on the word, “did it occur to either one of you that we might be concerned over your well-being? At least once in the past ten days, you might have considered sending word of your safety.”

Mitsunari froze, although he had grabbed my hand and did not let it go. “I am sorry, Lord Hideyoshi. I did not realize so much time had passed.”

Mai actually snort-laughed at that.

As I didn’t want Mitsunari to get into any trouble (any more trouble), I turned to Mai and Nobunaga who, hopefully, would understand the subtext of my explanation. “For the majority of the time we were unaccounted for, we were in a situation where it was not possible to send a message.” And… probably best to gloss over the past three days since we had arrived at this Inn.

The two of them spent a moment in silent communication. “Understood.” Nobunaga nodded to himself. “Make yourselves presentable, after which we will discuss current matters- not the least of which will be to commend your performance in repelling Iekane’s forces.”

Put like that, it sounded like we had successfully pitched a project to a client, rather than, almost singlehandedly holding off an insurrection for three days… but, details.

Link to entire chapter:

@arrthurpendragon

[the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo]

Missed Opportunities | Helmut Zemo x Reader

Here's a little something I cooked up. Not sure what I want to do with it, but it was bugging me to be written. For better or worse.

This is a little Helmut Zemo/Female Reader moment. It has Sam and Bucky too. It's not fully developed, but hopefully you all can enjoy it for what it is.

OOOOO

You were in Germany when you got the call from Sam. He needed help locating the Flag-Smashers, and was hoping you could offer some assistance.

He just happened to call at the perfect time, because as it turns out, the person you went to visit was no longer around. So, since you had essentially made a trip across the ocean for nothing; you figured, why not? Might as well make something of your travels abroad and not make it a total loss.

Sam gave instructions to meet him at a residence in Riga, Latvia. He mentioned very little other than that. Technically though, that wasn't entirely his fault. You're pretty sure he intended to provide more information, but Bucky was shouting, "Hellos.", "You've been missed!", and her personal favorite, an exasperated, "Please save me from my tormentor."

After Bucky's outburst, Sam had seemed to have forgotten about you on the phone; so you were just listening to constant bickering in the background. All you could do was shake your head and laugh at this point. Truly, Earth's greatest defenders were simply children at times.

It was good to hear their laughs. It had been too long and the world was still recovering.

We all were.

Bucky, Sam, and you all disappeared when Thanos snapped his fingers, wiping out half the universe. When you all returned, there was love and there was loss all around, but it bonded the three of you in a friendship deeper than any of you could imagine.

Okay, perhaps, that's a slight exaggeration. You became extremely good friends with both James and Sam; however, the two of them are a different story altogether. They won't admit to their friendship, but you know they'll both come around one day. They're just being stubborn idiots. God, she missed those two guys. It's been months since she had laid eyes either one of them.

So, here you are, standing right out front the door Sam gave instructions to meet at.

You fiddled with the arm of the backpack strapped across your chest. You didn't think you'd be this nervous, but a combination of excitement and adrenaline had caused you to be a bit jumpy. You tried to shrug it off as you raised your hand to knock on the door.

Not even 10 seconds after you knocked on the door you heard the shuffle of footsteps, accompanied with the ever present response of, "I got it."

Only the footsteps halted abruptly and muffled discussions were faintly heard through the door. You couldn't make out what was being said, only that no further movement had been made to answer the door.

I swear to God, if they are simply having an argument about who gets to open the door, I am going to murder them both on the spot.

You were about to knock on the door again a bit more insistently, but you never got the chance as the door abruptly swung open to reveal Bucky.

As you stared back at one another, you couldn't help but noticed his tense appearance, which is not all that unusual for him, but it was a more strained posture. You assumed it had something to do with whatever was being talked about just moments prior to answering the door.

It couldn't have been too serious because seconds later he dropped all pretense and gave you a heartfelt smile before sweeping you up in his arms for a hug.

He all but dragged you inside, it only caused you to chuckle at his enthusiasm. Yeah, you had missed him a lot.

The hug continued to linger on, and you could hear the door behind you close. You were about to motion to Bucky to release you from his hold when you heard Sam pipe in highly amused, "Buck, give her some room to breath."

You could feel the glare James was giving Sam, but he did let you go eventually.

Upon the release from your hug, the sleeves of your blue hoodie had drifted past your hands; you pushed them up a bit where you could grab James's hand and squeeze it in silent thanks.

After letting go of Bucky, you turned around to face Sam, shaking your head and grinning at him with delight, "Never a dull moment around here is there?"

"Never," Sam replied. "It's my turn, now," holding his arms out, he smiled pulling you into a softer embrace, but no less enthusiastic.

You huffed out a laugh and hugged him back with equal fervor.

A few moments had passed, and you reluctantly untangled yourself from Sam. More pleasantries had been exchanged and small talk had filled up the space as you walked fully into open living space.

You did a turn about the room as you headed towards the kitchen area with the guys trailing behind you. You had grabbed the strap of your backpack and had lifted it over your head.

You were about to place your stuff on the kitchen island when you heard soft footfalls make their way from the outer hallway towards you.

The unexpected noise caused you to hesitate; you turned your head towards Sam and James with a puzzled expression on your face. You had opened your mouth with the intention to ask them who else was in the safe house with you, when you saw him.

The backpack you were holding had fallen out of your hands and onto the floor with a thud, but you couldn't tear your eyes off the man standing across the room from you now. Your face had gone completely slack jaw and eyes had widen in shock leaving you speechless.

You would normally have said something quippy in this moment, but your brain had stopped functioning.

The silence was finally broken from Sam's response to the situation.

"Okay, I know what this looks like. We can explain him," Sam cautiously said. "Actually, Bucky should be the one to share this story, since it was his idea."

You could hear the words Sam was saying, but they never really registered. You assumed he thought you were shocked because the man who stood in front of you once tore your friends a part. Because he was supposed to be in a prison in Germany. Any other number of reasons could potentially be listed. What Sam didn't realize, was that the man standing before you was the last person you saw before you disintegrated before his eyes, and this was the first time since that chaos you had seen him again.

Other than Sam's calm reply, it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Perhaps it was because the same look of shock and awe was reflected on Zemo's face.

You tried to form a response, something, anything to say.

Neither Sam or Bucky knew you used to visit Zemo after he was imprisoned. Whenever you travelled to Germany, you would tell them you had a contact that only agreed to provide information face to face. They never put two and two together, but they also trusted you implicitly; so they had no reason to ever question your motives or who exactly you were going to see. You actually saw Zemo a fair amount of time. More often than not, it was always to learn about the inner workings of Hydra. While they may be diminished in capacity; they still had not been completely eradicated. And you were determined to locate and destroy every remaining Hydra base, and dismantle them once and for all. They took your parents from you, and you were going to make sure they couldn't hurt anyone ever again. So, Zemo had been the obvious choice to help gain as much information as possible in your quest.

So, over the course of 2 years, you had made several trips to see him. You could almost say you were on friendly terms, but mostly, you believed his kindness and willingness to provide information was a benefit to him. To interact with someone on the outside to remind him he's not completely alone in the world.

The last time you saw each other was a day like any other you would come to visit. You'd lean outside his glass cell and just talk. The prison only allotted an hour's visit. So you always had to make your time worth while.

This particular day was colder than usual for the time of year. And being left outside the prison hallway where Zemo's cell was located only caused the draft to further lower the temperature with the concrete walls. You had involuntarily shivered as a cold draft had blasted in from one of hallways. Zemo had taken notice and unzipped his hoodie, passing it off to the guard to hand over to you. In that moment, the realization came that things were no longer black and white between the two of you. When you asked him why, he simply shrugged and said it's what any gentleman should do. His expression had softened though and was no longer outwardly indifferent. You had put on the blue garment and zipped it up; tugging at the sleeves as the hoodie was much larger on your frame than his.

There was only about 30 minutes left of your visit when alarm bells started going off. Zemo had pushed himself against the glass to look down the closest hallway to try and see what was going on. You had tried to remain calm, but when the guard standing nearby had disappeared right in front of you both, you knew something was dreadfully wrong.

With visible panic on your face, you had whispered out the word Thanos to Zemo. You'll never forget what happened next or the expression on his face. There was a hitch in your lungs and a strong tugging sensation drifting through your chest. You stumbled into the glass and fell to your knees in front of Zemo. You had slumped onto your side trying to concentrate on what was happening to you. You peered up at Zemo as he had slid himself down the glass to your level gazing at you in concern. You could hear him shouting for help, but there was no one around. You placed your hand on the glass to get his attention, and only then did you realize, you had tears in your eyes.

He brought his hand up on the other side of the glass and placed it against where yours was. Funny how an instance can change everything between two people. You saw his eyes widen and that's when you noticed the right side of your body started to turn to dust. All you had time to say was, "I'm sorry," before you completely disintegrated before him, leaving him, no doubt, alone once again.

You would have laughed at the expression on his face now if you knew it hadn't been the first time he's seen you since....what happened. But there was nothing really funny about the situation.

You weren't quite sure what to do, but your feet made the decision for you as you slowly made your way to stand directly in front of Zemo.

It's the first time you've stood together without any glass between you both. He's a bit taller than you, but not by miles; you're chin roughly comes up to his shoulder.

You see him swallow as if he's also thinking of something to say, but instead you see him raise his hand up and start to reach out to touch you, but stops before actually doing it. Internally, you make your choice for him and reach up with your hand and grab the one he's left hanging in the air. It's just a light touch, almost as if you're both worried the other might not be real.

Zemo glanced down at you holding onto his hand and back at you briefly. He squeezed your hand gently and then you heard him release a harsh breath before gripping your hand tighter and yanking you into his arms.

You barely had time to think about what was happening before you were enveloped into the most emotional hug you've ever felt.

The reaction was unexpected, but then so were the circumstances you were in, so nothing should really surprise you, but you were. Your arms were slightly hovering over his back, not entirely sure at that moment what you wanted to do, as you were still in shock. But, after a brief pause you brought your arms firmly around his body and hugged Zemo back with just as much care and buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You heard him mumbling words into the side of your head, but couldn't understand what he was really saying.

Time could have been standing still for the infinite period we were latched onto one another. It wasn't until the clearing of Bucky's throat that jarred us out of the moment. The noise wasn't loud, but the room had been so silent until then; it sounded like a freight train.

Realization must have hit us both at the same time that we weren't alone in the room, and we jumped apart as if lightning had struck us both.

At this point, you were looking at anything in room, but Zemo. You started playing with the ends of your sleeves in nervousness when Sam spoke up in a very slow and deliberate manner, "Would you care to explain to us, what is going on?"

"I thought you were going to have Bucky explain to me, why Zemo's not in prison!" you say back, not ready at all to try and explain things. You still needed to wrap your own head around it, before attempting to share your brief history with Zemo.

"Oh, no doll. This can wait," James answered. You could tell he was not happy, but maybe more confused than anything by how he responded.

Both were assessing Zemo to try and figure out if this is some sort of game to him. Bucky had reached out to grab your arm and pulled you gently away from the criminal mastermind and closer to them to instinctually protect you from him.

You outwardly sighed, knowing there was a long conversation about to happen.

Zemo took a step forward and James took a step back bringing you with him. Sam seemed perturbed over the entire situation, but Zemo spoke up first.

"Is that, what I think it is?" he said. Zemo cocked his head to the side and eyed you with amusement.

You silently shook off the hold Bucky has on you and raise an eyebrow at him to not try that again. You swiveled back to Zemo, placing your hands on your hips. Confusion was written clearly on your face as you answered him back, "Could you be a little less vague?" A small smile graced your face in reply.

Zemo pointed at your midsection and a smug expression appeared on his face.

"I must say, you look quite fetching in my clothes."

You were physically startled by his comment. You had forgotten you were wearing his hoodie. It's why you went to Germany. To return it to him, but when you found out he was no longer there, you realized you were going to have to either keep it permanently or track him down. Sam's call came in before you could make that decision. Fate really is something else.

Your hands grabbed the fabric of the hoodie as you closed your eyes and ducked your head. You could feel the embarrassment threatening to turn your whole face red.

You started to shuffled away knowing an immediate outburst was coming from both of her friends. What Zemo just said, implied so many different things. So, of course Sam and Bucky would start shouting without having any context to the situation of how you acquired a piece of his clothing.

If the floor could have opened up at that moment, you would have appreciated it.

Sam and Bucky were both visibly upset and clearly about to start a fight with Zemo, but thankfully Sam, being the more even tempered of the group, stopped Bucky from doing anything. He had shrugged off Sam and stared at you with hurt on his face.

You exhaled shakily as things started to calm down. You dared to catch a glimpse of Zemo, and of course, out of everyone here, he seemed to thoroughly enjoy causing the chaos he wrought with his sly comment.

If looks could kill, he would have been flayed alive.

"Enough," you said to everyone. It was time to clear the air. "Let's all just take a seat."

You had gotten exasperated by the entire situation and turned to Bucky and Sam, "Do you automatically have to jump to conclusions? Do you not think there is a perfectly logical explanation, somewhere?" You had slapped your hands down by your sides and turned to Zemo. He looked as if he were about to say something, but you cut him off pointing a finger at him.

"And you. Big trouble. Don't even get me started."

As you stared at Zemo; he at least had the decency to appear somewhat contrite at your scolding. You could still tell he was mildly amused about the whole situation.

You saw Sam had taken a seat and started to wave you over to where he and Bucky were.

"Start talking," he said.

"I'm not sure where to start," you answered, pacing back and forth.

"How about the beginning?" Bucky parroted out arms crossed in front of him, he was clearly still a bit defensive.

"The beginning. Right. Sure. I can do that," you stopped to think about how to start, but everything just seemed to be as if you were actually hiding something from them, when you weren't. It just never came up, and The Blip was emotional for everyone.

Truth be told, you would like to avoid this conversation at all costs. For many reasons, some you're not ready to deal with.

Zemo had spoke up while you were deciding how to broach the subject at hand.

"If I may," he spoke.

The three of us had answered him simultaneously, "No!"

Yeah, it was going to be a long day.

OOOOO

[moonbaby26]

Title: Rare Company

Pairing: Loki x Goddess!Reader

Summary: Story set nearer the Viking Age. You were a Greek sea goddess who crossed paths with the god of mischief. Continuation from previous chapter. Several days after your initial meeting, Loki returns allowing some unexpected time together. And spurring you to wonder what could become of this, as well as trying to address what your own feelings might be for this new god.

Warnings: None, just fluff this chapter.

Chapters: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Taglist: @rosaline-black , @lawfeys

My Masterlist

——————————

Things had fallen back into routine after a while. Even if you still caught yourself daydreaming from time to time. You had imagined working up the nerve to ask your father for permission to visit Asgard. No one from your family had in ages from all you could tell, and what an act of diplomacy that could be.

Instead of roaming far and wide as you normally would, you had more kept to these southern seas as well. That little voice inside you wondering if Loki would return. The forest nymphs had delivered word to your sea nymphs that he had departed back through what you now knew as the bifrost the very same day you had met him.

He’d only lingered a couple more hours they’d said, seemingly in thought within the forest before he’d called out for the bridge to reopen and had disappeared the same strange way he’d come.

You had taken the form of a dolphin today, idly swimming around the fishing boats you’d come upon in open water. They should know you symbolized luck. And if they seemed grateful, you’d gladly chase more fish into their nets in your boredom.

But it was then that another group of dolphins appeared, though you recognized them instantly for the nymphs that they were.

Excitedly they darted around you.

“He’s back, that prince of Asgard! And he calls for you, milady!”

The shock had been immense. You really hadn’t known if he would return. But you’d hoped, hadn’t you? And now he was actually asking for you by name.

Of course you must go to him. You were a goddess of your word after all.

———————————

And he was at the same beach you’d been on the first day he’d appeared. Through father’s magic, you could travel the hidden currents of the deep ocean, being wherever you needed to be within minutes rather than hours or the days that it would have taken mortals.

You swam slower though as you neared the shore, still underwater as you’d taken your spear from one of the nymphs once more. He was still a stranger to you after all. Though maybe that would change? It was hard to say why he really would have returned again.

There was a nervousness that was so foreign to you as you finally swam shallow enough to stand up and begin to walk from the waters. The gills on your neck that only opened when you were under for any real length of time, now dissolved back into smooth skin as the dry air reached you.

Your dress clung to your wet body as well, far more sheer in the sunlight, and for a moment you wondered if Asgardian culture was more modest in the view of their own bodies or not. You couldn’t remember reading about that.

Hopefully he would not think it obscene. But as you made eye contact with him, you really could read nothing in his gaze. Only his body language looked impatient as he sat in the weak shade of a tree long gnarled by the ocean’s winds.

You bowed lightly in greeting as you stopped before him, even though you still held your spear upright in one hand. “Prince Loki of Asgard, I am pleased to see you again.”

You did notice that fleeting look through his eyes at that, as if he was once again trying to decide your sincerity.

“You think me a fool, don’t you?” Was what he finally said though. Not quite as cutting in tone as the other day however, but still very guarded.

You straightened at the accusation, though curious to his point.

But he continued before you could respond. “You are no minor goddess, (Y/N) of the sea,” He repeated, seeming to mock your wording from your last meeting. “I read more on your kind once I returned to Asgard. Care to introduce yourself with less deception this time?”

You smiled before you could help yourself. So you were the deceptive one? When the very first time you’d ever laid eyes on him, it had only been a false image. What a strange choice of words.

But had he really done the same thing you had then? Gone home and studied you? Was he annoyed that there would be any subject he knew so little about? You wanted to know if your own studying had been enough though, as this time you answered him in the language of the Asgardians, or what you hoped was at least close enough to be intelligible.

“I did not lie to you. I am the daughter of the sea. Because my father is the sea...Poseidon, king of the sea, and god of the oceans, earthquakes, storms, and horses.” Which yes, made you a princess you supposed, niece of Zeus, and sibling and cousin to so many others in the pantheon of gods and goddesses that was the Olympus royal family.

His eyebrows raised a little as his own language came off your tongue. But you could see it would still take far more for him to really show himself impressed even as a slight smirk did cross his face for the very first time. “Your intonation still needs much work, goddess. We can keep to Greek for now.”

True, beginning to learn a new language just through the written word was far different than actually hearing it spoken. “I haven’t had much time to study since you first came.” You smiled back. “I did try.”

“Clearly.” He answered, though still seeming to be just the slightest amused you thought.

“So is that the only reason you have returned? To chide me for not announcing myself a king’s daughter?” You asked, but trying not to sound as curious as you truly were.

He did pause a moment, but you were realizing that seldom did he find himself without quick words. “Partly I suppose.” He responded. “But you also said that I was now a guest here. Unless that hospitality has been revoked, I am choosing to take more time from Asgard in a place where I will not be bothered.”

So he still was mostly wanting solitude after all then? Though slightly disappointing, you knew it was something you could well understand. You wondered if his family could be as chaotic as your own. “This is a good place for it then. To not be bothered I mean. And yes, I stand by my offer of your being a guest here.”

After waiting this many days you really would have preferred to be in his presence more than a few moments. But it would be rude to impose yourself as well. “I will leave you to yourself then.” You spoke, already resigning your own self to likely the rest of the day alone as a shark or a dolphin. Well, maybe something that could dive even deeper. You now felt like going lay in a trench somewhere actually.

“Wait.”

The call back surprised you, even as it had sounded more like a command, pausing your rising disappointment as you glanced back over your shoulder.

“I had actually intended just to read today. But as you evidently have been reading at times as well, unlike so many others I know-” There seemed to be quite a bit of resentment to whomever he was referring to there, “I could be inclined to return to Asgard briefly and fetch some books from our library for you as well if you would like to read with me.”

You stared at the abrupt invitation. Did he really mean for you to sit with him, reading together then? So he was not entirely averse to your presence any longer?

Your silent stare only had him keep talking as if he thought he might need to further persuade you though. “I am sure you would get a far more accurate representation of Asgardian culture and history from our own authors, rather than whatever it was you had clumsily dug up here.”

The air of superiority had returned to his tone as he’d mentioned their writers of course, but he was likely right. If you wanted to read about Asgard, what better source than from the Asgardians themselves?

“I would appreciate that very much,” You said truthfully, albeit still with some surprise.

“Then it is done.” He said decisively, then standing to walk back to the forest.

“Loki,” you called before you could stop yourself though. You also realized it was the first time you had said his name this informally. You paused, unsure if this was something he generally allowed or not.

But when he looked back at you, you saw no anger in his eyes. He looked a little caught off guard himself, but only for the briefest moment.

“I...” You tried to not lose your nerve. “May I follow you? Not to Asgard of course,” You clarified quickly. There were far too many protocols that could be broken there, “But close enough to see the bifrost open? I’ve never seen it.”

He hesitated to consider your request. You supposed any good steward of their kingdom would. But even if you were trying some attempt at subterfuge and intended to force your way to Asgard, what threat could a single Olympian really pose? Especially only a water goddess at that.

He must have agreed you were no real threat either as he finally nodded, motioning for you to follow him.

And once you had reached that clearing again, this time you were close enough to see the symbols his last entrances had cut into the ground. Such a unique way to travel you thought.

But you were smart enough to still keep your distance as you did back back away as you saw him look to the sky.

“Heimdall!” He called. “Open the bifrost, I need to return!” He said in his own language.

For a moment nothing happened, but then the birds began to fly as the trees shook in the growing wind. You could just see the sky, a swirl of clouds beginning before a light as bright as any of Zeus’ lightning bolts erupted down with that boom you had heard before. Loki disappeared into the light, the wind whipping all around you before the bifrost vanished back into those clouds just as suddenly and there was silence again.

“Amazing,” you breathed, just to yourself and any still lingering animals that may have heard you.

—————————-

It felt like far longer than it really was you were sure. Your anticipation just stretching out the minutes as you’d waited for his return.

But when he did come back, in all the same dramatics as his exit with the bifrost opening, then closing to leave him there again in the clearing, he now had a satchel of several books.

You assumed Asgard may be a good deal cooler in temperature than your sandy beaches for as much of him that was covered in clothing. So you tried to help find the best shade that you could, and with an unblocked pass for the cool ocean breeze as you sat together beneath more trees.

“I’ve put a spell on these to make them waterproof,” He commented, “Though do still take care, some of these are from Father’s personal collection.”

“That’s practical,” You admitted, not at all offended, but awed really that he would bring such rare items for your viewing.

It was a bit of a slow go for you though, everything being written in the Asgardian language. But you were happy to find that you could understand enough with some effort, and that the gist of the stories and the histories being told were still coming across to you.

You weren’t sure how many hours the two of you sat that way. Every now and again you could see one of the sea nymphs peeking out from where the waves were breaking, keeping a curious eye on the two of you.

Eventually it was him that finally closed the last book he had been working through though. “I suppose I should return.” He said.

You were gentle with the book you still had, closing it as well as you handed it back to him. You felt as if you should say something more, but a simple, “Thank you,” was all that really came to mind in this moment.

He quieted though, looking out to the sun, now low over the darkening ocean. “It is not as fully terrible here in Midgard as I first assumed.”

You chuckled, how often would he make a habit of these insults? “I suppose any place can have its good qualities.”

But you badly wanted to ask him what had brought him here in the first place then. If he was to come to the mortal realm, wouldn’t it have made more sense to stay to the north where he was already legend? Why come here to the lands of the Olympians?

“You do have a way of staring through a person when you’re curious about something. You realize this don’t you?” He asked you in return though, just observing your features then.

You blinked, genuinely wondering if he possessed telepathy and you hadn’t known it.

“You’re looking at me in the same way as when you wanted to see the bifrost. So what do you wish to know of Asgard that could not be found in those books?”

You hesitated. He was still a god after all, and you knew how fickle they could be. You didn’t wish to anger him with your nosiness, but it would also be rude to ignore such a direct question.

“Well...I’m wondering why you came to our land to begin with. No Asgardians have set foot here in many ages from what I can discern. Why would you be so different?”

“You think me different?” He responded immediately though. Concerning you actually, before he scoffed, “Then you are intelligent. I am nothing like those I came here to seek relief from. My fool brother and his equally boorish companions.”

“Thor?” You asked innocently enough.

But the look he gave you as that name came off your lips would have been far answer enough before it became the key that opened the gates.

“He has been completely insufferable since Father bequeathed him Mjolnir!” You could see Loki’s jaw tightening slightly, the frustrated expression growing and so similar to that angered one you remembered on his illusion’s face that first day in the clearing, when it’d been pacing and cursing.

“Is that what happened recently?” You asked reflexively, but still believing that you already had the answer.

“Oh, he’s been using the hammer for years of course. Yet it always belonged to Asgard, not him. A relic of our realm. But now it is truly his per Father’s public declaration. Thor’s hammer,” He mocked, “Worthy to the one who will one day succeed Odin to take the throne. Father has now cast Thor as his official heir in our people’s eyes with this blunder.”

You remained quiet to digest the information he was providing you. So Loki felt slighted, no disgusted actually to learn the throne was seemingly all but promised to his brother now. So had he really already had that high of expectations for it?

“I guess Asgard and Olympus aren’t so different after all,” You finally mused, though trying to keep your tone even rather than sounding patronizing. “I mean, Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon. Our three kings, they overthrew their father Cronus and locked him in Tartarus to claim rule. Admittedly Cronus had eaten Hades, Poseidon, and their other siblings previously though.”

Loki stared at you and you just smiled oddly then. “My family has not always been on the best terms with each other either.”

“Your grandfather ate your father?” Loki asked as if to reaffirm the insanity he’d just heard. “I thought that was just a myth.”

“No, father has the scars still,” You admitted. “Cronus devoured his children as he didn’t want anyone to succeed him. But my grandmother Rhea, she hid Zeus away when he was born. And Zeus forced Cronus to regurgitate the others later.”

“Ugh,” Loki said, making a face.

You laughed, glad you seemed to at least get his mind off of Thor for the moment. “That all happened ages before I was born though. Luckily it’s now more frowned upon to treat your children in such a manner. Those were the old ways.”

“And you do have many siblings don’t you?” He questioned. “I read the Olympians were quite, how should I say, prolific in their child bearing.”

“Truth I’m afraid. Which is why I like to keep to the seas rather than Father’s palace or Mount Olympus. At least you only have one Thor, rather than a dozen.”

“Gods,” Loki spoke, the evident horror in that thought too much to contemplate seriously.

But you were just smiling again, realizing how much the ice had finally been broken to even be having this type of conversation right now. You were honestly enjoying the back and forth. It would be a shame to not do this again sometime.

And you had to try and convey that, at least somewhat if you could. You didn’t know how many other chances you would have. “Before you go...I did mean it, Loki, when I said you were welcome as a guest here. You can always come back when you need a little hideaway from whatever transpires to irk you in Asgard.”

He stared at you again then. It troubled you though of how little you seemed to be able read him at times. As if he could just cast a curtain between you whenever he wished.

“Perhaps I just may.” Loki said at last though with little emotion, then finally standing now and collecting his satchel of books.

It was only then that you really realized how dark it had already gotten with the sun now setting. And you caught yourself admiring him a little in the red and purple hues now coming from the sky. He really was so different than the gods you’d known before. Should you say something more?

As you stood as well, picking your spear back up from the sands, you saw several nymphs quickly sink back down into the surf, pretending as if they were not also very interested in how else you may say goodbye to him.

“You must not often entertain guests,” Loki spoke though, evidently having noticed your audience as well even as he began to walk away from you.

“Not men,” You answered honestly, though pausing as you realized how that really sounded. You continued though, not sure if you were making things sound worse or better. “Mostly we stay at sea. And I have no interest in unwashed sailors.”

But he stopped at that before entering the forest. He posed such a simple question to you then, although one that could mean so much more. “Yet you have interest in me?”

You felt as if you’d been hit in the chest at his words. Said quietly even as you saw his blue eyes on you once more, analyzing...waiting.

But how could one word have so many meanings? Interest as in he was just a curiosity, a strange foreigner to study like some new sea creature you had found? Or interest like a friend, to read together and talk and vent on the very particular family aspects you shared just as you’d done today?

Or...and this was surely the most disconcerting of all, interest as in how he could feel if you were allowed to touch him? How he would taste if you could kiss him? Your kind took lovers frequently. That should be no secret to him or anyone else. But just because other gods and goddesses of Olympus bedded one another left and right, it didn’t mean you did.

But did he you wondered? Did he have his choice of consorts at his palace, a full court always vying for his attentions to try and pull themselves further up the social ladder via way of his bed? Surely he would, wouldn’t he?

Yet your hesitation in answering was enough to indict you of your own desires you feared. Surely if he meant little, that would have been an easy response. To think on it this long, just made your confession for you didn’t it?

You took a breath, trying to remind yourself that you should fear no man. On a whim you could transform into a great shark and consume any prey, you could move the waters themselves, wreck ships, destroy harbors should you truly wish to. These were the gifts given to you from your father.

You were a goddess after all, not just an enamored young woman. And all you could do was speak the truth. “I do have interest in you, Loki.” You finally answered. “But to what path that will take is highly dependent on your own desires I’m sure. I know nothing of Asgardian preferences when it comes to choosing who to court, if at all.”

He had only been looking at you before, but now turned to fully face you. Unlike yourself, it seemed he had no problem in finding words though. “Your beauty is not something rare in Asgard, that is true.” He said, yet continuing before you could feel that as too harsh a barb, “But your mind, your ability, and even your desire to learn of what is outside your own world, that may be something wholly more compelling.”

Yet this didn’t sound like something that should be considered rare to you, or enough to set you apart at all you thought. And he seemed to read this disbelief clearly on your face as he then admonished you for it.

“You think I exaggerate? That even one of those vapid headed children could sit still for more than an hour without having to go break something or fight someone to prove their worth? Or that any other would sit here with me as you have done today and it not be just farce to try and get closer to my brother or to get in Odin’s favor?”

So you had been right on one thing at least. The Asgardian court did have its share of social climbers then. Maybe in this you could finally see some weight to his words. Because what did you care of such things? Your father was already a king. You did not need to seduce a prince to find anything in your life that you could not have by birthright already.

But if this was his way of admitting he at least approved of your company, it still didn’t clarify as to what all he really wanted from you.

“Well, I still leave the decision as yours. You know how to find me should you be willing to see me again. If you bring books, I will read with you. If you only want an ear to listen, I will do so. And if you desire for more...we can address that as we come to it.” You said, in what you hoped was a mature sounding way to deal with these burgeoning feelings.

“Very well.” He answered too simply though. And you were sure you saw some enjoyment in his eyes as your expression showed you were left a bit unsatisfied by that. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

And it was night by then, the fresh stars now fully surpassing the light from the fading sun. You stayed on the beach this time though, watching him disappear into the wooded hillside.

In not too much time, you then heard the boom that signaled the bifrost’s open and close and you knew that he was gone.

