#how they talk. the little flick of their tongue to establish an accent

[dragon-kazansky]

Made with love | Helmut Zemo

Chef Zemo AU! 👨‍🍳

Gender neutral reader!

Collage by @realremyd

[Next chapter]

Part 1

You had always wanted to travel through Europe. You wanted to see those streets at least once in your life. Meet the people, attention the languages, taste the food, and maybe even do a little shopping in certain cities.

Your friend, Wanda Maximoff, came from a rather unknown country called Sokovia. When you had told her about your trip, she had brought it up. She hadn't been back home since she left, but she remembered it well. She suggested some places to go if you ever stopped by. You made a mental note to drop by her home country for her sake.

Sokovia was a declining country. It had its fair share of issues and problems, but it was still out there waiting to be discovered. The least you could do was visit on your travels.

You had passed through Spain and France, spent a few extra days in Gemany, stopping by the Netherlands to see Amsterdam. You have lost count of the photos you had taken in Austria, and it was as your stay in Poland was coming to an end when you remembered about Sokovia. The other countries you had planned to pass through would have to wait. You spent your last night Poland planning the flyover to Sokovia, luckily finding a flight that will take you to the capital.

In your pocket you kept the list of places Wanda and suggested, her hoping most of them were still there. You would of course take pictures for her.

The plane landed and you exited the airport. You wanted to see the city. A cab station near by grabbed your attention, so you hurried over. You asked the driver of the nearest cab to drop you off in the city centre. He did.

Looking around Novi Grad, you were taken in. The city was old. People were going about their business, but some even turned to smile at you as you walked along. You took in the area, admiring the buildings and the people. You were impressed and in awe with the city.

You keep an eye out for somewhere to stay, checking Wanda's list as you go incase you spot one of the places on it.

You're not sure how long you have been strolling the streets when something catches your eye. It's not a very big building, but it stands out. A restaurant. A Spanish restaurant. You smile. Spain was one of your first stops when you got to Europe, the food was one of your favourite parts.

You realise just how hungry you are. You hadn't eaten anything since before your flight. The door is open and it looks like a good place to stop.

You look up at the sign as you get closer to it. Gold letters on a purple background. There was something elegant about it.

Escorpión Morado

You look at your list quickly. It's on there. Purple Scorpion. Wanda knew about this place. You put away the list, grab your camera, and stand far enough away to get a shot of the exterior. You smile at the outcome.

Outside there were a few tables. Four, to be exact. They had a nice view of the courtyard just in front of the restaurant. The entrance was two narrow double doors, opened wide to let air into the shop, and allowing easy access for the customers to come and go. The shop being on the corner of the street allowed a view on either side theiugh the large windows. On each window was the name of the restaurant in faint lettering. You could see inside, but decided you could admire it better by going in.

Entering the restaurant, you were welcomed with a certain warmth. It wasn't too busy, but there was still several people here, enjoying themselves. You took a picture of the inside.

The inside was nice and open, plenty of room to move around. A bar was situated at the far end, a couple of people sitting at it. You walked over the polished floor and made your way to the back. You pick a stool and sit down, looking up at the menu. There were plenty of options.

"What can I get for you?" A voice asks, coming over to you. You turn your head to see who was speaking, your voice suddenly doesn't want to work.

The man comes to stop in front of you. Brown hair swept to the side, dark brown eyes, sparkling with amusement, a smile tugging at his lips. His shirt sleeves were pushed back up to his elbows, and apron was around his waist. He had very clearly just been in the kitchen.

He tilts his head to the side slightly. You had yet to answer him.

"Are you alright?" He asks. "English?"

Oh, he thought you didn't understand.

"Um, yes. I speak English. I'm sorry, I'm fine," you feel embarrassed, shuffling on the stool slightly.

"That's alright. What can I get for you?" He asks, offering a friendly smile.

You glance up at the menu again. "What do you reccomend?"

As you glance back, you see his smile widen. You had eaten tapas while you were in Spain, but you found yourself wanting to hear him speak again. There was something about his accent that was satisfying.

"Since I haven't see you around here before, I'll make a special for you. How does that sound?"

"That sounds lovely, thank you."

He smiles and leaves you to go and make it himself. You look around the restaurant again while you wait.

On the wall just off to the side, there was a plaque. You get up and walk over to it, wanting to read what was on it. There was a photo above the plaque that caught your attention first. An older gentleman, dressed smartly and looking proud. You read the plaque to find out who he is.

Or was.

Heinrich Zemo

Founder of Escorpión Morado.

He died a few years ago, leaving the restaurant to his son, Helmut Zemo. There was no photo of his son, but you assumed he was here somewhere.

Actually, looking at the photo, you could awe some semblance with the man who had served you. Was he the owner?

You look at the plaque once more before going back sit down. The atmosphere in here was nice. You could see yourself coming here every day just to pass time. It certainly seemed like a favourite spot for these people.

You smiled as you glanced over the few people gathered here. A couple by the window, just looking out at people passing by. A man sitting at the bar talking to one of the staff members, they seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were a couple of families taking up tables here and there.

It was very relaxing here.

You turn back around when the man returns, he puts the dish down in front of you and smiles. It looks delicious, just like the one you had back in Spain.

He stands there as you take your first bite.

You stop and look at him as soon as the food touches your tongue. It's amazing. You smile as you eat it, nodding at him, impressed.

"This is the best tapas I've ever eaten."

He looks really pleased with himself.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, especially since I was Spain not that long ago." You go for another bite.

"A traveller?"

"Yeah. I always wanted to see Europe, so I've been saving like crazy and here I am."

He leans against the counter, seemingly interested in this information. You're not complaining, he is definitely attractive company.

"And you found yourself here of all places."

"I have a friend who comes from Sokovia. She had mentioned it to me before I left for my trip, the least I could do was come and see," you told him, still enjoying your meal.

"Sokovia isn't exactly a popular destination, but I welcome you all the same. I also welcome you to my restaurant."

"Ah, so you are Helmut Zemo? I was reading the plaque over there," you said, nodding over at the wall.

"The one and only. Do I get the honour of your name?"

"So you ask all your customers for their names?" You ask, smiling at him.

"Only the really interesting ones."

"Interesting? I've been here all of five minutes. What makes you think I'm interesting?"

"When you work in a business like this, you get to know who is interesting or not. It comes with the territory. Also, moat of my customers are locals, so anyone from outside the country has to be interesting in some way," he crosses his arms and looks at you smugly.

"I see," you chuckle.

"Is that a no, then?"

"Y/N. My name is Y/N," you reply rather bashful.

"Y/N, lovely."

The way he says it with his accent makes a shiver run down your spine. You had a sudden need for him to say it again, but you also had to remember to be a normal human being who isn't going to freak out the lovely man they just met.

"Your meal is on the house."

You look up at him sharply.

"Oh no, please let me pay," you say urgently.

He shakes his head.

"No, this one is free. Only this one."

"You say that as if you know I'm going to come back," you look at him with a narrowed gaze.

"I trust that you will," he smirks.

"Why?"

"Well, you ate everything, complimented both my food and establishment, and I'm far too interesting, myself, for you only to come by once."

You laugh softly, shaking your head at him. His eyes lit up at the sound.

"Insufferable," you say, sliding off the stool.

"I'm aware, you get used to it."

You smile as you make sure you don't leave any of your belongings behind and thank him for the delicious food.

"Come again," he says.

"I'll think about it."

You leave, knowing he was smiling as you left the building. You make your way across the square, resisting looking back through the window to see if he was still there.

You pull out your phone and bring up a map. You needed to find somewhere to stay for a few nights. You didn't have to look far. There was a small hotel up ahead and around the corner. You decided to try there.

Finding it wasn't too hard. You only had to go down a small backstreet. It was out of the way and hidden, a nice peaceful place to stay for a while.

You enter. The lobby wasn't too big and it was nice and quiet. The building was old, but the inside seemed well looked after.

You walk over to the desk and smile at the man sitting there.

"Hello."

He smiles, "hello."

He spoke English too. That was good. Your Sokovian was... nonexistent.

"I would like a room for a few nights."

He nods and opens a big book information front of him. He grabs a pen and flicks through room numbers.

"How long are you staying?"

"Three nights? Yeah, three should do." You still had countries to check off your list.

He nods and asks you to sign the book. While you do so he grabs a key from the wall behind him. You pass him the book back and take the key.

"Enjoy your stay."

You nod and take the stairs up. Your room was nice. Big enough for one person and on the main street side, where you came up to get here. You could just about see the square from the window.

You sat on the bed. Perfect. There was a TV, but something told you it would be Sokovian television. Maybe you could watch it just for the sake of it.

You lay back on the bed and took our your phone, calling Wanda.

She picked up almost immediately.

"Y/N, where are you?"

You smile, "Sokovia. You were right, Wanda, it's very pretty here."

You hear her little gasp down the phone.

"You're actually there? You're making me homesick now."

You chuckle softly.

"I'm sorry, Wanda. It's a beautiful city though. I even stopped off at one of the restaurants you listed."

"You did? Which one?"

"Escorpión Morado."

"Escorpión Morado? Oh my gosh! It's still there? Did you meet Heinrich? I remember him being so wonderful to his customers."

"Actually, Wanda, Heinrich passed away a few years ago. His son runs it now, but I guess you could say I did technically meet the owner."

"My heart is saddened to hear of his loss. I do vaguely remember his son. Though back then he worked in the kitchen and very rarely came out."

"Helmut is rather lovely. He stayed and talked to me while I ate."

"Is he cute?"

You roll your eyes at her question.

"He might be," you chuckle.

"Perhaps a romance will spark and you'll be left heartbroken because you'll have to come back here and maybe never see him again. I'll be here watching you drink wine straight from the bottle and gobble down ice cream because you're utterly in love with this man you met once while travelling."

"Wanda, I need you to stop watching those chick flick movies and come back to the real world. I'm not going to fall in love with him. His food, however, is to die for."

"Oh, you're in love with the food. Spain exists, you know."

"I know, I was there, remember? Kind of missing the sun, if I'm being honest, but my God Wanda, this man can cook."

"Marry that man, Y/N. He can cook."

"Wanda, shut up," you laugh with her down the phone.

"Never. Enjoy your time in my home country, Y/N. It honestly means the world to me that you're there."

"In taking photos, don't worry! I'll be home soon, Wanda. See you."

You end the call.

You drop your phone on the bed beside you and stare up at the ceiling. So far you really liked Sokovia, very different from places you had been to so far.

You smile as you think about Helmut. He was certainly the most memorable part of your stay here so far.

Maybe you would visit him again tomorrow.

For the food, obviously.

@namethathasnotbeentaken @belle82devart @cathrin2405 @lieutenantn @wilder-fangirl @latenightartist-author @lucky-luck-lucky @hb8301 @charistory @thatoneartgalsstuff @thesuitkovian @malkaviangirl @zemosimp420 @realremyd @the-chaotic-cow @lostghostgirl94 @zafiro-draco @lazygurl05 @pinkcutiepiee @goddessofmischief03 @whovianayesha @myybebe @awesomesauce-abbie @that-stupid-head-tilt-thing @zemo-is-my-muse @nonamec0s

[seokjinsdisciple]

Give ‘Em a Show

doyoung x reader (purely smut like idk what to say)

you’re a brat and doyoung puts you in your place

if you know me in real life and are seeing this.. no you dont 💖

warnings: established relationship, punishments, spanking, degradation, humiliation, brat taming, over the pants handjob for like 3 seconds, deep throating, subtle exhibitionism, petnames, dirty talk, cum control, creampie, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, uhh i think thats it but as always lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 3k

UNEDITED as usual

Your first mistake was placing your hand on Doyoung’s thighs. It was innocent at first, his members all sitting around the dining room table, laughing and having a good time. You really hadn’t meant anything by it, but the longer they talked the more fidgety you got. When your boredom was replaced with horniness, you knew you were going to be getting trouble. 

You slid your palm up his leg slowly enough to keep his attention off of you for a while. At least long enough to palm over where you knew his dick rested in his sweats. You smiled as he gulped, his grip around his fork whitening his knuckles. You smirked at his warning glare, behave screaming from his eyes as his mouth stayed shut. 

You didn’t move in the way he wanted you to however, your palm gently squeezing his half bulge. He still had a calm composure, not willing to let you win just yet. 

“If you don't stop right now you won’t be able to sit tomorrow,” he whispered, breath tickling your ear as jolts of arousal shot through your body. 

“I’m bored,” you whined, sliding your palm up and down as you pouted. You almost whimpered as he grabbed your wrist with one of his hands, forcefully standing up from the table. You tried not to laugh at the boys' shocked faces, or Jaehyun’s whistle at Doyoung’s very visible boner, but you couldn’t help the smile from spreading. 

“Someone’s been busy under the table,” Johnny teased, laughing as Doyoung’s ears flushed bright red, betraying him.

“Please excuse us,” he said, dragging you from the table by your wrist. 

“Lock the door heathens,” Yuta yelled, a chorus of laughter echoing down the hallway. 

Doyoung listened to Yuta, twisting the lock on his bedroom door as soon as the two of you were inside. 

“Strip.”

“Why should I listen to you?” you asked, eyes meeting his.

“This is a game you don’t want to play tonight, princess,” he warned, eyeing his bed, “I told you to strip.”

Instead of moving you stood, back almost pressed against the door. You smiled as anger flashed in his eyes, his body completely surrounding you as he pulled your jaw with his hand. His thumb moved up to your mouth, forcing it open. He pressed his thumb on your tongue, a whimper leaving your mouth as you felt yourself starting to drool.

“Look how dumb you look, drooling all over my hand,” he growled, “Now strip. I won’t ask again.”