————————————

(Continued in next chapter here)

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vii

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 3.2k

part 6 ⚬ part 7 ⚬ part 8 (coming soon)

untouchable m.list

—

“Here ya go.”

Osamu sets down a small cup of water, letting it clink against the bar’s granite surface. There’s no ice in it, but you can tell by the condensation on the glass that it’s cold. Osamu tosses a plastic straw toward you and it lands conveniently right next to your cup.

Throwing him a quick smile, you reach to take a sip but pause when you hear the click and gentle hiss of a drink can.

You’d know that sound anywhere.

It’s a reminder of street vending machines and roadside shops. Of summer walks on hot pebbled pathways and after-class escapades with old high-school friends. 

But, just to be sure, you glance over to study the object in the hands of the man next to you.

Yes, you confirm, Miya Atsumu has indeed brought a can of green tea into his brother’s restaurant. And, yes, you are quite amused.

You choke down the rising laughter in your chest, though you can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. This is the dorkiest thing you think you’ve ever seen on a not-date before.

 “Where the hell were you hiding that?” You tilt your head, leaning toward him to get a closer look at the drink.

“You’ll see.” Completely unfazed, he reaches for his coat, which hangs on the back of the chair, and digs into the pocket…

And, if what you’re seeing is true, he’s just fished out a second can. The paper covering the aluminum has a pink, floral print and reads, “Matcha-” but his thumb covers the rest of the lettering.

“What? Did you want one?” Atsumu tilts his head and places the can next to your water glass.

You stare at it, curious about two things. 

The first thing being his massive fucking pockets. They must be something of a void for him to fit two whole cans in the same pouch. Well, it’s more like you assume they were contained in a single pocket. Otherwise, you would’ve noticed a sloshing, aluminum object bumping up against your side as you two walked arm-in-arm.

The second thing that struck you is that he actually thought to bring two. Did he plan on drinking both? Was it originally for his brother? Or did he intend to offer you one right from the start? 

You do happen to like this brand of tea.

Atsumu leans back into his chair, tossing an arm over the back of the seat. “My friend tells me it’s good for digestion,” he explains and takes a sip.

“My digestion is just fine, thanks. You can keep it.” 

Your eyes crease in mirth. He has some interesting friends, that’s for sure. And why does he care about digestion? He’s fit and muscular and... is he constipated or something?

Yeah, that’s not something you should ask about.

“I’m gonna try not to imagine what else you could be hiding in those pockets,” you say, twisting your face in concern and pinching your eyebrows together.

Atsumu grimaces, shifting in his seat. “Did ya have to say it like that?” 

“I think I have every right to say it like that. You could be a freak for all I know.”

“Um, I think it’s entirely possible that you’re the freak here.” He shoots right back at you through mock-judgmental eyes.

Your jaw drops in amused surprise. You shove his arm playfully, but his balance hardly wavers. He grins in response, golden eyes glimmering. Your hand lingers briefly as you mimic his smile, but you notice and drop it quickly.

“Gettin’ comfortable now aren’t we?”

A faint flush dances across your skin. Maybe you were being a little touchy… but flirting hasn’t been this fun in so long. Anyway, he was the one who had you walking arm-in-arm with him earlier.

That thought alone makes your heart jump.

You look away, grasping the straw in your glass and twirling it around. “You got all comfy first,” is all you can huff out.

“Well, yeah.” Atsumu places an elbow on the table and props his chin up with his hand, “I mean, this is a date isn’t it?” He takes another sip of his drink, acting as though what he said wasn’t headline news.

Huh?

So apparently this whole not-a-date but possibly-a-date situation had an obvious answer… to Atsumu that is. It still felt about as clear as rocket science to you though.

“Is it?” The words flow from your lips before you can stop them.

He blinks. “Hm.” 

You swallow, “Is this a date?” 

He gestures a hand at the two of you, “I mean... I thought it was.”

Well, yes. You’re both sitting across from each other. Neither of you knows the other well. Atsumu had taken you to his brother’s restaurant.

Everything that’s happened in the past hour screams, “date.”

And, yet, it’s all too strange.

Suddenly the wooden barstool is much less comfortable. You readjust, crossing your dangling legs. You can hear every uneven as it leaves your body - hopefully his ears aren’t too keen.

Did you really change the atmosphere with just a few words?

Should you have assumed that this was a date from the beginning? But you were protecting yourself… 

Thank God Osamu is in the back right now. You don’t think you could handle someone else (especially your date’s brother) hearing this conversation. The embarrassment would be way too real.

“But if you’re not okay with it bein’ a date, then that’s okay.” Atsumu is quick to speak, straightening up in his chair. “I probably forgot to clarify…” He searches your gaze for any change in reaction.

Yeah, he’s probably not adept at these sorts of situations. But neither are you.

There’s a noticeable tint to his cheeks. You’re sure it must burn because your own face has already burst into flames. Great, you’ve made him feel like he’s screwed up. 

Atsumu mumbles a quiet “shit” under his breath, which would’ve found funny if it weren’t for your own pounding heartbeat.

Dammit, how can you salvage this? You might as well be fanning a flame at this point. If you weren’t careful, you could burn this entire opportunity to the ground. 

“Ah, that’s not what I mean,” You respond, waving your hands out in front of you, “I just- I don’t know, you never said anything about it being a date over text, so I just assumed it wasn’t. Not that I would mind it being one...”

If you keep talking, the words will only get more muddled. You clamp your mouth shut so as to not say anything ridiculous.

Suddenly, the blank wall opposite the blonde is very interesting. Maybe if you survive the next 5 minutes you’ll suggest that ‘Samu add some art pieces to soften the stark white paint. It might also make avoiding eye-contact a little easier.

Despite not wanting to face him, you can’t exactly ignore the man sitting an arm’s length away from you. You glance back to him, bracing yourself for a face wrought with confusion.

But Atsumu looks… amused? Relieved? The lines of worry on his forehead have smoothed back out.

Well, whatever emotion he’s conveying, it’s better than the ones you saw earlier.

“Alright, then how about you tell me whether you want this to be a date or not?”

You bite your lip in thought. Partly because a male has just respectfully asked you if you’d like to go on a date (a date you’re already on.) That, in itself, is a rare sight indeed. 

But mostly because he actually wants to go on a date with you.

Did you really meet him only a month ago? Was he ever a stranger to you?

He’s a little too friendly for that. But friendly isn’t the right word. Atsumu is understanding. And simple… but in a good way. Things are smooth like velvet when you’re around him.

You, who’s been shit out of luck over the past few years. You, who had to frantically accept a less than ideal job after moving away from your entire support system. You, who tried to abate loneliness with blind dates and Tinder matches... but only ever ended up shoving breadsticks in a bag before escaping through the backdoor of a mediocre restaurant.

After all the tears and life changes and dating apps and heartbreak, you finally have a choice that you can make by yourself without any serious repercussions.

And it’s a simple yes or no question.

“I’m gonna say, yeah. This is a date.”

A grin that could light up the city of Tokyo spreads across his face. You don’t know why he’s so happy, but it’s making your heart do somersaults in your chest.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” He grabs his drink, taking another sip.

Even you can feel the earnest smile on your face reaching your eyes. 

“So, can I ask ya somethin’?”

You sit up in silent anticipation. “Uh… sure.”

Atsumu clears his throat, looks away from you and runs a hand through the waves of his hair. Given Atsumu’s display of nerves, someone watching from the outside might think that this man was either about to break up with you or propose marriage.

Thank God it couldn’t be either of those things. But your hands clasp at your thighs anxiously anyway.

“Why’d you want to see me again?”

You find yourself holding your breath, letting his question sink in. 

It’s a good question. An important question. Why exactly are you here? With him?

You’re usually better about setting your intentions before you dive into something new. Plotting out big decisions has saved your ass a multitude of times.

But this opportunity fell into your lap at the most peculiar of times.

In all honesty, you didn’t give his request too much thought. Hell, you didn’t even ask him if he’d give you time to think about your decision. 

Thinking back, you really should’ve been way more careful… but you’re already here.

You lean back into your chair and meet his gaze head-on. 

“Do you want an honest answer? Or would you rather me make something up?” You ask, a glimmer in your eye.

“Oh, yeah I love bein’ lied to, go right ahead.” He throws you a look through squinted eyes.

You laugh, “I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“And you’d be right.” Atsumu’s chin sinks back into his hand, awaiting your honest answer.

You give yourself a moment to breathe, leaning back into your chair and relaxing your body.

It’s best to keep things brief - you’d hate to overwhelm him with your own life. And something tells you he has his own complicated shit to deal with. 

“I’ve had a rough few years here and my social life is about as interesting as a brick right now.” You glance over to him, “Plus you seemed a little weird. But fun.”

This is all true. But there’s so much more you’d like to say.

Stuff like, 

“You’re so easy to be around.”

“Your voice is comforting.”

“I’ve felt like shit but you’ve given me something good to think about.”

“I feel a little less lonely lately and I think it’s because of you.”

But you know that would be overstepping some major boundaries. You’d play it cool and keep your thoughts to yourself for now.

“A bit blunt, but I’ll take it.” He quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, you’re pretty blunt yourself.” You fake a frown, but can’t suppress your smile for long.

“Okay, sure, I’m not the most tactful… but you should’ve seen me in high school.” He sighs, eyes growing fuzzy with memories. 

But he’s quick to snap back to the present.

You snort. “I bet you were a hoot.”

Osamu’s voice rings from the back, “He was a lot more than that.”

So he was listening in, your cheeks burn a little at the thought. 

“Oi, shaddup, ‘Samu.” He lifts his head, calling back with a playful growl in his voice.

“I have video evidence, don’t tempt me to share it,” Osamu warns, but he gets back to business.

Your eyebrows raise. Now that’d be fun to see.

He notices your curiosity but is quick to furrow his brows. “Oh, no, no. I want you to get to know me, but not that well,” Atsumu says, slightly perturbed. 

“Not yet, at least.” He adds, after a few seconds.

Your eyes soften. 

That makes sense. 

Although, you hadn’t even expected him to show you the videos. You’d just wanted to tease him a little since that seems to be something he’s very comfortable with. You like that it’s a “not yet” instead of a “never,” though.

But instead of continuing this part of the conversation, you divert to asking his question back to him.

“Well, I think it’s your turn to tell me why you asked me out.”

And you swear you must’ve just said something ridiculous because he looks hilariously surprised. Like a deer in headlights. A jammed highway of car-headlights with the brights on full blast.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d guess that he hadn’t even thought about it. That or he didn’t want to tell you.

Either way, you deserve to know at least this much. You wait with your hands placed patiently in your lap and a trained indifference in your eyes.

—

Okay, so maybe he’s not the sharpest crayon in the box.

Atsumu knows he has a good reason for asking you out… he really does. 

But it wasn’t the kind of reason one could eloquently verbalize. I mean, shit, what does Atsumu do that is eloquent?

It was more of a gut feeling than anything else. 

But he’s sure if he told you that he wanted to date you based on “instinct” that you’d laugh and promptly flee the restaurant like a prison escapee jumping the walls holding them captive.

He pulls himself together because he’s sure you can sense his discomfort. He’s never been great at disguising his emotions - he’d only ever learned to mask them with nonchalance and angry outbursts… and that’s a no-go when it comes to the press. Atsumu had to drop those reactions like a hotcake.

“I…” he swallows but gives a wry smile, “Y’see… I live a bit of a complicated life.”

He scans your face like he’s searching for his next words within your eyes. But you’re must be a blank page because they don’t come to him.

“Okay, now, don’t go telling me you’re wanted for some sort of federal crime.” You tease him as your lips brush against your straw, lightening the atmosphere in the process.

Atsumu’s lips open to let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “Ah, ya got me. That’s exactly what I was gonna say.” He responds dryly.

“That’s so sad. And I really thought this was going well, too.” You hum and take a sip of water.

He clears his throat, loosening his shoulder with a stretch. For someone who’s lived most of his adult life in the limelight, he hasn’t had to talk about it much. People either know he’s famous or they don’t.

You’re so kind. You listen well. There’s something about you that he’s magnetized by. Something that continuously draws him back in.

So if you were to learn about his life and see him differently? It would be a door slamming into his face, sealing his fate to be a really fucking lonesome bachelor. Which is a funny concept until you are the lonely bachelor.

So what exactly is he supposed to tell you?

Out of habit, his hand reaches for his hair… but he freezes before he can run his fingers through it.

Because the words are coming to him like a lone flower petal drifting to the ground. Soft and solemn.

He asked you out because his chest hasn’t ached like this in so long.

The warmth you’ve brought him in such a short time flares inside of him; why should those flames to die down anytime soon?

Because when’s the last time he spoke with somebody new and felt so normal? He’d never craved simple conversation back in high school. Even in his early 20’s, he’d just been searching for quick flings and easy getaways - those were easy to manage and feelings almost never got involved.

But being with you is like honey to hot, bitter tea. Like chowing down on a hot meal when he’s hungry.

No, it’s not easy to explain, but your presence is somehow satiating to his soul. Osamu even said that he’s been “less of a dick” since he started talking with you, so that must count for something.

You don’t need to know all of that. That’d be really weird. But if you were already being honest with him (even if you hadn’t spilled your entire life’s story) then he can be honest with you. 

But with this groundbreaking realization comes the hard part. Saying it out loud. And while he’s sometimes smooth in terms of flirting, he’s absolute shit at explaining himself.

The words come out slow and awkward. “I’ve been havin’ a hard time with… people.” 

Okay, that’s not at all what he meant to say. 

There are a million things you could’ve gleaned from that useless sentence. ‘I have a hard time with people?’ I mean, if that didn’t sound like a red flag, then what does?

“Oh, really?” Your eyes are wide and thoughtful and he swears he sees a glint of amusement flash through them. 

Shit, this would be harder than he thought. 

“Well, dating in particular, but that’s because my life is out of wack.” He presses on, but it only comes out worse.

Maybe he should’ve taken that communications class back in high school. It would’ve saved his ass in his interviews and, more importantly, here.

You nod along, folding your arms. “Mhmm.”

It’s both unfair and such a relief that you’re finding his verbal blunders funny. 

“Okay, gimme a minute, this is comin’ out all wrong.”

“Take your time,” you smile and your eyes crinkle. “I’ll be here all night.” 

But is it possible to soften what he’s about to say? To give you something to chew on rather than a bunch of information to choke on?

Being candid with you is the only fair way to do this. If he isn’t straightforward with you, you could end up getting hurt. Even being with you here at his brother’s restaurant is a risk — he should’ve thought through that decision better too. Not that he visits his brother there in person much, but it’s still not a gamble he likes to make.

Anyway, what’s done is done. He’s just got to tell you.

Atsumu sits up, resting his clenched fists on his thighs and knitting his brows together.

“Listen, I’m not sure how to tell you this…”

You shift in your seat, mouth closed and eyes fixed on his. There’s a tension in your posture, but he tries not to let it deter him.

“But I’m...”

—

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 13/14)

The penultimate chapter of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage fic. In a return to form, this chapter is entirely SFW. (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3, chapter 5 tumblr | AO3, chapter 6 tumblr | AO3, chapter 7 tumblr | AO3, chapter 8 tumblr | AO3, chapter 9 tumblr | AO3, chapter 10 tumblr | AO3, chapter 11 tumblr | AO3, chapter 12 tumblr | AO3)

When this Author picked up the mantle left behind by the previous Lady Whistledown, it was with the intention of bringing a little levity to the otherwise long and sometimes dull proceedings that encompass the season, and to provide some color commentary that pokes fun at those otherwise generally unwilling to make light of themselves.

To that end, this Author has remarked upon and highlighted the general scandals that accompany this season as every season, the kind that serve to provide some drama to otherwise dull lives, but risk very little in terms of lasting damage.

This Author has never intended for this to cause actual harm, and as such, owes an apology to the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire. This Author does not dabble in morals, or legality; the sole concern of this column has been amusement, and the ruin of two gentlemen otherwise described by most who have met them as good men is something this Author cannot and will not be a part of any longer. While this Author cannot overstate that there was no prior knowledge of the truth behind the Marquess’s marriage, nonetheless the extra attention shone on it by and through this paper has brought harm, and for that, this Author is truly sorry.

While no promises can be made in regards to accidentally reporting similar in the future, this Author will certainly make every attempt to better vet sources before publishing rumor and innuendo. And the promise this Author does make is that the only additional mention of the Marquess of Enjolras or Mr. Grantaire in this paper will be for happy tidings, with best hopes for whatever they may face in the future. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 JUNE 1831

The summons did not arrive with the usual fanfare, so much so that Enjolras almost missed them entirely.

No gilded envelope hand stamped with the King’s own seal, no scarlet-clad guard from the palace delivering it. Just a small, plain parchment envelope instructing Enjolras to attend to His Majesty the King the following day.

In truth, he very nearly almost missed it entirely, since Porter, who normally would have brought him such things, was confined to bed for the immediate future as he recovered – and the surgeon had been quite strict in his instructions. But Grantaire, far less used to having the number of servants Enjolras did, had seen it sitting on the table in the foyer and brought it into the dining room with him when he came in for breakfast.

“This is good news,” he told Grantaire after scanning through the note, though Grantaire didn’t look convinced.

“To be summoned in front of those with the power to strip you of your titles and lands and throw you in the Tower for the rest of your days, unless they decide to chop off your head instead?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Better a meeting with the King and Queen than the constable,” he pointed out. “Besides, there’s a limit to what they can do, and if they’re intervening now, it will serve to prevent the worst from happening.” He stood to leave the breakfast table before pausing and bending to kiss the top of Grantaire’s head. “In any case, the usual death in this situation would be by hanging, not beheading.”

“Because that’s so comforting a thought,” Grantaire said sourly.

“It should be.”

Grantaire stared at him. “The thought of you being hanged instead of beheaded?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “No, that the King wants to meet with me. I’m not fool enough to think my death by anything other than old age would bring you any comfort.”

Grantaire pretended to consider it. “Going out in a blaze of glory as you attempt to bring the whole damned system to its knees might.”

“Only if you are by my side as proof that I have won you over in the end.”

Grantaire’s expression softened for a moment. “I would die by your side in an instant, but I don’t think that’s proof of anything.” He kissed Enjolras before returning to the subject at hand. “In any case, why should the King wanting to meet with you bring me any comfort whatsoever?”

“Because it means the Crown wants this handled quickly and quietly,” Enjolras said. “Meaning very likely no public trial, and almost certainly no public execution.”

“That would be more comforting without the qualifiers ‘very likely’ and ‘almost certainly’.”

Enjolras sighed. “There is very little in life that is absolutely certain besides death and taxes.”

Grantaire smirked. “And as I have heard you rail about numerous times, the certainty of taxes is not always applied evenly.”

“Do you know, that may be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me,” Enjolras said, grinning at him.

“Oh, hush,” Grantaire said, but he was laughing, and seemed, for the moment at least, to forget his concerns about Enjolras’s impending appointment with the Crown.

They resurfaced in full force the following day as Enjolras adjusted his cravat while waiting for the carriage to pull around. “How do I look?” he asked, and Grantaire cast a baleful eye at him.

“Dressed well enough for a meeting with the King and Queen, and not at all like you’re headed to imprisonment or worse.”

Enjolras managed not to roll his eyes, mostly because he did not think it would help the situation. “Luckily for both us, I highly doubt the latter options will come to pass.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile, just reaching out to take Enjolras’s hand. “Just come back to me,” he whispered.

“I have every intention of doing so,” Enjolras told him, his voice low.

Grantaire sighed. “You know I’m going to be a nervous wreck until you do,” he said. “Just like I am every time you’re in danger, even if normally you’re the idiot who’s put yourself there.”

Enjolras half-smiled. “Arguably I’ve put myself in this danger as well.”

Grantaire gave him a look. “We’ve had this argument before,” he said evenly.

“Yes, and I still refuse to cast any blame on you.”

Grantaire just shook his head. “An argument we’ll have to continue another time, it seems.”

Now Enjolras managed a real smile. “Yes, and all the more reason for me to return. You know I hate to leave a fight unfinished.”

“No, you hate to leave a fight unwon,” Grantaire said pointedly, but for the first time all morning, he looked a little less miserable, and Enjolras took that as a small win in and of itself.

“Are they not one and the same?” he asked innocently, leaning in to kiss Grantaire, who stopped him, his face falling again.

“Enjolras—” he started, and Enjolras frowned.

“What?”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment before blurting, “I have never once wished you to be less than who you are, and I do not wish it now. The man I love does not back down from a challenge, and his tongue is sharper than any sword.” He paused as if choosing his next words carefully. “But I beg of you, tread lightly. I will not love you less for holding back if it means you survive to fight another day.”

Enjolras did kiss him then, a slow, heated kiss that said hopefully everything he couldn’t bring himself. “I cannot promise my mouth will not get me in trouble. But I do promise I will not deliberately seek it out.” Grantaire made a face and Enjolras gave him a pointed look. “It’s as good a promise as you will get from me.”

“I know.”

“And yet you don’t seem satisfied.”

Grantaire sighed. “I will be satisfied when you are home with me again.”

“And with luck, that will be before you know it,” Enjolras told him bracingly, so convincingly that he almost believed it himself, enough to get him out the door and into the carriage before finally allowing himself to feel the nerves he’d been trying to swallow all morning.

What he had told Grantaire was the truth: this meeting almost certainly meant no real punishment was in store for him.

But he had very little idea of what was in store for him. And that worried him most of all.

----------

Enjolras slowly closed the door behind him, unsurprised when Grantaire immediately appeared from the drawing room, a glass of whiskey in hand, which, judging by the glassiness of his eyes, wasn’t the first he’d had. “Are you ruined?” he asked.

“Define ruined,” Enjolras said, a little grimly.

Grantaire scowled. “Perhaps now is not the time to be glib.”

Enjolras just shook his head as he crossed to him, dropping a kiss on his lips and grabbing the glass of whiskey from his hand, downing it in one gulp. “I wasn’t,” he rasped, handing the glass back to Grantaire and making his way into the drawing room. “The fact is that there is a limit to the punishment I can receive, barring criminal conviction and without an Act of Parliament.” He collapsed onto the couch, reaching up automatically to loosen his cravat. “The Crown has taken what actions it can, which is to say, I am no longer the Viscount of Digne.”

He delivered the words solemnly, but Grantaire just blinked in response. “I did not realize that you were.”

“It is a customary title bestowed upon the current Marquess of Enjolras, with some associated lands,” Enjolras said with a shrug. “Both will be given to more deserving peers, I’m sure.” He hesitated before adding, “Also, none of our issue will be eligible to inherit my title or any lands, save for that which I own outright.”

Grantaire stared blankly at him. “Any of our issue?” he repeated. “As in children?”

Enjolras made a face. “Well, technically my issue. I don’t think the Crown cares so much about yours.” He cleared his throat. “But if I were to remarry and sire children, none of those children would inherit.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “And what are the chances of that?”

“Absolutely none,” Enjolras said, barking a dry laugh. “The King has also told me that my services to his Court will no longer be necessary, meaning my various ceremonial duties will doled out to others and my power at Court, so to speak, is diminished. Beyond that, I retain my title of Marquess and associated lands and riches, which means I will lead a very comfortable life.” He reached out for Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together before raising his hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “With you at my side, and without having to hide. So to answer your question, no, I don’t consider that ruin. I consider that a gift.”

Grantaire looked relieved, but he still hesitated. “Even though I will be almost certainly landless and penniless?” he asked, and when Enjolras just frowned at him, he sighed and elaborated, “I doubt highly my father will continue to grant me my allowance and use of the houses when he receives Le Cabuc’s letter.”

Enjolras squeezed his hand. “The Enjolras purse has sustained this family for generations. There’s more than enough left to take care of the man I love.”

Grantaire searched his expression for a moment. “Yet you don’t seem completely satisfied. What else did the King say?”

“Well—”

Before Enjolras could elaborate further, someone cleared her throat from the doorway, and they both turned to look at Enjolras’s mother, who looked unusually somber. “Am I interrupting?”

On instinct alone, Enjolras started to pull his hand away from Grantaire’s, but Grantaire held tight, squaring his shoulders as he met Enjolras’s mother’s expression coolly. “As a matter of fact, you are. Your son and I are having a private conversation.”

He turned back to Enjolras, who tried not to laugh at the look on his mother’s face. But to his surprise, his mother did not immediately snap some dismissive rebuttal, instead inclining her head slightly. “And you have my apologies for intruding, especially at this trying time. But I need to speak to my son, alone, especially in light of his recent visit to the palace.”

Enjolras wasn’t surprised that she had somehow heard about his summons. “Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of me,” Grantaire said firmly. “Your son and I are sharing our lives, and that includes dealing with whatever family affairs you’ve brought with you.” He again turned to look at her. “And need I remind you, your part in our deception has not yet been revealed, but I will be more than happy to tell anyone and everyone who will listen what drove your son to the desperation of a fake marriage in the first place. I doubt highly your friends among the nobility will be impressed by what they learn.”

Enjolras’s mother’s lips pursed, but again, Enjolras was completely thrown by her response. “Thank you,” she said simply, and Grantaire’s cold expression slipped as he glanced over at Enjolras, who just shrugged. “I can see that you are protective of my son, and while I may not appreciate your tone, I do appreciate knowing that my son has found someone who loves him as...vigorously as you clearly do.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed, but Enjolras cleared his throat. “It’s fine,” he told Grantaire, squeezing his hand once more. “I trust her enough to have a conversation with her, and I can fight my own battles as needed.”

“Are you certain?” Grantaire asked in an undertone, eyeing Enjolras’s mother warily. “I believe you can fight your own battles, but it’s her I don’t trust…”

Enjolras rolled his eyes affectionately. “I have managed this long,” he assured him. 

“Fine.” Grantaire stood, but before leaving, he bent and kissed Enjolras, a long, slow kiss that Enjolras was fairly certain was for his mother’s benefit more than his own.

Not that he minded, since getting to kiss Grantaire and enrage his mother in the same blow was as close to perfection as Enjolras was likely to see in his lifetime.

Then Grantaire straightened again and winked at Enjolras before finally leaving, sidling past his mother with little more than a second glance. For her part, his mother looked mostly impassive at the display she had just witnessed, and she finally fully entered the room, perching imperiously on the armchair. “I suppose it’s too much to hope for tea,” she said with a sniff. 

Enjolras barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “You might have heard that my butler was attacked,” he said sourly. “I’m sorry if him being laid up recovering from being shot is inconvenient to you.”

“I did hear about Porter, yes, but that’s not to what I was referring,” she said. “Have the servants started fleeing en masse?”

“None have yet offered their resignations, if that’s what you mean,” Enjolras said.

“Of course it’s what I mean,” she snapped. “This is a tainted household now – I doubt most will want to stay. Especially as they’ve no way to ingratiate themselves with whomever the next Marquess will be.” Her lips pursed again. “Do you even know which distant relative is your heir, now that you will almost certainly never sire children of your own?”

Enjolras shrugged unconcernedly. “A third cousin, isn’t it? Lives somewhere out in the west, if memory serves.”

Her eyebrows knit together. “I’m surprised you know that.”

“You once told me all about him when I threatened to abdicate after Father died,” Enjolras said mildly. “You seemed to think it would convince me to think otherwise.”

“Clearly it did.”

Enjolras laughed dryly. “I hate to tell you, Mother, but that actually played a very small part in my decision.”

She scowled. “Perhaps you should have abdicated back then. It may have made for an easier transition for all involved.”

“Perhaps so,” Enjolras said honestly, as it wasn’t the first time the thought had crossed his mind. “But we are well past that point now.”

“In more ways than one.” She paused, giving him a searching look. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in trying to convince you to reconsider.”

Enjolras shook his head. “None.”

His mother nodded, her expression unreadable. “Then that’s the end of it.”

Enjolras hesitated, before saying, as casually as he could manage, “You seem…decidedly less surprised by this whole situation than I would expect.”

“What precisely is there to be surprised about?” she asked.

There were any number of things that Enjolras had expected her to be either shocked or scandalized by, let alone surprised, but the look on her face stopped him. “You mean…you knew?”

“That you were…otherwise inclined?” she provided delicately. “Of course I knew. A mother always knows.” Her expression twisted. “Though I rather hoped you would grow out of it, or at least do the sensible thing and marry a woman while seeking your amusement elsewhere.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “I’m not certain I see that as the sensible thing.”

She considered it for a moment before shrugging. “Perhaps not,” she said. “But more sensible than being stripped of your lands and titles.”

“Not all my lands, or all my titles,” Enjolras told her. “The Viscount of Digne is the only major one.”

She made a face. “No real loss there, the bishop in that area rules it with an iron fist and will probably be glad to see the backside of our family.”

Enjolras trusted her to know more about it than he did or frankly cared to. “And there’s a few minor lands that will be redistributed but for the most part, Grantaire and I have made it out unscathed.”

Again his mother made a face. “I don’t know that I would go that far—”

“I imagine you wouldn’t,” Enjolras muttered.

“—But all things considered, it could have been much worse.”

On that, at least, she was correct. “And I’m certain you’ll be glad to know that your own holdings will not be affected, nor your allowance,” he told her. “And Grantaire is letting you keep the dowry.”

That seemed to surprise her. “That is...generous of him,” she allowed, before frowning at her son. “But you speak as if all you think I care about is money.”

Enjolras just arched an eyebrow. “You have given me little evidence to suggest otherwise.”

“Caring about the well-being of my only son isn’t evidence enough?”

He managed not to roll his eyes, but just barely. “Faux sincerity isn’t your strong suit, Mother,” he informed her. “If you wish to convince me, you’ll have to try a different tack.”

To his surprise, she laughed lightly. “Maybe I will, when all the dust has settled,” she said, standing and brushing invisible dust from her skirt before telling him, “I will be leaving the city for the near future, and possibly even the country for a bit. I need my friends and allies at court to think that I was not party to this.”

“You weren’t,” Enjolras said, his brow furrowed. “And you are certainly at liberty to tell anyone you need to as such.”

“I have, and I will,” she said. “But I will also not outwardly condemn you the way they would wish, and that to some is enough to make them think otherwise.”

For the first time in what Enjolras was certain was his entire life, he was speechless. He had frankly expected her to do exactly that in order to maintain her social standing. “You could,” he blurted, ignoring the raised eyebrow she gave him. “Condemn us, I mean. I would not hold it against you if you did.”

“You and I both know that you absolutely would,” she said dryly. “But more than that, you are my son. For all your faults and all our disagreements, public and otherwise, that has never changed. And it will not change now.”

Enjolras was again taken aback by what she said. “Thank you,” he managed, before adding, a little wryly, “I think.”

A small smile crossed her face. “You’re welcome, I think. And now I should leave you to the start of your new life.”