He let go of your jaw, stepping back to give you room to move. You obeyed this time, knowing damn well if you kept going right now he would give you nothing tonight, no matter how much you begged. You hurried over to his bed, flinging your clothes off as quickly as you could. Your body tingled at his hum of approval at your obedience. 

“How many spanks do you think you deserve for the stunt you pulled in there?” He asked, fingertips grazing your bare collar bones as he lifted your chin up. He always had to make sure you were looking at him, especially when you had been bad. 

“None,” you said, smirking as he raised an eyebrow at you. 

“Wrong answer,” he said, patting your cheek gently, “Over my lap.”

He didn’t give you much of a choice this time, effortlessly moving your body over his fully clothed thighs until he had you settled exactly where he wanted you. 

“Color?” he asked, palm gently rubbing your back.

“Green,” you whispered, biting your lip as a harsh smack landed on the plushest part of your ass. 

“You really couldn’t wait for dinner to be over, huh slut?” he asked, landing three sharp spanks in a row. 

“I told you I was bored,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek as he landed another spank. 

“And I. Told. You. To. Wait,” he said, accenting each word with a matching slap on your ass. He pulled apart your legs, tsking at the mess that had begun to spread across your thighs, “Now look at you, all worked up from a few slaps and my words.”

You wriggled in his grasp as his fingers ghosted over your core. Biting your lip hard as he gave a quick, harsh slap to your lips. 

“Awe look princess, you just got even wetter,” he laughed, “If you wanted me to spank you, you could’ve asked!”

“Shut up,” you spat back, begging your body not to betray you anymore. 

“Now now,” he tutted, “Is that any way to talk to someone who gets to decide when you cum?”

“You don't get to tell me shit,” you said, whimpering as another smack sounded through the room. 

“What a filthy little mouth you have,” he growled, “On your knees. You can’t talk shit with your mouth full of cock.”

He picked you up, practically dumping you on the floor as he pulled down his sweats. You eyed his cock hungrily, the furiously reddened tip just begging your tongue to lick. Doyoung threaded his fingers through your hair, dragging your mouth onto his cock. You kissed the tip, tongue circling the head of his cock as you watched his face. You took him into your mouth shallowly, popping off in less than a second. 

“Who put you in charge, don’t act like more of a slut than you already have” He growled, tightening his grip in your hair as he forced himself back into your mouth. He was unforgiving now, pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock.You relaxed your throat, his hands forcing you deeper onto him. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of him on your tongue. 

You let out a moan around him as he started fucking into your mouth, eyes flickering up to meet his. He looked absolutely stunning above you. Brows furrowed in pleasure as his eyes never left the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your mouth harshly. There was sweat glistening on his brow, and his bottom lip was pulled in between his teeth. 

He pulled you off quickly, string of saliva connecting your mouth to his dick as you gasped for air. 

“Doyoung please,” you whined, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

“You’re gonna have to beg harder than that, princess, and is that any way to address me?” he said, caressing your cheek as you sputtered out an apology. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you said, “Please I’ll do anything. Just please, sir touch me.”

“That's better, but not quite enough,” he smirked down at you, tutting as tears started to build in your eyes. 

“I-, please, I’ll do anything,” you whined, the tears that were building threatening to spill down your cheeks, “I’ll make it up to you sir, make you feel so good, just please fuck me.”

“You look so pretty crying for me, princess,”He smiled, wiping the tears that had fallen on to your cheeks, “Do you think you deserve my cock?”

You nodded your head furiously, not even aware of the words that were spilling out of your mouth. Desperate to be fucked. 

“Oh, sweet baby you’re babbling,” he said, pulling you up from your knees and pressing his lips onto yours, “You need my cock that badly? Havent even fucked you yet and you’re already dumb.”

You let out a satisfied moan when his lips connected with yours again, letting him guide you to the bed without breaking your kiss. Your tongues danced together as he positioned himself carefully on top of you. Your hands flew to his shirt, trying your hardest to get it off his body as quickly as you could. 

“Who said you could do that, hm?”

“Please sir,” you whined, “Just wanna touch you.”

“I think you lost that privilege when you pulled that stunt at the table, don’t you think so kitten?”

You nodded up at him, tears welling in your eyes at the thought of not being able to touch him at all.

 “Will you tie my hands sir? I don’t wanna misbehave,” you whispered, voice barely audible as he tweaked a nipple in between his fingers. 

“Oh so now you want to behave? I don’t think I’ll tie you up this time, I expect you to control yourself now,” He said back, the gentle actions of his fingers and mouth not matching the harshness of his tone. 

You had no choice but to whimper as his mouth attacked the sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder. Doyoung leaving marks anywhere he could reach while you desperately tried to keep your hands out of his hair. 

“So needy, so desperate for me. Does princess want to touch me?”

“Yes sir. Yes sir, I wanna touch you so bad,” you mewled.

“Hmm, have you learned your lesson? Will you learn to keep your hands to yourself?”

“I won’t do it again, I swear,” you agreed, voice desperate, “I’m so sorry sir, learned my lesson.”

“Very well then, you can touch me but don’t think you’re off the hook yet.”

Your hands immediately flew to his shirt, face flushing as he let out a laugh at your desperation. He sat back, allowing you to pull the fabric over his head. When he started kissing the pathway from your neck to your core you finally slid your fingers into his hair. 

His mouth ghosted over you, lightly kissing the side of your thighs, breathing over your clit, but never touching it. You had learned Doyoung liked making you squirm, and he knew exactly how to do it.

When his lips finally connected to your core, you muffled your moan. The back of your hand quieting your noises particularly well.  

“So fucking sweet just like always princess,” Doyoung grinned at you, tongue flicking your clit in the way that always drove you mad, “No need to muffle those moans love, you were trying so hard to put on a show out there, why stop now?” 

You let out one last muffled whimper before removing your hand from your mouth, Doyoung rewarding you with another series of licks on your bud. He didn’t tease you much longer, licking continuously as he slid one finger into you. 

“You’re soaking love, you really are just a needy little thing aren’t you?” He asked, a devilishly handsome smile on his face as he slowly slid a finger in and out of your trembling heat. 

You were a moaning mess, not worrying about the members that sat at the dining room table right down the hall. 

“Wanna give them a proper show love? Or should I keep you right here where I know you’ll behave,” all the while teasing you with a single finger, “Show them what a slut you are for me.”

You simply whine at his words, desperately trying to get more fingers inside you, “Please, more, anything please just want more,” wiggling around and bucking your hips to try to get closer to him. 

“More? You were so bad earlier I don’t know if you deserve it. Make me believe you deserve my cock.” he smirks “Really think I should collar you up and fuck you right there in front of them.”

“I’ll do anything,” you begged, “let you collar me and do anything you want, please sir, I just want your cock.”

“Anything at all?” he huffs finally giving you a second finger, pleased moan leaving your lips as you finally get more friction.

“Anything,” you repeated, gaze meeting him. 

“And what do we think about being on display for others?” He asked, raising his brow at the way you clenched around him, “Oh you’d like that?”

You nodded at him, a loud moan escaping from your lips as he curled his fingers in you. 

“Shall we see what they think about that too?” giving a particularly hard thrust of his fingers. You were being too loud, and you knew it. But the way he was pleasuring you made it impossible to be quiet. 

“Please,” you begged, voice breaking as a hard thrust ripped another moan from you. 

“Please what princess? We’ve been over this you need to be specific.”

‘Please sir fuck me,” you gasped, “let them all hear it please, need you inside of me.”

“Oh princess you shouldn’t have said that,” he said, smirk on his lips as he pulled his fingers from your body, “You have no idea how badly you’re in for it.”

He wrapped one hand around himself, pressing his length into you in one thrust. Both of you unable to hold in your noises as he gave you a second to adjust to his size. He quickly threw your legs over his shoulders, pressing impossible deeper into you. 

He made good on his threat, starting an unrelenting pace that had moans coming from your mouth. His hand wrapped around your neck, loosely holding it in order to keep your moans loud. The light threat of him choking you matched with the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

“You better not even think of cumming with out permission,” he leaned in and whispered. 

“I can’t,” you whimpered, “If you don’t slow down, I’m going to cum.”

“Slow down? I thought you made it clear when you tried to touch me in front of the guys earlier that you wanted to get punished like this,” he growled, keeping his pace, “You won’t cum until I tell you to.”

Your mouth flew open as he let the hand around your throat drag down to your clit. Gently rubbing in circles as continued to pound into your heat. All you could do was moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. 

You were trying so hard not to cum, whole body shaking in effort as you willed yourself to be good. To listen to him and hold yourself back. You were crying, you knew you were, and that was enough for him to have mercy on you.  

He took his hand off your clit, both hands cupping your face as he kissed you. It was messy, your tongues not really having any rhythm, the desperation to feel each other too great for either of you to care. 

His hips were losing their rhythm, his grunts increasing in volume as he got closer and closer to the edge. 

“You can cum princess,” he groaned, his cock sliding deliciously in your walls. A well timed thrust into your most sensitive spot had you obeying him. Your loudest moan yet following the snap of the coil in your tummy. 

You felt his head drop to your chest, his grunts increasing as he fucked you through your high, biting and kissing at the skin on your collarbone. It only took a few mor thrusts before he was spilling in you. Cock twitching and hips jolting until every last drop was pumped into you. He pulled out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you. 

“You ok?” he whispered, soft hands running through your hair. 

“I should misbehave more often,” you smiled, laughing at his groan. 

He collapsed on the bed beside you, letting out a laugh in disbelief, “I knew I shouldn’t have let you cum.”

He sat up, grabbing a towel from the floor and some lotion, carefully cleaning you up before flipping you over and gently rubbing your ass with the healing lotion. Muttering praises and i love yous as he massaged your tense limbs. 

He dressed you carefully in one of his shirts, tossing a pair of sweats at you as he got changed himself. 

“They’re gonna laugh at us,” you whined, pressing yourself tightly to his back as he swung the door open, waddling behind him. 

“And whose fault is that, hm?” he asked, removing your hands from around his waist and intertwining your fingers. 

He led you to the kitchen, feeding you a snack and forcing you to hydrate yourself before the two of you walked into the living room where the boys were sitting. Johnny noticed the two of you first, a teasing smile on his face as he cleared his throat.

“We saved you a seat on the couch,” he said, the boy's attention immediately flitting to the two of you, “Thought it’d hurt too much for you to sit on the floor.”

You whined as the boys laughed, burying your head into Doyoung’s side. He chuckled too, leading you to the couch. 

“Took you guys long enough,” Hyuck grumbled,  grabbing the remote and starting the movie, “I thought Mark was gonna cream his pants if you went on for any longer.”

“Hyuck,” Mark whined, blush covering his cheeks and ears as he hugged the pillow on his lap tighter. “I hate you all.”

“It’s ok, Mark,” you said, smiling softly at him. 

“I’m surprised you still have a voice, Taeyong said, shaking his head at the two of you, “Now shut up, we have a Harry Potter marathon to get through.”

Everyone listened, shutting up and getting comfortable in their designated spots. No one was surprised at how quickly you fell asleep in Doyoung’s lap, his hands soothingly rubbing your back as you dozed off. Needless to say most of the boys asked if he was serious about them watching next time as soon as you had fallen asleep. Your mind entering dreamland completely unaware of the torture they were planning for you.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

The Hard Things

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC.

I cried once writing this. 7.4k words. Angst. Just angst and sarcasm.

@notinthesameguey is personally responsible for this. So blame her.

The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Masterlist (on semi hiatus)

___________________________________

If Freya were going to be honest, she would admit that the second she saw Calum and his friends walk into the building she knew things were going to be bad. But Freya’s not being honest. Because being honest would almost include admitting just how too easy it was that day. How if those particular sequences of events hadn’t happened that specifically, then she wouldn’t be here--trying not to watch the quiver in his chin or the way he blinks rapidly. Then she wouldn’t be trying to forget the way his voice quakes.

But they did happen in that particular order. On a Thursday afternoon, he and his friends walked through the door. And here, here at this part, it’s easy to be honest.

Honestly, she is staring--way too hard and way too long at the rag-tag gaggle of people, but especially the man pulling up the rear of the group with a bright red hat snug on his head and covering his eyes, though not even the brim can hide the plump full lips pulled up into a tiny grin at something that must’ve been said. Because another guy, this one fairer-skinned in a hat too and a baggy t-shirt is also laughing. And of course, this group would enter just as Tre stepped away to check on the lanes already throwing. Vanessa wasn’t too far from the desk, but she was trying to help some parents figure out when they could schedule an event for someone’s birthday in the coming weeks.

This only leaves Freya as the only person available right now until rounds were completed to handle any new patrons. With a glance down to the clock on the computer, she could see that a couple more folks would be coming back to the front at any point. But clearly, that point wouldn’t come quick enough.

“Hi,” Freya greets flicking her gaze back up to the group with a quick smile. It’s the training. The fact that more than once she’d been told that customers liked her, especially the way she gave instructions but she needed to smile more. And if this weren’t the job keeping her afloat during her time of getting her degree, in addition to the administrative desk work she did at the university, she would leave here in a heartbeat. Possibly even in the blink of an eye. Whichever was faster.

“Hey! We were hoping you had a couple of lanes for us.”

Freya counts the head. “Just you seven?”

The guy that spoke initially turns the man in the back with the bright red hat on. “Still no word from her?”

The guy shrugs. “Don’t sweat it.” And Freya clings to every syllable. The almost sleepy drawl to his voice lined with a twinge of an accent. She can’t place it at first. But all of them share slight variations in it. The man in the red hat’s voice is low but smooth.

“Yeah just the seven of us,” a taller man pipes in.

“Okay, we can only have two people throwing on a lane at a time. I can put you on neighboring ones but we’ve got very strict rules about how many people can throw at a time.”

There’s a murmur amongst the group but eventually, it comes back to Freya that they’re okay with it. She runs down the safety rules, the forms they have to form out, and checks their IDs. She notices the man with the red hat’s name is Calum and though she knows she shouldn’t, she tries to commit it to memory. It won’t last long. She forgets names all too fast, but she never forgets a face.

“Nessa, watch the desk for me!” Freya calls out as she collects the cases with the axes and directs the party to their lanes. There’s a table for convening and a separate for the axes to rest. “Alright,” she starts with a quick whistle to settle the group. They get chatty but are quick to turn their attention back to her. “I don’t want to kick anyone out, but I will. So one last recap of the rules.”

When Freya finishes, she has the entire group repeat the rules back to her. When they return it to her all correctly, she smiles. “I appreciate y’all already. There are several range officers. They monitor carefully from several posts,” and she points them out as she speaks. “The shift rotates out in an hour. Meaning you’ll have to pause let the old shift go and let the new shift jump in. You’ll hear beeps to signal you to stop and start. If you have any other questions or concerns, you can find me at the front or a range officer. And we’ll be happy to help. Let’s keep all fingers, toes, extremities, and eyeballs intact and we can have a great day together. Enjoy.”

Usually, in her safety spills and best way to throw, Freya makes sure to keep eye contact with everyone in the group. However, she places a purposeful gaze on Calum when she tells them to enjoy. It’s reckless--she knows that. A little flirting hasn’t hurt her. Besides, she knows the moment she walks away, he’ll forget about her. They always did and she likes it like that. Flirty enough to keep good reviews, but never too flirty to insinuate anything more.

In her departure, Freya feels eyes on her, lasting longer than usual. And maybe she put more emphasis behind the swish of her hips and maybe she hoped it was Calum watching her walk away. But she doesn’t dare turn around. No matter how much she hopes in a fleeting second that maybe she had flirted just a little too much, Freya does not turn around to confirm or deny anything.

Back at the front desk, Freya takes a look at the cameras. Anyone at the front can see the lanes too--it’s for safety when you have live blades. Her gaze travels over each one though just out of the corner of her eye she catches the bright red hat. A few guys clasp him on the back but she can’t hear whatever else is said. The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. As people leave, few come in to replace them. The weekend will be busier--it always in. And Freya knows that soon too, once the afternoon becomes evening things will pick up just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Everything okay?”

Freya barely sees who it is talking before they’re out of the door. Calum, phone pressed to his ear. She watches him for a beat as he paces near the front windows of the establishment. Her gaze doesn’t linger long before something on the floor catches her eye. She sees it’s black and square. When she gets closer it looks like a wallet. Clearly used and loved by the creases in it. She glances back up to Calum to see him still on the phone and peeks at the ID just to make sure who it belongs to.

With the blank stare of Calum’s ID photo looking up at her, Freya takes it back behind the desk. She’ll wait until he gets off the phone. A minute or two later, the door chimes again with Calum reentering.

“Hey, you dropped this,” she calls out, stepping out from the desk to hold out the wallet.

Calum pats his pockets and a split second panic causes his eyes to go wide. “Oh shit, thanks. I-I didn’t even realize it fell out of my pocket.”

“No worries. Just glad to get it back to you.” Calum takes it and slips it into his pocket, hands patting the outside to make doubly sure it’s secure. “You guys doing okay back there?

“Yeah, we’re good. Though I think somehow the girls are kicking our asses.”

Freya smiles with a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “It’s power and finesse. You can tear down brick buildings but if you don’t get the release right so it’s not twirling over the axis too many times, you’ll come up with nothing.”

“So says the expert?”

Her cheeks heat for a second at the raised eyebrow Calum gives her. Running her tongue over her teeth to hide the smile, Freya nods. “Yeah, I’ve thrown an axe or two in my lifetime. So I guess that counts as me being an expert.”

Calum laughs. Whether it’s at her or not, Freya’s not sure. But she likes the sound of it. “Tell me what else the expert suggests.”

A moment passes where Freya’s watching his gaze. Wondering if an anime glint will twinkle over his brown eyes because it’s a smooth delivery. Smoother than some of the stuff she’s done. There’s no way he’s fucking real.

Freya takes a half step back, slipping through the threshold that separates the front desk from the main lobby and the hallway to the back where the lanes are set up. “This expert suggests that you try her advice and impress all your friends.”

“More finesse. In the wrist, right?”

“In the wrist.”

A shy smile is shared between the two of them. It borders telling everything and saying nothing at all, borders on giving away on how much Calum might’ve considered concocting a ruse just to get her attention and how much he did backtrack on his plan because it was his sister calling and that shocked him. The smile borders on Freya twirling the Havana twists around her finger and her rolling her eyes at Calum’s thinly veiled attempts at flirting.

Both of them are saved by the front door chiming and Freya gives a nod to Calum before turning her attention to the person now entering. But Calum watches the way she leans into the counter and smiles down at the small child standing next to their parent. “Oh my god, you’re getting so big,” Freya comments and then walks back around to settle next to them.

“No, Fre, I’m not bigger dan yesterday,” the kid responds.

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Your dad will be out in just a second. Shift change had to wait for one more person. Anything cool happen at school today?”

Calum leaves then, though he can catch the small boy gush about the races he won at recess. It’s probably crazy of him to try and find some sort of way to come back here again soon, but Calum’s already trying to put together an excuse.

When Calum heads back to the front with the group, laughing at Michael’s utter disgust at the way the last few throws went, he does look for Freya. A girl with red hair is sitting at the desk instead. And though a little bit of disappoints settles into his stomach because he wanted to tell her how well her advice worked, he finds himself resolved and it wouldn’t be broken.

******

Calum told himself whatever Freya had to say during this talk wouldn’t break him. Hell, if he were honest, he didn’t think it would go like this. “You know, I used to say I was no good for people all the time,” Calum laughs. He sniffs hard and wipes his noses on the back of his nose. “It was a clean get-away line.”

“I’m not giving you a get-away line. I’m giving you the truth,” Freya returns.

“No, I’m-I’m not saying you’re giving me bullshit. You’re setting a boundary and a good one at that. I respect it. I’m just saying the irony. The same thing I used to tell others is coming back my way.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t regret it.” Calum shakes his head, not because he’s lying. But to emphasize his point.

*****

Calum doesn’t regret going to the Yelp, Facebook, or Instagram page of the business to see if she had liked it or appeared anywhere on their social media. And luck would have it, he manages to find her. The owners like to show off their employees. Their preferred form of employee appreciation appears, in Calum’s investigation, to be a quick bio of new employees along with a video of them throwing. He nearly misses Freya’s post because of his quick scrolls. The bottom of the page comes up quicker than the app could handle and just as the new page loads that he notices it. The thick twists and black lipstick sitting on her cool dark brown skin.

He doesn’t regret it when he followed the account that was tagged, or the message he sent her from his finsta, or the messages they exchanged for a few days. And he for damn sure can’t find himself to regret it when he came back to the place a couple of weeks later to see if Freya was working.

There’s no regret when she smiles at him and laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to test your theory yet again. It worked last time. But I want to make sure that it wasn’t beginner’s luck.”

“You doubt me. You dare doubt me? I’m offended.”

Calum laughs briefly as he leans into the counter of the front desk. “It’s more like I’m testing a theory. Making sure the results can be recreated.”

“Oh, I promise you my results are valid.” She reaches out for his ID and every so gently their fingers brush. Calum can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t the slight shiver that runs down his spine. “So just you today, huh?” Freya continues on, grabbing a clipboard, some forms, and a pen.

“Just me.”

“Rest of your friends scared.” Her gaze falls to the stack she’s gathering, checking something off on the top page and then sliding the ID back to Calum.

“They’d probably laugh at me if they knew I was here.”

“Laugh at you?”

“Tell me--why do you think I’m here?”

A moment passes between them. Though it takes up more like several seconds, time feels froze as Freya studies his face. Calum wants to reach up and readjust his hat out of a nervous habit. He wants to take it back. But more than anything, he wants to know if he has a shot. If it’s worth really pursuing.

“I think you’re here to test a theory. Maybe, just maybe you’re here because of Vanessa too,” she smiles as it says. Like she knows that isn’t the truth but she doesn’t want to give into Calum.

And while it’s not the answer he was hoping for, Calum takes it. She wants to play a game and he can be down for that.

*****

She wants to reach out for his hands. They sit next to each other in the lounge chairs Calum keeps lined around his pool. But Freya thinks twice about it. The bulbs dangle above them casting an amber hue onto the water, a stark contrast to the twilight pressing evening closer to night’s full darkness. Freya does regret it. She regrets not leaving her teasing response just to testing a theory. She knew what Calum was fishing for, what he was hoping to confirm when he came back by himself.

Maybe it was just where she was then. Then she thought she could give more. Now she realizes she can’t. She likes it when she’s dating someone and they can decide on a random Sunday for errand runs. She likes having them around. And not that Calum wouldn’t be around. Tours didn’t happen all the time. But they did run long. And who the hell knows where she’d be in eight months after she graduated. Her life wasn’t stable--she wasn’t tied to the West Coast like Calum was.

Her life was full of variables. Ones that she didn’t really plan on trying to solve until closer to Christmas in the spring right before graduation. And she didn’t want to give Calum any more false hope. It wasn’t set in stone that she’d be staying in LA and it wasn’t set in stone that she could handle the long departures. Calum deserved someone that was more sure of themselves.

“I think having regrets is no good anyway,” Freya says, finally breaking the long silence between them. “Having them doesn’t change what happened anyway.” But that doesn’t change the fact that you still regret this, Freya thinks to herself.

“I used to believe love could overcome any obstacle.”

Freya turns to look to Calum and catches thhe way the stubble on his chin from the few weeks he’s gone without shaving halos just a little in the lights. “Used to? The right person, the right love--”

Calum shakes his head. “Now I think people loving me means that they love themselves and they can tell me what they want or need. No guessing. No games.”

“Still sounds a lot of a hell lot like overcoming obstacles.”

“But it’s not a dream. It’s tangible. It’s not me daydreaming up in the clouds. It’s me--right here. Right now. Knowing seeing what it means more than anything else that all the shit I was thinking of as a kid really needed just to be put on the ground level for me.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean as much as it fucking sucks that you’re telling me no, I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. I-there’s like this thing with me. I watch people. I don’t walk into a room of strangers and become the center of attention. I don’t like people all that much, but I care. You know? I care about the people I put into my life and I want them to do well and succeed. I want what’s best for them. It’s not always easy to want that, but innately, I do, I think. Deep down I want what’s good for people. And maybe love is doing the hard things, you know.”

He pauses. Freya watches the way he drops his head, fingers threading through the curls. She keeps quiet. There’s something more, something deeper to the words. “And you’re doing the hard thing. Whether it’s for me or not is debatable,” Calum continues. “But I think love is doing the hard things.”

“You said that having some space was important to you. And while I understand that, like you do need to be your own person in a relationship--”

“Your reasons or how you want to justify it to yourself for me isn’t something I need. You already said that you know what you expect and like out a relationship and that the touring would be too hard for you. Set boundaries for you. What good does it do to justify it to me?”

“So you know I’m not being an asshole, Calum. For fuck sake.”

“No, no, I-shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--who are boundaries really for? What do they do?”

“I guess they do protect the person making them. But I’m not trying to be an asshole to you. I swear.”

Calum looks up from the cement of his background lining the pool to the glossy sheen coating Freya’s eyes. They’re black in the settling night. But Calum knows they’re more like a medium brown--dark enough to get lost in them, but when they catch the light just right, they can feel like an enchanting spell sucking him in.

“Freya, you are a sarcastic son of a bitch. But an asshole to those that don’t deserve it, never.”

She sucks on her teeth, swatting at his bicep. “Take that back.”

Calum leans onto his left elbow, closing the gap between them just a little. A smile lifts his lips gently. “Never.”

“We’ve both been burned. Is it bad I didn’t want that again?”

“No. I used to say love is a scam. So I don’t think I’m necessarily the poster boy for relationships.”

“But admit it, you hoped this was the one so you wouldn’t be the odd man out.” His brows furrow at her comment. Freya gives him a soft smile. “Two of the guys are engaged. But all three of them are in a relationship.”

He sighs, gazing dropping from her face. “Maybe I was hoping so. Is it bad of me to want to be in love?”

“No. I told some kids that my boyfriend was Shermar Moore,” Freya admits with a laugh. “I was working at a summer camp and one girl saw his picture on my phone. It was my lockscreen for the longest time. So I just went with it. Well, I was spurred in part because of Drew who was a fucking creep and wouldn’t leave me alone. But I did fantasize about it. Dream of being in love with some famous and the limelight. Shit at that point, I hadn’t even dated anyone either. So another part of it was a desire too.”

“Is that part of it too? Worried about what trolls and whatever will say?”

“Oh, no one who doesn’t know shit about it can make me get outside myself.” Freya laughs but reclines into the cushions of the chair. “But maybe it’s a little bit of it. That’s too many voices talking all about you. It’s a lot of noise and some of it has to bleed through you know. Even if you’re careful and you work not to take it in, some does, right?”

“I don’t think humans were created to be able to handle that much criticism or even love and adoration. Our brains can’t handle it. So yeah, a little bit seeps in. But you keep that door closed as much as you can. You talk to people that also get it. Fuck, you even get a therapist.”

“Or a dog,” Freya says before turning her head to watch Duke laying inside next to the back door.

“And a dog,” Calum corrects.

“Excuse me, you get a therapist and a dog.”

“Tell me something.”

“I’m listening,” Freya returns, looking back to Calum.

“Before you go tonight, tell me the thing you’re going to cherish between us.”

“Will you do the same?” Calum nods at the question but doesn’t respond verbally as he gazes at her.

“Do you want to answer now?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. And then when you leave, the parting thing we have is the good, the best of us.”

“What if I stay until dawn?”