She turned to head to the door, clearly deeming her role in this complete for the time being, but Enjolras stopped her, his curiosity getting the better of him. “What do you think of Grantaire?” he asked. “Now that you know what he is to me.”

She looked back at him, surprised. “You have never sought my approval before.”

“And I’m not seeking it now,” Enjolras said. “Just curious what you think.”

She nodded slowly. “He is not who I would have chosen for you,” she said after a long moment. “But then again, this life is not what I would have chosen for you.”

It was no more than what Enjolras had expected, but before he could say anything, she continued, “I know what you think of me, that you think me cold, and vain, and cruel. And there is certainly more than a little truth to that.” He looked up at her sharply, surprised by this most of all. “I know I shall always play the role of villain in your story. But despite what you may think, I have only ever wanted you to be happy.” She hesitated. “And it makes me terribly sad to know you have chosen a path where the world very well may never let you be happy.”

Enjolras just shook his head slowly. “The difference between you and I, Mother, is that I have never needed the approval of the world to be happy.” He gave her a sharp smile. “Hang what anyone else thinks. So long as I have Grantaire, we will make our own happiness.”

She returned his smile. “I do not doubt that you will. As I said before, you two make quite the pair, and whatever else you may think, I am glad that you two found each other.”

With that, she left, and Enjolras sat where he was for a long moment, digesting everything that had transpired. This had been a day of surprises, from his meeting with the King and Queen to now his conversation with his mother, and he shook his head slowly before standing to go find Grantaire.

He found him in the library, sitting sideways in an oversized armchair, his legs draped over the arm of the chair as he skimmed through a book with seemingly little interest. He brightened when he saw Enjolras come in, tipping his head up automatically for a kiss. “Is she gone?” he asked as Enjolras settled onto the sofa across from him.

“For now, yes.”

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “But not forever?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not even this scandal was enough to be rid of her forever. But I am...strangely not as bothered by that thought as I once would have been.”

Grantaire blinked. “Did she hit you on the head while she was in there with you?”

“Something like that, anyway,” Enjolras said with a laugh. “But enough about my mother. Where were we?”

He eyed Grantaire appreciatively, mentally trying to determine the mechanics of what they could do with him in that position, and Grantaire scowled. “Certainly not doing that,” he informed him, sitting upright. “You were finishing telling me about your audience with the King and Queen.”

“Oh. Right.” Enjolras shrugged and looked away. “Well, the Archbishop is apparently pushing for us to be excommunicated.”

Grantaire snorted. “Does that mean I no longer have to go to church?” he asked idly. 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Well, among other things. But there’s an issue.”

“What’s that?”

“We could be imprisoned if we’re excommunicated, for a start.”

Grantaire just arched an eyebrow. “Just as we could be imprisoned for sodomy?”

Enjolras made a face. “The Crown has no intention of pursuing those charges,” he said. “But getting excommunicated could lend credence to future attempts at levying those charges, at likely the least opportune time.”

Grantaire considered it for a moment. “Well. We’ve faced worse prospects.”

Enjolras frowned. “You seem remarkably blasé about the prospect of excommunication, considering how concerned you’ve been about the possibility of imprisonment or worse for the other charges.”

“Mostly because you don’t seem particularly worried about it, and I imagine if this were an actual threat, you’d be somewhat less calm,” Grantaire said evenly. “Besides, I had several glasses of whiskey while you were out so it will take quite a bit for me to get riled at this point.”

“You didn’t seem to have any difficulty getting riled at my mother,” Enjolras pointed out.

Grantaire smiled grimly. “That was a more immediate danger.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Well, you’re not wrong about this not being an actual threat, I suppose. The Monarchy has little desire to create a public spectacle via excommunication and as the Head of the Church, I imagine that’s the end of the matter.”

Grantaire nodded slowly. “Does that mean you’re actually going to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Excommunication isn’t enough?” Enjolras asked, mostly rhetorically, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed. “Fine… I need to get word to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. We have much to discuss ahead of our next meeting.”

“Are you purposefully avoiding the question, or…?”

“I promise I am not,” Enjolras said, his voice low. “But they need to know, because this concerns all of us.” He paused, trying to figure out how to word what he needed to tell both Grantaire and his closest lieutenants. “I was...as surprised as any that the King did not wish to pursue any additional punitive matters. As a whole, the punishment dealt to me is mild, to say the least. And what troubles me is the reason he gave for why.”

Grantaire frowned. “He gave you a reason?”

Enjolras barked a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh, he gave me many. Most were mere platitudes, that out of respect for the service of my father, he would take no additional measures, etcetera, but he also alluded to his hope that our...situation would not inconvenience my political work.” He cleared his throat before adding sardonically, “That he hoped our allies would not abandon us with my public declaration of depravity.”

“And you suspect he actually hopes the opposite,” Grantaire said slowly.

Enjolras nodded. “I’m not going to pretend that my political sympathies are or have ever been well-received at court, and I think most were content to look the other way and pretend that the protests and political actions were the fun side project of an otherwise bored noble. Something I would grow out of in time. But now…”

He trailed off, and Grantaire’s expression turned grim. “Now they might not be so content to look the other way.”

“No,” Enjolras agreed. “And if I or any of our number were to get arrested—”

“Arrested again, you mean,” Grantaire said with the hint of a smile that Enjolras did not return.

“—My position is no longer enough to stave off any significant consequences.” 

Grantaire went very still. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning I may not be ruined. We may not be ruined. But Les Amis may be.”

----------

In lieu of coming over to Enjolras’s to discuss the situation, Combeferre suggested via return message that they call a special meeting of Les Amis. “That seems unusual,” Grantaire murmured, his brow furrowed as he read over the brief message. “Why would they not just come here?”

Enjolras shrugged. “Perhaps they don’t want to be seen entering a den of sin,” he said, more blithely than he remotely felt.

“Jest all you wish, but you cannot pretend the thought hasn’t entered your mind,” Grantaire said. “Not that I believe any of our friends will turn on us entirely, but they are all trying to make marriages of their own, and to be tainted by association…”

He trailed off, and Enjolras just shook his head. “That is their prerogative, and I will not hold it against any man to abide by his conscience.”

“Or by the prospect of increasing his purse?” Grantaire asked sourly.

Enjolras shrugged again. “If that is truly their reasoning, I doubt highly we would be associates for much longer in any case.”

Still, it was with an unusual amount of trepidation that they approached the Musain, and Enjolras hesitated before instructing his driver to drop them off at the back of the building by the worker’s entrance. “I do not doubt they would still receive us at the front entrance,” he told Grantaire. “I am, after all, still a marquess and a certain amount of respect must be paid. But I would rather not put them in that position all the same.”

Grantaire managed a wan smile. “You need not explain yourself to me,” he said. “I understand as well as any that the situation is complicated.”

Enjolras glanced at him. “Speaking of,” he said carefully, “have you heard yet from your father?”

“No.” Grantaire’s tone was clipped as he avoided meeting Enjolras’s eyes, looking out the carriage window instead. “I have not heard from him one way or another, so I have no indication if he has yet received Le Cabuc’s letter.”

“Could Le Cabuc have been bluffing?”

Grantaire shrugged. “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it,” he said. “He always did prefer my father to me.” He hesitated before adding, “I thought I might make a preemptive trip back to the house and gather some belongings. Just some personal effects, and things from my mother and sister that I would rather not lose to my father’s whims.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That is probably not a terrible idea.” He hesitated before asking, “Do you wish for me to accompany you?”

“I suspect that would cause more problems than it’s worth,” Grantaire said. “If I go by myself, I can hopefully slip in and out mostly unnoticed.”

Enjolras had expected that answer, but he couldn’t pretend that it didn’t sting, just a little. “Of course.”

Something of what he was feeling must’ve shown on his face, but Grantaire’s expression softened as he added, “Which doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t love for you to return with me, or that I won’t miss you dreadfully while I’m gone.”

“But this is the reality of the life we’ve chosen,” Enjolras said heavily. “Going in the servants’ entrance to avoid being seen. Travelling incognito to not cause a scene. Less visitors or invitations to visit because people won’t wish to be associated with us.”

Grantaire eyed him warily. “I feel as though you are trying to make a point.”

Enjolras shrugged. “Just that I do not care about any of those things. But I would understand if you did, and if the reality of our life together does not align with what you may otherwise have expected.”

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed. “How many times must you and I have this conversation?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I wish that you had chosen a better life for yourself than one stuck with me, who was always titleless and is about to be in short order landless and penniless to boot, just as you wish I had chosen a better life for myself,” Grantaire said, a little impatiently. “But you and I both know that the best choice, the only choice, is each other and whatever accompanies that.”

Enjolras laughed as well, feeling a little relieved that they were on the same page in terms of what mattered. “You’re right.”

“I usually am,” Grantaire said smugly before reaching for Enjolras’s hand and lacing their fingers together. Une vie et un amour, remember?”

“Fidelitas usque ad mortem,” Enjolras said, his voice low, and Grantaire smiled.

“And I still aim to be.”

Together, they stepped down from the carriage and made their way into the Musain through the backdoor. The workers they passed barely gave them second glances, though Enjolras assumed that was likely because they recognized them as frequent patrons, and knew better than to stop or question them.

But despite arriving almost a half hour before the meeting Combeferre had called was set to begin, when they reached the backroom, they could hear the buzz of voices through the closed door. Grantaire gave him a startled look. “Has the meeting already begun?”

“It certainly appears that way,” Enjolras said, feeling inexplicably nervous as he stared at the closed door, straining to hear what was being said beyond it.

“Did Combeferre not say that it would start at 9?”

Enjolras nodded. “He did, but…” He trailed off, not willing to vocalize his doubts. Instead, he squared his shoulders and opened the door, walking in with Grantaire at his side. Combeferre and Courfeyrac stood at the front of the room, the rest of their number assembled, all looking unusually somber, and all conversation stalled as soon as they looked back at Enjolras. “Forgive the interruption,” Enjolras said coolly, closing the door behind him. “I did not realize the hour of our meeting had changed.”

“It didn’t,” Combeferre said, his expression impassive. “But there was certain business we felt we should attend to before your arrival.”

“What sort of business?” Grantaire asked with a frown.

Combeferre did not seem deterred by his tone. “The business of determining if your continued membership amongst our association is beneficial or a detriment, mostly.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, his heart sinking in his chest. “Well, don’t let us impede your discussion.”

“We have nothing left to discuss,” Courfeyrac interjected. “All that remains is to vote.”

Grantaire reached out and took Enjolras’s hand, lacing their fingers together firmly. Combeferre cleared his throat. “All those in favor of expelling Enjolras and Grantaire from our number due to their sexual deviance and the threat that it poses to Les Amis and our efforts?”

Not a single hand rose in the air, and Grantaire squeezed Enjolras’s hand.

“And all those opposed?”

As one, all of their friends raised their hands before standing and applauding. Joly and Bossuet were positively beaming, Courfeyrac wolf-whistled, and Combeferre stepped forward to embrace Enjolras. “There was never any doubt which way the vote would go,” he told Enjolras, “but I knew you would not be satisfied if there was no vote at all.”

“Besides, if we start exiling people for buggery, there are more than a few of us who would be in trouble,” Courfeyrac said cheerfully as he embraced Enjolras as well.

“Hear, hear,” Bahorel chortled.

Joly took Bossuet’s hand and squeezed it. “Grantaire helped us avoid a scandal of our own, and we owe him our loyalty,” he said. “Besides which, I swore to go through fire for you, and I would not forsake that oath lightly.”

“Thank you, my friends,” Enjolras said quietly, his chest tight with emotion.

Grantaire squeezed his hand once more before leaning in and whispering in his ear, “It appears I am not the only one who understands the meaning of loyalty until death.” Enjolras wordlessly squeezed his hand in return and Grantaire smiled at him before asking Courfeyrac, “But one of our number is missing, is he not? Where is your erstwhile roommate this evening?”

“Oh, he has found the girl he was looking for,” Courfeyrac said airily. “It turns out your little announcement was good for more than one thing – she was the one who swooned in his arms!”

Much laughter greeted that announcement and Enjolras shook his head. “Leave it to Marius…” he started before trailing off, glancing around the room at the smiling faces of each of his friends, all those whom he loved most in this world. “Thank you all,” he said softly. “I know this will not be easy, but I appreciate your continued faith and love.”

“Our goal has always been to fight against oppressive powers in whatever form,” Combeferre told him. “And condemning men based on consensual acts in their bed chamber would be playing into that oppression.”

“Just promise us one thing,” Bossuet interjected.

Enjolras raised both eyebrows. “What’s what?”

“No funny business,” Bossuet said, mock-sternly. “No suddenly agreeing with everything the other says just because it’s your lover saying it.”

Again everyone laughed and Enjolras shook his head good-naturedly. “I don’t think we’re in much danger of that.”

“After all,” Grantaire added slyly, “what I love far more than him agreeing with me is that delightful shade of red he gets when he so vehemently disagrees with me. Who am I to give that up now?”

“In truth,” Enjolras said when the laughter again died down, “we aim to keep things as much the same as we can.” 

“And we’ll be relying on you lot to keep it that way,” Grantaire said. 

“There’s one other promise we would ask,” Feuilly said, glancing around. “Or at least, that I would ask.”

Enjolras’s smile faded, just slightly, at Feuilly’s far more serious tone. “If it is in our power to grant it, we will.”

“No more lies.” There were a few murmurs of agreement that Feuilly waited to die down before continuing, “There is not a man among us who does not understand the reason for your deception, but we in this room are brothers, and we deserve the truth no matter what consequence it may bring.”

Grantaire took Enjolras’s hand once more and squeezed it before affirming, “No more lies. We owe not just you the truth from here on out, but each other as well. And it’s the very least that we can give in return for your generosity and personal sacrifices.”

“In that case, let us open the wine and get the celebration started,” Jehan called, standing up on his chair to be seen. “To Enjolras and Grantaire!”

“To Enjolras and Grantaire!” everyone repeated, whatever glasses they had in hand, and Enjolras rolled his eyes with obvious affection before leaning in and kissing Grantaire as everyone cheered.

Grantaire was grinning as he pulled away, and that sight alone was enough to make everything they had endured and everything that they had left to endure absolutely worth it in Enjolras’s opinion. But before he could say anything to that effect to Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet grabbed Grantaire by both arms, tugging him away. “You owe us more than mere truth,” Joly said, with an almost evil grin. “You owe us details.”

“Exactly,” Bossuet said, wearing a matching smile. “And we want to hear all about your first time bedding Enjolras.”

“We promised the truth, not all the gory details,” Grantaire protested, making a pleading face at Enjolras, who just laughed. 

Before he could rescue him, Combeferre pulled him aside. “I wanted a moment, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

Enjolras clapped him on the shoulder. “For you, my friend, never. Especially as I believe I owe you especially an apology for our deceit.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I understand it more now,” he said. “And honestly, I’m surprised I did not put the pieces together earlier.”

“Grantaire said he was always a little obvious, even if I never noticed either,” Enjolras said good-naturedly.

But Combeferre just shook his head. “Grantaire may have been, but it’s you I should have noticed.”

“Me?”

Combeferre shrugged. “Looking back on it, all the clues were there, least of all how you allowed Grantaire to stay, not just for meetings, but well into the night when you were ostensibly working, a privilege bestowed on no one else. And I cannot help but think that if I had noticed sooner, we would have had more time to plan, to minimize the fallout.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “My friend, you could have told me until you were blue in the face that I was completely and obviously in love with Grantaire, and I would never have believed you,” he said. “It was something I needed to figure out with him.” He made a face. “Though you are right that I should have told you sooner, before we made our announcement, so that plans could have been made in advance, and for that, I do owe you an apology.”

“One that I readily accept,” Combeferre told him. “And the only recompense I ask from you is the answer to this: are you happy?”

“Yes,” Enjolras said, without even needing to consider it. “More so than I thought was possible, or at least probable.”

Combeferre gave him a wide, genuine smile. “Then the rest we will deal with when or if the time comes.”

Again, Enjolras’s chest felt tight with emotion, with the weight of how much his friends cared for him and Grantaire. “I truly do not know how to thank you, how to thank everyone, for what you have given Grantaire and myself.”

“There is no need to thank us,” Combeferre said. “Especially since you have given us something equally precious.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are free,” Combeferre said simply. “And that gives the rest of us hope.”

----------

Enjolras let out a sigh of relief mingled with happiness as he sat down in the waiting carriage. Grantaire clambered in after him, and sat down on the bench next to him instead of sitting across from him. “That went well.”

“That went far better than well,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire glanced sideways at him. “Surely you did not expect Combeferre or Courfeyrac to abandon you, or honestly any of our friends.”

Enjolras just shrugged. “In truth, I did not know what to expect.” He nudged Grantaire gently. “Thank you, by the way.”

“Whatever for?”

“For making my life complete,” Enjolras said honestly. “And so completely happy.”

Grantaire smiled at him, his eyes shining even in the dim light of the carriage, but he promptly ruined the moment by asking, “How much wine did you drink?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “I had half a glass at best,” he protested. “Not nearly enough to undermine my sincerity. Nor my conviction that somehow, against all odds and, frankly, against our own efforts to the contrary, everything for us is turning out better than I ever could have imagined, let alone hoped.”

Grantaire rested his head against Enjolras’s shoulder. “We have been extraordinarily lucky,” he murmured.

“We have been,” Enjolras agreed, squeezing Grantaire’s hand. “We have our friends, and we have each other. Whatever else comes our way, so long as we still have that, we will be fine.”

“More than fine,” Grantaire corrected, raising Enjolras’s hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. “Our future will be happy. Of that, I am as certain as anything.”

“Being in love really has changed you if you suddenly start espousing convictions,” Enjolras teased.

But Grantaire just smiled at him. “It’s changed us both.”

“For the better?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire kissed him, a gentle, sweet kiss that was a promise of more to come. “For the best.”

[delimeful]

breathing cleaner air (2)

warnings: miscommunication, slight body horror, arguing

-

Roman woke up, which was a surprise in itself.

He was sprawled over a wooden floor, covered in what seemed to be a significant amount of unbound hay. His body ached severely, and he spent a moment waiting for his brain to register how horrifically itchy he must be under all this straw.

A beat later, he recalled that his sense of touch had grown muted and strange as soon as his skin vanished behind a layer of bone and keratin. Not itchy after all, then.

Whatever he was laying on, it was moving, slowly but steadily, and he couldn’t seem to make his body move more than an inch. He couldn’t even lift his head to see over the short back barrier of the space.

A twinge of pain, and then he was blinking rapidly as a new source of vision opened up, creating a dizzying overlay effect. He closed his eyes, and found that the new sightline was all that remained, showing him sprawling fields and a dirt road slowly inching past.

It was an eye, popping up on his shoulder armor as though that was a reasonable place for an eye to appear. He shuddered, revulsed, and it sunk away into nothing with a sharp spike of pain, leaving him with only the pair of eyes on his face.

Roman took a deep breath, trying to remain composed. His body had been malformed, and his best friend had attacked him, and now he was here, unharmed but for his immobility and the strange quirks of this new form. Surely Logan wouldn’t dispose of a corpse without first checking that it was actually deceased?

He had to be sprawled in the back of a covered wagon of some sort, the slow rhythmic motion of the vehicle thankfully not enough to jar any of his newly-obtained wings. If he’d been an actual seraph, he would have plenty of motivation to murder the farmer hired to move its ‘corpse’. Logan would never be so sloppy as to risk civilians like that.

So then, how had he gotten to this point?

He chewed on the question as time passed, mentally going around in circles until the wagon ground to a stop.

Footsteps circled the body of the vehicle, and stopped. Roman resisted the urge to try and make another eye to look through.

A surge of magic later, his body felt suddenly lighter, and he jolted upright into a sitting position, head turning to the back of the wagon.

Logan stood there, his staff held in a defensive block position. “Hello there.”

Roman made to indignantly ask what he was playing at, but all that came from him was a fierce shrieking whistle, not from his mouth but from his throat, where there were irregular gaps in the armor covering.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re confused,” Logan continued, still on guard. “I’m pleased to inform you that though I don’t yet have a solution to your ailment, I have no plans to kill you.”

A wave of relief washed over Roman, and he preened slightly, so immensely grateful that his best friend was a genius. How he’d figured it out, Roman had no idea, but clearly, he’d known from the moment Roman had stumbled past the treeline.

He leaned forward, intending on some kind of friendly contact, and Logan took a step back, his staff smoothly moving to point out in threat.

“No closer, please,” he instructed firmly. “I can’t understand you or your intentions at the moment. You’ll have to wait until we reach the others so they can translate.”

Roman drooped, wings drawing in around him as though he’d received a physical blow. The guarded look in those eyes, the stiff lines of his body-- Logan hadn’t looked so wary around Roman since he’d still thought him a snobby prince with a hatred of all things magical.

“It’s nothing personal, I assure you,” Logan offered, awkward the way he only way around strangers.

Roman sat back heavily, the shifted weight of his new form making the wagon shake slightly. Logan had secreted him away without knowing his true identity. He was taking a ‘defeated’ seraph somewhere in secret. He’d mentioned others. Other seraphim.

Logan had been on the field much longer than him, but they’d fought side-by-side together whenever Roman could shake his duties. How many monsters had Logan been preserving right under his nose?

Logan scythed his weapon through the air without hesitation, easily settling another heavy sedation spell on him. Belatedly, he realized that a low, threatening growl-- a sound like the deepest timbre on a pipe organ-- had bubbled up from his chest.

Good, he thought furiously as he settled back into a hazy unconsciousness. Why shouldn’t he be angry? In every sense of the word, he’d been betrayed.

-

When he next woke, the wagon had once again stopped and his body ached a little less. Soon, there were warm hands carefully supporting him from either side, lifting him from the pile of hay and settling him on soft fabric.

Voices spoke in soft murmurs. Roman struggled to tune in, focus wavering under the lingering exhaustion of the spell.

“--round, could I speak with him?”

“No, not today. He’s been awake for a while, you know how he gets about missions like this. I could pass along your message?”

“... It was a long shot anyways. I’ll be back in a week’s time, hopefully with better news.”

“You’ll find him, Logan, I just know it. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Won’t you stay, just for---”

A blink, and the light had changed, from the dimness of dusk to early morning sun.

Finally free of magical interference, he pushed himself to his feet with only the slightest of swaying, intent on figuring out what was going on and giving Logan a piece of his mind. Possibly in that order.

He was in a spacious but mostly-empty room, a soft arrangement of thick blankets and half-shredded pillows strewn about where he’d formerly slept. The single door was unlocked and opened into a hallway that was too short for him to walk through without crouching.

Feeling slightly foolish and mostly determined, he shuffled along the hall, searching for answers but finding none that made any sense. He didn’t recognize anything about the interior of the building, other than how it looked, for all intents and purposes, like a cozy, lived-in home.

There were framed photos lining the walls, candid pictures of many or just a few people smiling and talking together. Before Roman could inspect them too closely, a clatter from nearby caught his attention.

He turned into a small kitchen, where a short man with brown skin and dark curls appeared to be cleaning up a spill as something on the stove began to smolder. He didn’t seem to have any wings.

Befuddled by the mundane sight, a confused, croaky chirrup made its way from his throat, drawing the attention of the stranger. He braced himself automatically, his wings bristling slightly on automatic, but the stranger only smiled sympathetically.

“Hey there, kiddo!” Placing the washcloth he’d been mopping with aside, he dusted his hands off on his battered apron. “Good to see you awake! Did Logan-- that’s the guy who brought you here, did he tell you anything on the way?”

Roman stared at him blankly. The stranger-who-apparently-knew-Logan shook his head in amused resignation. “Well then, I suppose introductions are in order! You can call me Patton, this is my home! You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want, and you can come talk to me if you need help with anything!”

"You’re taking in monsters like stray cats?" Roman attempted and completely failed to ask, the words coming out as hollow but incredulous discordant notes.

“Yeah, I suppose I can’t really talk to you just yet,” Patton replied, proving his own point by misinterpreting Roman’s noises entirely. “But no worries, we’ve got other seraphs who can translate! My friend is waiting out in the barn to answer any questions you’ve got, and then once I finish up breakfast, you’re welcome to join us!”

Even without the charcoal mess that had used to resemble eggs currently smoking on the stove, there was no way he was just going to sit down and eat breakfast with monsters and monster sympathizers. He huffed, an airy whistling sound, and ignored Patton’s friendly smile as the man gestured helpfully to the open back door.

He would find Patton’s ‘friend’, question them to find out where this place was relative to his kingdom, and then leave promptly. From there, he’d… he’d figure something out. Hunt down the one who did this to him, maybe, and get some answers.

Decided, he stalked out the door, and managed to get three steps into the yard before pulling up short.

The acres of farmland stretched out to freshly-plowed fields, and more than a few chickens wandered about, but most notably, the main yard seemed to be dotted with winged children.

A variety of different shapes and ages, he could spot them in little groups, playing games or chattering or even roughhousing like weaned puppies. He spotted a pair wrestling, and nearly stepped forward in alarm at the sight of sudden shifting limbs and feathers.

To his surprise, even with one in a more inhuman state, they continued to playfully tumble without a single scratch, no sign of the sharpness that lined Roman’s entire form.

He could feel curious eyes on him as he beelined for the barn, trying to keep a level head. He shouldn’t have been so shocked by the sight. If there were seraphim adults, of course there would be seraphim children. He just hadn’t expected them to look so… human. He’d had no idea that they could even develop human guises so early in life.

The barn was a humble thing, the red paint worn, but the door hinges barely whispered when he pushed the door open. Inside, there weren’t any animals, but rather, tightly-packed cots and scattered piles of stored supplies. A few kids scurried past, while a deeper voice slowly counted down. An adult figure was sprawled over one of the ceiling rafters, face pressed into the crook of their arm, a pair of wings hanging down loosely around them. The early morning light cast them in silhouette.

Roman attempted to clear his throat, which didn’t work even a little bit and in fact produced a horrific squelching sound. The adult’s wings jerked slightly, but they didn’t look up.

“Seventeen. Sixteen. Hey, newcomer. Welcome to Sanctuary. Patton gave you the spiel? Twelve. Eleven. Ten.”

With an array of hushed giggles, the kids secreted themselves away, some abandoning the barn entirely. They were… playing hide-and-seek?

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. More importantly, why did this stranger’s voice seem familiar? Roman stepped forward, drawing his wings in to avoid clipping any nearby hiding spots.

“Two. One. Better have hid well,” they finished, pushing themself up and then swinging over the edge of the rafter. They dropped to the floor soundlessly, looking him over with mismatched eyes. “I’m Virgil.”

Roman felt his whole body bristle up with shock, and then fury.

‘You!’ he screeched, pointing aggressively at the guy who had single-handedly ruined his life.

‘Virgil’ eyed him speculatively for a moment, and then recognition lit his gaze.

“Oh. It’s you. Thought you died.”

In the corner of his vision, Roman could see the way his wings had fluffed up to twice their previous size, sharp-edged and rattling. A low, resonant hum filled the air around him, a poor placeholder for the accusations he’d like to hurl at the seraph.

Virgil only raised an eyebrow, looking much less harried than he had during their last encounter. Roman sorely missed having a sword to point threateningly, and also fingers that weren’t half-fused together.

“Might as well sort this out now.” He raised his voice, an edge of something other slipping into it as he projected. “Olly olly oxen free, you little menaces. It’s time for the adults to talk.”

There was rustling as those hiding in the barn crawled and hopped out of hiding spaces, a murmur of complaint that died as soon as they looked at Roman. He wanted to call the gazes invasive, the silence eerie, but it was hard to be truly suspicious of children who looked so hunted.

“Scram, fledgelings,” Virgil instructed dryly, shaking his core wings out.

As though breaking a spell, the kids scattered, some slipping past him to the front doors, others vanishing out of sight in hidden corners. Backdoors, secret exits. It seemed these people were well-prepared for an invasion.

An older kid lingered, dark hair and light grey wings ruffled up as they glanced between the two of them. The kid didn’t say anything, but the concern on their face was plain to see.

“Relax, Ellie,” Virgil said, bumping their wings together gently. “I can handle myself. Go make sure Patton isn’t burning the kitchen down?”

The kid-- Ellie?-- nodded slowly, casting one last unreadable look at Roman before departing and leaving them be.

Virgil stretched, arms over his head, and then between one motion and the next, his body spilled, stretching out into feathers and bone like it was nothing.

His outer wings were narrower, longer, and they stabbed into the ground where Roman’s curled around himself. He had no mask of bone covering his words, but the lower half of his face seemed to be solely composed of jagged, interlocking teeth, and pedipalps like those of a spider rested on the underside of his jaw. Roman couldn’t seem to count just how many eyes he had without his head beginning to ache.

“So,” a mental voice spoke, overlaying his own thoughts. “You survived after all.”

The resulting startled chirp that burst from Roman was nothing short of humiliating, but honestly, how often did one suddenly have to interact with telepathy! After a moment of scrambling, he gamely shot back a vitriolic assortment of unkind names.

“All I’m getting is static, buddy. Ease up on the mental clutter.” The seraph tilted his head, the small pair of wings atop his head fluttering mockingly. “Try not being so bad at this.”

Roman scowled with what little facial muscles he could still move, and took a rattling breath before ‘speaking’ again, forming the thought as clearly as possible. “Change me back.”

“Can’t.”

“What?!” Roman projected, trilling in alarm for emphasis.

Virgil yawned widely, displaying a throat that was, perhaps unsurprisingly, also full of teeth. “You heard me. Can’t do it.”

“You can turn people into monsters, but not change them back?”

“Oh, you had ‘monstrous’ down fine already.” Virgil was staring at him with several of those uncanny eyes, a challenge in his gaze. “This is an improvement, really.”

Roman stepped forward and loomed over the seraph, burning with anger. His wings began to flare fully open, feeling sharper than ever. “If you won’t tell me how to fix this, I’ll figure out a way to convince someone here to.”

All of Virgil’s eyes abruptly narrowed.

“Oh yeah?” Virgil’s wings dug deeper into the dirt floor as he lifted himself right off the ground to be just slightly taller than Roman, their faces only inches apart. “And just who do you think is around for you to extract info from? You gonna interrogate a bunch of 10 year olds? Pick a fight with a toddler, maybe?”

“No! I mean-- Well,” Roman faltered, thinking about the number of children he’d seen just in the past half-hour. “You can’t be the only one-- how are there only kids here?”

Virgil’s head tilted slightly, as though Roman’s answer wasn’t quite what he’d expected. “Patton’s here too.”

“But he’s just a guy!” Roman gestured widely for emphasis. “Even if these kids didn’t have the ability to shapeshift into prickly pint-sized poltergeists, there’s way too many of them for one person to look after properly!”