“Then you stay until dawn. Though, I think it’s safe to say both of us will pass out by 3 AM.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever done,” Freya laughs. Remembering the same she spent a Friday night after a shift at Calum’s place. He had a birthday party on Saturday along with a vet appointment with Duke. And then Sunday, Freya had we weekly lunch with her friends that she couldn’t miss. So Calum asked her if she wanted dinner Friday night at his place. Which she said yes to, but then it turned into them doing a movie marathon. Which then turned into Calum betting her that he could stay up longer than her. But they ultimately passed out around 3 in the morning on Calum’s couch.

“Thankfully, I did not miss Duke’s vet appointment that time,” Calum tacks on.

“Yeah, no thanks to me waking you up half an hour before it.”

“That darlin’ is what I call details.”

“No, I call that a very important fact,” Freya defends sitting up. “Duke would’ve been late twice if not for me.”

Calum giggles at her incredulous look. She always got heated fast, though she knew when it was serious things and when it wasn’t. “It wasn’t him paying for the visit.”

“So you ought to kiss the ground I’m standing on right now because you didn’t have to pay anything like a cancellation fee.”

“You’re not standing on any ground right-” the sentence doesn’t get the wind to complete itself when Calum watches her stand up. “Or maybe you are standing up.”

Freya hears him, but she gazes up to the sky. Trying to look past the twinkle of his backyard lights. There’s not much to see due to the light pollution. But the sounds capture her attention next. His neighborhood’s almost been mostly quiet. But with the twinge of the summer’s heat fading, Freya can hear the last bit of people outside. A dog barks into the night and there’s the crunch only tires on gravel and asphalt can give. There’s a hum in the night that Freya can feel in her bones.

It’s hard not to fall in love with the sounds of the night. It’s hard not to romanticize this, how possibly if things were different she could find herself at some point always standing in the middle of this backyard listening to the sounds of the night, having Calum beside her or maybe Duke when he’s gone and just letting herself go to the buzz. In all honesty, Freya craved stability. Always having something to come back was her dream. But in that dream it was a partner who would be there for every dinner. A shared space that was full with both of their presences.

“When you think about coming home what’s there?” Freya asks. “Like, in ten years, what’s in your home when you walk inside?”

Calum closes his eyes, bringing the picture to his mind’s eye. “Like, the truth of what I see?”

“The truth,” Freya confirms.

“Two kids, a dog for sure. Maybe two. A wife. A lot of laughs. Being knocked over with hugs. Maybe a movie that hasn’t quite been paused catches my ears. Maybe it’s summer and my mum’s over too. Because she wants to be around the kids as much as possible. And my sister--she comes over when she can too. So we have to figure out what to cook because it’s a family dinner night. I’m mostly likely in Australia. But I could be somewhere else. Just not LA. I don’t think I could have kids here.”

“That sounds lovely, Calum.”

“But I am scared. My parents divorced. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“That wasn’t your fault. And if we heal from our trauma before having kids then maybe some of our fears won’t come to reality.”

“And if it does.”

“Then we know the boogeyman is real and sometimes we can do our best but things that are meant to happen will still happen.”

“Your parents are divorced too, right?” Calum remembers her mentioning a distinction between her mother’s house and her father’s house. But she hadn’t outright stated that her parents were divorced, just alluded to it.

“Yeah. My dad remarried. He seems happy.”

“What about you? If you closed your eyes and thought about yourself in 10 years, where are you?”

“I technically asked what do you see in your home when you walk inside 10 years from now.”

“Oh, come off it,” Calum laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way.

“But,” she giggles and then closes her eyes. The breeze blows across her face and she lifts her chin up to catch as much of it as she can. Then she speaks, “I don’t know. Home’s full of the people I love. And I feel stable. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do weeks from now when something inevitably has to change. Because nothing’s going to change. Or at least, I’m not anticipating change. I think that’s what I’m sick of. I’m sick of dealing with change and constantly moving around and not knowing what the next year is going to look like. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and planning. I just want to be still.”

“You did the whole back and forth between houses, huh?”

“Yeah. I always felt like I was playing two versions of myself when I was younger. I had to be one way around my mother and one way around my father and according to my therapist, the constant games of charade fucked me up a little.”

“How often did you go between their houses?”

“Every weekend.”

Calum sucks in air through his teeth, “Yikes. Yeah, no wonder you want stability.”

“Oh, thank you Dr. Hood. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well this is a question so it’s not something you don’t know, but is the thought of me being gone for months at a time remind you of that? Like, you’d have to be one way while I was here and then another way when I was gone?”

Freya shrugs. But it’s right on the nose. “I’d have to learn to be with you and then be without you. And all I have are switches. No dimmers. I’m either on or I’m off. And I-I’m working on it. But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Calum scoffs, whispering mostly to himself. “All I have are switches. No dimmers.” It’s not a taunt to her. It’s not him blowing her concern off. It’s recognition that colors his tone. It’s the sigh when hearing something that connects so deeply it takes all the oxygen from lungs with it.

“And I swear to Christ, Calum, if you make a Lowe’s or Home Depot joke, I will extract your ankles from you right here right now.”

“Extract? What the hell?” Calum laughs.

“Broken ankles heal,” Freya returns with a smirk. Her face is lit mostly from above due to continued standing position but Calum catches the way her lips move.

“Remind me to really never piss you off. Between your ability to throw axes and the time you told me about putting ham on a girl’s car, I don’t think I want that kind of trouble in my life.”

“I only put the ham on the car because my friend was heartbroken and she was a cunt for cheating.”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean,” Calum points out, his index finger swirling in a circle in front of her.

“I could’ve slashed her tires too.”

“I think ruining her paint job was more than enough.”

Freya places her hands on her hips, looking down at Calum. “I’ve got some anger issues too. Did I mention that?”

They laugh but Calum recovers first to speak. “I hadn’t noticed it before. Thank you for telling me that. But in all seriousness, Freya, the boundaries you have make sense. I hope you continue with therapy as well,” he states with a giggle. “But it’s not easy to look back at yourself and realize ‘Oh shit, maybe I don’t want that thing again because that actually fucking hurt’. And do something about it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Thanks, Calum. And I will continue with this therapist for the rest of the school year because it’s free. Shoutout to some universities for having really accessible mental health resources.”

Freya finally sits, facing Calum. He keeps his gaze averted. But it doesn’t bother her. “What’s the intention behind telling me I can stay as long as I want? Is it to get me to change my mind? Just earlier both of us were near tears and now we’re walking down memory lane. Sharing things we hadn’t shared yet.”

“I want as much of you as I can get before you’re gone. Selfish, right?” The tears are back, she can hear them in his voice.

“No. A bit of your masochism showing, certainly.”

“You ever know something’s bad for you, but you want it anyway? You want the pain anyway?”

“I mean considering both of us are littered tattoos, pain’s not something we’re too worried about.”

Calum wishes he didn’t laugh, not even the short burst of laughter. “Someone’s coping with humor.”

“Someone’s self flagellating.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either.”

“Maybe love is doing the hard things. You said that yourself.”

Calum swallows hard and his voice only comes out in a whisper. “I know I did.”

Freya blinks away the blur of tears. But as soon as they clear, more replace them. Her voice is tight as she speaks. “Doing the hard things suck though. Don’t think this is easy.”

“It’s because it’s the hard thing,” Calum returns. He wants to smile and manages to get a small one but he knows. Freya’s going to leave. She won’t stay.

“My favorite thing,” she starts and Calum exhales hard. There it is--the confirmation. The sentence gets caught in her throat so she pauses to clear it, work the tears down to at least speak. God, why couldn’t it have been easy. “My favorite thing between us, about us, whatever you want to label it as, is that we could also be honest. And even if it was burning waffles or ducking paps to watch a movie for an anime that you had no idea anything about because I wanted to go desperately and you had to Google a summary during the previews, we were always honest with each other.”

“I want to put it out there that you only told me that it was for an anime as I was buying the tickets. So I had zero time to prepare beforehand.”

“I told you the name of it the Monday before we saw it.”

“And admittedly, I forget it the second after you said it.”

“Fair enough, Calum. Fair enough.”

Calum spins in the chair and takes her hand. The first time they’ve touched today. Normally, Freya was more than happy to give out hugs but when Calum opened the front door, she have a half smile and stepped inside. If he could go back to earlier, he’d tell himself that was the first sign.

His thumb passes gently over the butterfly on her left hand. “The thing I’m going to cherish is that you made me feel sixteen again. My entire life changed at sixteen and I felt pretty invincible. I was also scared and excited. I was going to be in a band, like a one with lots of records and I don’t know--I only had that dream to believe in because I damn sure did not have a back up. It was before the downs. And I don’t regret the hard times either. But you’re the first person in a long time that gave me those butterflies. Assumed I was just never going to feel them again and I wasn’t a good person before, not as good as I could’ve been. But you gave me something to be good for again. Getting your text made my whole fucking day. And you-god, you cared about so many things. I bought books you recommended and couldn’t wait to talk about them with you. I remembered the kind of person I want to be. So thank you. For making me feel sixteen again in the cheesiest way possible but also in the best way possible too. That things are worth giving a shit for and that we can let people in and it won’t always burn.”

“Just a little sting.”

Calum nods. “Just a little sting.”

Freya brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the right one. Her sniffle is loud amongst the hum of the night. “If it weren’t for the fact that my eyeliner is tattooed to my face it would probably be running. I’m sorry it has to hurt at all. But-but I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Hopeful that we’ll get what we need out of life.”

He nods again, watching the tears track down her cheek. “We will.”

Her hands gently slip back out of his grasp and she uses the back of her wrist to press under her nose. The tremors shake her hands, so she shakes them before standing. Calum cranes his neck up, words about to fall from his lips. But she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “Don’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

It happens just as he blinks. He sighs, eyes closing to steel himself. Because there’s always so much else to say. And then her lips are pressing to his forehead. It last long enough for Calum to take hold of her thighs instinctively want to pull her in closer to him.

Then she’s gone. His hand slides down the rough denim and Freya’s walking to the edge of the backdoor. Duke picks up his head but doesn’t move much else. “Oh yeah, you don’t need to move. You know everyone comes to you, huh?” She gives him a few pats and scratches. “I’ll send you something for your adoption day, okay, love? And you might hate wearing it or you might love eating it. But be on the lookout for the mailman. He’ll have something from me.”

Calum doesn’t say anything as she says her goodbyes to Duke. She kisses the top of his head too and he thinks she might’ve whispered something else but he’s not certain from his spot on the chair. The swish of the tassels on Freya’s jeans signal her and the click of her heeled boots tell Calum she’s walking farther from him. The latch in the fence clicks and the wood around the hinges creak as she presses into the door. There’s a soft thud as the door shuts and then Calum can’t hear anything over the cough he uses to try and cover the tightness in his chest, can’t see anything in the blurry vision of his tears

She’s just gone.

******

When the front door bell sounds, Calum doesn’t think much of it. It could be a package or someone selling something. So he pushes up from the kitchen table and heads to the door. There on his porch is a light blue box with white bones on it. The subscription box that Calum gets already came. But then he notices an index card with a handwritten address on it. He picks it up. Right there in the return address is Freya’s name. He sucks in a breath and then looks to see who it’s addressed to: Duke Hood + Calum.

“Duke,” Calum calls out, stepping back inside to the house. He closes the door with his foot. The click of paws let him know the old man’s heard his call. “A little early birthday present has arrived just for you.”

He walks deeper into the living room and sets the box on the coffee table. Inside holds an olive green harness, treats, and a card. Calum laughs as Duke presses his snout against the bag of treats. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

Duke happily munches on one of the chews from the bag and Calum opens the card. A different letter slips out into his lap. He can see the ink and lettering pressing through to the other side. His heart hammers, but he forces himself to turn back to the card. “Dear Duke,” Calum pauses to see if Duke responds but his investigation continues on the treat. “I mean, fair enough.” Calum continues to read the card written by Freya, “Even though only the universe knows your true birthday, this card, harness, and bag of treats is meant to mark you sticking it out with your pops for yet another year. To spare you the grumps about a very cute hawaiin shirt I, instead, got a badass harness. Now you’ll be the coolest guy on the block. Happy Birthday/Adoption Day. With Love, Fre.”

Duke, done with the treat, looks to Calum and settles next in front of his folded legs. “Oh, so much work eating a treat.”

But Calum reaches down to gently pats at his tummy. The front of the car is cute, Calum finally recognizes. A cartoon white dog is drawn on it with large pink glasses against a yellow background. There’s no telling where she found it at. Calum looks down to the handwritten letter on printer paper. What would Freya possibly have to say?

Calum hadn’t had the guts to press send on any of the texts he drafted in the three months since they last talked. He wasn’t sure if he could. He is sure that if Freya hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve said so, and she wouln’t have sent this box for Duke. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the letter.

Calum,

I figured you heard me tell Duke he was going to get a gift. And I knew I couldn’t not deliver on my promise to him. But I do apologize if it crosses any line. Please let me know too--if it crossed any boundaries.

I hope you’re well. Congrats on the latest album too.

With Love,

Freya.

P.S. I saw you a couple times drafting a text to me but never seeing one go through. And if you’re asking why I hadn’t sent a text either, know it was fear too. And me not being sure if keeping it open like that between us would only do more harm than good. So I’m sorry. But I am here, in the sense that to the best of my capacities, I can try to be here.

*****

Her bag’s slipping off her shoulders but she finally gets the key into the lock and gets her front door open. She sighs as she falls into the ugly blue apartment door and all but flings herself into her place. The stack of mail in her hands barely makes it to the edge of the kitchen counter too. It was just one of those days and Freya couldn’t be mad at herself. Everyone had days like this.

Putting her keys up and getting her backpack next to the couch, she settles into the stools at the kitchen counter to sort through the mail. One’s a bill from the dentist she visited a few weeks back. The one thing her student health insurance didn’t cover. But she couldn’t complain.