“Two people,” Virgil corrected, leaning back. “And these kids are more self-sufficient than you think.”

He stared at Roman for a moment longer before smirking in a way that made Roman immediately and irrevocably suspicious. “Listen, Knight, since you’re so eager to get in a brawl, I’ll make you a deal. If you can beat me in a fight, I’ll tell you all about what I did to you.”

“Deal,” Roman agreed, as quickly as possible. He shifted into his starting hand-to-hand stance, though his changed form made it feel sort of unbalanced. “Let’s go, you and me.”

Virgil stepped forward, sliding back into his false human form as he strode right towards Roman. Roman hesitated, his arms still up in a guard position, and between one moment and the next, Virgil had slipped right past him. He made an indignant sound that came out grating, like metal-on-metal.

Virgil turned to glance at him as he reached the barn door. His lips twitched as though barely concealing laughter. “What, you thought I meant right now? No, we’ll fight on my time. And right now, it’s time for dinner. I can tell you all about the rest of the terms that you didn’t wait to hear before agreeing to our deal.”

Roman stared in disbelief as the seraph turned and strolled out, leading the way back to the main house.

Just what exactly had he gotten himself into?

[maybe-theres-hope]

Of Will and Wildflowers, Part 3 (Final)

It’s here! Thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me: @oquinn53, @reyeslonestar, @howtosingit, @a-l-ias, @mtnofgrace, @descending-into-the-crazies @pragmaticoptimist34 if I forgot anyone please let me know! 

Special thanks to my husband for reading this and making sure all my typos were gone :)

Tarlos | period drama/grudging acquaintances to lovers | Part 3/3 | This part: 10,877w | Total: 33,427w

Part 1 | Part 2

Read on AO3

Mr. Strand,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that your journey home was swift and uneventful. The entire house has been mourning yours and father’s departure since you left us. Mamà is convinced the lights are dimmer without the ambience of your father’s amusing anecdotes. 

Elena has been lamenting the fullness of the house as well. She is easily bored without some new distraction every fortnight, but she swears she will convince you to visit again someday. I dare say we all will thank her if she can manage it.

In deference to our conversation, I will not try. I know you would not appreciate my needling. 

Raquel cannot be bothered with the mundane occurrence of the comings and goings of visitors while she daydreams of castles and knights, so her opinion has not been asked. She still insists on helping Mrs. Smith in the kitchen, and Mamà still insists on having fits about it. 

I must agree with my sister and mother, however. The house is a little less bright these days. Usually we can count upon sunlight and laughter to get us through the day, but those seem fleeting of late. 

Flor misses you as well. She’s ornery when I ride her, as if she remembers a more beloved companion and I do not measure up. We lament your departure together when we meander the grounds. 

Jimena is not often in the stable, so her opinion has not been ascertained either. 

But enough of our melancholy!

How is it to be home? Travel can make us all weary, and you seemed so tired even before you set off. I hope you are feeling better in your own comfortable surroundings. Texas will always welcome you, but I know how good it is to feel your own dirt under your shoes. Please tell me something joyful, so that I can remember your face in gladness.

Your friend,

Christina Reyes

My dear friend,

As I sit beside the fire tonight, I am reminded of our last conversation. I am evermore grateful that you are taking on the no doubt immense burden of being my confidant while keeping our correspondence regarding these matters private from your family. Do not mistake me, if you at any time feel as though your obligation to me is taking precedent over your cherished feelings of love toward your family, please by all means give me but a word and I will cease my incessant pining.

Oh how I pine, dear Christina. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t think of the sound of rolling grass and smell wildflowers where there are none to be found. The city is bleak these days, and dark. What once was a welcome cacophony of life and commerce is now to me a teeming mass of sensation that I can barely stand for more than a moment. I long to feel the shift of earth under Flor’s hooves again, and for the caress of the soft breeze against my cheeks. 

But enough of that for now. You asked in your letter for something joyful. My father has secured a deal with a contractor out West, and his—our line will stretch right to the Pacific, culminating at the coast. A fully developed coast to coast line, my father’s dream. It makes me so happy to see him so elated when he talks of it, and of me taking over it in time. I do not like to talk of him being gone, but it is inevitable he says. Men grow old, and pass on. He says what matters most is that we make a mark on the world we can be proud of, and that we touch people in ways that matter. 

I cannot help but think that I have done neither. 

I apologize again for my melancholy. When I sit to write to you I never intend to make you sad. Please, rejoice for my father and his accomplishments, for they reflect on me as well. I will take comfort in his happiness, and you can take comfort in my feeling it. That is enough for now. 

Your friend,

TK Strand

TK,

I must address the most pressing concern from your letter immediately. You have touched us all, please know that. Please do not think you have not made a mark on the world, for our home would not have been the bright happy place it was while you were here without you to provide that light. Every day is a little darker, as I’ve said before, without you and your father in our midst. 

Everyone is a little darker. Especially my brot

But enough of melancholy, as you said. I am delighted to hear of your father’s immense accomplishment. We are all so proud to be a part of it, a part of the future. I shall like to make the journey coast-to-coast someday on it, to me that would be such a wondrous thing! 

I was wondering, would you tell me what Manhattan is like? I do admit I’ve only ever thought of it as bleak and loud and harsh, but surely folk as amiable as yourself and your father cannot come from such harshness. So please, tell me an anecdote of your days since you’ve returned. I’d love to hear of anything joyful. It would provide a balm to the monotony of country life. 

Thinking of you always,

Christina Reyes

Dearest Christina,

Thank you for saying such kind things. I’ve always felt as if I were on the periphery of life. I’ve skated through it mostly by way of parties and luncheons with people who have little to talk about other than themselves. I’m just now getting to a point in my life where I do want to make a mark on the world. I know I can do that partially when I inherit my father’s legacy, and I intend to do it the utmost justice. But I find myself adrift in that I do have family and friends who love me, however…I do not have a love that speaks my heart’s language. A love that is built of trust and companionship and intimacy. 

Please do not chide me for saying such things, we are friends and I feel I can talk about these delicate subjects with dignity. I thank you for your discretion. 

But yes, as it stands, I have made no such mark on the world, have no such intimacy with which to grow old. I feel that the things we do in life do have a way of defining us, but they are far overshadowed by the people we choose to love. 

In the past, I have chosen poorly, through no one’s fault but my own. I hope one day I can remedy that. But right now I feel, as I said, adrift. There is no one to hold me fast to the world, no one strive to do well for, after my father is gone. And I fear I may never have, as I have ceased looking. I cannot bear it at this moment. 

Forgive me, my dearest friend, I have ignored your other request until now. Manhattan is much as it always is, loud and harsh, as you said. But most days it is a good distraction to hear the hustle and bustle outside my window. I do miss the Park and the promenade, but  lately I haven’t felt well enough to venture out. I keep to my father’s study in our townhouse in Midtown while he visits the office near Gramercy and keeps me informed. 

As I haven’t got a joyful anecdote from the days since our return, I will relate to you one from the past that is near and dear to my heart. When I was a young boy of about ten, my mother—God rest her soul—took me to the waterfront one day when my father was stolen from us with work. We gazed out over the Hudson, and even in my young age I tried to imagine that, just across the water, began the vastness of the North American continent. I used to try and picture what the land was like, what exotic treasures it held. I had never been anywhere, though my father had been to Chicago and Philadelphia numerous times. 

I used to picture rolling hills, vast grasslands, and roaming livestock. I had been told most of the rest of the States consisted of farmland. I had never actually seen a bovine in person, but I had seen drawings. I childishly thought of it as one big zoo where all the animals roamed free, and the air always smelled crisp and clean. I imagined it was beautiful.

Funny thing is, I know now that that little boy of ten was at least partially right, at least about one particular place among that vastness. 

I hope I have made you joyous,

TK Strand

My dear friend,

Your letter has made me joyous, in some ways. I wish you could have seen our home with childlike eyes, but alas I think it was better suited to you as you are now, and I’m glad you have experienced it and that it was to your liking. It truly means the world that you think of it as beautiful.

However, I have cause for concern where you have mentioned you have not been out, that you are unwell. Pray, please let me know how you get on, we all worry over you so. I happened to mention that excerpt of your letter at dinner, and I fear I may have incited a frenzy. I am humbly asked by my siblings to enquire after your health. Please tell us what ails you, so we can worry properly, and send up our prayers. I know we cannot do a thing for you, as far apart as we are now, but you are always in our hearts. 

Mamà tells us that our business with your father is nearly finalized. I look forward to a ride on the line, hopefully with you as my guide. I must make the journey near winter, for I long to see snow. I’ve hitherto only read about it in books, a delicate powder that falls from the sky and blankets the world in white. How marvelous a sight must it be! 

Be well,

Christina Reyes

Dear Christina,

As for your family, please tell them I am alright. I did not wish to frighten them or you, and I’m sorry for that. Please trust that our cook keeps me well with sandwiches and fruits when I am able to eat them. Everything is well when father is around to take up my time with business discussion, and as I said I am well distracted most days by the cacophony of the city outside. 

I will venture out soon, I think, as my friends and acquaintances grow weary of my absence and I have left them all to their own devices for quite long enough, I suspect. I presume to know what they will want to discuss—an incident that took place just before our trip to Texas—it will be a drain on me to talk about it regardless. But I cannot put them off forever, I love them too much to deny them my company when they wish for it. Perhaps I’ll take a walk with one of them tomorrow, even if the air of the city is not nearly so keen and invigorating as the air of the country I have run from.

Please give my best to your family, I hope I have not caused anyone undue grief. I will only talk of happy things from here on out, when I eventually find them. 

With affection,

TK Strand

P.S. I believe you know deep down what truly ails me, so I’ll not speak of it further lest I lose all dignity. 

*

Mr. Michaels, the butler, stopped TK on his way to the dining room, handing him a card on a tray. He read it and smiled. “Miss Marwani called on you earlier, I told her you hadn’t yet come down. She left her card.”

“Thank you, Michaels. Will you send her a message that I’ll be free after luncheon today? I know it’s been so very long since I’ve made time to see her.”

“Yes, my lord. I dare say all your friends and acquaintances have been calling on us nonstop since your return home. But I trust it’ll take you a moment to get back into the swing of things after…your trip.” 

TK smiled sadly. He knew what the butler was going to say before amending it. He’d been an absolute wreck after finding Alexander and the footman and had left for Texas only two days later. The entirety of the household and all of his friends must think he’s still in a melancholy state because of the slight. 

If only they knew the truth. He might tell some of them, but only a select few he could trust. Michaels was a good man, and hadn’t overstepped. He’d practically raised TK since his father was so busy with the rail when he was younger. He knew the man was only looking out for his happiness. 

“Michaels?” he said before turning to go on to the dining room for breakfast.

“Yes, my lord?”

“If you were faced with a time limit on a decision that governed your whole life, would you wait until you’d found the right solution? Or would you take the first viable solution to come along?”

TK knew that Michaels knew exactly what he was talking about, but was too polite to call attention to that fact. “I think if it were me, I’d examine every detail of each choice before deciding on the one most beneficial to my life in the long run. After all, some decisions are for a lifetime.” With this, he gave a small reproachful smile to his once young charge.

“Yes, well. What would you do if you’d found the right solution, but it turned out to be impossible?” TK’s eyes looked up in earnest at the butler, whose expression had turned kind and commiserating.

“I do hope you don’t think you’d found the right solution to this problem just before your departure?” It was obvious Michaels thought Alexander was far below TK even before the scandalous tryst was revealed. 

“No, no. Nothing like that,” TK reassured. He was pensive for a moment, caught in his thoughts of rolling pasture and wildflowers, their scent dancing across his senses even from miles away. “I thought I had found the right avenue during my time away. It seemed a nice thing, a wonderful thing actually. I daresay my hopes were quite built up for a time. But in the end it proved, as I said, impossible.”

Michaels gazed at his young master for a moment, unmistakable pity in his eyes, but TK didn’t comment on it. He was too miserable. 

“I hold the utmost confidence that the right choice is out there for you. But, my lord, you will never find it unless you leave this house eventually. I am glad you’ve decided to start breakfasting in the dining room again, and I know that if you do go out later today your color might begin to return. I worry for you, my lord. I hope I am not impertinent to say so.”

“No, no Michaels. You’re not impertinent. I know I’ve been ghastly to be around these last few weeks, and I do hope to remedy that. To begin…moving toward the future, no matter how much I wish I knew its contents.” TK gave the butler a sad smile before turning away again, the weight of all he wished for still on his shoulders and bright, luminous brown eyes on his mind, no matter how much he wished they’d fade.

*

“I know you’re still mourning Alexander and his licentious ways, but I promise you, you can do much better. His family isn’t even that well connected! He’ll be a faint stain on your past and nothing more.”

TK looked over at his friend, the navy ribbon on her silk evening bonnet getting caught by the light breeze weaving through the Park. Her dark eyes held an intense shine as they often did when she went on a tirade. He let himself smile at her ability to be both vicious and diplomatic.

“Marjan,” he chided gently, “his family owns three quarters of the orange trees in the country! I wouldn’t say he’s not well connected. Half of Florida bears his family name in some capacity.”

“Oh, to hell with that,” she spit delicately. TK was also impressed by her proficiency in cursing with a velvet tongue. “Then he should be sent off to oversee them. Rid this city of his stupidity. Even further! Florida is too close, send him to the West Coast! Let him disappear. Society will be all the better for it, mark my words."

TK was brought up short by the mere mention of the opposite coast, since thoughts of that region gave in to thoughts of a certain eligible bachelor which gave in to thoughts of his intended that TK desperately wished was his own intended and—

It must have shown on his face.

“TK, my friend, trust me. He is nothing of consequence.” Her voice had turned gentle again, not the outrage on his behalf she’d been spouting for the past few minutes. TK could not help connecting her statement with his thoughts, even if she was off the mark at the moment. 

“I know that. It’s not him that unsettles me; he is firmly in my past and I shall not revisit my temporary lapse of judgement in giving him even a small parcel of my affection.” He patted her hand that rested in the crook of his arm as they walked leisurely around a small fountain, the sound of bubbling water serving to soothe his psyche for the time being.

She was silent for a moment before she tugged them to a pause on a semi-crowded knoll. “Then, pray tell, what has you so blue? Ever since you returned from the South you’ve been distant. I thought at first it was just lethargy left over from the long journey, but it has been over two months! I fear I shall never see you smile again as before. Please tell me what troubles you? Is it your father?”

Marjan was a close friend, and as such, she was privy to some news about his father’s health. The man wasn’t in immediate danger, but TK had confided in Marjan that his father had taken to being more…forceful in his demands that TK take a more active role in the business. He had a persistent cough but no fever as of yet. The doctors did what they could to alleviate the annoying ailment—as his father called it—but they all knew Owen Strand was beginning the downslope of his life. At nearly fifty years of age, he was nearing the last stretch of life expectancy and sometimes TK could see it plain on his father’s face. It made him apprehensive for the future, not to mention the fact that still stood: he had to marry before he could take over the business. 

And that thought brought him back around to his other melancholy. For if the desired recipient of his affection would return said affection, he’d be happily married yesterday. But alas, it was not to be. 

He dreaded a letter from Christina detailing an engagement. He knew it was coming soon, and he’d tried to resign himself to it. Perhaps she wouldn’t even tell him. After all, he’d asked as much of her. Nothing of Carlos, none at all; that had been his request. 

“It is, partially, my father’s health that concerns me,” he said as he came out of his thoughts and back into the conversation at hand. “However I…”

“What is it?” Marjan asked when he refused to speak further after trailing off into silence. “What makes your heart ache so? I can see it in your eyes that it is your heart that is broken. If it was not Alexander, then who?”

Trust Marjan to read him like a book. 

“I met someone. In Texas. Oh, Marjan—“ he paused a moment and could not help a smile crawling across his features at the thought of his week spent in bliss, before it all came crumbling down. “He is the most wonderful, kind, and beautiful creature I have ever met. At first I thought him a cad, as our first meeting was less than cordial. But upon learning why he felt as he did, I was persuaded to understand and to admire his candor. He spoke of his home with love and deference, and it was such a treasure to be shown the land with such a companion.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and pictured the apple orchard. Marjan caught his flush and smiled.

“And so? When shall we expect an announcement?”

TK’s smile quickly dimmed to a grimace, now tasked with completing the story.

“An announcement will not come, I’m afraid. He is betrothed to another. I found out on our second to last night in Austin, and I must confess I did not handle it well. I made a complete fool of myself and I’d like to never repeat it by seeing him again.”

“Wait, he did not tell you he was spoken for? And he courted you just the same and let you think you had a chance?” Her voice was angry and TK sought to soothe it with the truth.

“Truthfully, he never actually courted me. We were thrust together by circumstance, and he was a perfect gentleman throughout. It was I who read too much into each interaction, each conversation, each dance held in his arms. It was I who was a complete fool to let my feelings show on my face to all his family when they all knew nothing would ever come of it. I feel so stupid, Marjan. I practically begged father to cut the trip short. But…” he paused again, thinking of the dust kicking up behind Jimena’s hooves as Carlos rode out to meet their carriage after they’d already set off. The small bud of Indian Paintbrush was still blooming in a jar of water next to his bed. 

“But?” She prompted. 

“There were some moments where…where I could swear that he…but it was obviously a trick of my imagination. His betrothed is a marvelous gentleman, beloved by all, and he would be a fool not to accept an eventual proposal. As I said, it is well and truly over and out of the question that my pursuit would yield any happiness.” 

Marjan was silent while they resumed their walk, her hand steady in the crook of his arm. Eventually, she spoke softly. “Well, I must admit I am glad this melancholy is not on Alexander’s account, but I also must admit I am saddened by this turn of events. I know you to be a perfect gentleman, and I have always wished you could find someone as wonderful as you to share your life with. I know you’ll do great things and I know you want someone to share those triumphs with. If this man is who you feel is perfect for you, why not fight for him? It is not in your nature to give up so easily.”

“That’s just it, Marjan. He is perfect, and honorable. Which is why I could not jeopardize his honor by asking him to abandon a promise he made before he met me. I would never forgive myself if his good name was tarnished.”

They walked in silence until the end of the lane, where they turned to leave the Park and hail a carriage back to Marjan’s home up the avenue. 

*

When TK returned home later in the evening, Michaels stopped him in the entryway and held out a tray. “This came for you while you were out, my lord.”

TK took the proffered package and stared at it in confusion. The return address from from Christina, but usually all she sent were letters. This parcel was still small, the shape of a single letter, but thicker. It weighed little, giving no clue as to its contents.

“Thank you, Michaels. Is dinner set already? Do I have time to change?”

“You should, my lord. I shall call for you in about half an hour. Your father is in the parlor already, if you wish to check in with him, now you’re home.”

“Was he missing me? Did he need something?” TK wondered, a little worried. 

Michaels smiled. “No, my lord. He was actually quite content all day, and was happy that you’d gone to call on Miss Marwani. I only say to check in because he probably hopes to hear how happy a time you had.”

TK smiled sadly. He knew he was worrying his father with his refusal to leave his own rooms for the past weeks. It saddened him further that he could have possibly made his father’s condition worse by stressing him. He vowed to himself to make a better effort to get back into real life sooner rather than later. After all, as he’d told Marjan earlier, there was nothing to be done about…Mr. Reyes. That was well and truly over, in fact it had never begun. There was no reason to pine after a man who did not do the same for him. TK was worth more than that.

Yes, he must convince himself of that, and quickly. 

“Alright, Michaels. I’ll change quickly and meet him. Thank you,” he said with a small nod. Turning to ascend the stairs, he started to unwrap the small, delicate parcel Christina had sent. As he entered his rooms, his efforts revealed that there was, in fact, a letter inside. However it was nestled atop a small folded square of cloth, delicate and airy and fine. 

Setting the letter aside for the moment, he unfolded the fabric to reveal that it was a handkerchief, finely made and embroidered in bright colored thread. The edges were a gleaming yellow, reminding him of sunlight. On one corner, no bigger than his thumb, was the most intricate rendition of a yellow wildflower—he recognized it almost instantly. 

He moved to sit on the nearest surface, which happened to be the edge of his bed. The pads of his fingers caressed the tiny design reverently, as if touching it would somehow unravel all the thread that comprised it. As if by acknowledging that it was there, it was already in danger of disappearing. There was no doubt of the reference used—he had seen so many of those little yellow blossoms on his journey around the Reyes ranch. The breath left his body as his mind’s eye conjured a bright smile and the smell of clean sweetness on the air. 

After he’d regained some of his composure, he picked up the letter. It was shorter than most of her other letters, which stood to reason as he’d just received her last one a few days ago and he’d yet to answer it. She must have sent this just behind her previous one. 

Beloved TK,

I hope you are well. I know I have just posted a letter to you two days ago, but I saw this in a shop window and immediately thought of you. I know how you enjoyed the wildflowers around our home, and I wished for you to have a reminder of them—especially one less prone to wilting than the genuine article. 

You are always in my our thoughts, and I wished to keep us in yours. Please, think of Austin when you hold this token, and know that you are so dearly missed. 

Yours in heart,

Christina Reyes

TK stared. It seemed as though the letter had been written in some sort of haste, as it was unusual for Christina’s hand. The letters were slightly more slanted, and the spaces between paragraphs larger than her delicate way. Even her signature was off, as if it had been written by a proxy. And the contents…she’d never called him a beloved friend before. Well, no, it wasn’t even friend. It was just “beloved”. 

He wondered if she was growing melancholy herself for some unknown reason. The letter seemed sincere, but heavier than her usual correspondence, as if she was feeling his absence more acutely in this instance. 

Furthermore, he wasn’t sure he’d told her about what the wildflowers meant to him. He’d thought that was something he and Mr. Reyes had shared between themselves for the short time they’d been acquainted. But perhaps her brother had recited a few of their outings to her, and remarked on TK’s fascination with the surrounding flora of the country. 

Perhaps. 

He concluded that the whole parcel was a product of a hastily made decision when she’d seen the handkerchief in the window, and the oddities contained within the letter were the result of her haste to get it posted while she was still in town that same day. 

He gently tucked the gift into a box next to his bed, giving it one last longing stare before closing the lid and beginning to dress for dinner. 

*

“We’ve had a letter from the Doña,” his father said over luncheon a few days later as he perused said letter which Michaels had handed to him upon their arrival in the dining room. “It seems her agent agrees to our terms, and they are sending a liaison with the documents to finalize.” He set the page down on the table and picked up his glass of port. “I do believe we are almost settled with the entirety of the preparations, and we can begin construction early next year!”

“That’s wonderful news, father,” TK said quietly, his tone not matching his words. He was looking down at his plate with no intention of picking up his fork, so he missed his father’s knowing and saddened expression. 

“It is. Another piece of news that I’ve gathered from earlier today, is that the Vanderbilts are throwing a ball tomorrow night. Well, I suppose Mrs. Vanderbilt is, at any rate, and Mr. Strickland asks if you can accompany him.”

“I don’t know, father. I’m not sure I’m feeling well enough to socialize on such a scale. I’ll be a bore to everyone there and then you will have to answer for my behavior.” 

“I don’t think you’d be a bore to Mr. Strickland, surely. He’s been asking after you these last few weeks. I daresay he plans to eventually kidnap you from your rooms if you do not answer his calls. Surely he’ll want to hear how you’re getting on?” His father’s transparency was apparent, but TK did not call him out on it. 

“I don’t know, father. I’m not quite well at the moment so I probably shouldn’t be gallivanting about at parties.”

“You are unwell because you refuse to eat or see sunlight,” Owen said, not unkindly. His next words were suffused with affection and it only made TK’s heart ache more. “My son, I worry for you. The whole household does. Mrs. Talbot says you only ate half the small sandwich she brought you last night. And you haven’t touched your soup yet since we’ve sat down. I worry you’ll be skin and bones before long.” His words weren’t scolding, only concerned.

“I’m sorry to worry you, father, and the servants. I just find it…difficult to keep anything down. It all tastes like ash, and I know that description would never do Mrs. Talbot’s cooking justice.” At this, he made a gamely attempt to sip a spoonful of soup, and found his assessments confirmed. He swallowed anyway, and kept the grimace off his face with great effort. 

“Tyler,” his father said in that affectionate tone once more, “You must try to move past your heartbreak. I know that’s what it is,” he said as TK made to interrupt him, “I know it when I look at your face and see only sadness. I know it when I hear from Michaels that you have not descended the stairs all day while I’ve been at the office. I know it because that single flower is still thriving at your bedside.” At this, he had the decency to look only slightly chagrined. TK said nothing.

“I looked in on you a few nights ago. You didn’t come down to dinner and I was worried you’d gone hungry again. Your sleep looked restless. I also noticed a letter from Miss Christina.”

“You went through my things?” TK said without any real malice. He knew his father meant well but he had put a lot of private thoughts into those letters and Christina had answered them in kind. 

“I only ascertained that she wishes to see snow. You should take her up on her request to ride the line once it is finished. I know she would love to see you again. And maybe by then, it will be less painful for you.” Owen’s face was drawn. 

“Maybe, in a year or two. For now I am content with her letters.”

“What does she write of her brother?” his father asked.

“Nothing, because I asked her not to,” TK replied. He again missed his father’s pained expression of concern as he took another forced sip of his soup from his spoon. His hand trembled slightly at the most direct mention of Carlos since his talk with Marjan earlier in the week. 

Owen seemed to take this answer as a plea to end the subject of conversation. He simply watched his son silently, wishing he could help ease his pain and knowing he was unable.

*

“Mr. Cartwright has not stopped staring in this direction since we sat down,” Paul remarked over the swell of the music, another quadrille beginning causing cheers and the shuffle of feet to the dance floor. 

“Perhaps he’s trying to figure out a way to ask you to dance,” TK answered as he sipped his brandy. Paul was a dear friend, and he was happy to be in his company, he just wished it didn’t have to be surrounded by laughing couples and a revelry he felt entirely apart from. 

His friend gave him an incredulous look. “Are you serious? He’s been shamelessly staring at you,” Paul countered. “He’s practically mapped out every thread in your coat, the cad.” 

“I doubt that. No amiable gentleman would give me a second glance as I look now. Maybe a few months ago, but not now. I’m well aware the color in my cheeks and the bulk of my frame have left me. The servants, my father, you, and Marjan remind me every day of that. How could I be any object of desire?”

It had been a full week since his first venture out of the house with Marjan—and nearly three months since his return from Texas—and TK was trying for his friends’ sake to get back out into the world. Hence accepting the invitation to a ball at the home of some debutante or another of their set, with Paul as his moral support should he feel the need to flee the social setting at his earliest convenience. TK was still trying to get used to other people around him being so happy and carefree when he himself wished to crawl into his bed and remain there until the second coming. 

He knew full well that his behavior wasn’t healthy. He’d made the decision himself to try and get past his heartbreak, lest it cripple him forever which definitely could not happen if he wanted to give his father any peace of mind. 

“My friend,” Paul chided kindly, “you’ve always been a vision, sought after by many a connected suitor. You haven’t lost your appeal I can promise you. We harp on your well-being because we care about how you’re feeling on the inside, and the outside is a good testament to that. I dare say it’s made you more desirable, at least to those who’ve mourned your absence since your trip, that you’ve stayed away. It inflates the intrigue.” He gave a small chuckle that TK tried to match. 

“Well I’m afraid Mr. Cartwright will have to find another object of desire. I do not believe I could content anyone as a courting partner as of now. I need a bit more time to settle back in, I think.” That was as diplomatic as TK could be about it. The reality was that he’d still been unable to remove thoughts of Mr. Reyes from his mind, and it grew more difficult every day. He absentmindedly reached into his jacket pocket and rubbed the delicate fabric of the handkerchief between his fingers, feeling the bumps and valleys of the embroidery, and almost smelling the sweet scent of the country in the air. 

He hadn’t noticed he’d closed his eyes until he felt a brush of air next to his face as a reveler approached their table. 

“Hello, Mr. Strand,” Mr. Cartwright beamed. It seemed he’d worked up the courage to approach after all. 

“Good evening. Are you enjoying the festivities?” He answered, attempting cordiality. 

“Of course. And yourself, Mr. Strand? Wouldn’t you better enjoy things in their midst than here on the periphery? Fancy a dance on the next waltz?” The man sounded so eager that TK almost obliged. But his honor would not let him lead the man on. 

“I’m afraid I’ve quite exhausted myself already,” he said, even though all he’d done was make one round and plop himself into his current seat since arriving. “I do apologize for being unavailable, but I’m sure there is someone else dying to catch your hand for a waltz. Please let me do them the favor of leaving you available.” 

It was almost comical the way the man’s face fell, but TK was not in danger of showing any glee at it on his face. He understood far to well the melancholy of unrequited affection. But alas, he could not feign interest at the moment, so he let the man trudge away with only a bit of guilt. 

“He’ll get over it,” he said when he caught Paul’s glance. 

“But will you?” It was clear he wasn’t talking about Mr. Cartwright.

TK didn’t answer. He could not. 

*

The day of the arrival of the Doña’s liaison dawned and once again TK could barely face the sunlight. He wished with all his heart that he could place the blame on too much of the good-natured debauchery that plagued his set when they got into their drinks, but he knew he could not. He’d barely partaken in a full glass of brandy with his father after dinner the night before. 

He felt some guilt at not hurrying down to meet the man at his father’s side, as would be expected of an only son in position to run his father’s business someday, but could barely bring himself to nibble at the scones Mrs. Talbot had sent up the night before.

Sooner or later, however, he knew he must face the day. He finally got himself dressed near luncheon time, deeming his appearance presentable enough for a middle manager he’d never meet again. 

He straightened his collar and pulled his lapels taut just before Michaels announced him upon entering the parlor. As he surveyed the scene before him, his stride halted, all breath left his lungs, and the color drained from his face. 

Seated on the settee across from his father and wearing the most disarmingly beautiful smile, eyes dancing in the sunlight filtering in through the damask curtains, was Carlos Reyes. 

The man had clearly just been given some wonderful news, though TK couldn’t imagine what his own father could have told him to elicit such a response, but it was plain on his face that he’d just been told something truly delightful. However, when his eyes strayed to the entrance to the room upon Michaels announcing TK’s presence, the smile on his face faded slowly to a deep concern. TK didn’t miss the subtle perusal of his person, Carlos looking over his face with a slight furrow of his brow that grew deeper the longer TK stood there dumbfounded. 

Mr. Reyes, of course, was the first to remember his manners, though his employment of them seemed over the top to TK. He’d jumped up and nearly ran over to TK, taking his elbow in hand ever so gently as if the touch was nothing. As if it didn’t send TK’s whole world tilting. 

“Mr. Strand! I…please, sit. Should I fetch some water? You look like you’ll be ill any moment…” He sounded almost…afraid. Not disgusted and annoyed as TK thought he might have been upon their next meeting. After all, TK was the one who’d made a fool of himself by pining like an imbecile in front of the Reyes’ family and friends. He could only imagine how much Mr. Reyes regretted their time together, now that he’d had a few months to ponder it. 

“I’m alright, Mr. Reyes, thank you,” TK managed to croak out as the man ushered him to a chair across the room, seemingly careful as not to touch him. 

He must be master of himself! This was almost more embarrassing than what had initially transpired between them in Texas. “I…hadn’t known that you’d be coming as your mother’s agent. I was only…surprised to see you. Here.” He forced his lips to stop moving.

Mr. Reyes’ face had yet to lose it’s pinched brow and shining eyes. What TK had initially catalogued as fear now looked like…concern. But that was impossible. Only, maybe not, since Mr. Reyes was a quite honorable and sensible man, and TK knew he looked gaunt and lifeless on his best days lately.

Turning to look at his father, TK only noticed that he too was focused on Mr. Reyes, and TK couldn’t quite place his expression. He’d been smiling as well when TK entered, and now he seemed a bit subdued but no less mirthful. It was an odd juxtaposition. Just then, he turned to his son and gave him a gentle smile.

“Well, I must be off. Quite a bit to get finalized with the documents you’ve brought me.” He stood and offered a hand to Mr. Reyes. “How long did you say you’d be in the city?”

“A few days, sir. I had hoped…well, my mother wishes me to return with everything in order,” he answered cryptically as they shook. His face was hopeful though TK couldn’t think why. They had pretty well come to a mutually beneficial agreement through correspondence. The rest was simply formality at this point. He couldn’t think what else would need to be settled. 

“I’m sure she does,” Owen said with a smile and another odd look at TK. He could not figure what to make of the exchange, but truth be told he was still reeling from Carlos—Mr. Reyes, he reminded himself—being in his home so unexpectedly. 

His father was turning to him next. “Tyler, would you be a gentleman and show Mr. Reyes about for a bit? I’m sure he’d like to stretch his legs after his long journey. You could take a taxi to the Park?”

TK fought the urge to gape at his father. He expected them to be…alone? What would they even discuss? TK wished the Turkish rug’s threads would open up and sew him into the floor. 

He was however, as his father said, a gentleman, and he could not let his manners slip no matter how much he wished to be anywhere but alone in the confines of a taxi and then in the beautiful intimacy of the Park at dusk with Carlos Reyes. 

“Of course, father. It would be my pleasure.” Somehow the words left his lips without a tremble. Or so he hoped. He did not think his father could be so cruel, knowing TK’s heart. 

Mr. Reyes looked half ecstatic and half terrified. TK could relate whole-heartedly. 

As Owen bid them good night and made to ascend the stairs to his study, TK slowly turned to look at his circumstantial companion. Here they were once again, thrust into each other. TK thought back to that first morning they’d toured the ranch together; Mr. Reyes had been cordial, despite their initial meeting and his own hesitation about the Strand’s business with his family. He’d been courteous and knowledgable about the land, wishing to give TK a good impression which TK in turn appreciated. 

He vowed to himself he would attempt to do the same when showing Mr. Reyes his own home. 

With somewhat renewed countenance, TK took a breath. “Well, shall we, Mr. Reyes?” His voice barely shook. The man in question gave him a fond smile that melted TK’s very soul.

“Lead the way, Mr. Strand.”

*

The taxi ride proved to undo all of TK’s borrowed confidence. Sitting so close their knees brushed reminded him of riding through the apple orchard, which in turn reminded him of Carlos’ hand in his, which set his heart fluttering and mind whirling, which led to an awkward silence the likes of which TK never wanted to experience again. Mr. Reyes was waiting for him to speak, it seemed—as TK was ostensibly his guide in this place unfamiliar to him—and he was thoroughly incapable. All that accompanied them was the clap of the horses’ hooves on the stones and both their nervous breathing. 

When they arrived at the southwest corner of the Central Park, TK paid the driver and slipped out before Mr. Reyes could offer him a hand. He knew not what he would do if he felt that warmth upon his skin again in his current state. The other man looked a bit let down, but TK dismissed it as a trick of his longing imagination. 

They entered and set about the promenade which, even at this time of the evening, was still thronged with late perusers. As they walked among the fresh grass and beautiful tree lined paths, TK did his best to drum up the wherewithal to speak, to offer some manner of conversation lest he seem rude in his silence.

“I suppose it looks rather…artificial to you,” he said quietly. 

Mr. Reyes startled a bit, apparently accustomed to TK’s lack of voice thus far, but he recovered quickly with an eager smile turned to his companion. 

“Not at all! It’s all very…whimsical I think. This beautiful bounty of nature preserved in the middle of all that stone and brick. It’s…peaceful.”

“Yes,” TK thought aloud. “It’s quite serene. The further in you go, the less the city outside of it seems real. The sounds and smog melt away and you just feel…” he trailed off, words failing.

“Like we’re in our own little Eden.” Carlos’ eyes were like pools of shining dark chocolate in the gaslamp light. Sweet and alluring. 

TK could only nod dumbly, and try to look away. He accomplished it with much difficulty. 

They walked in a much softer silence for a time, passing a couple of people TK recognized from parties and balls around the city, but they never stopped to converse with anyone. Mr. Reyes seemed to want to keep his company for himself, which TK could not think what to do about, so he remained passively quiet. 

About half an hour into their journey, his companion spoke. 

“I’ve actually got something I’d like to…well, first there’s something I…I need to tell you.” Carlos’ face was unreadable, but his tone was quiet and reserved. TK’s heart clenched painfully. Carlos had been in an odd countenance since his arrival, and TK could only attribute it to the awkwardness surrounding his ridiculous assumptions about Carlos’ feelings and the utter embarrassment of his departure from Texas. 

“Oh?” was all he said, suddenly breathless with an ache he could barely stand. 

“I’m not sure if you were informed when you last visited, but—” he paused for so long, TK turned to look at him at his side, wondering what halted his speech. His face was still unreadable, but his voice now had a very slight tremble to it. TK tried to keep his own face open, so that Mr. Reyes felt safe to continue. 

“For several years now I have had an...understanding. With a gentleman from California, with whom my family is quite acquainted.”

The vice around TK’s heart clenched cruelly at the reminder. “Yes, Mr. de Castillo. Your mother and sisters—and some of those from the county—told me about him. Quite admired, he is, by all.”

“Yes…” His voice trailed off into silence again, and this time when TK sneaked a look he seemed troubled. TK wished he could put the man’s fears at ease, that if he feared a faux pas in tearing down TK’s feelings that he needn’t worry about it.

But that would have been a lie.

“Yes,” he said again, going on. “We’ve actually been courting these last months, not long after yours and your father’s departure.”

TK took the blow as best he could, with a calm countenance, when really he wished this torturous conversation would end so that he could limp back to his bed and curl up in misery until the second coming. Why on earth did Carlos feel the need to do this? Weren’t they settled in being apart from each other? No more than business acquaintances? 

The thought alone dealt his heart another painful blow. 

“About a month ago he—he called on me to...state his intentions.” His voice sounded flatter than TK would assume from a happily engaged man. Still, he tried to inject some light into his own tone when he answered.

“I am so happy for you, Car—Mr. Reyes,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster which, admittedly, was not very much at all.

However, his tone must have belied his utter devastation because Mr. Reyes abruptly stopped and gently tugged him to the side of the path, so that they would not impede other couples on the promenade. TK almost swooned at the touch.

“I’m sorry?” the other man said, a look of confusion and slight hurt across his beautiful eyes. TK was now confused as well.

“I...I only wish to convey my happiness on your engagement. You must be thrilled to have your future finally settled. Not only must it be a relief, but with such a fine gentleman as I have heard.” Carlos’ hand was still lightly holding onto his upper arm, and though it pained TK in the worst way to do it, he ever so deftly maneuvered his body so that the contact was dropped. 

“I think that...well I...that is…” Carlos was staring at him, that hurt look growing in his brown eyes and TK wanted nothing more than to take it away but he didn’t know how.

“Mr. Strand—TK,” he said so softly that TK could hear his own heart beat in the silence. “I think that you have...misunderstood me.” TK had been staring at a spot over Carlos’ shoulder until then, unable to meet his eyes any longer for fear he’d burst into tears in the middle of Central Park, but at the plea he shifted his watery gaze back to sink into the pools of liquid chocolate in front of him. 

“Mr. de Castillo—Fernando, that is—has proposed marriage to me, it’s true—” In the minuscule pause between these words and the next set, TK felt his heart slow to a stop with the inexorable weight set upon it by this conversation, “—but I have turned him down.”

And at this, that traitorous heart gave one slow, painful beat of hope that TK was powerless to tamp down. 

When he could find his voice, it was to incredulously say, “Whatever for?” 

Carlos reached down to take TK’s hand in his, and TK was sure he was trembling like a sheaf of paper caught in the wind. He brought it between both his hands, brushing the knuckles ever so lightly—so much so that TK was sure he’d imagined it. 

“Because I could not marry a man that I do not love, and I do not love Fernando. No matter how much of a wonderful and kind gentleman he is, and no matter how ashamed and saddened it made me to tell him so. But I cannot betray my own heart.”

TK’s legs were going to give out any moment. He had no other thought in his head but staying upright, using that tentative hold on his hand, still gentle as ever, as his anchor. He dare not let his thoughts follow themselves to any conclusions. 

“The truth is, TK, my heart belongs to another. It has for some time, and I was too stubborn with misplaced loyalty to give it a say. That is, until now. Which is why I imparted the information to you.”

TK kept staring into the man’s eyes, wondering if this was all some dream he’d tumbled into in slumber. He was sure this must be his own mind conjuring the conversation, guilty as it was of yearning for it. 

“I wish to apologize for taking so very long to come to my senses. I always strive to be honorable, and for a time I thought that meant that I must remain true to Fernando. But I’ve been made to realize that my thinking was wrong.” TK could only take the words in stride, adrift as he was on the roaring sea of his emotions. 

The man continued, while TK himself was made to listen to the most illogical combination of words his brain could have come up with in his current state. He was still convinced he was dreaming. Carlos reaching down and taking both his hands did nothing to bring him out of said state. Furthermore, it made him feel as if he was about to float away into the stars, unmoored as he was except for those twin points of contact. 

“You are the most optimistic, brilliant, engaging creature I have ever known. Your smile could light up a room if every candle failed. I find myself riveted any time you’ve got an anecdote to tell, and in these months of not hearing your voice I have conjured it in my dreams more times than I care to admit.

“I wish to spend the rest of my days making you smile and laugh, waking with the morning sunshine just to see how it dapples your face, and admiring you from across the dinner table every single evening for the rest of my life. TK, if I have been mistaken, and you do not return my affections, please stop me from making a further fool of myself.” This he said with a little nervous chuckle that cut straight through TK’s very soul. He looked up through his lashes at TK, nervous. 

TK, in turn, was struck dumb by the confession. Carlos apparently took this as a queue to continue to the most preposterously happy thing that had yet to be uttered in this very winding conversation that had had TK’s heart in knots since it began. 

“Mr. Strand. If I have not been remiss in my assumptions of your affection, I urge you, no I beg you to consider my humble plea. Would you consent to be my husband? It would make me the happiest man in the entire world.”

TK felt himself take in a slow, careful breath. It took several moments for him to find his voice, and then it was only to utter on a half-expelled gasp, “Truly?” 

“Yes, truly,” was the nearly equally breathless answer.

Again, it was a struggle to find volume behind the utter euphoria that had overtaken him, but soon enough, he pushed the words out in a little more than a whisper, lest he accidentally shout and call undue attention. “Then, yes. Yes!” Tears were already warming his cheeks and chin, but TK didn’t care a wit. He went easily as Carlos embraced him tightly, feeling warmth suffusing his entire body at every place they touched. 

Before long, they had to part, lest they invite accusations of impropriety.

“I…I had thought…well it doesn’t matter now I suppose,” he stammered, thoughts swirling with emotion and unable to tamp them down. Not wanting to. 

“I apologize again for taking so long. Your smile, your face is all I’ve thought about for months. The moment you were gone my heart sank to the deepest depths.”

“Mine as well,” TK admitted. “I have…neglected myself these last few months, I’m afraid. I thought I could learn to forget you in time, but alas…”

“When you entered the parlor, I was distraught to see you looking unwell. Please, I beg of you, please take care of yourself. I don’t know what I would do if…”

“I know. I apologize for my appearance. I did not mean to give you cause for concern.”

Carlos briefly reached up to touch TK’s slightly sunken cheek. “I hope you can forgive me, for it is my silence that has caused you such distress, but I also find myself elated that you feel the same as I do. I can still scarcely believe it.” His voice was rising with happiness, and TK felt drunk on it like the sweetest wine. “I must admit, though, I cannot claim full responsibility for coming to my senses. Christina was quite adamant that I was being an imbecile.”

TK looked down at the ground for a moment. “I…asked her—no, begged her really—not to speak of you in our correspondence.”

“She told me. It’s why I—“ Carlos stopped abruptly, looking chagrined. 

“What is it?” TK asked.

“Well I…I knew you did not want to speak to me, but I just had to…that is I…I sent you…something. I wrote a letter and signed her name to it. She laughed about it later, but she called me an utter fool for not being more courageous about it.

TK halted in the middle of the path. Immediately, he knew. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out a delicate fold of linen edged in bright yellow. He held it gently in his fingers, caressing the soft folds that had cemented themselves after so long kept in his pocket. 

Even in the lamplight, he could see Carlos’ face flush slightly. 

“I wanted to court you properly, but circumstances were…well. In the end I was cowardly about it I suppose.” He ducked his head bashfully. 

“I think, deep down, I knew. I didn’t want to let myself believe, but…I’d never spoken to Christina about the wildflowers.” TK’s own voice was reverent. 

“She told me that. When I told her what I’d done, she told me you would see right through it.”

“You called me beloved…”

Carlos looked deep into his eyes. “Yes.”

TK nearly swooned again, new tears dripping down his cheeks which were positively sore with how much he was smiling. He tucked the treasure back into his jacket.

“We’ll have to tell my father, I suppose,” he said after a time, absolutely giddy as they began to walk along the path again, back to the streets toward the Strands’ home. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. I’ve already gotten his blessing,” Carlos answered with a smug grin to answer TK’s astonished expression. “That’s what we were talking about earlier today, before you interrupted us.”

“Well, you’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

“I think I’d like very badly to kiss you, but I’ll hold off. Wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize your good opinion of me, would we?’ His smile was absolutely radiant. TK thought to himself that if this were to be his life, staring at this gorgeous face full of love for all his days, he’d never be unhappy again. 

*

The fire was dying down and Carlos finally moved to take his leave. 

“Must you go?” TK couldn’t quite keep the pout from his voice, but at least now, he did not care too much if Carlos heard it.

“I’ve stayed too long as it is, people will talk,” he answered with an indulgent smile as TK walked him out of the parlor and into the hallway. The servants had long gone to bed, so it was up to TK himself to help Carlos on with his coat. 

“You’re my fiance now,” he said, glowing all the while and unable to help it. “People will have to get used to the fact that I want to be around you every waking moment of the day without pause.”

“Yes, but no one knows that yet and I wouldn’t want to besmirch your good name.” 

“When will I see you again, then?” He slid the overcoat onto broad shoulders, nearly letting his fingers linger a bit too long for propriety.

“I’ll call tomorrow to meet with your father again. We do have actual business to finalize after all. You’ll be there, won’t you?” Now it was Carlos’ turn to pout a bit, and TK was powerless against it. 

“Of course. Well, I’ll say good night.” He looked up into the face of the most beautiful man, the man he was going to spend the rest of his unbelievably happy days with. 

“Good night, my heart,” said Carlos, reaching up a hand to caress TK’s face so gently it caused an aching pang in his heart. Slowly, carefully, he moved his calloused thumb across TK’s lips, back and forth a few times as if trying to memorize the shape of them. TK gave a small shudder.

“My, Mr. Reyes, you’re being very forward.” He couldn’t help smiling. As the man had not removed his hand yet, TK pursed his lips ever so slightly, bestowing a chaste kiss against his thumb.

Carlos chuckled softly, covering an intake of breath. “Now who’s forward?” He was smiling so wide it looked as if it hurt.

“You’re my fiance,” TK answered against the warm skin, the word still feeling like glistening honey in his mouth, “I can be as forward as I like.”

“God in heaven, I want to kiss you.” Carlos looked like he might do it, but restrained himself as a gentleman should. They’d pushed the bounds of propriety enough for one day, TK supposed. Though he would have welcomed it gladly, as clandestine and salacious as it would have been. After a few more strokes, Carlos finally dropped his hand from TK’s face. “This will have to do for now, I suppose.” He took TK’s own hand in his and laid a gentle kiss against his knuckles. 

“But not for long?” 

“No, my heart. Not for long. I won’t be able to do with a long engagement. I will perish before I make it to the church if you make me wait for more than a couple of months.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But my father will want to invite the whole of New York, so you know.” He couldn’t help a roll of his eyes, however fond the gesture was. His father loved a good party, and the marriage of his only son—finally, he would probably say—was sure to prove one for the ages. 

“Ah, yes, and we mustn’t forget the entirety of the county back home, if my mother and Christina have anything to say about it,” Carlos said with another fond chuckle. “You have her to thank, by the way. For getting me out of my head and back on solid ground. My sister is your champion in sickness and in health. That is, until I get to call you my husband.”

TK shuddered again at the mere word. 

“I really should go,” Carlos said again. He made no move toward the door. 

“You really should,” TK prompted. He moved to open the door, and finally they broke their gaze from each other. 

As Carlos stepped out, he turned to smile one last time and it turned TK’s stomach into a whole flock of butterflies. “Good night, dearest. I’ll call on you and your father tomorrow.”

“I will be dying a slow death until that moment breathes me back to life,” TK lamented.

“As will I.”

TK watched him walk away into the night before finally closing the door against the chill of the Manhattan midnight. For several long moments, he simply leaned against the door and caught his breath, giving thanks to all the forces that managed to bring the two of them together so favorably. He’d have to write to Christina the moment he woke in the morning. 

[writeforfandoms]

Shake, Rattle and Roll epilogue

My masterlist

Okay folks. This is later than I intended but uh life kicked me around a bit. Sorry. 

Also. Once you’ve read it. There is a possibility that I could do a sequel for this, if there’s interest. I know I left things unsolved (the actual original murder for one) and I know what happened and how and why, but there wasn’t a clean space to add it in, because life doesn’t always work that way. SO if you wanna know more, let me know! My ask box is always open to y’all. Also lmk if you want more because honestly? I could definitely be persuaded to write more. This is fun. 

Summary: A little bit of cleanup. Some sleep. Some coffee. Things will look better in the morning.

Warnings: Just swearing for this one, nothing terrible.

Tags: @fandom-blackhole @pedrocentric @sarahjkl82-blog @giizhkens-cedar 

--

It didn’t take longer than an hour to get back to your apartment, all told. The three of you hadn’t stuck around long after making sure Inumon and Mikken were both dead. Cee had been a trooper, keeping up with you and not complaining once on the trip. You splurged for a private ride for a few reasons, one of which was that you simply really did not want to bother with public transit at this hour. It was late, later than you usually ventured out, and between the hour and the leftover adrenaline, you were a bit twitchy. Ezra, on the other hand, seemed cool as a cucumber. 

But once the three of you were in your apartment, you were half-way to collapsing, and Cee looked like she was hanging on by a thread.

“Sleep first,” you decided. “Planning tomorrow.” You pointed Cee sternly to the couch before you left to grab extra blankets and pillows for her.

“You sure it’s okay for me to stay the night?” Cee asked, sounding close to her age for the first time all night.

“I insist,” you told her firmly, handing her two pillows. “I’ve got more blankets if you need them, and you can borrow some clothes if you don’t want to sleep in those.”

“I’m okay for tonight,” Cee told you after a momentary pause. “Thank you.”

“Here.” You stepped into the kitchenette to grab her a glass of water. “Drink before bed or you’ll probably be dehydrated in the morning.”

Cee’s lips twitched but she took the glass. Probably just to appease you, but whatever, you’d take it. 

“I can find my own accommodations for the night,” Ezra offered.

“No, I’ve got a cot you can use,” you offered. “It’s not the most comfortable thing, but it’ll do.”

“It’ll do, indeed,” Ezra mused. “Very gracious of you.” 

You waved his thanks off, going back to the closet to grab the cot, and more pillows and blankets. Fortunately you were well stocked on those. Ezra helped, taking the cot from you and setting it up as you directed him. 

“Planning tomorrow,” you said again, looking between the two of them. Cee was already curled up under a blanket on the couch. “Sleep now, hopefully. When we’re all less tired.” 

“You’d do well to take your own advice, dove,” Ezra advised, glancing over at you from setting up the cot. “Get some water and sleep.”

You shot him a look, a little exasperated but mostly amused. You hesitated for a few moments, though. Did you bring up the kiss? Wait for him to bring it up? Then you made a face at yourself for acting like a kid with a crush and headed for your bedroom, more than ready to collapse. Everything would keep until tomorrow, of that you were certain. 

Despite being unused to having company, you fell asleep quickly and slept soundly. You woke to the smell of coffee, and rolled out of bed still a bit bleary. 

Cee and Ezra were both already awake. Cee was sitting on the couch cross-legged, while Ezra lounged against the counter. You looked at both of them briefly and then made for the coffee, hip-checking Ezra out of your way. 

“Good morning to you too, dove,” Ezra said, bright and amused.

“Coffee first,” you grumbled, getting down a mug. Coffee always came first.

“Coffee gremlin,” Cee said knowingly.

“The fuck, kid?” You half-turned to shoot her a betrayed look, to which she shot you a bright smile. Okay. Fine. Kid could make fun of you if she smiled like that. Fuck. You doctored your coffee how you liked it quickly, not bothering to move from where you were still right next to Ezra. He didn’t seem to mind, and it was your place, he could move if he wasn’t comfortable.

“So,” Cee started, looking at you briefly before suddenly finding the coffee table in front of her fascinating. “What now?”

You let out a breath, not quite a sigh. “What do you want? First and foremost.”

Cee considered for a few moments, letting the silence stretch. “I want to go to school.” Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

“Okay,” you agreed easily, tamping down your anger. Damon was dead, your anger would do you no good. “School. That can be arranged.”

Her head popped up and she stared at you, painfully hopeful. “Seriously?”

“‘Course. I’ll work it out. I know some people.” You smiled at her, hoping you hid your pain well enough. This poor kid. She clearly wasn’t used to people standing in her corner. New mantra for the day: Damon’s already dead, don’t be mad at him. 

“I reckon I shall have to venture on to find my next job, as this one didn’t pan out,” Ezra said, though he was watching you. 

You snorted softly at that. “I might know a few people for that, too,” you admitted before you took a large sip of coffee. “I’ve made a few contacts over the years.”

Ezra blinked at you, momentarily stunned silent. Probably not used to people offering help, rather than bartering. Clear sign he’d spent too long on the Green Moon. 

“Right,” you muttered, shifting away from the counter and starting to pace, because you felt better thinking while moving, and this required some thinking. “Cee, we’re gonna have to go get some of your things. I’m assuming you have things you’d like to keep that aren’t currently with you?”

Cee nodded, hair bobbing around her until she pushed it behind her ears.

“Okay. That’s the top of the list. I can always send out a few feelers now, probably won’t hear back from anyone for a few hours at least. We should try to move quickly, I have no idea when that house will be discovered, or people will be noted as missing.” You took another sip of coffee, your mind whirring back to life. 

You were abruptly stopped in the middle of one of your circuits, Ezra grabbing you firmly. You squeaked and managed not to slosh coffee all over the two of you, even as he grinned.

“A more generous and selfless soul I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting,” he hummed, voice low, eyes bright. “You are a rare one indeed, dove.”

You blinked at him, flabbergasted, not quite sure how to respond to that. Which, of course, he took advantage of, and kissed you again. Your brain blanked out just as quickly as it had woken up. 

“As cute as you two are,” Cee interrupted after seconds? Minutes? Who the hell kept track of time anymore anyway. “There’s something I need to show you.”

You pulled back from Ezra with some reluctance and pointed a finger at him. “We’re revisiting this topic later.”

“Yes ma’am.” Ezra’s lips curled in a devious, smug smile. 

You swallowed hard and turned to Cee, watching as she dug something out of her pocket. She unfolded it on the coffee table, looking suddenly nervous. You drifted closer to look.

It was a map. A map of the Green Moon, if you weren’t mistaken. A map of the Green Moon with coordinates and a circled area. 

“Dad didn’t have the only copy of the map,” Cee told you, looking between you and Ezra. “I have one too.” 

Time stood still. You were frozen. You didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Just stared at the map. And then, slowly, you looked at Ezra. The look on his face scared you, just a little. He looked… well, he looked like a prospector presented with a map to possibly the biggest haul of aurelac ever seen. Hungry and greedy and a little awestruck. 

“Tomorrow,” you decided, shaking your head and putting your hand flat over the map, breaking the spell on the room. “That is now a tomorrow problem. We have more immediate problems to figure out first.” You shot Ezra a look that just dared him to disagree with you. But he simply nodded, leaning back, unwilling to argue over it. 

Good. You had enough problems for today that you needed to tackle. One last deep breath, and you left the two of them so you could start sending out messages. Today problems first. You could tackle the map problem tomorrow. Or later, if you could manage it. For today, Cee was your priority.

[sweetheart-sunghoon]

BEOMGYU IMAGINE ࿐ ࿔:･ﾟ*

contains: fluff, angst, happy ending, fem!reader

word count: 3.7k

summary: you’re forced into a marriage with beomgyu, the son of hades

this wasn’t what he wanted. this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen. when beomgyu had told his father he liked you a lot and wish he could date you, this isn’t what he meant. but really, what else would you expect from a man who got his wife in the exact same ways. damn hades and his impulsive and irrational ways. 

beomgyu paces around persephone’s garden, walking up and down the dark stone paths past pomegranate trees with orange blossoms, deep green bushes, poisonous shrubs and glowing mushrooms. like the cloudy mahogany sky above him, there is a gloom over his mind. groaning and tugging at his hair, beomgyu tries to figure out what to say to you. 

“y/n, i’m so sorry. i swear i didn’t ask hades to do this. my dad… he’s… he’s a bit… he’s a bit…” beomgyu groans and flops onto the wide edge of a fountain that spews a blood-like liquid rather than water. “this is hopeless. y/n, i’m so so so so sorry.”

“it’s okay.”

beomgyu jumps at your sombre voice. his heart flutters. there you are, looking solemn yet as beautiful as ever. you’re dressed in your usual bright colours and there’s a flower behind your ear, but you don’t look like you usually do. you look dreary and tired and… honestly? half dead. and beomgyu would know. not only does he live in the underworld, where you currently are, for a quarter of the year, his demigod powers include sensing the life auras of other’s. yours is surrounded by a layer of death.  

usually, you look like a beautiful spring flower in full bloom, but right now beomgyu thinks you look like a wilted flower, dying a slow death. your cheeks are hollow, your skin is losing its glow and colour, dark lines circle your eyes. 

“y/n,” beomgyu says. he’s surprised to see you here. ever since his father dragged you down here you’d been locked in your room, avoiding everyone. “y/n, i’m so sorry.”

you shrug weakly. “i know this wasn’t your intention.”

“i’ve tried to persuade my dad to let you go but… he doesn’t like being told what to do. his temper is… extreme. but i’ll keep trying. i’m so sorry.”

shrugging again, you sit on a nearby marble bench, your shoulders hunching forward like your spine is struggling to hold you up. 

beomgyu feels his heart break at how little energy you have. that’s the effect the underworld has on outsiders. it reacts much like an immune system when a foreign bacteria or disease enters the body. because the underworld is a place for the dead, it sucks the energy out of the living which it does not know, those not from it or tied to those from it. 

beomgyu sinks back to his seat on the fountain. “have you eaten?”

“no.”

it might sound weird to others, but beomgyu’s glad you haven’t. eating from the underworld means you cannot leave. 

“i doubt you’ve been sleeping well,” beomgyu then says. 

as if having your literal life force drained from you and not being to eat wasn’t enough, the constant tortured screams echoing out from tartarus can be hard to block out at night. 

you shake your head. 

beomgyu watches as the flower behind your ear dislodges and floats to the ground, shrivelling to dust when it touches the ashy ground. 

you see it too, an ironic smile forming. “this really is the land of the dead, isn’t it?” one strained laugh leaves your lips. “you know, the longer i’m here, the more i feel like i’m becoming like everyone else hear. dead.”

beomgyu’s breath hitches. he can’t stand this. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the next night, beomgyu knocks on your bedroom door and calls your name, praying you’ll let him in. he had persuaded a hermes child he knows to deliver some ambrosia to the gates of hell. beomgyu hoped the food of the gods, known to heal and recover, would help you regain your energy. 

beomgyu is surprised when you open the door, even if it’s only a crack. 

“yes,” comes your tired voice through the small gap you’d opened. 

“i have some ambrosia for you,” beomgyu says. “i doubt it’ll do much but hopefully you’ll feel a little better.”

you open the door fully for beomgyu and walk back to your bed. you hold in the sigh of relief when you sit down. you’re so drained and lacking in energy that just walking making you feel nauseous. 

you observe beomgyu as he steps in and shuts the door behind him. even now, late in the evening, he wears a sleek black suit jacket and dress pants. he doesn’t wear a tie. his fingers are adorned with silver rings matching the silver chain you see peeking behind the colour of his button-down shirt. maybe if you weren’t so miserable you’d find him attractive. you always did at camp, particularly after he’d spar with his friends and push his jet black hair off his forehead. 

“can i sit?” beomgyu asks, gesturing to the spot beside you. 

you nod.

beomgyu perches on the edge of the bed next to you, leaving some space because as much as he likes you, he doubts you like him right now. 

“there’s not a lot but…” beomgyu hands you the small paper box. there are nine cubes of golden ambrosia inside. 

“thank you,” you say. your voice is weak and it hurts beomgyu to hear it. 

“i’m sorry,” he says again. 

“it’s okay,” you reply, popping a cube of ambrosia into your mouth. “there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

for what feels like the hundredth time, beomgyu’s heart breaks and he whispers, “i’m sorry.”

and for the first time since you arrived here four days ago, you look beomgyu in the eyes. you see for the first time that he’s hurting too. there’s a sadness in his eyes you’ve rarely seen before. the sadness one feels when someone they care for is hurt. 

slowly, you lean your head against his shoulder. beomgyu flinches from shock but stays still. the two of you stay like this for a while until beomgyu helps you under the covers and you fall asleep, your last thought being that while you’d rather be a million other places than this, there are worse people to be forced to marry. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the next day, beomgyu finds you in the garden. you look a little better. you’re admiring some black lily flowers and beomgyu is suddenly reminded of your parentage. 