There are few junk flyers that she immediately tosses. And it’s her name scrawled in a almost all caps that catches her eyes before she even gets finished with the rest of the pile. In the top corner for the return address she catches the name: Calum Hood + Duke

“Mail from Duke, what a surprise.”

But the real surprise is Calum’s name. It’s just a plain white envelope with a stamp and the city mark it was mailed from. Freya pops it open and sees a sheet of legal pad paper folded up.

Freya,

Thank you for Duke’s gift. The chews are a hit. The harness is much appreciated for our walks. Though, I think they’re more like walks for me. And Duke gets a little exercise in before he tuckers out. But I don’t fault him. No lines were crossed. So no need to worry about that.

I think I like the idea of mailing letters more than I do like texting. But I understand. Doing the hard thing sucks. It always has and always will. Do what you need to for yourself.

Thank you. I wouldn’t normally do this. But there’s a couple songs--they’re about you. I wanted to give you a warning before you listen to it. If you listen to it, I guess I should say.

Best of luck with your last year of school. You’ll have that Master’s in no time and then maybe soon you can take over the Library of Congress like all your evil plans have laid out. (I know, I know. Not what your Library Studies degree does. But I still think you should.)

With Love,

Cal

Freya chuckles at the Library of Congress comment. She picks up her phone and finds Calum’s thread. It’s easy to want to tell him that she can’t take over the Library of Congress and that she’s glad the treats went over well and that the harness was really more of an accessory to make sure Duke looks like a badass.

But she knows--she knows the ease got her into a pickle before. It’s why she stopped things before they got more serious. But was fear going to always predict what she was going to do in her life? Maybe the ease of things was a sign to continue. But if what if things got too far? WOuld be able to handle Calum being gone? Would she inevitably get her heart broken? And sure no amount of contemplation can predict things like this, but she did want to play with that risk no matter how fucking easy it was in the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Freya drops her face into the forearms. Her phone is still in her grip with the movement. “It’s never fucking easy is it!” she shouts into her apartment.

There’s silence that engulfs her but it gives no response.

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 2

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: kissing, swearing, subtle s-xual innuendo, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is the starring role chapter! If that makes sense... after this I'm kind of making up the plot stream-of-consciousness style. I'm pretty excited to get CH 5 out.

...

Virgil knew this whole thing was a mistake.

Roman had practically begged him to break out his skirt, fishnet, and heels. He'd only just bought them, and Roman was entirely too enticed by the idea of his boyfriend wearing them. He was very nervous - he'd never worn heels before, and never a skirt out in public - but he just couldn't bring himself to say no to his love.

And so, here he stood, leaning on the railing over a valley as the sun began reaching to kiss the horizon. He'd worn his favorite ripped crop top and leather jacket, fishnets reaching across his exposed navel, down beneath his plaid purple skirt and all the way into the black high heels he wore. He'd done his makeup a little nicer than usual, winging his eyeliner and getting a bit of purple sparkles in with his eyeshadow. his hair curled and twined haphazardly over his forehead and eyes as he watched lights of houses in the valley flicker on.

This was meant to be a special date, just Janus, Roman and Virgil. Roman had planned it, and kept the events a complete secret to both his boyfriends, simply telling them when and where to meet him. Virgil checked his phone; it was two minutes to seven, the agreed upon time. Virgil tended to arrive early to most things, since he was usually anxious that he'd be late even when getting a 30 minute head start. He passed his phone between his hands, the screen flickering on when his thumb accidentally tapped it, and a picture of Roman kissing a smirking Janus on the cheek greeted him. He felt his cheeks heat up, and slid his phone back into his pocket.

A clicking noise sounded from a little ways away, and Virgil turned to seek its source.

Janus was walking up, the heels of his black and white dress shoes clicking on the pavement. He wore a black wool suit with golden accents, a red dress shirt with subtle frills and a black bowtie. On his head rested his favorite bowler hat, concealing the majority of his golden curls - some of which escaped anyway, tucked neatly against his forehead and over his ears. He smirked and bowed as he approached Virgil, dipping his head and holding one golden gloved hand fisted tight against the small of his own back. Virgil scoffed and shoved his shoulder, and Janus stumbled a bit, snickering back.

Janus joined Virgil at the railing, looking out at the valley and the setting sun. They stood in a comfortable silence for a while, Virgil needing to consistently will himself not to rest his head on Janus' shoulder that was painfully close but felt so far.

After long enough, Janus cleared his throat. "Where might our dear prince be?" He ran his fingers down the underside of one of his lapels, not yet tearing his gaze from the pink clouds surrounding the sunset. Virgil opted to check his phone.

"Uh..." He couldn't form the words, so he simply presented his phone to Janus. A single text had come through.

Romano<3 Hey babe, I'm running kinda late. Why don't you and Jannie entertain each other until I get there? Sorry. Love you <3<3<3

Janus hummed, eyebrows raised. "Well it appears we're stuck with each other for the time being." He smirked slightly, and Virgil scoffed, bumping shoulders with him.

"What a waste," Virgil mused under his breath after a few more minutes of them staring out at the sunset together.

"Ah..." Janus glanced at Virgil briefly. "Such a shame. What a lovely view. It's practically hand drawn for a couple." He sighed, a little too dramatically, and Virgil furrowed his brow at him. "If only Roman were here. Unfortunately, you're not really my type, darling."

"Really." Virgil spat, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest protectively.

"Alas it's only you and I," Janus continued, leaning slightly closer to Virgil, "and frankly, we've got no chemistry whatsoever."

"Ah, okay snakey." Virgil bit back, not daring to look at the smirk he was sure was playing on Janus' face. "I think I can make that call, huh? Just because you look all pretty in that polyester suit doesn't-"

"It's wool," Janus interjected in annoyance. Although after a moment he gasped slightly, turning to Virgil fully. "Wait a moment! Did you just call me pretty, Charlie Frown?" He leaned a little too close, and Virgil scrunched his nose, leaning away slightly.

"Stealing Ro's nicknames for me doesn't make you creative," Virgil deflected, smirking right back at Janus.

"Mmm, perhaps not," Janus leaned away, seemingly examining his fingernails through his gloves.

"And for the record, I'm also feeling no chemistry."

"Is that so?" Janus' attention was back on Virgil, and their eyes locked in an intense and silent battle. Virgil wouldn't back down, just as he never had before, but this time he wasn't sure what he was trying to prove. He straightened his posture, making his chest puff out slightly. Even if Janus was taller than him, he wouldn't shy away from a confidence contest. No, not even if his crush was literally looming over him, not even if he could swear he just saw Janus' eyes flick to his lips for an imperceptible millisecond.

"Yeah. It is." He leaned his head forward, almost bumping his forehead on Janus'. Had he ever seen Janus' face so red?

"So you agree, then," Janus spoke, voice ever so slightly unsteady, but he didn't dare back down. Even if he was nose to nose with a boy he was in love with.

"Yeah, I guess I do." Virgil scrunched his nose again. This time, when Janus' eyes flicked to his lips, it wasn't deniable. He watched it happen, clear as day.

And so, he took a chance.

He took one step forward, not moving his head at all but nearly pushing his body against Janus'. Janus responded in kind, taking a step forward as well, and they were chest to chest. Virgil reached up and gripped Janus' lapels. They were impressively soft, and Virgil realized Janus hadn't just been bragging; it was in fact a wool suit. Janus' hands came to Virgil's hips. Virgil pressed their foreheads together, and didn't dare look away from Janus' eyes. They both breathed on each other, caught up in the heat of the moment without even needing to move with each other.

They'd both been waiting for this for so long.

Slowly, Janus' arms wrapped around Virgil's waist, and Virgil tilted his jaw up slightly. Janus met him halfway, immediately initiating a passionate, openmouthed kiss. Virgil's arms wrapped around Janus' neck, and Janus held him as close against himself as he physically could.

Virgil's mind was exploding, and so was Janus'. Neither of them could believe that this was really real. But they were both too afraid to break the kiss to make sure that it was, so they just kept kissing.

Hands wandered as they did, and Virgil had his arms wrapped beneath Janus' and around his back, both of them pulling each other against themselves as snugly as they could. Neither could get enough of this feeling they'd been chasing for so many years, and the fact that it had all culminated into this moment felt intoxicating in a way neither could describe.

Eventually things slowed down, and they went from lovingly tongue battling to trading gentle slow pecks, both of them smiling stupidly as they rested their foreheads together once more.

Janus opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted. "I genuinely thought you two weren't going to stop kissing for a minute there. Jeez."

Janus gasped and Virgil yelped, both of them jumping about a foot in the air and a foot away from each other. Roman, who was sitting on the bench next to them, broke out in laughter.

"Ro you can't sneak up on us like that, man!" Virgil wheezed out though labored breaths, as he tried to calm himself. Janus just stood straight as a pencil with his hands pressed into his face.

After long enough, Roman caught his breath, but he was still smiling so big at his boyfriends. They both looked between Roman and each other, trying desperately to probe the situation without moving a muscle.

Roman brought his hands to his face, fingers curled into happy fists. "Do you know how happy it makes me that you two finally realized?" Roman practically squealed, and if it were even possible, Virgil's face went even redder. Janus collected himself, and cleared his throat.

"Well hello, Roman." He opened his mouth to say more, but the words wouldn't come. He kept glancing to Virgil, who had taken to staring at the floor.

Roman looked between the two of them for a moment. "Oh you big buffoons. Talking always has been hard for the two of you, huh? Come here, my loves." He patted the bench on either side of him, and his boyfriends came at his call, settling in with their thighs against Roman's. "Now hmm, how should we start... I suppose you can fill me in on what I missed?" he looked between them. "Surely you didn't simply see each other in your lovely-" Roman made a point to look Virgil up and down slowly, "-outfits," And Janus as well, "And just decide to attach at the lips immediately? That sounds like something I'd do, more so than either of you." Janus chuckled, and kissed Roman's cheek.

"Well, snakey here decided to make a deal about how pretty the sunset was. And how it was so romantic and all that. And how it was a waste that-" Virgil's snarky explanation was cut off.

"Excuse me, I started it? No no no Virgie," Janus smirked as Virgil's eyes widened at the nickname, "You were the first to make a sly comment about the waste of a romantic view."

"You tell Ro then, if you think you know so much better." Virgil crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his tongue out at Janus, who hummed a laugh.

"Alright. Well," His smirk was lost then, and he took to adjusting his gloves. "I then made a comment about the lack of chemistry between us, and... And I think Virgie said something about me being pretty," His smirk was no longer lost, and Virgil rolled his eyes to try and distract himself from his heart racing in his chest. "And... I'm not sure. We got... lost in the moment." Janus smiled then. A genuine smile. It was such a rare sight (as Roman and Virgil often commented to each other) that Roman nudged Virgil's shoulder so he'd look up to see it too. They both gaped at Janus happily for a few moments, before Janus cleared his throat. "So I suppose then that in the end, I was correct that you find me pretty, Virgil?"

Virgil choked on air for a moment. "Sure, yeah, whatever," He spoke under his breath, "but you were also wrong about the chemistry thing. So suck it." Virgil gave him a challenging grin.

"Ayo!" Roman snickered at the innuendo, and Virgil and Janus both rolled their eyes at him.

"But darling," Janus ignored Roman for a moment, and Virgil swore his chest would explode if Janus kept using pet names for him, "You so strongly agreed that there was no chemistry to be found between us, and yet." He held his hands out, gesturing to their circumstances and smirking yet again.

"Oh shut up pretty boy," Virgil growled in annoyance, reaching across Roman's lap and pulling Janus by the cheeks into another kiss.

[jaskiersvalley]

The Eternal Empire

My dearest @ohnomybreadsticks, this is my humble offering to you as part of @thewitchersecretsanta. I hope it is everything your little heart could hope for, a Modern AU of our OT4 being idiots.

Rating: Mature Pairings: Lambert/Eskel, Aiden/Cahir, Lambert/Eskel/Aiden/Cahir, Eskel/Cahir, Lambert/Aiden Summary:  What better way to figure out whether there was any jealousy between them than by going to a strip club? Lambert and Eskel had done all the talking about finding a third to invite into their relationship. In theory they were fine with it, but they needed to see whether theory held up in practice too.

The Eternal Empire

The Eternal Empire was a rather impressive building. It loomed over Lambert and Eskel, slick, dark with golden accents. There was no doubt about what kind of establishment it was, the silhouettes of dancers in the windows, just obscured enough to be nothing more than elegant, barely there shadows. Eskel looked over it in approval.

“Hasn’t really changed.”

Coughing nervously, Lambert glanced between his partner and the building. He really hadn’t expected to ever end up at such an establishment, let alone with Eskel. While he knew his partner had been to strip clubs before, that was before they got their heads out of their arses and actually started dating rather than casually fucking. On the surface, Lambert was the wild one, the unpredictable, hot-headed idiot while Eskel was the quiet, dependable, respectable one. It gave Lambert a bit of a kick to know how wrong those impressions were. After all, he wasn’t the one who had snorted a line of fisstech off the chest of a one night stand.

That was all beside the point, Lambert was now following his partner into the depths of The Eternal Empire, absolutely absorbed in the décor which was dark, highlighted with soft yellow lights that really looked like a never ending line of fire. From deep within the building music reverberated through the walls, making Lambert’s whole body pulse with the beat.

“Are you sure?”

“As long as you are,” Eskel replied, linking their hands. “This is a safe way to see if either of us gets jealous. We’ll find a couple of nice looking and willing performers, buy a couple of dances, have a nice time. It’s just dipping our toes in and seeing how we feel.”