“i’m sure your mother is absolutely furious with my father right now,” beomgyu says, startling you a little. “he’s stolen two of her children now.”

“bold of you to assume she wasn’t already,” you say, eyes still on the lilies. 

“right, yes.”

“demeter is a very bitter woman, you know,” you continue. you turn and slowly make your way to a nearby tree with low hanging branches. it’s a pomegranate tree. 

beomgyu watches you silently. he’s happy you’ve recovered a little, though you aren’t nearly as joyful as you are above ground. 

“do you see her often?” you ask suddenly, running a hand down the trunk of the tree. “persephone?”

“no,” beomgyu answers, making his way towards you and the tree. he walks with his hands behind his back. “we have… conflicting schedules, you could say. i leave for camp during the summer. when i return she is here but not for long as she leaves just before spring and is gone all season so that the harvests will be successful.”

you nod in understanding. 

beomgyu stands just beyond the reach of the tree branches. “have you met her?”

“no. we are only half-sisters. plus she’s here mostly.”

“that is true.”

“is she nice?” you ask, a question that you have considered a number of times. 

beomgyu kicks at the ground absentmindedly. “yes. she’s kind to me. though, i think my father’s temper has rubbed off on her after all this time. she can be surprisingly fierce.”

nodding to show you’re listening, you put both of your hands against the tree and focus your power into it. 

“she treats me well. like a son, i suppose. she asks me about camp and my friends, she jokes that she only leaves during spring to make sure i get fed.” beomgyu smiles. “she’s really kind and polite and gentle and loving.“ 

beomgyu looks at you. your eyebrows are pulled together in concentration. he’s seen you use your powers like this at camp before. you can heal plants and prompt them to produce flowers or fruit. a fond smile tugs at his lips. "like you.”

your eyes open, landing immediately on beomgyu. his widen, shocked, realising his words. he turns away from you to hide his blush and clears his throat loudly. he wasn’t intending to make any a move of any sort of you, thinking it wrong to flirt with you when your marriage is forced. 

but you find it amusing that the compliment just slipped out. and you appreciate it. you can see the tips of his ears burning red. 

deciding to return to your room, you reach up to the pomegranate you had used your powers to produce and tug it from its branch of the tree. stepping up to beomgyu and tapping his shoulder, you place the red fruit in his hand and walk away. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

yours and beomgyu’s wedding is not for another week. in the days leading up, you spend a lot of time together, the ambrosia he brought slowly healing you more and more. you find yourself able to laugh again. perhaps you even find yourself growing to like beomgyu. 

you knew him well enough at camp half blood but mainly through mutual friends. after a week of getting to know him more, you wonder why you weren’t closer before. though, the screams from tartarus at night remind you that the whole son of hades thing likely formed a negative bias against him in your mind.

but that bias dissipates over time. you see that he’s just a boy trying to enjoy life. he didn’t ask to be a demigod, and he certainly didn’t ask for his godly parent to be the king of the underworld. this detail almost completely slips your mind until three days until your wedding when you ask beomgyu what it’s like beyond the garden walls. 

he’s reluctant to take you outside at first but eventually does. 

“um, you should probably hold my hand,” he stutters. “it’s easy to get lost out here and there’s a lot of dangerous things.”

you glance at his hand. he’s wearing an odd piece of hand jewellery. thick rings around his fingers are connected to a matching bracelet at his wrist by thin chains. the black metal is a stark contrast to his pale skin.

your staring turns beomgyu’s ears pink and he’s quick to say, “y-you can just hold my jacket if you want.”

“no, no,” you say, taking his hand in yours. you’re not entirely surprised by how icy his hand is. “it’s okay." 

honestly, you didn’t even realise you were staring at his hands so much. 

you walk for about an hour around the dry land, the hazy red sky growing darker and darker the further from hades castle you are. you talk about many things. the topic of powers and abilities comes up. 

"so what are your powers?” you ask beomgyu who is beginning to look antsy. 

“if we stay out here any longer, you might find out,” he mumbles, his voice low. 

“what do you mean?” you ask. 

“we should turn back,” beomgyu tells you, his eyes narrowing as he glances around. “something’s not right. i can feel the dead nearby.”

“this is the underworld, beomgyu. everyone is dead.”

“yes, but they’re too close. something’s not right. let’s go.”

you frown but nod and let beomgyu pull you back in the direction of hades’ palace. you’re halfway there when a piercing screech sounds from above. a strong force suddenly knocks you into beomgyu and a sharp pain seers on your arm. a shocked exclaim jumps past your lips as you find three large gashes on your arm, blood pouring down. 

“y/n,” beomgyu gasps, his arms catching you around your waist. he sees the blood too and his jaw clenches. he spots the cause of your injury just in time to pull you closer, out of its field of attack. 

your heart rate doubles. “w-what-what-”

“a fury,” beomgyu growls, manoeuvring you behind his back. 

holding your arm to stop the bleeding, you peek over his shoulder and see the ugly bat-winged monster circling back to your direction. it flies at full speed, baring its huge yellow fangs. 

“stop!” beomgyu commands, his voice strong, deep and demanding. 

to your surprise, the creature does, halting in mid-air, growling at beomgyu. it is now you recall just how powerful beomgyu must be. being a child of the big three (zeus, poseidon and hades) makes him indefinitely stronger and more powerful than the average demigod. even if hades wasn’t one of the big three, the kind of power he possesses is terrifying. the thought of beomgyu sharing some of those abilities…

beomgyu glares at the fury. “leave now before i banish you back to tartarus.”

the fury snarls. 

“leave!” beomgyu yells, loud enough to make you flinch. he feels your movement and reaches back to grip your hand reassuringly. 

with one last snarl, the fury flies away. beomgyu spins to you the moment it’s out of sight, his demeanour flipping as he cradles your arm in his hands. 

“are you okay?” he asks quickly. 

“not really,” you admit, shaking a little. 

beomgyu inspects the large scratches and winces. “it’s too big for me to heal.”

he can heal? you think. it’s an odd concept considering he’s the son of death. 

beomgyu stretches out his hand and makes an upward motion. a dark and opaque wall rises from the ground. he pulls you towards it. “let’s go.”

“wait, what is this?” you question. 

he turns his head to you, the hint of a smirk on his lips. “shadow travel.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

the night before your wedding, beomgyu knocks on your door to check on you as he didn’t see you today. he was visiting a friend because, while you are stuck here, beomgyu is free to come and go as he likes. 

“how are you feeling?” beomgyu asks, sitting at the end of the bed. for once, he isn’t dressed up, instead donning a black plain tee and pair of sweatpants. 

“i’m okay,” you tell him. 

“that’s good.” he fiddles with the bed cover, avoiding your eyes. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s fine,” you say. “i can’t expect you to follow me around all day every day. you should see your friends too.”

“that’s not what i meant,” beomgyu says, his dark eyes taking on the sorrowful look he gets when he thinks you’re not looking. “although i’m sorry for that too now." 

he takes a deep breath. "i meant that i was sorry for this. all of this. for my father dragging you down here. for our forced marriage. for making you unhappy, sick, lonely. i’m sorry for everything.”

“beomgyu… beomgyu look at me.”

he hesitantly meets your gaze and you see a tear sliding down his cheek. 

“oh, beomgyu,” you sigh, leaning forward to wipe away the tear. “stop apologising.”

“but it’s true,” he says, his voice becoming rough and strained. “i know you don’t like it here. you don’t want to marry me. you’ve only been eating ambrosia for the past week but you still look half dead. you can’t even sleep at night. you-” his voice catches and he shakes his head, looking down. 

you grab his hand and squeeze gently. “but it’ll get better once we’re married, right? i’ll have my energy back, i’ll be able to eat and sleep.”

“yes but that doesn’t change the fact that you don’t want this marriage,” beomgyu says. “i don’t want this marriage. i never asked for this, it was all my stupid father.”

“okay, you’re right,” you say. “i don’t want the marriage. but because i’m young, i’m unprepared, i have no say in it. i know you think i hate you but i don’t.”

beomgyu looks up again. 

“i may hate the circumstances but i don’t hate you,” you say honestly. “at first, i did resent you, but i realised that this really isn’t your fault and that i shouldn’t hold your father’s actions against you.” you squeeze his hand again. “it’s not your fault. i don’t hate you. stop feeling sorry for me, okay? i’m fine, really.”

beomgyu nods. “okay.”

he’s silent, thinking, contemplating, processing. 

you too have some thoughts on your mind. one thought actually. something that you’ve wanted to ask beomgyu the past few nights but never have, feeling too foolish. but seeing as you’ll be married to him tomorrow, you don’t see the harm in asking now. 

“beomgyu,” you say quietly. 

“yeah?”

“w-will you… will you please stay with me tonight?” you ask. 

beomgyu’s ears flush bright red, the colour you’ve come to associate with his bashful and shy side. 

“i think it’ll be easy to sleep if you do,” you continue. “will you?”

beomgyu needs a second to process your question but he eventually splutters, “yes.”

folding the blanket back for him, you shuffle over and lie down. beomgyu cautiously slides in beside you. he looks so stiff and awkward, it makes you smile a little. 

“lie down,” you tell him and he does. 

you take the initiative and cuddle up to him first, slotting yourself under his arm as you lay your head on his chest. immediately, you feel one hundred times better than you have all week. you feel safe and as though you can now breathe easy. 

beomgyu finally relaxes, his arm looping around your shoulder, his hand slowly brushing over your hair. 

the noises that usually keep you up at night fade away and sleep takes over. for the first time in almost two weeks, you have a good nights rest. 

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄

when you wake in the morning, beomgyu is gone and a gorgeous women with long, flower adorned hair is carrying in a long black dress. 

“you’re awake!” she says. “great. i’m persephone. i’ve heard you’re my half sister. it’s lovely to meet you. now let’s get you ready. you’re getting married today.”

you barely have time to process any of what the goddess has said before your being stuffed into the ebony gown. the silk body somehow fits you perfectly and the lace sleeves are the exact length of your arms. 

the next half an hour is a blur as persephone styles your hair with a flower crown of red and white roses, clasps a chunky bejewelled choker around your neck and swipes red gloss on your lips and dark glitter on your eyes. 

and suddenly you’re standing at the entrance of a large grecian temple with black marble pillars. beomgyu is standing at the other end of the temple on a raised platform. a… skeleton?… is standing near him, a large book in it’s bony hands. as you start walking towards beomgyu you vaguely wonder if you’re really about to be married by a skeleton.  

to your right and left are rows of skeletons, odd creatures and the odd person who seems to be relatively alive. hades and persephone are in the front row. 

the ceremony passes by in a flash. beomgyu holds your hands softly as the skeleton addresses the crowd of undead. he looks at you with more adoration than you knew was possible, but he never smiles. you slip gothic black rings onto each others fingers. he kisses your cheek. then the wedding is done. 

afterwards, you and beomgyu take a walk in the garden again. 

“how do you feel?” beomgyu asks you after a minute of silence. 

“good,” you say, heading to a pomegranate tree. 

“you look good,” beomgyu replies. 

you smile over your shoulder at him. “thank you.”

“really,” he says. his eyes rake up your body. “not just the dress and everything, but your whole aura. you look alive again.”

you reach the tree and pick the closest fruit. “i suppose i’m allowed to eat this now, right?”

“if you’d like.”

“will you eat it with me?”

“okay.”

you find a bench to sit on. beomgyu picks a rock from the ground and, using a power you didn’t know he possessed, he transforms its shape to be sharp and pointed. he cuts the fruit with it and you eat in silence. you have to admit that it feels nice to be eating something other than ambrosia. 

once the fruit is gone, you scoot a little closer to beomgyu and put your hand on his knee. 

“you don’t seem happy, beomgyu,” you say. “what’s wrong?”

he sighs. “i don’t know. it’s just… i like you a lot. even more now then i did when i told my father about you. but i… i can’t be happy when you’re not.”

“who says i’m not happy.”

“well aren’t you?”

“i’m… unsure… i think i need some more time to fully process everything, but it could be worse.”

beomgyu scoffs quietly. “how could it be worse?”

“i might not be married to you.”

beomgyu almost flinches at your words, eyes going wide. “what?”

“like i said, i’m still a little conflicted but one thing that i’m certain about is my feelings for you.”

“and?”

you smile. “i like you.”

“r-really?" 

"really. throughout this all, you’ve been so kind and gentle. you haven’t pressured me and you’ve made me feel as comfortable as possible. i really appreciate it and i can’t say that i haven’t grown to like you.”

amusingly, your words render beomgyu speechless so you add, “plus, being married to the son of hades is a bit of an ego boost, if i’m being honest.”

said son of hades smiles. 

“you know, i’m pretty sure you didn’t kiss me properly earlier.”

“i didn’t think you’d want me to,” beomgyu admits sheepishly. 

“well, i do, so…”

his smile turns to a cheeky grin as he cups your face in his hands. “may i kiss the bride?”

you grin too. “you may.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 35

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff

; Word Count: 3.7k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Just a soft, fluffy chapter for you all after the angst and smut of the last two haha. Please leave comments and reblog it for me so others can read! Send me asks and so forth, we’re getting close to the endgame here so...I really hope you can spur me on.

; Flower Masterpost

-

“Ahhhh, I’m so excited!” Hoseok is practically vibrating in the passenger seat as you drive carefully, eyes firmly on the road and watching the car ahead of you. There’s nothing ahead of them but they’re still doing about ten miles less than the speed limit, frustrating you.

You don’t complain though, instead just sigh deeply while rolling your eyes at the slow person. It was hard to truly feel too annoyed though because Hoseok’s enthusiasm was so infectious. Which was why you’d been sporting a smile for most of the morning, thoroughly bemused by his excitement.

The reason for his bubbly demeanour today was because you were officially going to pick up your new puppy. You’d known for a long time that Hoseok wanted a dog; he’d loved them a lot and had always wanted one. But he just hadn’t had the time or space to get one, particularly given his old apartment not being pet friendly.

It had taken some convincing for you to say yes to a dog, mainly because you’d worried how Kasumi might be around another pet and also because you weren’t a huge dog fan. You liked them obviously, but they required so much more work than a cat. As much as Hoseok loved Kasumi though, you knew what he wanted.

The convincing had mainly been that he wouldn’t leave all the taking care of the dog to you. You didn’t want to end up being the only one cleaning up the mess in the yard or walking them, etc. He’d promised that he would care for the dog just as much as you did, maybe even a little more.

It wasn’t like he didn’t help out in the house anyway, he did because you wouldn’t let him not help, but you just didn’t want to get stuck doing all the dog duties when he was the one who wanted it the most. You doubted he would do that as he was pretty good with looking after Kasumi, even though she wasn’t even his. Given this was something he wanted, you had faith that he’d be a good doggy daddy.

The two of you had poured over websites that advertise puppies for sale alongside looking over rescue centres to try and find the best dog for you both. It had been hard to narrow down your requirements as there were some breeds that you just didn’t want to have and Hoseok had his own opinion on some as well. Other important things were that they needed to be okay with cats and being left alone during the day while you were both working.

But you also wanted something energetic when necessary and enjoyed walks. Part of the reason that you’d said yes was that you hoped it would get both of you to start going out on walks to just enjoy nature a little more instead of staying cooped up in the house. You always enjoyed when you’d gone out but it was hard to break your habits.

Your problems had been resolved happily when you’d been told by Hoseok’s parents that his aunt had a dog who had had a litter of puppies recently. They’d bought a female puppy and before they’d been able to get her spayed, she’d, unfortunately, got the attention of the neighbour’s dog. Which meant she’d been way too young to breed and they’d ended up with surprise puppies.

The mom was a working Cocker Spaniel breed with the prettiest colouring; a soft lemon tan and white with the most adorable eyes. The dad was a Bichon, a breed you weren’t too familiar with but who looked pretty cute too. What resulted was called a Cock-a-Chon, the most adorable bundle of fluff you’d ever seen.

Each puppy had the cutest curly fur and was the perfect mix of both their parent’s beautiful faces. They wouldn’t be too large when grown which was good for you both, as neither of you wanted a really big dog or anything. The puppy you’d both chosen was a creamy golden colour and you’d both fallen in love with her as soon as she’d fallen over her feet when running over to you.

Well...you say that you’d chosen her. It was more like she’d chosen Hoseok because he’d immediately ended up with a tiny puppy crawling all over his legs while her tail wagged at such speed you were worried she might hurt it. Needless to say, Hoseok had been completely lost to those sweet black eyes.

It had taken one look at you with equally big and cute eyes that had been earnestly begging to get your agreement. And that had been it. You’d officially known you were going to be collecting her a few weeks after that point and you’d let Hoseok name her, choosing Ciri from the Witcher series.

The time spent in-between that visit and going to bring her home had been spent making sure that the house was puppy-proof. You hadn’t known how to do that but the two of you had done a lot of research, hoping that if she was kept entertained enough then you wouldn’t have to worry about chewing or anything.

Given that Hoseok had been the one to want a dog in the first place, you’d let him run wild with all the stuff he wanted to get for her. There wasn’t any room for argument considering the number of things you’d bought Kasumi over the years and it had been heart-warming to watch Hoseok get so excited over a patterned collar and a personalised name tag on it.

So she had a ridiculous amount of dog toys already, alongside what you were convinced was a mountain of puppy food and treats, those mats to help house train her, two dog beds, a collar, a cage and lots of blankets to go inside it to train her for when neither of you was home. You hadn’t particularly liked the idea of caging her but you’d resolved to make it her safe space where she could go when she was feeling tired or just didn’t want to be bothered instead of punishment or anything.

Honestly, you’d warned Hoseok many times to make sure he didn’t go too overboard and spoil a dog neither of you even had yet.

Quite clearly, it hadn’t worked given how much he’d bought the little puppy. But again, you were loath to put a leash on his enthusiasm for it all. Pun not intended.

He never asked for a whole lot from you, even now with your three-year-anniversary approaching in just a few months. It always felt like you were taking a lot from him and not giving much back, so if he wanted to go wild and buy a lot of stuff for the new puppy then you weren’t going to complain too much.

There was a lot worse to spend his money on. Not to mention the fact that you weren’t even paying for Ciri. His aunt didn’t want to be paid for the puppy given she was going to a family member and she hadn’t even been expecting them at all. From what you knew, the other puppies had been sold for only a hundred dollars each. Just to cover their medical expenses up to that point.

It was a fantastic deal really, but you were mostly just pleased that Hoseok was finally going to get the dog he’d always wanted. He spoiled you often enough so you were revelling in the fact that you got to spoil him in turn.

That thought made you snort with laughter, the very idea of you two fighting not because you were angry but because you were trying to one-up each other with affection and love. You don’t get to see the curious look Hoseok gives you, slight confusion on his face before he shrugs to himself.

“I hope Kasumi will be okay with this.” Whispering the words, you frown slightly as you watch the road ahead. There’s only maybe another five minutes before you’ll both be there, reading to pick up Ciri and take her home but you’re a little worried about your other pet. 

Ciri would probably be fine with her, being so young that she’d grow up with the cat as her big sister. But Kasumi had spent a long time with it being just her getting all the attention from you, and Hoseok when he’d entered her life. Not to mention the fact that she could hurt Ciri if they didn’t get on, those sharp claws easily causing harm to the tiny puppy.

“We’ll take it slow. The good thing about cats is that they can take themselves away if they’re not happy. She’s used to Ciri’s scent and we’ve got plenty of treats and toys for her too so she doesn’t feel so left out. We just have to make sure that we don’t let Ciri overwhelm her. She’ll be okay Meeps.” Hoseok reaches out and takes your hand, rubbing at your knuckles in reassurance.

His aunt had sent over some blankets and toys that she’d rubbed all over Ciri, soaking them in the puppy’s scent so that you could introduce it to Kasumi. Hopefully, it would mean that while your beloved cat probably wouldn’t appreciate the exuberance of her new sister but she would at least recognise the smell.

“Is it silly that I’m worrying about stuff like that? I mean...your friends are getting married and having babies but I’m here just concerned that my cat might not like our puppy.” That makes Hoseok snort in amusement, slipping his hand beneath yours to link your fingers together before squeezing.

“Hey...that’s their choice. We’ve chosen to have furbabies instead, nothing wrong with that.” Wrinkling your nose, you indicate to turn right and drive slowly down the street his aunt lives on. It’s a nice area with large houses set back from the road, each one having an equally big drive leading to two-car garages. Tall trees, probably decades old at this point, line along the street with luscious green grass between each one and the dips allowing cars to park.

Much like the rest of Hoseok’s family, his aunt is pretty wealthy. She never had any kids though, living in her beautiful house with her wife and a menagerie of animals. Alongside the cocker spaniel that had gotten pregnant; she also had a chocolate labrador, a black cocker spaniel, a parakeet and three cats. It was your idea of a dream in terms of all the animals but the clean up must be terrible.

Pulling into her driveway, you take in the sight of her house once more in awe. You doubt anyone in your family could ever afford something like this and it still leaves you with a sense of imposter syndrome when you realise just how rich Hoseok’s whole family is.

Thankfully though, he’d never made it an issue.

“Oh my god! Come on! Let’s go.” Hoseok practically squeals, his excitement making him look so young and completely at odds with his metalhead appearance. Snorting, you can’t help but smirk as you turn off the engine as he’s already out of the car. Sighing affectionately, you follow him at a much slower pace.

He’s already vanished into the house by the time you get to the door, his aunt, Miyeon, standing with the door held open and an exasperated look on her face. Smiling at her, you take your shoes off and hand her the bag that you’d prepared earlier with an apologetic look on your face.

“Hi, Auntie! How are you? Oh, I’m good thanks Hoseok, and you?” She says sarcastically, rolling her eyes at you. There’s more than a little fondness in her face and voice though so you’re not too worried that she’s genuinely annoyed at him, smiling a little brighter as you greet her.

“Sorry. He’s excited. It’s been like having a toddler in the car rather than an almost 31-year-old man. Thank you so much though, I know you didn’t want anything for her but I couldn’t just..give you nothing. Hoseok said that you collect wine and I don’t know anything about wine because I don’t drink but-” She interrupts you with a hand on your arm, a smile on her face.

“You didn’t have to. But thank you, I appreciate it. Don’t worry, wine is wine. I’ll enjoy drinking it no matter what, I guarantee you that. Anyway, come on. I’ve baked some cookies for you both. Hobi always used to adore eating them when he was younger; peanut butter, hazelnut and chocolate chips.” Leading you through her home, you can already hear the barking of puppies alongside Hoseok’s joyful laughter.

You don’t even realise you’re smiling until you see yourself in a mirror, your expression light and happy. Who’d have thought that just the sound of someone’s laugh could be such a fulfilling experience? 

“Ahhh, so that’s why he likes them. He always asks me to bake those if I’m in that kind of mood. Always thought it was a bit odd as he doesn’t eat anything else with peanut butter, just those. Seemed a strange combination for him to love.” Her kitchen is just as big as the rest of the house, tastefully decorated with all the latest appliances.

You were a little envious of her fridge. It was one of those super fancy Samsung ones where you could see inside without even opening the door thanks to a panel on the front alongside what you could only describe as a tablet embedded into the door. Who needed to watch Netflix on their fridge? 

But all you can truly focus on is the delicious scent of freshly baked cookies. Inhaling deeply, you hum and can’t help but wiggle in delight. His aunt laughs, handing one to you and you eat it quickly. They’re not your favourite flavour but you’d never turn down a homemade cookie.

Especially when it was still warm and slightly gooey.

“Go on, go take one to Hoseok. If he’s not gone into a puppy coma or something. Bora is working late tonight so she won’t be home,” She mentions her wife, letting you know that you won’t be seeing her today. “And I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on. Just let me know when you’re ready to go.”

“Are you sure? Do you need any help?” Shaking her head, Miyeon smiles softly at you before suddenly cupping your cheek. Her hands are soft, likely through years of a careful skincare regime, and warm but there’s nothing strange about it. More like she’s just observing you.

“He’s lucked out with you, does he know that?” Snorting, you grin as you move away towards the sound of happy chaos. Looking back at her, you hold the cookie up with pride.

“I try to make sure he realises that at least once a day. Keep him on his toes, you know?” Her laughter follows you out of the kitchen and you marvel at yourself for how bold you’d just been. Your past self would be shocked to see you now, probably confused as to how you feel confident enough to say something so bold.

“Hey, butthead. You didn’t say hello to your aunt. That was rude,” You say to Hoseok, your tone only slightly playful. “Go say hi. Look, she even made you cookies.”

Handing one to him, you note how he’s laid on the floor and is surrounded by all the puppies in the litter. Ciri was going to be the first one to go so her four brothers and sisters were all still here. Small tails were wagging furiously at your arrival and you couldn’t help but giggle as they ran over to you, jumping and standing on Hoseok’s exposed stomach from where his shirt had twisted up and causing him to groan.

“Hello, puppies! Oh, aren’t you so cute!” Cooing to them, you hand the cookie to Hoseok as he sits up with a slight wince. For a minute or so, he just eats and watches you with the little ones as you play with them all, unable to stop smiling as they practically throw their small, furry bodies against you in an attempt for your attention.

“Go say hi!” Hissing slightly, your eyes narrow at Hoseok until he holds his hands up and gets up, heading out of the room to go properly greet his aunt. Once he’s gone, you look at all the puppies with a gleeful expression and sit cross-legged.

“Good, he’s gone. Let’s play!” The last word is loud and sharp while you reach forward, tickling one of them until they fall onto their back, showing their tummy for scratches and yelping enthusiastically. His siblings are barking too, tails hitting you almost painfully from how hard they’re going.

Glancing over at their mom, who’s currently laid in her dog bed with tired eyes, you smile affectionately before crawling over to her and giving her a loving stroke too. She seems to almost let out a deep sigh and you can’t help but laugh, running your fingers through her soft fur.

“Is it tiring, mama? All these babies wanting your attention all the time. I bet you can’t wait for some alone time. You’ve done well though, look how cute they are!” It must be a law somewhere that everyone should take to animals as if they’re human, especially in that voice that’s reserved for cute things.

But her big eyes are full of warmth and her tail wags lazily against the bed at your words, causing a few pups to try and attack it. You can’t help but marvel at how she just doesn’t seem to notice them, letting them do what they want.

“Not long now, they’ll all be going to their new homes soon. I bet you’ll miss them. We’ll bring Ciri by sometimes so you can see her!” The other dogs in the house had been socialised with the puppies for the last few weeks and Choco, the labrador was currently laid out against the couch. He was watching you carefully but for the most part, didn’t seem to be too bothered by all the noise.

You presumed that Bella, the other spaniel, was with Miyeon in her office.

“Okay, I said hello. And apologised,” Hoseok said, sitting down next to you and immediately welcoming two puppies onto his lap. “Sorry, I was rude, you’re right. They’re even cuter than last time.”

Grabbing one of the toys they had, he played with one of them enthusiastically until the puppy seemed to exhaust itself. There was a brief moment where it tried hard to keep up but then the next thing you knew, it was fast asleep on the floor. Laughing, you pointed at it before grinning at Hoseok.

“Oh my god, it’s you when you’re drunk.”

That gets a playful scowl but he just shrugs, reaching over to rub Choco’s ears to make sure he didn’t feel left out by it all. The labrador’s long tail beats against the floor tiredly, almost like he can’t be bothered to do it and you smirk at the sight. No doubt all the animals in the house are feeling a little tired and overwhelmed with all the excitement that’s been happening.

Finally, though, the puppies all seem to lose their energy and start to fall asleep wherever they are. Soon enough, you’re surrounded by bundles of fluff that are all twitching in their sleep, the silence pleasant after all their noise.

Hoseok carefully, and slowly, lifts Ciri into his lap. Her colouring was more cream than the rest of them, the others skewing more towards an almost golden tan. It had been part of the reason he’d named her Ciri. Her character in the show, video game and book series was infamous for her ash-blonde hair.

She doesn’t wake up, even as he takes off the coloured collar that had indicated whose puppy she was and replaces it with the one you’d both bought. The tag clunks loudly against the metal ring, causing you both to pause in fear that you’ve woken the others up but none of them stirs.

Finally, he shuffles back until he’s resting against the couch next to you, Ciri sleeping soundly in his arms and looks at you with a bright grin. The sheer amount of affection and happiness in that expression makes your heart physically ache, causing you to press a hand to it without realising.

“Ahh, we have a dog!” He whispers, eyes dancing as he tilts until he’s leaning heavily against you. His head rests on your shoulder and you smile, kissing his hair and just inhaling deeply. The smell of him always makes you feel content and relaxed, but even more so right now after all the chaos of the puppies for the last fifteen minutes.

“We do. Happy?” Nodding, he looks up at you before carefully reaching and cupping your cheek. His hands are rougher than his aunts, but you lean into the touch happily. There’s a brief pause before he kisses you, the movement soft and gentle with no real pressure. It’s more of an ‘I’m-happy’ kiss than anything else and you reciprocate it with ease.

The two of you stay in comfortable silence after that, just stroking and admiring Ciri for a while with no inclination to move just yet. You didn’t want to take her from her family so soon, even if you were her new family now. She should get to play with them all one last time before she goes.

“God, if you told college Hoseok that in a decade he’d been in a long-term relationship with a job, a house, a car, a dog and a cat...well let’s just say that laughing would have been the politest thing he could have done.”

“You know, I was thinking something like that earlier. I don’t think my old me would even recognise me now. But I think that’s for the better. I like who I am now, where I am now.” Stroking Ciri’s velvet-soft ears, you don’t see the fond smile on Hoseok’s face.

“I love you.” Smiling shyly, you take the chance to lean against him now and rest your head. Gently, you poke at his arm in your silent language, letting him know that you reciprocate before sighing contentedly.

For once, you finally felt completely at ease.

[vetlan]

Summary: Nothing says "Impromptu Darkwing Duck Reunion" like being arrested for something a group of lookalikes did, and then being bailed out by a… Darkwing Duck cosplayer? Fanboy? Well, there were odder things that happened in relation to that cursed show.

Characters Present: Megavolt ( Actor ), Quackerjack ( Actor ), Liquidator ( Actor ), Bushroot ( Actor ), Darkwing Duck ( Drake Mallard )

Notes: The Actors are named after the original Voice Actors! Also this isn’t meant to make much sense, I just sat down today and chose violence, and by violence I meant a “short” humor fic based on the idea of the old actors seeing their villain alter-egos on the news. Serisouly how did this turn into writing almost 5k words in one day...

---

Dan Rattus-Sphynx was having a bad day, but not a terrible one. He was stuck in traffic on his way home after a long day at work, thinking on the cold tv-dinner he'd be indulging in while wondering what was causing the hold up -- unfortunately, if he'd been listening to the news on the radio, he would've been tipped off to the one fact that was about to turn his bad day into a terrible one: the old cast of Darkwing Duck was to be brought in for questioning. After Jim Starling's little explosive breakdown, when mirror-perfect images of the old actors started looting and terrorizing the city, the mayor wanted to take no chances.

And maybe then he wouldn't have laughed and asked the cops if they were a fan of his work as Megavolt -- he was pretty sure now, sitting in his cell, that they took that the wrong way.

He was the first to be apprehended.

Next came Michael Peckbell, once known as the actor behind Quackerjack, who was embarrassingly enough, arrested in a clown costume. Dan genuinely tried to hide his snickering as the old clown jingled miserably into the cell, done arguing for his innocence. It is only after he threw a dirty look at Dan that he recognized who he was sharing a cell with, and his annoyance turned to recognition and then confusion, head tilting to the side and making his hat jingle.

"Wait, why are you here?"

"Same reason you are, I guess… There's a warrant for our arrest because some lookalikes decided to rob banks while cosplaying as our old Darkwing Duck roles."

"No, seriously, Dan, why are we here? I was at a brat's blasted birthday party when these BRUTES went and tackled me!" Hands on his hips, Michael didn't look particularly amused as he tapped his foot, and Dan tried his best not to get short with the ex-actor turned party clown.

"Hey, I am serious! It's all they're showing on the news, I got taken while driving home! Wait, shh, do you hear that--" "Oh no, you're not shutting me up--" "I'm serious serious Mike, listen!"

Holding the duck's beak shut, which earned him another dirty look, Dan shuffled them closer to the holding bars so that they could listen to the news from the dingy little tv at the start of the holding cells corridor. Seriously, couldn't they turn the volume up a little? Luckily, as if hearing his silent wish, they do turn the sound up.

"... we interrupt this segment to bring an update on the current string of robberies and break-ins that have been plaguing St. Canard to inform that massive plant growths are starting to block off city exits, we strongly recommend that you resist fleeing the city and instead head home where it is safest -- ah, I am now getting reports of streets being flooded! Again, stay indoors and do not head out until further instructions! Your city's law enforcement is currently working with Darkwing Duck to apprehend the criminals behind this!"

"Oh quack, actual super villains, we're doomed!" A wailing voice can be heard from the front of the police station, paired with a stern: "GET IT TOGETHER, they have Darkwing Duck on the case!" The commotion paired well with the confused and genuinely taken aback look Dan and Mike shared.

"Drkwng dck?!" Mike tries to get through his beak, then realizing Dan was still holding it shut and slapping the hand away. Probably for the best right there, as that exclamation would've been much louder otherwise. "Has the world gone cuckoo? He's fiction! We're fiction! Well, not us, we're not fiction, but the characters we played! They can't be serious, this why we're here? Hah! Give me a break!" The party clown jumps on the cell bars, shaking the door and making a ruckus, refusing to believe a single thing he's heard: "Ha! Ha! Ha! Very funny, now let us out!" Each 'laugh' is punctuated by a vigorous shake and increased irritation, visibly huffing from anger from his beak… and absolutely not helping their case. One policeman dared peek over their way, and he squealed!

(Jeez, what is it with clowns and short tempters?)

"Would you cut that out? You look deranged! Is this what you do at birthday parties?" With a sharp tug at the back of the collar, Dan manages to pry his ex-co-star from the bars, who seemingly immediately deflates and jingles to one of the benches, sitting with his elbows on his knees and his cheeks in his hands, absolutely pouting. "I'm not any happier about this than you are, you know! But it makes sense! Almost! It explains why we couldn't get any work done at the office today, our system kept going down like someone was messing with it!" That earns him a scoff from his current cell companion, and Dan can't help but throw a look in the clown's direction. "What?"

"You, work in an office?" The question can come across as derogative, but there's genuine curiosity there. "I thought you were big into the acting thing, had your big break and everything as a villain or something." A pause. "Well, bigger villain than before."

There Dan pauses, brings up an index finger as if he's going to make a point, then just sighs and practically collapses into a slouch. It has been a while since the last Darkwing Duck meet-up, huh? No wonder Mike was so out of the loop.

"Yes, well, I gave it up. Want to hear a secret?" An earnest jingly nod is his reply. "I was asked to return for the Darkwing Duck remake… reboot… whatever movie they were making, but I just said no. I feel like I got typecast into the 'weasely evil rat' archetype, you know? After a while, I just started to wonder if people were laughing with me or at me. At least you made it work out somehow."

"That's exactly my deal! People kept making me into the laughing stock so I figured I might as well be an actual clown and beat them to the punch. The brats are annoying, but it beats the circus I was at before the show. Keeps me from getting rusty, even if I'm just going through a checklist of party-tricks at this point." From his pout, Mike perks up, banging his fist on the bench to his side before standing up again, seemingly bracing himself for -- ah, he twirls into a handstand, and Dan claps in genuine amazement.

"Wow, you still got it!"

"Eh, it's nothing. Unlike you guys, I had to work with Jim directly, by his rules. No doubles allowed, or I was a puffy-tailed coward. Quackerjack had no real special effects, remember? Just toys and acrobatics to use against Darkwing Duck." He could do it, but admittedly his endurance wasn't what it used to be. Still, to be a bit of a show-off, Mike stays like that for another minute before twirling right side up, trying to shake off the dizziness that came up with it -- only to stumble and be steadied by Dan when the lights in the entire station flicker and a distant rumble shakes the entire street, and suddenly they remember their current predicament. Yeap. Whatever was going on was very real. 

"Hey, cut that out!" Someone calls from the front of the police station, and Dan tries his best not to sound absolutely peeved off when he answers back. "It's not me, you bumbling meatheads!" He genuinely tried.

The silence after that is frustrating and uncomfortable. Meeting up was nice and all, but no one was talking to them, they didn't know if their friends and family were safe, and apparently, the city really was being overtaken by super-powered criminals based on characters they played in a kid's tv-show. So Dan sat on the bench, momentarily stunned by that fact even though he was the one trying to convince Mike it made sense, all the while the clown decided to tire himself out further by continuously jumping up to try and look out the tiny cell window they had.

"Would you STOP your jingling about!?"

The only answer Dan got was a raspberry blown in his direction. Real mature.

---

Tino had made his mind up the moment he caught sight of himself on live tv robbing a bank: he was turning himself in. For one thing, it would immediately prove his innocence because he couldn't be robbing banks if he was in captivity, and then he'd hopefully be safe from these super-powered evildoers! Alright, so, well, his initial plan was to flee the city, but then his green lookalike decided to go and BLOCK every exit to St. Canard just as he was trying to drive away. It was almost impressive, really, to see what a bigger budget could have gotten them back in the good old days, but it was mostly terrifying that the guy behind these massive green growths was out there. W-w-what if these copycats had some sort of personal vendetta against the originals?! He wasn't sure why they would, but he wasn't taking any chances! He was driving to the nearest police station and that was it!

Only one road is cut off, the other is flooding towards him and it takes all his composure to slam on the reverse and scream at the same time, and instead, Tino decides to just head for the high ground at a park and go from there. Tino might have been speeding for the first time in his life just then, but he figured that it was fair -- and hey, maybe a cop would come and arrest him! No such luck, however.

The mallard duck looked positively green in the face ( no pun intended ) as he thought over his options, though it felt more like he was frozen in shock, just sitting there with his hands on the wheel and looking straight ahead. Was that… the ground shaking? If he looked at his bobblehead of Bushroot (which he'd be tossing out after this endeavor, thank you very much), he could take note of how it kept shaking as if with the steps of a giant duck --

The passenger door to his car opens, a figure jumps inside and Tino screams like a banshee and just tosses his wallet and car keys at them, fruitlessly trying to open the door and escape after he reactively locked them with the press of a button.

"TAKE IT, I DON'T NEED IT, I'M A POOR COLLEGE PROFESSOR SPARE ME --"

"JUST CALM DOWN, I DON'T WANT YOUR DANG -- wait Real? Tino Real?! It's me! Jack Pumi! Old co-star?!" And as if a switch had been flipped inside Tino's head, first his voice gives out and then his beak shuts, and his feathers unruffle themselves. Yes, he knew a Jack Pumi, that's right.

"Oh, sorry friend! You really shouldn't sneak up on a duck-like that, I feel like I almost laid my heart there!" Tino practically melts into his seat as his stress is wrung out of him at the sight of a familiar face during these scary times. "What brings you to… my car?" Hey, why did Jack get into his car?

"Ah, don't sweat it old chum! We're all a little jumpy nowadays, criminals on the run and all that." The Bushroot bobblehead is starting to shake with considerable vigor, but this is missed by the two as Jack pats Tino on the shoulder. "As for why I'm here --" A look in the rearview mirror, the surprisingly unmistakable sound of a car being stepped on not too far behind them by a giant clown robot. "DRIVE!"

You didn't have to ask Tino twice, even if they both fumbled with the keys back and forth before finally taking off as a massive foot concaved the ground where they just were, but it was best if they focused on that later. Right now, they were flooring it to… somewhere.

"Just like the good old days, don't you think? So, what's the plan, captain?" As Jack tried to hold on through Tino's panicked driving, he felt he might as well make some small talk -- not to mention that he talks when he's nervous.

"In the good old days, we were the bad guys squashing innocent civilians, and I have to say, it isn't much fun when you're on the other side of it! And p-plan, well, I don't know, drive until it leaves us alone? Until the deranged clown gets bored?"

"If I recall, boring that quacking menace is the last thing you want to do…"

"Well, what do you suggest?! Ohnononoit'sgettingcloser!" And the laughing is getting considerably irksome, if not straight up giving the both of them goose-skin.

"Where were you going before I showed up, why were you just sitting there at the park?"

"I was thinking of driving to a police station and hiding there, but the streets got flooded so I drove to higher ground and then… I froze in the existential terror of considering that a super-powered copycat of myself was wreaking havoc."

"First: beats driving in circles trying to lose this clown, second: boy I feel ya, but now's maybe not the time to focus on that pal-io! How's about you really step on the gas and see if we can't throw it off? There, right there! Turn!"

A paired screaming match occurs when Jack just grabs the wheel and sends them on a sudden turn right, Tino struggling to regain control of the car before laughing hysterically with nervous energy as Quackerjack's mech kept going straight… before turning to look at them again. They screamed again and floored the gas as far down as this crusty old car could go.

Meanwhile, Quackerjack just let out a singular 'huh' at the realization that there was a car under him the whole time… before devolving into a manic fit of giggles at the realization of the terror he caused to the two little bugs hidden under his massive robot's beak. Oh, he loves being a bad guy. Endless fun!

---

"I'm TELLING you, that's a giant Quackerjack robot! Look! Look!"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I can't jump that high?!"

---

The rest of the drive was… surprisingly peaceful. Sure, there were random root systems on the road that pretty much served as speedbumps every so often, but outside of that there was no sign of any evildoers, only the ominous red glow in the sky coming from some skyscraper or other, neither Tino or Jack cared much for the fancy science labs uptown… but that probably explains the commotion going on! The bet was on if it was science or magic behind this mess, and Tino was feeling pretty sure about his bet on magic.

Alright, so maybe peaceful wasn't the word, more like… eerie. But it beat constant panic 100%, so Tino wasn't complaining! About that, at least. He was most certainly complaining about his current treatment at the police station -- they wouldn't arrest him! Which wasn't a complaint he thought he could make.

"We're not looking for fanboys, we're looking for the actual actors to turn themselves in!"

"F-fanboys!? Why I oughta -- do you expect me to grow a plant on top of my head? I'm Tino Real, I played Bushroot, this is Jack Pumi, he played the Liquidator. What's next, you expect him to turn into liquid?"

Perhaps a bad choice of words, as that's exactly the footage that was shown through live news on the tv right then and there, Bushroot and the Liquidator teaming up and just wiping the floor with what appeared to be… Gizmoduck. Huh. Oh well.

"Honestly, yes. We already caught the other two, and they're not causing any problems anymore."

"Wait, other two? Do you mean Dan and Mike?" Jack interrupts, only to be interrupted himself by the officer that had just been speaking. "Quackerjack and Megavolt," the officer corrects.

Tino can't resist facepalming.

"You can see Quackerjack in the distance from here…" It was true, it looked like he was headed for the building emitting that ominous glow, for whatever reason, but there's no missing that giant clown robot-toy thing. That murmured exasperation does give the officer pause, and he holds up an index finger telling them to wait where they are… which they do, with a tap of a foot and impatient crossed arms, as he walks around his desk, doggy tail impatiently swooshing behind him… before quickly tucking between his legs as he hurried back inside, seconds before the lights inside the station all shut down, emergency generators kicking in seconds after.

"Quackerjack, Megavolt, accounted for. You were right." Snout pale, the dog looked like he was sweating underneath his coat of fur, licking his lips in nervousness. So maybe they shouldn't have been quite as ruff when apprehending the first two… Oh well. "I don't care anymore, you can share a cell with the other washed-up acts." The green duck said something about it being safer in than out, and well, the police dog couldn't exactly argue against it. Besides, the mayor said to apprehend them, right? Hopefully, no word about them trying to turn these two away would surface…

---

"Dan, Mike, buddies, remember me?!"

That got the two sitting in the cell snap their heads up so fast, one could almost hear a whip crack, and Mike punches Dan in the shoulder, a large grin on his face. "See, what did I tell ya, they got caught too, which means they know we're innocent, so they have to let us out. That, and you owe me 20."

"Funny joke, clown, they're joining you, not the other way around."

One click, two click, and Toni and Jack join the other two actors inside the cell, and Toni nearly kisses the floor he's so glad to be inside and safe. Well, safe-ish.

"Haha, don't mind him, we just had a rough trip on the way over, traffic was absolutely killer!" No, Jack couldn't help it, he had to make that joke. "We would've gotten here sooner, but we spent like ten minutes driving away from a killer giant robot that looked like… what's with the clown costume?" It wasn't Quackerjack-y, but that was definitely a clown outfit.

"Oh, was that your car?! Ahahaha -- sorry, sorry, but that's all I could see from that window -- he almost crushed you two a good five times! And I'm a clown. End of story." The tone of voice certainly said so, but then it quickly turned to confusion. "Wait, what do you mean 'gotten here sooner'? You want to be in jail?"

"Well, we, we, we were going to turn ourselves in! And we did! It's safer to be in here than out there, you know! You watched us almost get crushed!"

Mike looks like he's about to say something, and then he realizes Toni definitely had a good point there, so he settles on shrugging his shoulders, looking at Dan and hoping he'd have any sort of opinion on this other than just 'meh'.

"So…" Dan starts, feeling particularly coerced by Mike's incessant staring, but not having anything interesting to talk about.

"So…" Jack copies as he looks around their holding cell before slapping his hands together. "We're staying in here until this all blows over, as I'm pretty sure they know we're not the ones causing the big old ruckus. Kind of slaps me with a terrible sense of deja-vu, to be quite honest. The Fearsome Four, back together!"

That does bring up some amused mumbling from the group, even if the mere mention of the show had since gotten stale thanks to Jim Starling's obsession with it, mentioning it wherever he went.

"The only thing that's missing is Dorkwing Duck, huh?" Mike adds, snickering to himself, before pausing with a pensive look on his beak, and Toni can't help but regret what he's about to ask:

"What's on your mind, Michael?"

"Just thinking, really, but… What if this is Jim's doing? You all heard how he went crazy about the movie, right? Single handedly got it canceled, got into a fight with the new guy playing Darkwing Duck. What if this is him trying to reboot it on his own now?" Ignoring the fact that it sounded like a conspiracy theory, it almost made sense. He hasn't been seen since, so what if he was planning his comeback all this time?

The four occupants of the cell look at each other, and then break down laughing.

"As if! That thick headed, self-centered dimwit couldn't plan something this far ahead!"

"Where would he find these super-powered copycats, anyway?!"

"You'd think he'd come for the source material, if it came to that!"

"Ahaha, I know, right!?"

And just like that, the ice was broken, and the four of them made themselves as comfortable as they could in their current situation, deciding to look at it as a surprise reunion. Funny how most of their problems with the old show stemmed from Jim…

---

A large explosion echoes through St. Canard, and Mike wastes no time in trying to peek out the tiny cell window while a commotion began at the front of the police station. The ominous red glow faded from the sky, the plants withered, lights flickered back on through the city, and floods ran down drain pipes.

Whatever it was, it was done. Hopefully.

---

The next morning wasn't exactly glamorous. They were served their breakfast slop and told to wait until they fixed the bureaucracy involved in this mess, because apparently there was no paperwork for "interdimensional villains from an old live-action hero show", and there was no real proof they weren't connected somehow.

"Outside of the fact that we spent all night in here?! Let! Us! Out!"

"Seriously, what is it with clowns and short tempters…" Dan mutters, but all that Toni and Jack offer him is a vague shrug. Mike was just like that, why else would they pick him to play Quackerjack?

"Experts agree, stressing yourself out won't get you anywhere, friend!" Jack starts, even if he's not exactly sure who the experts would be in this case. It does make the duck stop trying to strangle or otherwise pry the cell bars appart with sheer physical strength -- that, or someone was finally coming to see them. Turns out it was the later, but Jack would like to believe he helped anyway!

No words of acknowledgement, just the same cop that greeted Toni and Jack yesterday, but now, instead of a scared look on his face, he looked positively starstruck. Which would be nice, if he hadn't made it clear that he didn't care about their acting careers, so what gives? The four of them look at each other, and after a vague shrug from Dan, they file out of the holding cells and make their way out. Or plan to, at least, until Mike comes to a full stop and forces everyone behind him to stumble over each other.

"Hey, what gives --!"

"JIM!? I WAS KIDDING WHEN I SAID THOSE THINGS YESTERDAY, I DIDN'T THINK IT WAS ACTUALLY YOU BEHIND THIS --"

The clown-attired duck rattles off, and that startles both the party behind him and the supposed Jim, who jumps a whole foot into the air and stretches his hands in front of him, trying to calm the shocked duck down.

"N-no, no, you got it all wrong, I'm Darkwing Duck! The one and only! Technically based on the remake but we don't talk about it! AlsoI'mabigfanandIwaswonderingifyouwouldn'tmindsigningthisposter--"

The first part wouldn't be unbelievable if it had been Jim, but the mention of a remake knocked it down a peg, and then saying he's a fan and asking for an autograph, even if said all in one breath, definitely meant it wasn't Jim. The (once) Fearsome Four let out a shared sigh that they didn't know they were holding as they surrounded this… cosplayer, for lack of a better term.

"Could've fooled me, you're his splitting image, I tell you what… Well, no, you're smooth. He was more…" Mike takes a second to mess up his face feathers, making it look like he'd been sleeping face down for a month. "Gruff, yeah? You look like a baby in comparison."

"Hey! I'll have you know I saved this city from complete annihilation!"

"What was that about a poster, kiddo?" Jack interjects, leaning over Mike's shoulder. "I guess it's the least we can do for saving our city, and in turn us. Not going to lie, it's been a while since I've signed a poster, ever since I started selling --"

"Tupperware?! I have your entire collection, you weren't lying when you said those things could last!"

Jack had to stop and blink for a second, even if his brain automatically had him fetch a pen from an inner pocket. The guy was a "hero", yet here he was fanboying over a tupperware salesman. "Haha, well, I don't like having my face attached to cheap products, what can I say. So, who do we make it out to be?"

"Uh… Darkwing… Duck?"

"Creative," Dan adds with a snicker, but takes the pen from Jack anyway to sign the poster.

"Short notice, what can I say, I came as soon as I heard that they had you guys locked up in here, after making sure the interdimensional evil-doers were in their respective places of course!" The masked duck before them poses in what they guess he thinks is a heroic pose, and out of politeness they don't mention that it makes him look like an absolute tool.

"So those… look-alikes, they're gone? Oh, I never realized quite how frightening our characters were at the time, it was just a silly children's cartoon…" Genuinely, all that Toni wanted now was to crawl home and pass out for a week straight, even if he might miss a weeks worth of work. He felt like it was only fair!

"Darkwing Duck guarantee! I would tell more in hopes of assuring you, but it's all classified, I'm sure you can understand. Just know that there's a real hero watching St. Canard now! Petty thug or super-villain, I'm your guy!"

The poster goes from hand to hand, and they all sign it before giving it back, and the excitement the masked duck shows for it is a little nice, as Jack had mentioned previously. Usually Jim hogged all the attention at fan meetings, whether the fan wanted it or not.

"Oh Launch… I mean, LP is going to eat his scarf when he sees this! You guys have just made a hero's day! Say, would it be too much if I asked for a h--"

"Yeah, no, too much." Dan deadpanned, and everyone agreed wholeheartedly, instead offering a handshake instead, which is gladly taken.

"So, what are your plans now? I could give one of you a ride!" Wringing his hat between his hands, this Darkwing Duck wannabe looked like he wanted to tag along with them, as if he expected them to act like they did on the show, and an awkward look was shared between the four of them. How to gently let this guy down… Seriously, they didn't need a vigilante deciding reality equals fiction -- IGNORING THE EVENTS OF LAST NIGHT.

"Thanks but no thanks, my plan is to go home, pass out, and forget this ever happened." Answer, you just don't, it's a grown man for quack's sake. Mike drops the cape corner he was inspecting and waltzes out the door, his hat jingling behind him.

It didn't take much for everyone else to follow after.

"Pretty much." "Ditto." "I'm still not certain it wasn't an overly elaborate dream."

Not taking a hint, Darkwing Duck follows after them, waving as they all squeeze into Toni's little car. "Good thinking, guys! Just remember, if there's trouble --"

"You call DW!" Alright, he could have that one freebie on the house, Jack decided, even if everyone else in the car stink eyed him for indulging the masked weirdo. "What, it is a catchy tune!"

The car wasn't the only thing grumbling as it drove off.

[prettyboymichaels-ao3]

Rewind, Rewire, Reword - Chapter 1: Where Did I Put That Map Again? (Pt. 1)

It’s the week before Wrestlemania 12, he’s preparing to give Shawn Michaels the fight of his life in their 60-minute Iron Man match, and his little brother has decided to drag him out to socialize on an otherwise perfectly ordinary Wednesday night.

Surely, this decision won��t take the course his life was on – and the course his relationship with Shawn was on – and send it into a tailspin.

(Bret Hart/Shawn Michaels ABO AU; NOT Kayfabe Compliant; Words: ~2k; Rating: M; Notes, trigger warning/s, tag list, and chapter under the cut!)

my massive bretshawn abo au is here! as I only have two-ish more scenes to write, and 10 chapters already written to publish on here (separated into smaller “parts” for tumblr, which means I technically have 21 chapters; they’ll be published fully on ao3), I’ve decided to try for an every other day publishing schedule to give myself more time to fully finish this book of the series. so. :) I’ve read and edited and reread and re-edited this more than almost any other fic I’ve written, so HOPEFULLY. I don’t want to edit it MORE after finally PUBLISHING it. sigh. anyway.

-

tw for: attempted sexual assault. it doesn’t actually occur, but this IS the jumping off point for the fic, and it will be referenced throughout. the tw “references to attempted sexual assault” will be used in any chapter that references it

tag list: @track12to13​; @piratewithvigor​; @sinderellanightwolf​. tell me if you want to be tagged for any future chapters!

-

It was times like these when he wondered why he ever bothered going out at all.

They’d gotten to California two days before, early, the way they usually did, leaving the morning after their last match to get a head start and not arrive completely burnt out. They’d spent those two days getting acquainted with their hotel room, their rental car, and the stadium gym they were going to be using the next two weeks. However, “California” didn’t just mean “new match”, it also meant “new towns”, which meant “new opportunities to make Bret socialize”. He’d told Owen, repeatedly, in a variety of ways, that the last thing he needed was a fucking wingman, let alone his happily mated younger brother as a wingman, but he’d just brushed off everything he’d said and dragged him out anyway. “You have almost two weeks to prepare,” he’d scoffed, forcing him to change basically as soon as they got back to their room. “When’s the last time you really let loose?” he’d offered, trying to hustle him out almost before he’d had his shoes tied. “I promised mom I’d try something the last time we talked so would you stop digging your heels in, please,” was his final explanation, as he was hailing a cab to take them out of the city and to some smaller town a little less than an hour away, where they’d be less likely to get recognized, because getting mobbed in a bar or a club was always… not great, to say the least.

But it just really wasn’t Bret’s scene. It just really, really wasn’t. He wasn’t twenty anymore, he couldn’t power through a hangover the way he used to, and he wasn’t in the mood anyway, the way he hadn’t been for the last two years Owen’d been trying to set him up. He’d gotten used to being single by now, he’d even gotten used to his mother’s passive aggressive comments about it every time he called home, and, yeah, being used to it didn’t mean he liked it, but trying to find a date at this point in his life wasn’t exactly easy, at thirty-eight years old, in his line of work, with his designation. Honestly, he didn’t know why Owen was still trying so earnestly; the odds of Bret finding a decent prospective partner at some random club in Somewhere, California was so low it might as well be in the ground.

As such, instead of socializing, the way Owen wanted him to, he’d nursed a glass or two at the bar, had a fairly interesting conversation with an older woman who happened to be the designated driver for a group of girls giggling on the dance floor, and eventually called it quits after hitting the bathroom two hours in. It wasn’t even ten-thirty yet, you’d think he could last a little longer, and he could, he was just… bored. His bar mate was corralling her wayward group to leave, and Owen was having a grand time failing miserably at darts with what looked to be a group of regulars, so he just told him he was heading back to the hotel, refused to be guilted into a game no matter how many times Owen batted his eyelashes or how disappointed he looked, paid his tab, and slipped out into the night with a sigh and his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. It was only slightly cooler outside than it was inside, and it was much less crowded – a few smokers, on the other side of the street, and two people eating a pizza and using the box as their plate a little further down from that. Definitely less busy than Anaheim would be this time of night, and equally less well lit.

There was also, though, something he almost didn’t hear over the noise of the bar:

“…an’t change your mind now!”

“I agreed to go home with you, not you and your fucking friend–”

His foot still raised from where he’d been stepping to the curb to hail a cab, he cocked his head to the alleyway the voices had drifted from – and, there it was, he hadn’t been hearing things, because there was an incredulous laugh, a dull thump, and a pained grunt before another man said, amused, speaking over the rising growls, “C’mon, baby, you really think you’re in a position to turn us down? You’re the one about to go into heat, it won’t matter whose knot you’re taking soon enough.”

Bret was moving before the end of that sentence, rounding the corner to find three figures pressed up against the stone wall beside an open dumpster. They were mostly hidden from the orange street lamps outside the mouth of the alley, but he could still see rough impressions, and they weren’t very promising: two holding the third prone while the third tried to fight back, thrashing and almost snarling with how viciously he was growling, but he was getting nowhere fast, with how successfully he was being restrained. One’s nose was buried in this man’s throat, the other’s teeth visible in the low light as he grinned, and Bret felt his expression twist and harden as he stepped forward. “Hey! You’ve got three seconds to walk away before I make this a fair fight.”

That certainly got their attention, and he saw them all turn his way, their eyes flashing a little in the dark. Parts of their faces were highlighted now – the barest crests of their jaws, their cheekbones, their hair – but he could see the moment their nostrils flared and he was written off as nothing but a nuisance, which was only confirmed when one of them scoffed. “Run away, little beta, this doesn’t concern you.”

And then he turned right back around to continue scenting the man, the omega, who headbutted him so hard in the nose Bret could hear it crack from here. The man howled, staggering away and clutching at his gushing face with both hands, and Bret watched as the omega took advantage of the other man’s stunned disbelief to kick his legs out from under him and send him tumbling to the ground.

Bret didn’t waste any time. He stalked forward, hauling the one on the ground up by the collar of his coat and the waistband of his pants so he could toss him bodily into the open dumpster. The open, empty dumpster, if the clang of metal and yelp of pain were anything to go by. There was a choked off squeal from behind him, and he turned just in time to watch the omega’s leg come back down and the second perpetrator crumple into the fetal position, clutching his groin. That one quickly joined his friend in the dumpster, courtesy of Bret, and the groans and squeaks that resulted from that collision were incredibly satisfying.

He wiped his hands on his jeans before turning back to the omega, raising his hands placatingly when he, too, was met with a sharp, threatening growl. “Hey. You okay? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

There was an extended moment of silence. “…Bret?”

Oh, perfect, he’d been recognized– …Wait. He knew that voice. He squinted, edging closer, and fuck, now that his eyes had adjusted a little–

“…Shawn?!”

When it sounded like the men in the dumpster were starting to try and gather their bearings, Bret put his hand on – on Shawn’s shoulder and pushed him out of the alley and past the bar, letting his hand fall away and trusting Shawn to follow him as he lead them past another two buildings to turn the corner onto another block, and then a little further still, directly under a street light, far enough to see them coming if they tried it. After getting their asses handed to them so thoroughly, not just by their intended victim but by a little beta to boot, the alphas shouldn’t come sniffing around looking for seconds, but you could never be too careful.

“Jesus, Shawn, what the hell was that?” he hissed, shrugging his jacket off and settling it over Shawn’s shoulders in one fluid motion.

Or he would have, if the man didn’t take an immediate step back and bare his teeth at him, rubbing his arms. Bret scowled. “Can you stop being so stubborn for two seconds–”

“I’m two seconds from kicking you in the fucking balls, Bret, don’t test me,” Shawn barked, taking another step back for good measure. His voice was hoarser than it usually was, and Bret was a little worried about what he’d do if it cracked.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, sucked in a breath through his mouth, and blew it out through his nostrils. “Look,” he settled on, staring at Shawn hard, who stared right back. In the orange light illuminating them, he could more clearly see his rumpled clothes, his wrecked hair, his blotchy face, but if he could compare him to anything right now it’d be a cornered animal. “Just – put it under your nose, okay? I know I don’t have much of a scent, but it’s gotta be better than whatever the fuck they were giving off.”

Shawn scoffed, but flexed his fingers from where they were clutching at his biceps, moving his eyes to his jacket. “Gee, when’s the last time you took a high school health class?”

“In high school, asshole, now take it.”

Shawn curled his lip, looking ready to keep arguing, but, shifting his weight on his feet, decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and snatched the jacket from Bret instead. He paused once he had it, glaring at him like he was expecting him to say something, and when Bret just crossed his arms and gave him a look, he finally shoved it under his nose and took a deep breath. Half the tension in his body released in one fell swoop, and with it came a hitch as he buried his face in the leather completely, his hands starting to shake.