A fine plan, one that had seemed so much better in the light of day. The two of them were so very happy together, Geralt liked to tease they were sickeningly in love. But, over the years, they’d grown to realise that maybe they had room in their lives for an extra person. A threesome hadn’t really been the way they wanted to test their theory, they wanted something more subtle. Hence a strip club and a wedge of cash in Eskel’s pocket.

The main area of the club was quite breath-taking. Lambert stared wide eyed, taking in the large room with a main stage and a couple of smaller ones. There were performers of every kind dotted around the place, doing seemingly impossible things on poles or shimmying against patrons.

“Just remember the rules, look but don’t touch. And look respectfully.”

Lambert was doing just that. Looking very very respectfully, jaw only slightly slack as his gaze caught on two beautiful people, leaning against a bar. Both were lean, strong, and looked like they’d walked off a photoshoot of some description. They were both wearing very little, only tight golden booty shorts that left not a whole lot to the imagination. Their skin glistened in a shimmer of gold - not enough to be overpowering but highlighting all the gorgeous muscles on display. The lady they were chatting to glanced over at them and smirked.

“Oh shit.” Lambert managed to mutter before the glamorous woman was standing in front of them.

“Good evening gentlemen,” she said. “I’m Fringilla, I’ll be your hostess for the evening. I see those two rather lovely idiots have caught your eyes.”

Eskel nodded, more comfortable with the situation than Lambert could ever hope to be. He put an arm around Lambert’s waist and offered a quirk of his lips. “If they have some spare time and don’t mind our visage, a dance would be most welcome.

Fringilla smiled like a shark that smelled blood. She nodded. “Of course. Why don’t I show you to a private booth and I’ll send them over with your preferred drinks. What will it be?”

“Two sodas, a wedge of lime in one if you’re feeling generous,” Eskel replied. There was no drinking to be had that night, this was something they needed to do sober.

With a nod, Fringilla led them to one of the side booths that could be curtained off. It even had a pole in it. “Aiden and Cahir will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you!” Lambert squeaked and Eskel had to hide his fond laugh. He loved his partner but he was so nervous.

“Relax,” he breathed and squeezed the muscles along Lambert’s neck and shoulders with one large hand. “It’s just us having a bit of fun.”

“Shouldn’t we have talked prices first? You said we won’t order off the menu.”

Before Eskel could reply, the curtains fluttered and the two dancers stepped in. He had to hand it to Lambert, he really did spot a beautiful pair. They were rather lucky to have them free for a dance and, looking at them, Eskel already knew it wasn’t going to be cheap but it was so very worth it. Anticipation thrummed impatiently under his skin.

“Hello, thank you,” Lambert said as he took a drink from the shorter of the two. “I’m Lambert, this is Eskel.”

Nerves were obviously getting the better of him but the dancer winked with a cheeky smile. “You can call me Thank You but I generally prefer Aiden. And this is my partner Cahir. I believe you two asked for a dance this evening?”

“Yes please. If it’s no trouble. And we’ll look respectfully but nothing more.”

Cahir turned from Eskel to look at Lambert with a wicked grin. “You are too precious, sweetheart. Why don’t we dance for you and, if the mood takes, we might even let you touch. Okay?”

Eskel settled on the padded bench along the wall and tugged Lambert next to him. They were just within touching distance of the pole and, as Aiden fiddled with the controls artfully disguised in the wall, the lights came down into something darker, more intimate just as music started playing.

With the fluidity of a dancer, Cahir stepped up to the pole and, with seeming ease, pulled himself up it, turning upside down, gripping with his legs while he reached for Aiden. Lambert had no clue where to look. His eyes were drawn to the expanse of stomach and chest revealed by the move but also the way Cahir’s legs wrapped around the pole, thighs flexing. It was just as well they were in a private booth because Lambert wasn’t certain he wouldn’t combust if he’d had to watch this with strangers.

Similarly entranced, Eskel settled in comfortably, sipping at his soda, a hand on Lambert’s thigh. He was impressed by the prowess both Cahir and Aiden showed, they were definitely showmen, used to performing. There was no doubt that Aiden was the cheeky, fun one who stuck his tongue out at Lambert from the top of the pole before seemingly rolling down it, only to catch himself in a sitting position a foot off the ground. It was impressive to say the least. Chancing a glance at Lambert, Eskel had to smile. His partner looked enthralled, leaning closer to watch as Cahir leisurely spun around the pole, more showcasing his muscles than actually dancing. Thankfully, there wasn’t even a flicker of jealousy in Eskel at the way Lambert devoured the show with his eyes.

As the song wound down, Cahir was up on the pole in a similar position to how Aiden had started. But, by virtue of being taller and Eskel also leaning forward, as he leaned back, his face came level with Eskel’s.

“Hello handsome,” Cahir purred and a hand stroked down Eskel’s scarred cheek without hesitation or disgust. Eskel had to hand it to him, the guy was a professional through and through. He turned to look between Lambert and Eskel before his eyes flicked to Eskel’s lips. Before Eskel could give into temptation and lean in, Cahir was pulling himself up and flipping off the pole with flourish, a teasing grin on his face just as the song ended.

“Wow.” Lambert was speechless and he looked ready to start clapping. It was only Aiden slithering to sit next to him that stopped him probably.

“Enjoy the show?” As if he even had to ask and he knew, if his cocky smoke was anything to go by.

“It was amazing,” Eskel cut in when Lambert just nodded and kept nodding without stopping. “How much do we owe you?”

“Nothing.” Cahir flopped down next to Eskel in a sprawl. He had to be aware of how delectable he looked, nobody could be so blind to their own appeal. “We did this because of a bet.”

“You lost a bet?” Lambert finally piped up, eyes big and disappointed. Next to him, Aiden scoffed.

“Lost? No! We won.” He looked altogether far too proud.

That made not a whole lot of sense and Eskel decided to take a drink rather that try and fathom out what kind of idiot bet on something and their prize was dancing in a club while wearing next to nothing. Well, he knew what kind of idiot, the two they were currently sharing a booth with.

“So, were we your great gay awakening?” Aiden asked and held up a hand for Cahir who obediently reached over to high five him.

“Nah. That was Eskel a long while ago.” A laugh actually bubbled up in Lambert’s throat as he shyly looked at his partner. “This was my polyamorous awakening I think.”

“Nice.” Cahir nodded. “I remember Aiden and I figuring that one out.”

“Wait-” Eskel looked between the two, “-when you said partner did you mean-?”

Aiden’s bright laughter answered that and he nodded merrily. “Yep. Eight years and counting. Had a few people stick around for a roll in the bed with us but nothing ever stuck.”

Lambert squeezed Eskel’s thigh. They were both thinking it. Obviously Cahir and Aiden were up for at least a fumble if not more too. Especially given how Aiden scooted closer to Lambert, almost sitting in his lap.

“So, what do you say?” Aiden murmured, leaning in.

Eskel watched as Lambert’s tongue darted out and wet his lip. He leaned in closed too, whispering “go for it” and watching as Lambert kissed Aiden. What Eskel didn’t expect was for Cahir to trail a hand across his chest and up his throat to snag two fingers under his chin and turn him back.

“I believe I rudely teased you earlier.” His words curled around a smile. “And, if we do this, I need to go pay Fringilla for your drinks. I would love this to be a bet I lost.”

More than happy to oblige, Eskel wasted no time in kissing Cahir. However, his hand still reached to link his fingers with Lambert’s. As far as first meetings went, it was definitely not a traditional one. Then again, nothing about Lambert and Eskel had ever been traditional and it all worked out just fine. This too would be the start of something unusual but perfect for all four of them.

[artnerd1123]

Among Us: CR3WM8TS

Beneath the Waves ——————————————

It’s not just the humans who do the exploring. Especially when their ships are so easy to poke around in... 

Among Us archive/askblog Fic chapters post

——————————————

at long last!!! we have the introduction of a very special guest! and by that, i mean the one member of the crew who has yet to appear LKSJDF. that’s right, it’s nubnub’s debut! hope y’all enjoy :D

and big big shoutout to @vaaloirr​ for proofreading this for me!!!!!! y’all should check hir out, ze’s rlly rad :>

                                                 ###~###~###

SHIP SYSTEM LOG REPLAY: TIMESTAMP [HR:MIN:SEC]: 01:27:02 AFTER ARRIVAL

System setting: DOCKED [STORAGE AND VENT MONITORING]

Location: SECTOR G Ship Status: DOCKED AT [PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G] Course: N/A Systems: 

Supplies: [ONE] CRATES SHORT  

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

…

Supplies: [ONE] CRATES SHORT  

Storage Chutes: MATERIAL BUILDUP DETECTED  

Vents: CLEAR

…

Supplies: [ONE] CRATES SHORT  

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

                                                  ###~###~###

Today was a better day. A simple statement, with much behind it. A better day implied much. It needed a reason. Something to set it apart from the others in a positive manner. To those who cared, it all boiled down to the sky’s sudden roaring. That meant whatever was living above the water might be leaving a gift instead of pain.

The first time it happened, everyone had fled to the deep. The sky was not meant to roar. When it did, it could mean many things. None of them were positive. It could mean death- the large beaked horrors that flew about above the waves were merciless with their soft-bodied kind. It could mean fire raining from above- rare, yes, but it had taken one too many of them for their liking. It could mean horrible flashes of light- the huge crackles of terrifying light leaving those too close to the surface charred and twitching. This time, they expected no different. The seas were always one to change. But danger never had. So when the roaring died down to bring a myriad of different noises, different lights cast into the water and towards the sky, no one was sure what to think. Many wanted to move out of the area. There was more reef, sure. Plenty far away from whatever was scuttling around on the coral. Some wanted to wait in the deep, confident the sky’s beasts would finish off beings that tried to live on the surface. An idiotic choice, with them around. And still others… well. They were a curious species, after all. It was only a matter of time before they found out the strangers had something useful.

                                                 ###~###~###

The sky finished roaring not too long ago. The water surrounding the coral island seemed to have settled. But all was not as it appeared. Just out of sight, a quartet of scarlet eyes quietly watched the goings-on of the strange house. They guessed that’s what it was- in the handful of months the strangers had been here, the multicolored figures always seemed to retreat inside. There was all manner of things stored in there. They hadn’t gotten a good look, of course- their curiosity wouldn’t lead them headfirst into danger- but peeks in the windows showed plenty of shiny metals and blinking lights. Not to mention they’d sometimes take the top of their shiny coverings off. It was a shock to see that for the first time. But their rainbow of smooth coverings just made them all the more intriguing. It seemed to factor into their very social fabric! The strangers were fascinating to watch. Fascinating to hear, too. The strangers’ voices carried over in the sea salt breeze, making the creature’s smaller set of ears flick forwards. They had to wait until they heard the right thing to head inside. The sounds these strangers made were in some sort of odd, squeaking tongue. Like the delphiins, if a bit deeper in pitch. It didn’t take too long of observing to realize it was a language. Didn’t take too long for those of their people who remained to try and understand it. The creature was certainly doing their best. It took a lot of work, a lot of watching, and a lot of listening. They were getting the hang of it well enough, so they thought. But observation wasn’t what the hidden swimmer was here for today. They eased a bit closer, their large pink back tentacles holding tight to the side of the coral island. Their back claws scraped lightly against the webbed rock, front paws flexing impatiently. Peeking around the side of the strangers’ house, they spotted plenty of them moving about outside. That might’ve been a problem. The sight of them swarming about large capsules, though, put their mind at ease. Ah, yes. The strangers brought each other containers from far away. They didn’t seem to hunt or farm at all, or sit out in the sun long enough to survive, so they needed sustenance from their brethren. Fair enough. Their first set of eyes trailed wishfully after the multicolored swarm and their capsule. The other set strayed to the place it emerged from. It was some sort of house that flew- they’d heard it roar in and out of the sky plenty of times. They also knew that’s where the capsules were kept. Their mind wandered briefly back to the time- a few weeks after the strangers appeared- that their friends and themself managed to knock one of the capsules into the sea. Oh, how they’d feasted on all the food inside… The months after were just full of finding the best ways to get at them. And, of course, how to recognize which capsules had food, and which ones had more strange metal objects. They’d never have to worry about food again, so long as these strangers were around. Of course, there was still the matter of getting the capsules in the first place. Which was easier said than done. They’d been careful to keep track of what colors they saw as the strangers scurried past. In previous trips, their friends had been able to steal an unused covering to sneak around the ship. They noticed the strangers got rather distressed if they saw more than three of the same color walking around during a drop off. They got nervous if there were two, if the other flying house was absent. They’d all whisper about some “eemposster,” and then the creature and their friends would have to lay low for awhile. The bad thing about a drop off like this is that you didn’t know which suits would be in the house. From the looks of it, the creature would be hard pressed to find an unused color. So, waiting on plan B it is. As worried as the strangers were about those “eemposters,” they didn’t seem to guard their flying house after removing their capsules. They had no reason to, they supposed. They had what they wanted. The creature ducked under the waves, tentacles pulling them along the rocks and coral. Their brown fur and bright teal accents kept them relatively well hidden, though the business of unloading capsules did the job better. They popped the top of their head out once they reached the back of the flying house. One pair of ears flicked forwards, they listened carefully to the strangers’ conversation. One of them- a green one with a star shaped marking- was busy talking with another- a bright blue one with a similar star mark. They were leaders, if their observations were right. The green one was gesturing to the flying house, saying something about ‘crayts’ and ‘dun unlohding.’ The blue one seemed pleased by this. As did the creature. Those words- ‘dun unlohding’- was the all clear they’d been waiting for. Turning their attention to the flying house, the creature approached it carefully. There would be a hatch somewhere they could get in… they just needed to remember where it- aha! There, near the water- a hatch surrounded in yellow and black stripes. They chirped to themself excitedly, suckers glowing in satisfaction.  They darted closer, eyes fixed on their prize. Once they were under the hatch, they carefully reached a pair of tentacles up towards it. They made sure their suckers had a nice grip on the metal before drawing their body up too. They studied the hatch carefully, their remaining tentacles helping anchor them to the metal surface. It was closed tight, a squarish pattern locking the sides together. Fortunately, this flying house seemed a bit old. The doors weren’t as tightly sealed as they usually were. The creature stuck the tips of their claws in the crack, wiggling and scraping at it until they had a good purchase. Grip established, they carefully braced themself against the side. And yanked. The resulting screech of stubbornly moving metal made them cringe, but there was no shout of confusion from back on the island. They squinted as they yanked again, metal groaning in protest. But it gave away soon enough. It always did. They grabbed the edges of the hatch with their tentacles once it was open enough, holding it so they could squeeze inside. These were the times they were glad their body was so malleable. A dark, dirty metal tunnel yawned before them. They chittered again as their claws hit the floor, proud of themself for sneaking in. Of course, their pride faded the second their tentacles let go of the hatch sides. It shut with a rather loud slam. They didn’t manage to clamp their mouth shut before a surprised shriek slipped out. They slapped their front paws over their mouth, curling into an anxious ball. Had anyone heard them??? Was it over??? They sat silent in the dark for a couple minutes. Waiting. Nervous. … when nothing happened, they let the tension leave their body. Ok. It was ok. They’d just. Move a little quicker this time. Turning their back to the hatch, they started crawling up the tunnel. The dark was no problem- they could see just fine. Not to mention the soft teal glow of their suckers and short horns. It made the whole place feel like a sea cave… if a bit stranger to move in. After all, there was no water up here. They reached another hatch soon enough- it was outlined with the same yellow and black stripes, some red squiggles above it like a label. They weren’t even gonna try to decipher what it said. But they knew it was their way in. They were more cautious with this next hatch, squeezing through carefully and slowly easing the sides back together. It still gave a louder thunk than they preferred, but it was leagues quieter than the last time. Hatch troubles taken care of, they let their gaze trail to the room around them. It was a tall one, with plenty of large capsules sitting around. Some of them even sat on top of each other. The thought of all the food inside was already making their mouth water, tongues lolling out of their mouth… … They shook themself out of it. Focus!!! They scolded themself. They still had to find a food capsule. They took a moment to tuck their tentacles into their back- no need to leave them out to hit things in such a cramped space- before slinking towards the nearest capsule. It was large. Too large to get out of the hatch, unfortunately. But they gave it a sniff anyway, hoping there’d be something worth snagging. The scent of iron and copper greeted them. They curled up their lip with an unhappy chirp. No, not that one. They moved on to another one a little closer to the entryway, tail flicking eagerly.

The process of sniffing and poking at capsules continued for longer than the creature would’ve liked. All the food was better hidden for some reason- it was frustrating. Eventually, though, they rooted out a small capsule that smelled absolutely tantalizing. They stood over it gleefully, claws twitching in eagerness. If it wasn’t foolish, they’d rip it open and chow down right this very moment. However, this wasn’t their home. And they didn’t know how long the strangers would stay away. So they grabbed the capsule, digging their claws through the steel outside to gain a hold. Their tentacles slithered out of their back, lifting their body off the ground as they held the capsule protectively. From there, they picked their way across the room and back to the hatch. It was a little harder to get it open this time. Not necessarily because they couldn’t use their front paws- that was fine- but rather they had to use another set of tentacles to do so. As strong as they were, the slimmer ones on their arms had no suckers to help hang on. But they managed in the end. It was a straight shot back down to the other hatch once they were through. They’d figured out the one in the other room, so this? This was a cinch.

The only signals that anything was amiss was a metallic thunk as the hatch closed, and quiet ripples as the creature disappeared under the waves.

                                                ###~###~###

SHIP SYSTEM REALTIME LOG: System setting: DOCKED [STORAGE AND VENT MONITORING]

Location: SECTOR G Ship Status: DOCKED AT [PLANET 326-OCE-894 - SECTOR G] Course: N/A Systems:

Supplies: ERROR - RELOADING…

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

...

Supplies: ERROR - RELOADING…  

Storage Chutes: BLOCKAGE DETECTED - PLEASE EMPTY

Vents: CLEAR

…

Supplies: [TWO] CRATES SHORT  

Storage Chutes: CLEAR

Vents: CLEAR

[hookedonapirate]

Daddy!kink prompt: I know it’s different than the verse a bit, but what if they didn’t know the other was into that kink? And one day one of them lets it slip? Maybe? I think it could be fun/you’re ridiculously talented and I know you could do it. Thanks!!!!

Oh Daddy Prompts

Summary: Office AU. Killian is Emma's boss, and after a Freudian slip of the tongue, very inappropriate office etiquette ensues ;)

A/N: This one-shot is not related to the original Oh Daddy verse, per request, and so this is a fresh setting entirely. I hope you don’t mind this is not an established relationship, Nonnie. If you’d prefer, I can totally write one where they are in a relationship. 

I also paired this with another prompt from someone who sent their Oh daddy prompts via gifs. But I've only included one in this part and the rest of the gifs will be in another one-shot, probably used together if I can swing it. 

Thank you @itsfabianadocarmo for the delicious banner above!

prompt gif 1

Other Oh Daddy Prompts: 1. You’re being an awfully bad girl l 2. Daddy, can you pass the potatoes? l 3. Better than coffee l 4. Caught In a solo act l 5. Naughty School Girl l 6. Busted l 7. Bless Me, Father I 8. Tell Me When to Grab the Cupcake I 9. Proving a Point

Rated: Explicit

Talk Dirty to Me

Emma has it bad for her boss. She’s been working at his firm for about a year now and has yet to gather the courage to admit her feelings for him. Instead, she keeps telling herself they should remain friendly but professional, and every day, she carries this huge lie on her shoulders, and every day, either he goes into her office to chat with her, or she goes to his, telling herself they’re just good friends and nothing more. She’ll sit on the edge of his desk and they’ll talk about whatever—work, the weather, and anything that comes up naturally in conversation. She’d like to think he feels the same for her—if the way his eyes light up when she enters his office or the smiles he graces her with are any indications. He also has this adorable habit of scratching behind his ear when he’s nervous, and yep he does that when he’s with her.

But if he feels the same way about her, then why hasn’t he said anything or asked her out? Is it because he wants to keep things professional? He’s her boss after all, and if he were seeing any of his other employees, she’d think it was creepy and wrong and unfair (and yes, she'd be insanely jealous), but somehow she doesn’t find it wrong to fantasize about him every night fucking her on his desk or in his chair. She’s not sure if his feelings are mutual, but she’s sure he would’ve said something if he really heard her and Ruby talking about him in the break room a few weeks ago while they were eating lunch from the cafe down the street. 

Emma regrets the day she admitted to her foul-mouthed friend she has feelings for their boss because while Emma tries to forget (but miserably fails every single time) Ruby constantly reminds her.

“You know, Emma, I don’t understand why you don’t just march into Killian’s office, ride him in his chair like he belongs to you, and make him your Daddy.” 

Emma also regrets the time she told Ruby about one of her fantasies which entailed Emma calling him Daddy as he fucked her.

“Hello, ladies,” Killian greeted cheerfully as he entered the break room and headed to the refrigerator.

Fuck.

Emma’s cheeks were on fucking fire, and as soon as Killian turned his back to open the fridge, she shot Ruby a scowl so deadly, she was surprised her friend didn’t burst into flames. Ruby just covered her mouth trying to choke down a laugh. 

Thankfully, Killian said nothing and nuked up some leftovers he’d brought to work and left to eat in his office. 

To this day, Emma still has no idea whether Killian overhead Ruby talking about him. If he did, he never said anything about it.

Emma’s busy running some insurance quotes for a potential client when she hears a tap on the door frame. She stops typing to look up at Killian as he stands in the doorway. 

“Morning, Killian,” she greets, flashing a slight smile.

“Good morning, love. May I come in?”

Oh God, that smooth British accent, that silky voice always does things to her. She clenches her thighs together under her desk. “Yeah, of course.” 

He offers a shy grin and walks over to her desk. “If you get a moment today, can you step into my office?”

Emma gulps. Something tells her he’s not inviting her into his office to shoot the breeze like they normally do. No, this sounds a bit more serious than that. She clears the frog from her throat. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Great, I’ll see you then,” he says before turning around and leaving her office. 

Well, that was disappointing. He didn't even start up a casual conversation like he usually does. And did he seriously just wink at her? What the hell is going on? Is he finally saying something about how Ruby spoke of him? Are they getting written up, or worse, are they getting fired? 

But that was weeks ago.

Emma feels sick to her stomach and pales as she tries to continue with her tasks without constantly wondering what he wants to speak with her about. But she can’t stop worrying. So as soon as she finishes the mountain of work on her desk, she gets up and goes to Killian’s office, which is around the corner. The atmosphere is either very hectic at the end of the day, with people calling and requesting quotes or endorsements at the last minute, or quiet and laid back, and today it’s the latter. Jones Insurance Agency isn’t very big, but because it was just remodeled six months ago and in a prime location downtown, it does pretty well for a small insurance firm in an insignificant town like Storybrrooke. 

Emma takes a deep breath, her hands shaking and her heart racing as she knocks on Killian’s door.

“Come in.”

Emma steps in and shuts the door behind her. Killian’s office has an enormous picture window with a stunning view of the sea, and she always loves gazing out the window on a sunny day or in the evening when the sun is setting. But truthfully, she loves gazing at the owner of said view, who is currently dressed down, with his jacket off, his sleeves rolled up, shirt untucked with the top three buttons undone, exposing some chest hair, and his tie loose around his neck. 

“Hi, love,” Killian says sweetly as he drags a hand through his unruly hair before gathering some papers from his desk. “I wanted to go over these reports for tomorrow’s meeting.”

Emma sighs in relief, her heartbeat slowing a little as she rounds the desk and looks over his shoulder so she can see the papers he’s referring to. 

“You can have a seat if you want, love,” he says, looking up at her.

“No, that’s okay, I’ve been sitting all day,” she laughs. “I’m good where I’m at.” In more ways than one. Even though it’s the end of the day, she can still smell his intoxicating cologne. He smells amazing.

“I won’t be here tomorrow morning, so I need you to lead the sales meeting tomorrow if you don’t mind of course.”

“Yes, I can do that,” she says with a smile.

“Brilliant,” he says appreciatively and goes over the usual topics covered in their meetings, like what their best experience with a client was that week and what was the worst. They always share stories and challenges and ways they can overcome certain challenges. Their jobs aren’t the most exciting—Killian is a Life Insurance agent and the owner of the firm and she’s a home insurance agent—but she has a feeling sex between them would be fantastic.

She changes her mind and takes her usual seat at the edge of his desk because she’s wearing heels and they’re killing her feet. He doesn’t seem to mind though as he discusses sales numbers and quarterly goals and other things she needs to know to lead the meeting tomorrow but honestly, she can’t focus on a word he’s saying because he’s so close to her and she’s watching those soft, sensual lips move as he speaks, watches the way his wet, sinful tongue sweeps across those lips as he flips to the next page. 

She’s imagining all the things he can do to her with that tongue, imagines how good it would feel between her thighs. Emma crosses her legs, feeling herself growing wet at the thought and tries to shake away those sinful thoughts. She really shouldn’t be thinking about her boss in this way, but she can’t help it. She wants to ride him in his chair and fuck him until he cums. She wants to call him Daddy and tell him to fuck her until she can’t walk straight.

“These are some sticky areas, so we must focus on ways we can improve and hit our numbers for the month. I want our sales to be a hundred and ten percent.”

Emma’s mind is too far in the gutter at this point because it’s the end of the day, she’s tired and apparently she’s a giddy school girl all over again. “Oh Daddy, please talk dirty to me some more,” Emma giggles. She’s not sure why she says it; at first, she thinks she only imagined it, but the way Killian lifts his head and the way his pupils dilate, she realizes her mistake. And she called him Daddy!  

Oh fuck. 

She gasps, her eyes wide with horror. She’s definitely getting fired. She wishes she could crawl into a hole right now and be buried with her humiliation.

As she opens her mouth to apologize and give her resignation, Killian cocks a brow, a slight smirk hinting on his lips. “You better watch it, love, or Daddy will have to bend you over his desk and spank you,” he teases back. 

Emma’s heartbeat shoots through the roof, her mouth parted as she gazes into those piercing blue eyes. So he’s in a playful mood today? Okay, that’s good. She can definitely work with this. Pressing her palms into the desk, she leans in closer to him and murmurs, “How do you know I don’t like being spanked?”

Killian’s mouth opens, his tongue flicking against the inside of his cheek. God, he’s sexy when he does that. Her panties are fucking soaked.

“I had a feeling what Ruby said that day in the break room was true,” he says cockily, tilting his head.

Emma’s brows climb her forehead, pure shock washing over her. “You heard that?”

He nods. “Aye.”

Her stomach drops. “I’m sorry about that. Ruby has no filter.”

Killian chuckles, breaking through Emma’s walls of embarrassment. The sound eases her nerves a bit. “I’m not mad about Ruby’s comments, more like intrigued actually.”

“What?” On one hand, Emma’s completely relieved he didn’t fire her or Ruby even though he overheard their conversation, but on the other hand, it’s still embarrassing having her boss overhear a private conversation she had with Ruby, especially since it involved him.

“I’m attracted to you, Emma, if you couldn’t already tell,” he admits sheepishly, his eyes locked with hers as he scratches behind his ear.

“Oh...” Emma’s not sure how to respond that. After all this time he felt as she did? She’d wanted to believe it was true but didn’t know if it were all in her head or if she had gauged the situation correctly. “I, um—”

“I would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, Emma, but if you want to—”

“Oh I want to,” Emma blurts out, cutting him off. 