Bret, deciding to give him a modicum of privacy, looked behind Shawn to make sure they hadn’t been followed (they hadn’t) and moved to the curb to finally hail a cab. Two of them passed, occupied, before he heard Shawn move up next to him, his jacket still stuffed under his nose. His eyes were a little red, and a little wet, but his cheeks were dry. “I wanna puke,” he rasped, muffled into the leather, and Bret gave a humorless snort.

“If you’re gonna, do it here,” he said, waving at another taxi, and this one actually responded, starting to pull up. “I sure as hell don’t wanna smell it all the way back to Anaheim.”

That earned him a grumble, more lighthearted than anything he’d heard out of Shawn’s mouth tonight, and Bret hid his relief by walking around the idling cab to talk to the driver at his window, digging out his wallet. “You got a divider?”

“Sure do, brother,” the cabbie told him, jerking his thumb to the backseat and the tinted glass that separated him from it. “Got some wet wipes back there, too. Just don’t leave any stains, huh?”

Bret frowned, because that made it all too clear what he thought they were planning on doing in his backseat, but threw a handful of twenties into the driver’s lap anyway, enough to make his eyes widen comically. “That’s to get us to Anaheim. There’s more where that came from if you get us there in forty.”

“Hell, brother, I’ll get you there in thirty,” the cabbie exclaimed, and Bret straightened back up after giving him the hotel’s address, waving at Shawn to get in on his side, which he did one-handed, slamming the door behind him as Bret followed suit. The divider deafened the cabbie’s music to a low rumble, and, as they pulled off, Bret started digging around in the mesh pocket attached to the back of the driver’s seat until he emerged with the aforementioned wet wipes. He tore the pack open, pulling half of them out in one go and passing them over to Shawn, who took them automatically with the hand that wasn’t holding Bret’s jacket to his nose, but gave him a look that said he had no idea what Bret was trying to do here.

He gestured to his own throat. “For your scent glands,” he explained, and he could see the moment the light went off, because Shawn started scrubbing at either side of his neck like a man possessed. Bret used the rest of the wipes to clean his own hands and stuffed them into his pocket after he was done, sinking back against the creaky plastic seats like they might swallow him up, lack of give or no.

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Unspoken: Chapter One - Oikawa Tooru x f!reader

Oikawa has been in love with you since you became a manager for the university’s volleyball team, but keeps it to himself in fear of what his fan club might do to you if they found out

genre(s): college!au, mutual pining (mostly Oikawa), friends to lovers, angst, eventual smut  words: 3k+

a/n: don’t worry folks, i just got carried away with this fic and felt it would be better to split it up. chapter 2 is complete and will be up tomorrow 💖 with a bonus smut ending if you are a heathen like me. enjoy ~ J ✨ i am also sorry i made the fan club so bitchy

taglist: @takingyouruwus @kurosarium @apollochjld @afterglowkuroo  (lmk if you’d like to be added to my general or a specific taglist!)

Chapter 2 

The Oikawa fan club is definitely not a fan of you, and you certainly aren’t of them. Not because you have a crush on him too but because they’re obnoxious and take the best seats at volleyball games. It also doesn’t help that they outright despise you. They don’t even try to hide it. Snickering in the hallways at school or passing quick remarks whispered amongst them at games. You really aren’t a fan of that. You don’t care, you don’t care, you don’t care—you chant to yourself to keep your tongue locked behind your teeth. It isn’t worth your time or the effort.

Not until you hear one of them hiss today at the game, “What is she even doing up here? I thought she’s the manager,” a scoff. “Guess the team likes Miko better.”

Your fists ball instinctively. You can’t sit down there, as much as you’d like to. If they knew anything deeper about volleyball beyond Oikawa’s killer serve and being obsessed with his ‘pretty hair’ they’d know that you might be a manager but there is a senior manager who outranks you and only one is allowed on the bench down on the court.  

Though you have to admit, sitting up here in the bleachers with the Oikawa ogling brigade in front of you—the manager—fawning over his every move is degrading. You don’t necessarily have to sit directly behind them, but god dammit you want to see the game too and are willing to grin and bear it for the sake of the team. You can’t sit in the normal cheering section crowded with students either since you arrive late and would have to sit at the back of the stands. So, this is the better of two options, even if today the fan club is being particularly petty.

“Or maybe she’s just a wannabe,” another snickers, loud enough that you know she is intending you to hear it.

That pushes you over the edge, making you abruptly stand up. You’re wearing a university volleyball club jacket for fucks sake! Are they really so shallow as to start slinging rumors like that around? They jolt at your sudden movement, glaring back at you, clearly with no intention of apologizing. They so obviously just want you to leave.

You want to watch the game, support the boys you watch work so hard and work hard for yourself, but you don’t want to be around for this bullshit. You know shouldn’t care, but you do, and it fucking ruins the game for you.

Instead of giving them some mean remark like you’re itching to throw at them, you just turn on a heel and go. You stride up the steps and towards the exit right as you hear the crowd gear up for Oikawa’s serve. You stop once you reach the doorway, fists clenched and trembling with anger, furious at yourself for letting them get under your skin. Exactly like they wanted to. You should have stayed as a silent ‘fuck you’ to them, but you can’t stomach going back either. Not like they even care anyways, probably too wrapped up in Oikawa’s serve. Now a sigh escapes you; forcing your hands to unfurl and stretch the ache that formed from how tightly you had them clenched.

You need to take a breath and move on. You have nothing to prove to them, all the matters is that you know where you stand. It also makes you feel better that the team actually knows you, they can pretend it isn’t true all they want but that doesn’t change that you get to spend time with the team, and inevitably, Oikawa. A fact they loathe.

You end up lingering in the hallway near the entrance to the gym, waiting for the game to finish. Usually you can be a part of the between game meetings if you want to, sometimes you can’t get down there fast enough but sitting here in the hallway, you’ll make it today. While you wait, you slide down the wall to sit, leaning against it and pulling your legs close to rest your chin on.

You like to think that you have tough skin and their words can’t hurt you, but they do. And while you may not put the same about of blood, sweat, and tears the boys do into the sport—you put in your fair share for them, and it’s hard to be met with scoffs and sideways glances purely because of jealousy. You’re appreciated enough by those who matter, so why are you so bothered by the fan club?  Shaking your head at the fleeting thought that it has anything to do with Oikawa, you convince yourself it’s just annoyance that you can’t enjoy games like you’d like to.

Interrupting your thoughts, the whistle blows to signal the end of the game and you perk your head up. You’re grateful for the distraction, not really wanting to delve deeper into your thoughts about Oikawa, and peek into the gym. Miko notices your head in the doorway and waves you in to join the huddle.

Ha, take that fan club. Wannabe my ass.

Miko’s movement catches Oikawa’s attention. He looks to where her attention is drawn and watches you beam before throwing the door wide and joining the huddle by Miko’s side. He wonders what you were doing waiting by the door, normally you wait until the last possible moment before bolting from your seat in the bleachers to join the huddle. You never want to miss a single second of the game, which he finds rather endearing. And he can’t remember the last time you skipped out on a game early.

He stares at you, trying to get your attention, but you’re fixated on the coach, no doubt trying to soak up as much information as possible. It makes his mouth curve ever so slightly at how eagerly you listen during these huddles. When you do briefly slide your gaze over to him, he gives you a questioning look to which you just shake your head at and point discretely at the coach.

Ah. Your way of saying, ‘shut up and listen’.

He supposes he likes that about you. Your bluntness.

So, with an eyeroll, he fixes his eyes on the coach, fully intending on pestering you later about it. He tries to grab you before the next game, but you hurry away as soon as the whistle is blown, and his fingers grasp empty air.

The team wins the next set, winning the match without going to the 3rd set. As customary, he lines up with the team to thank the spectators and Oikawa gets the chance to pick you out in the crowd. He spots you off to the side, and he’s noted since meeting you that you don’t sit with the cheering crowd, but rather on your own. It’s never too hard to find you, your face split in two by a smile as you clap for them. It’s then that he notices who is sitting directly in front of you.

He fights the urge to frown. He likes to think he’s a polite guy, having always given attention to his so called ‘fan club’. He got used to it in high school, the constant barrage of placating a group of fans, but had been secretly looking forward to hopefully leaving it behind. Only to have a new one re-emerge within the first few months of school. The other guys on the team weren’t too keen about him for a while after that. It took him forever to convince them to tolerate him again.

And he hates that they give you trouble. Ever since they discovered you interact with him outside of school, it seems they deemed you an enemy. He tries to stay away from you during regular school hours, keeping it limited to volleyball only, but lately the two have started bleeding together. He simply can’t help himself, however selfish that may be. Gathering his things, he wonders if they’re the cause for your weird behavior earlier.

He glances at you helping Miko put away the chairs, a tight feeling constricting his chest. God—if he ever told you how he actually feels about you, what would his fan club do then? How miserable would they make you? But damn him to hell, he’s selfish, and it doesn’t stop him from striding over to you cooing your name.

Without hesitation you reply, “Oikawa-san~,” in the same sing-song voice he uses for you. You don’t even bother to look over your shoulder at him, continuing your task.

“What was with the little peeping tom imitation earlier?”

You’re glad to be facing away from him, your skin prickling with the thought of having to explain to him that his fan club was pissing you off. Surely earning yourself a more prying follow-up question that you definitely do not want to answer. So instead you shrug, brushing off his question, “You guys were so far ahead, and I was sure your serves would end it, so I figured I’d actually be a part of the entire huddle.”

He squints, finding that to be rather out of character for you. “You missed my serves though!” He pouts, deciding it’s better for him to let you off the hook than continue to pry. He doesn’t think you’d tell him anyways, no matter how much he pesters you.

“Oh, big baby. I missed what? Two?”

“What if they were my best yet!” He protests, leaning around you so you can see his impressive pout. It delights him that he elicits a smile from you, peering at him from the corner of your eye, clearly finding his antics amusing. “Guess you’ll have to help me with serving practice to make up for it.”

You stick your tongue out at him, which he hates to admit he watches very closely as you answer, “Fine.” Though, truthfully, he’s not really pulling your leg too much. You like helping him practice.

He can’t help how his mouth turns downward into a frown as another member of the team, a bold freshman, butts into the conversation. “Need any help?”

Though he does find immense delight at the way your face falls to a neutral expression, giving him a curt, “I’m alright, thank you.” You don’t even turn to him, instead tilting your head to look at Oikawa continuing, “Oikawa-san is more than enough help here. Why don’t you see if they need help putting away the net?”

The freshman slinks away and Oikawa has to physically restrain himself from doing a victory lap as you shove a chair into his hands grumbling to yourself. The muttering continues as you move to put away more chairs, loud enough that he catches you say, “Is he ever going to get the hint?”

“What?”

You almost drop the chair you’re holding, turning wide-eyed at Oikawa, not realizing you’d been talking out loud to yourself. “It’s nothing.”

He frowns. “Is he bothering you?”

God he’s talking so loudly, making you nervous that the underclassman might hear him. “Can you talk any louder?” You hiss. Oikawa’s expression doesn’t change, however, and you groan really not wanting to get into this right now. “He’s been at it for a couple weeks now,” you say, trying to play off the situation as best you can. You’ve never had someone as persistent in pursuing you as he is, or someone as oblivious to your subtle rejections either.

You vaguely wonder if this is how Oikawa feels all the time with his fan club.

“Wanna pretend to date for a while?” He suggests harmlessly in your opinion, but very selfishly in his. And while he knows he isn’t joking in the slightest—you certainly think he is and bark out a laugh at the idea of fake dating him to get the underclassman off your back. “What?” He pouts. “Is it so crazy of an idea?”

You’re laughing even harder now, enough that people are beginning to look your way, so you swallow you remaining laughter and wipe your eyes dramatically. “It just don’t want to be murdered in the dead of night by your fan club, that’s all.”

You go back to collapsing chairs and don’t notice Oikawa stiffen. He doesn’t like being reminded that his fan club will literally rip apart any girl he is even remotely interested in. And he isn’t just interested in you. He likes you. A lot.

Clearly not thinking anything of this conversation, you say over your shoulder, “What are all those muscles for if you’re not going to carry more chairs than me?” He blinks back to reality and makes a show of picking up way more chairs than you and putting them away faster too. That only earns him a scowl in response, but he knows it’s only for show.

~

“Oh, pleeeeeease?” Oikawa almost gets on his knees begging you. Practice is done but he wants to stay late and hammer in more serves before the night is over. And sue him if he thinks it’s way more enjoyable if you stay to help him. “You promised last week!” You groan, scrunching your eyes tight, not wanting to look at his stupidly adorable pouting face that usually breaks you. It doesn’t help that you can feel he is standing very close to you. “You’re going to have to open your eyes sometime.”

“Nope, I’ll walk all the way home like this.”

He pleads your name again. “You’re going to miss the rare sight of Oikawa Tooru on his knees for you!”

You don’t budge. “Nice try.”

“I’m serious!” Now he really does get on his knees, dramatically putting his hands together to beg you. “This is a once in a lifetime chance!”

He keeps it to himself that you could definitely get him on his knees for many different reasons.

He’s sure that he’s broken you when you groan loudly and peek an eye open at him. Upon seeing that he is being serious, both of your eyes widen, and you have the audacity to start giggling at him. “I should take a picture.”

That makes him scramble to his feet, sticking his tongue out at you. “You better not.” It just makes you grin and his heart soars at the sight. He can’t help that your smile makes his stomach do somersaults. He takes you by the arm and drags you further into the gym before jogging over to the other side of the court and grabbing a ball from the cart.

He loves that he doesn’t have to tell you what to do. You’re already digging through your bag to find objects to place around the opposite side of the net for him to aim for. He notices that you’ve placed some of them very meanly—some sitting just barely on the outside line, others in spots that he has a record of having trouble hitting. And while it makes his chest swell with pride you even notice his performance, the scowl across his face betrays his annoyance that you aren’t making this easy.

If you’re going to help him—he’s going to have to work for it.

And hell, if that doesn’t drive him wild.

“Those good?” You ask, stepping off to the side, a smug smirk splayed across your lips.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

He levels a look at you that you return with a sickeningly sweet yet utterly terrifying smile. “You’re going to have to do better than that, I’m afraid.”

Your smile transforms into something that makes his stupid fucking shorts tighten, holding his gaze steadily as you challenge, “We’ll see.” Then you tear your eyes from his and he feels like you’ve ripped his chest out with it and like he can barely get enough air into his lungs. He knows the challenge is to drive him to do better, to perform the best of his ability, but damn—he’ll give 110% for the rest of his life if you ask him to.

You will never admit how much you love watching Oikawa play volleyball. Watching him shift from his teasing, easy-going smile, to this intensely serious and calculating gaze that while foreign to you—is also so strangely familiar. You feel lucky to be able to watch him up close, someone who has honed their craft, yet is ever looking to be better. When it comes down to it, you truly admire Oikawa and want to be there to watch him grow and see where he goes. Because to you, the sky’s the limit for him.

Where the hell are those thoughts coming from?

The sound of a volleyball slamming onto the court, sending the notebook you placed on the line skittering across the floor, startles you. “Hey! Pay attention!” Oikawa scolds. You quickly apologize, knowing full well how much a stray volleyball can hurt. “And make sure you’re watching! I’m going to hit every single one of those first try.”

You nod, a bit blankly, still reeling from the thoughts tumbling through your head. He tosses another ball up, his powerful thighs straining as he thrusts his body upwards, hand meeting the ball at the perfect point—the sound of his hand cracking against it almost as loud as the sound that reverberates around the gym when it connects with the floor. It all happens in the blink of an eye, but you feel like you’re watching it in slow motion until his feet touch the floor and you’re jolted back to reality.

God, what the fuck is going on with you tonight?

Oikawa isn’t blind. He knows you’re watching him. And it sends such a thrill down his spine he doesn’t know what to do with himself besides channel as his energy into his serves. Otherwise he’s going to do something very stupid tonight.

You’re uncannily quiet for the remainder of the night. Just watching him serve over and over again, and when he’s finished, helping him pick up the balls and set up the targets so he can start again. He is desperate to know what’s going through your head, but he lets you stew, just as interested in what conclusion you might be coming to on your own.

It’s not his fault that his imagination runs absolutely fucking wild that night. He can’t sleep, theorizing what changed today—if anything did. What were you thinking about as you watched him so intently? What flipped the switch? Are you thinking about him right now, lying awake in bed like he is? It torments him even in his dreams.

~

He does keep you awake that night. You can’t get the image of him out of your head. His voice either. It’s infuriating. You try to convince yourself he’s just a friend. That all those late nights in the gym, all the times he’s walked you home, all the bus rides you’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder, are harmless. He hasn’t wormed his way into your heart, he hasn’t made you fall in love with him slowly and quietly and its only now hitting you like a tidal wave—has he?

Fuck. Has he?

You’re grateful your roommates’ room is down the hall, giving you the freedom to scream into your pillow.

Are you a fucking Oikawa fan girl now?

You don’t know the difference between you and them is that he’s been in love with you a lot longer than you can even imagine.

[iloveitwhen]

Detective/Rival au

Ok so this is based off of this post by @mysnis but like, detectives. Also robin and ladybug are their codenames. Daminette.

first fic hope the few people who read this enjoy(:

“Al Ghul!”

The police officers and detectives in the breakroom all turned to see Detective Dupain-Cheng in her iconic deep red biker jacket storm in with a file clutched in her hand.

Although she was relatively new she quickly proved herself and was an exceptional detective and surprisingly very kind. The only one that didn’t get along with her was, well, the one that got along with no one, save Jon, the beat cop. Detective Damian al Ghul was definitely not well liked, it was no secret he was easily the best but his title was being threatened by none other than Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the current furious french woman glaring at the man sitting at the table. She had gained the respect of the whole precinct and everyone was well aware of the chaos her anger could bring, so the only logical thing everyone could do was take a step back and clear a path to the one she was staring daggers at.

The room had gone silent upon her arrival and everyone stared between al Ghul and Dupain-Cheng.

“Yes?” he replied from the table, not bothering to look up from his book.

“I’m going to kill you.”

He merely hummed as if considering a business proposal which only furthered her anger.

“So. What’d you do this time?” Rosa, this isn’t a brooklyn 99 au i just need her in here cause i love her back off the only one other than Damian not afraid of the sunshine-turned-hellspawn, asked. She reveled in the chaos those two brought.

Damian stood up and placed his book down, only for the purpose to look down at Marinette he refused to be looked down on. With a malicious glint in his eye and a smirk he said, “I didn’t do anything-”

“Yeah right, you, di-argghh-”

The man scoffs. “Still won’t curse? Pity.”

“Shut up!” she snapped back. “I wouldn’t have the need to if you MINDED YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

This had Jon raise an eyebrow, he did not take angering sweet Marinette lightly, it was dangerous business to do so.

“Damian,” he began at the man who still wouldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman in front of him, “what did you do?”

“He invaded my stakeout, got what he came for then left so I had to deal with the FBI and post operations. If you had the decency of a normal human being then you could have at LEAST helped me! But no! You got in my way then left it a bigger mess than when you came! And made me deal with the aftermath! And guess what Birdbrain? Now I have another month at least to tie up the loose ends because of your interference!” al Ghul didn’t step down, instead his smirk grew wider.

“Well if I hadn’t you would’ve missed your opportunity, they were about to initiate their plan and that would have been an even bigger headache for both of us. So,” he crossed his arms, “you're welcome.”

The only one to not take a step back from the red clad woman’s anger after that was Damian, which in hindsight was very foolish as he was the only one in danger. Her hand twitch, eager to wring his neck.

“Detective Dupain-Cheng,” the captain warned after stepping into the breakroom from all the commotion, “stand down.” She growled in response and stormed off while Damian’s smirk only grew.

Rosa only rolled her eyes and muttered, “wow, not even a single punch. Losers.”

---

Marinette sat at her desk with several people gathered around, laughing at something on her screen when Damian stormed into the precinct. No one took notice of him until he barked out a “HEY!” and everyone's laughter died out. Everyone’s smiles left their faces at the sight of Detective al Ghul, well, everyone except for Marinette who ignored him and started typing something else up on the computer. The group of eyes flickered between the two as Damian’s clear target was Marinette and he was practically burning holes in her head.

She merely glanced at him and said, “hey Damian,” as if nothing was wrong. The only tell giving her away was the devilish smirk growing on her face.

He stomped over to her and spun the chair to face him, placing his hands on the armrests and leaning inches away from her face, but she didn’t budge.

“Don’t "hey Damian" me,” he seethed.

“Ok, bye Damian.”

A deep growl escaped him. “Stay out of my way, Bug. You might get squashed.” With that he stood up, looked down at her with a snarl, and left, leaving his threat hanging in the air.

As he left Marinette caught everyone’s attention again with a “hey look what I made everyone,” and clicked on something she had pulled up during the man’s entrance. The group once again howled in laughter at the compilation video labeled: “Our “Greatest” Detective Being a Brat for 5 Minutes”

---

Marinette and Damian were currently sparring in the underground workout room, it was mostly empty except for Detective Diaz who liked to follow them around and add to their chaos or just watch for her amusement and the thorn in her side, Jon Kent, the beat cop.

“Damn,” Jon commented, munching on popcorn he brought from the breakroom. They had been going for ten minutes trading hits and kicks without a breather.

“Yeah. They’re crazy.” Rosa cackled, throwing popcorn in her mouth.

Marinette’s eyes shone with determination as well as Damian’s, both refusing to back down and admit defeat but they were also running out of stamina. They had taken their work clothes off and wore simple shorts and tank tops, running shorts for Marinette and basketball shorts for Damian. They had fought each other so much that they knew each other too well, each unable to surprise the other.

“When do you think they’ll just go for it and have like, a really aggressive make-out sesh?” Jon asked, glancing at the woman beside him before turning his eyes back on the fight. Rosa grinned maliciously, eyes sparkling at the thought of the chaos that could bring.

“Two weeks. Tops.”

“Nah, no more than five days.”

The captain appeared next to Jon who flinched and flung the half the bowl of popcorn on himself and Diaz. “I think within the month but after two weeks, they have no idea what they’re feeling.”

Jon and Rosa looked at each other, then at their captain with growing grins.

“Deal.”

---

Marinette was fuming in her anger.

How? How did this happen? She asked herself, screaming in her mind since she wasn’t in her bed and couldn’t do it into her pillow. She unintentionally let out a growl and felt Damian al Ghul’s chuckle through his chest.

They had been compromised, Ladybug’s informant had been bugged, pun not intended and they weren’t aware until their informant arrived at the pickup and was immediately taken hostage, they were forced to hide in the rafters and there were more thugs than expected as they had come prepared for the two detectives.

Which led to Robin covering her under his stupid long cape in the rafters of the warehouse and waiting for her to come up with a plan as they hid in the shadows.

“See, this is why I bring this ‘dumb black cape’ with me.” Robin whispered in her ear to which she growled again in response. She hated when he was right about anything, especially about something so dumb. And it definitely wasn’t helping that she could his breath on her neck or his arm wrapped around her waist. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t think of a plan to escape.

She internally cursed herself for letting her thoughts carry away and focused solely on her breathing for a few moments then to the commotion below them.

---

“I am never working with him again.” Marinette complained to the captain, both her and Detective al Ghul had been brought into the Captain’s office to discuss their distracting relationship.

“Why not? You two are better together, your strengths weigh out the other’s weaknesses.”

“He’s a brat!”

Damian scoffed, “At least I’m not naive, you imbecile.”

“Detectives!” the Captain dragged his hand across his face in despair. “You two will get over your differences, one way or another, and do it quickly if you want to work another case.”

“WHAT?” they both shouted in unison.

“You will not work another case until you figure out how to be civil with each other.”

Immediately they both started yelling over each other at their captain, protesting the terrible idea and gesturing to each other as proof of the terrible idea.

“Enough!” He shouted over them and just as quickly as they started, they stopped and glared. “I know you two love your jobs and are unhealthy in your obsession with them so I can and will hold this over your head until you get over your differences. No cases. You are dismissed.”

The two detectives glared at their captain, no doubt thinking of petty ways to get back at him for doing this to them and they stormed out.

---

One week later, Jon lost the bet Detectives al Ghul and Dupain-Cheng were sitting in the captain's office again.

“How was your time off?”

“Fun.”

“Lier.”

“Shut up, Robin.”

The captain sighed. “So I see that you two are not civil.”

“What? No we are, right Damian?”

“... yes me and miss Dupain-Cheng get along rather well. We had a discussion earlier this week and have agreed to be civil with one another.”

“It’s just banter.” Marinette chuckled, waving the notion away.

The captain looked between the two, his two best detectives, one sat in stoic, perfect posture with an unreadable, emotionless face and the other was beaming at him with a blinding smile.

“Ok perfect. Here’s your next case,” he slid a thin file over to them, “I went over it already and you will have to begin with a stake-out to gather more information.” With that Damian’s ever present scowl deepened and Marinette’s smile became strained and her eye twitched.

That’s what they get for lying to me, thought the captain. Hopefully they won’t mess up this investigation.

As they left he heard Damian mutter “way to go imbecile,” to Marinette who growled back a “you started it,” before the door clicked shut behind them.

---

There was a knock on Damian’s door. He sighed in annoyance, he was stuck with Dupain-Cheng so the person on the other side of the door could only be her.

“What do you want?”

“I’m bored Damian, let’s spar.”

“No, go away.”

“Please?”

Ugh, stupid cute voi- what? No. No no no. Stupid annoying voice. “We sparred yesterday. And the day before. And the day before that.”

“Well you won’t do anything else with me.” her muffled voice complained. It was true, he didn’t want to be in her presence because for some reason he enjoyed it because she was a nuisance.

“Fine!” he got off of his uncomfortable mat and swung the door open to find a hopeful expression on Marinette’s face and twinkle in her beautiful blue eyes. “What is it you want to do?”

---

This investigation was not fun nor was it enjoyable. They had a measly little refrigerator and constantly ordered take out to not be seen by the goons across the street. Marinette, however, snuck out in broad daylight to go grocery shopping because “it’s more obvious to go at night than during the day, besides, do you really want them to see a pretty girl in the middle of the night and kidnap me?” Damian had to agree with her and let her treat her childish needs while he stayed and kept watch. He was thinking about these things, rereading the same sentence of his book without grasping what it actually said when his partner burst open his door.

“DAMIAN!” Marinette glared at him from his most likely broken door with focused fury.

“What?” he asked without looking up from his book.

“What is wrong with you? I've tried so hard to be civil, to be friends with you, but no! You want to be a brat. You're not better than anyone and you’re a fool to think so!”

“Well too bad I guess.”

“Damian look at me.” he glanced up for a moment then back down to his book which only heightened Marinette’s anger. “How could you eat the ice cream from the bottom up just to trick me into thinking there was more! You piece of sh--monster! You monster! You are coming with me right now. I need to take my anger out on you, I want to punch you in the face so bad right now.”

“No, I'm good.”

Marinette smirked. “So you’d rather admit defeat now? Knowing you can’t beat an angry Marinette?”

“No, I know I can beat you, I don't need to test out my abilities.”

Marinette barked out a laugh. “You’ve never beaten angry Marinette and you know it,” she snapped.

Damian closed his book with a snap and replied “fine” before following her to the mat.

“You’re going down.”

“I beg to differ, Dupain-Cheng.”

They took opposite sides of the mat and took their stances. Circling one another Marinette sized up her  opponent, she knew that he was a little more reckless and aggressive when he was angry and of course she wanted an excuse to pummel him so she needed to rile him up. She took a jab which he easily grabbed her wrist instead of swatting it away and pulled her to him. She ran at him gaining extra momentum and twisting her wrist to grab his, she jumped on top of him and the imbalance toppled them to the floor. With his right wrist trapped in her grip she got one good punch in his face before his left hand pulled her off him. She released his right wrist only to trap it again under her leg as she shot her left hand out and grabbed his other before falling to the mat, quickly maneuvering her legs to pin him. As he tried to wiggle out she tightened her grip till he relaxed and he tapped her cheek with his fingers in defeat. She let him go and they restarted.

Each time only lasting for a few minutes, every time Marinette won Damian’s anger rose and every time Damian won Marinette’s determination grew. Soon both were breathing hard and glaring at each other, circling the mat like two alphas in a battle for dominance.

Damian attacked, throwing a punch which she easily ducked under and tried to counter with an uppercut but he backed away only to attack again just as quickly. She dodged and weaved around his advances barely having time to think until she swatted one punch only to be little too slow to dodge his second punch. Pain struck her cheekbone and he faltered, not expecting to actually land a punch, even if it only skimmed her face. She took his surprise to her advantage and took a step back and kicked into his stomach, sending him to stumble backwards. Before he could recover she gave him a flurry of punches until he threw on of his own, forcing her to step back. As she did he quickly swiped his foot under her, catching one heel, forcing her off balance. Before she could save herself he was on her, pushing her back onto the mat with a heavy thump.

He straddled her with the weight of his body trapping her and his hands clamped around her wrists. She squirmed under his weight but she knew she was stuck so she gave up the struggle.

She glared up at him, both breathing heavily and completely exhausted, not that either would admit it of course.

“Looks like I pinned a bug.” he said to her, smirking, only inches away from her face

Marinette glared at him, pushing the thought out that he was so attractive with that smirk.

She couldn’t help her eyes flicker to his lips, he was so close.

“Fine you win this round, just get off.”

His grin slipped away and licked his lips but didn’t move, only loosening his hold on her, she watched his own eyes flicker to her lips then back again, only to find her eyes on his lips. She didn’t know what she was doing, he was so close. He was slowly moving his head down until she lifted her head off the ground to meet his, finally crashed their lips together.

Marinette slipped her hands out of his grip wrapping her fingers through his hair and around his neck, pulling down. Damian let himself fall on his elbow using his other hand to snake around her waist to pull her up into him. He lifted his leg and slid it between her thighs before doing the same with his other to comfortably press their bodies together.

Damian could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body, he didn’t know how badly he wanted to kiss her, to touch her, until now, and he didn’t want to stop.

Marinette heard a groan escape Damian, or was it her? She didn’t know, he tasted so good....

Damian pulled away, both were breathing heavier than before and they locked eyes.

“Holy shit.” Marinette said, not believing what was happening was real and lifted her head again, capturing Damian's lips, each giving each other softer, more gentle kisses than before.

“You cursed,” he said, pulling back again.

“Yeah well you taste like my fuckin ice-cream.”

---

BONUS:

I’m a Wayne.

*gasp* oh wow.

You knew?

Wow you must really think i’m dumb.

Wha-no i do not!

I found out the second day I was here.

… wow I guess that makes me the dumb one

It’s ok i still love you

You love me?

Shit. Rosa! Save me!

Hell no get away from me, how dare you break my trust like that.

Hope y’all enjoyed, please let me know if i misspelled or have bad grammar or anything like that or if you like it. or not thats fine too. 

Thank you for reading!!!😁