“Thank Gods.” Killian throws the papers on the desk and reaches over, slides his hands into her hair and tugs her to him, his lips crashing against hers so suddenly and roughly, she’d fall over if he weren’t holding her so securely. Her fingers assault his hair, tugging fistfuls of dark locks in her hands. She climbs him like a tree and straddles his lap, grinding into him, feeling how hard he already is through his navy blue slacks. It’s so fucking hot, Emma works her hips faster into him, wanting so much more, her heels sliding off her feet and onto the floor with two clunks.

“If you wanted me, you just had to say so, baby,” he growls against her lips, his breath completely wrecked and ragged.

“Killian...” she whispers as her fingers untangle from his hair so she can work on unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I’ve had so many dreams about this, Daddy.” Emma’s fingers are trembling but moving quickly as she desperately undoes the last few buttons and presses a trail of kisses down his chest through his feather-soft chest hair he always hides underneath his shirt. 

Killian groans and she peels her mouth away from him so he can lift her silk blouse over her head and toss it to the floor, revealing her black-laced bra.

“Me too, baby.” He kisses down her neck and cups her breasts in his hands. “Every time I see you, I wonder how good your cunt would feel around my cock.” 

Emma moans as he wraps his arms around her, pulling her to him and kissing the tops of her breasts, his lips brushing over the soft fabric. She combs her hands through his hair and pays no mind when her bra straps fall from her shoulders, too focused on how warm and decadent Killian's lips and mouth feel as he marks her skin. 

“I always think about you fucking me, Daddy.” She tilts her head back as he kisses the valley of her breasts, burying his face there, the dark scruff on his chin scratching her smooth skin. God, he feels good right there, just worshipping her breasts like he's never seen a pair of boobs before. And she's still wearing a bra.

“Bloody hell, that’s the best thing I’ve heard in my entire life,” he groans and unclasps her bra. “You should write poetry, love.”

Emma laughs through her lust-fueled fog, her cheeks warm with blush as he pulls off her bra and adds it to the pile on the floor. 

His eyes darken with lust as he drinks in her bare breasts, pink nipples tightening under his hungry gaze. “You’re so perfect and beautiful,” he whispers against her skin before taking a hard nipple in his soft, warm mouth. 

She moans, pressing herself into him as he sucks and nips and licks her breasts and nipples to his heart’s content, telling her how good she tastes and how good she feels in his hands. Emma shudders and closes her eyes, relishing the treatment. She loves being in his hands. His hands make her feel like a freaking goddess.

When he releases her nipples, he captures her mouth with his and she rolls her hips into him, wanting his cock inside her. Bad. But her skirt is impeding their activities so she raises her hips inviting him to push the offending fabric above her waist. He does so quickly and moves her panties aside, feeling how incredibly soaked she is.

He groans and mutters a slew of dirty curses as he slides his fingers inside her slit. “Gods... you’re so fucking wet for me. If only you knew all the things I want to do to you, baby girl.”

“Next time, Daddy,” she rasps, unzipping his pants and pulling out his manhood, trying not to think too much about what her words imply. 

She whimpers as his thick, rock hard cock aches in her hand. He feels so fucking good in her palm; she can only imagine how incredible he’ll feel inside her.

“Aye,” he agrees with a throaty groan while she’s stroking him and rubbing the head of his dick against her wet folds. His eyes roll back into his head and he has to force his trembling hands to retrieve his wallet from the desk drawer. 

After he finds a condom, Emma rolls it over his pulsating cock, loving how every ridge of him feels in her palm.

“You still want to do this?” He asks, searching her eyes for approval.

She smirks, not a trace of doubt in her eyes. “A hundred and ten percent.”

He chuckles and wraps his hands around her hips.

She clutches onto his shoulders, sinking slowly onto his cock, watching Killian’s face contort in pleasure as she becomes wonderfully seated in his lap. He fills her up so perfectly. 

Tightening her grip on his shoulders, she lifts her hips up and down, up and down, up and down, falling into a steady rhythm. She can’t believe after all this time, she’s making love to her boss, in his office of all places. With all her colleagues outside the door. With the window big and wide, looking out over the sea. She wonders if anyone can hear them. 

“Bloody fuck, Emma...” Killian breathes as he peers down, watching as his cock slides in and out of her slick pussy. 

“You feel so good, Daddy,” she rasps, barely keeping herself together. 

“Not as good as you do, love. Your pussy is so tight and perfect. Even better than I imagined.”

“Fuck.” Moving one of her hands to his hair, she tugs his head back slightly so she can kiss him while she rides his cock, her nipples rubbing against his chest hair. She swallows the delicious groan he offers when their tongues connect so perfectly, she knows she won’t last much longer. “I’m close, Daddy,” she moans against his lips.

“Come, baby girl. I wanna feel you squeeze my cock.”

“Oh my God.” Her entire body spasms as her orgasm hits her like a tidal wave, her walls clamping around him. “Oh, Daddy,” she cries out as quietly as she can.

He holds her tight as his own orgasm rips through his entire body. He groans and sinks his teeth into her shoulder as he cums. After a few more thrusts, they still, and Emma slumps into him, burying her face in the crook of his neck, his heart pounding against hers. 

“That was amazing,” she mumbles against his skin.

“You’re so fucking incredible.”

Emma lifts her head, still trying to gather her wits and steady her breathing. His cheeks are all rose-colored and so incredibly adorable. “Just to be clear, this won’t affect my next permanence review, right? I want to do well, but not because I’m riding you in your office.”

He furrows his brows, regarding her with a serious expression. “Of course, not. That would be bad form, love. But you’re already my best agent so this won’t change a thing. You have my word.”

She flashes a weak smile. “Good.” 

“So, you want there to be a next time?” He asks with a hopeful glint in his eyes, bringing up her earlier statement.

She doesn’t answer him with words at first, but she’s hoping the smirk and the slow, tender kiss she offers him says it all. Before she peels herself off his lap, she whispers in his ear, just in case he didn’t get the message. “Oh Daddy, there will definitely be a next time.”

Tagging some lovelies who have shown interest in the sneak peek or previous Oh Daddy on-shots. Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed: 

@itsfabianadocarmo @onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @artistic-writer @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @ilovemesomekillianjones @captainswan-shipper88 @cluttermind @hallway5 @swanlovato @xsajx @jamif @biefaless @kday426 @hails-paige @asiamarie5 @qualitycoffeethings @mikeythegeek @idristardis @have-a-little-faith

[mrsren]

Things I’m Planning for 2020.

You’ll probably see me sharing things through out the end of the year that I’m planning. I technically made this aesthetic for Frumpologist but my subconscious is apparently self serving. Leave your thoughts if you have any. (Also, I’d add a cut but I don’t know how.)

Prologue:

November 2nd, 2012

Godric’s Hollow

Poised on a roof across from the quaint, brick two story, he lifted the cigarette to his lips. Balancing it while he flipped the lighter closed, tucking it into his pocket, he watched the boy carefully. He wasn’t home alone. From what he’d witnessed over the last two days, he was rarely left alone. Perhaps his aunt feared he would kill himself so he could join his parents, the man wasn’t sure.

It was how he would have felt if he’d watched his parents systematically gunned down in the center of London after a school event. Oh, he knew all about the boy’s life, of how he had lived in this house for the last fifteen years, of how his father was an established police officer who kept digging into the criminal underground despite being warned of what would happen.

One might say the married couple earned what they got, but he wasn’t sure they were the sort who earned to be filled full of holes. Exhaling smoke, he glanced down at the black, zippered bag. It was nestled in the snow, a heavy weight against his boot. It would have only taken a moment to pull the rifle from it, to move into position, and only a breath to pull the trigger that he was so used to.

Flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette, he shook his head. Riddle was a smart man, and while his followers weren’t the brightest, he sincerely doubted this boy had gotten a good look at the gunman.

Still, a hit was a hit, and if it ever got out he had even thought of faking results, the outcome would be disastrous. Yet here he stood, surely the first Malfoy in a century to waver in the face of a job.

Grimacing, he knocked the toe of his boot against the bricks, the snow crunching beneath him. Maybe the boy wasn’t much younger than him, but he’d seen the papers. Fuck, the entire city had published an article over it.

Death Eater Task Force Lead James Potter, and wife, Lily Potter slain.

Or the one that caught his attention in the first place: Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived.

From birth, from a young age Malfoy had known what his life would be spent doing. Murder for hire, carrying out hits for high profile targets.

And this child didn’t compare to those. Sighing, and smashing the cigarette below his boot, he hauled the bag over his shoulder. “This will be a hell of a cover up.” He muttered to himself, making his way to the ladder.

And Draco Malfoy knew Tom Riddle would have his head if he ever discovered what he had done.

Chapter One:

December 21st, 2017

The Shrieking Shack

Stricken with the thought of how she ought to be home for the holiday, Hermione rested against the bar. The bartender set a glass in front of her, nodding her way before working his way down the counter.

She smirked as Daphne made her way around the dance floor. The blonde was on her second partner, and as a tanned arm slid around her waist, she spun into the arms of her third. Her curls were losing volume, sticking to her forehead from beads of sweat.

“Can I get a water as well?” Hermione asked the bartender. He was already a few customers in. “Whenever you can is fine.” Turning her gaze back to the room around her, Hermione lifted the drink to her lips.

When she’d told her parents she was leaving the country for the holiday, she expected more of a fight. Perhaps her mother was still furious, always worrying about the crime of anywhere her daughter went, but her father agreed with a smile.

Only on her second drink of the night, she hadn’t drummed up the confidence to make her way into the center of the room like her friend. Only Daphne knew the ins and outs of Paris, and all that came with it. Hermione had little doubt her friend didn’t know everyone in the room already. As Daphne crooked her finger toward her, Hermione turned to face the counter.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the bartender said, handing her a still sealed water bottle while looking over her shoulder. “What can I get for you?”

She arched an eyebrow at the tremble in his voice until she glanced over her shoulder. This ‘Malfoy’ was a tall man dressed in black, rolling up his sleeves. Everything about him spoke of warning signs - the leather gloves he plucked from his hands, the handle of a knife that was sticking out from his waistband, and the gun holster peeking out from beneath the leather jacket. His eyes flicked toward her, and she only tilted her head to the side before looking to her drink once more.

“Whiskey.” He rasped, taking the seat beside her. He raked his fingers through disheveled blond hair, snow melting on the light stands, the water splashing onto his jacket. “What’s your name?”

British, she thought. The accent was undeniable, and the raspiness of his voice too alluring for her own good.

Hermione glanced over, her eyebrows drawing together. “Me?” At his nod, she shrugged. “Hermione Granger.” She didn’t hold her hand out like her father had taught her, nor did she want.

“Draco Malfoy,” he introduced, and once the bartender had slid him a glass of booze, he’d downed it in one swallow.

Her eyes widened. “I heard.” She murmured, picking up her drink. It was a fruity drink, one that barely had any alcohol in it. Unlike his, which he’d drank straight. “Nice to meet you, I suppose.”

He smirked. “If you were going to order a drink like that, why didn’t you save your money and buy a juice box?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” Hermione snapped, reaching over to take his glass. Not dwelling on the fact of how his service was so much faster than hers, she tipped the freshly filled glass to her lips, and mimicked his earlier movement. Satisfied with the way his brows shot into his hairline, she slammed it down in front of him. “I happen to like the taste of mine.” She quipped.

“Forgive me.” He told her, and she muttered she’d prefer not to. “Have you ever been here before?”

“I’m here on holiday. My friend lives in the city.” With her answers so curt, she wasn’t sure he would reply.

He nodded, pacing himself with this drink. “University?”

“Yes. What do you do?” Hermione asked, merely for small talk. Though she wasn’t sure how she’d stumbled into this conversation. Maybe she should have let Daphne drag her around the dance floor.

He laughed, a low, guttural sound under his breath. “Family business.” Malfoy answered, his voice hard. “Unsavory really.”

Her curiosity piqued, Hermione looked over at him. “Care to elaborate?”

“Not particularly.”

“It’s impolite to bring up subjects you wouldn’t want to talk about.” Hermione muttered, uncapping her water bottle.

Draco snorted. “I’m not polite, princess.” A shiver ran down her spine. “Do you have a boyfriend at home then?”

Was this happening? Hermione glanced up, her lips parting. “No, I don’t. Planning to proposition me?”

He shrugged. “If you’re interested.”

She peered over her shoulder. Daphne was huddled in a dark corner with the man she’d danced with earlier - or one of them -, and he was snogging her. With the way it looked, Hermione didn’t think she’d be getting her friend back anytime soon. “Is this normally how you get women? Pick them up in a bar?”

“I usually don’t do this at all.” He said, casting a look over his shoulder. “But if you want to know, I’ve had a shit night for something I did five years ago, and I want to blow off some steam.”

Hermione swallowed roughly. “A one night stand?”

“No strings attached,” he agreed, setting the glass down, “but there is one thing.”

Fearing he would say he had a weird fetish, Hermione ventured, “What?”

He smiled. “I won’t be gentle, Hermione.”

She was off the stool, and letting him lead her away before she took the time to think about it. She wouldn’t have gone home with him, she told herself. Not with a stranger that looked like he would burn her house down for kicks, but the bathroom of a sleazy dive bar hadn't been what she expected either.

“Are you going to complain?” Malfoy rasped, locking the door behind them, and pushing her to the door. His hands were heavy on her hips, inching her ratty shirt up.

She shook her head, a grin crossing her face as she gripped his shoulders. His lips met her harshly, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips as he picked her up. Slamming her to the wall, his hands slid up the outside of her thighs, wrapping them around his waist. Breathless gasps escaping her, Hermione tangled her fingers in his hair.

Locking her ankles, she urged him closer to her, sliding her hands beneath his shirt to feel his hot skin. “Fuck,” she whispered, tugging his hair roughly.

His hips were pressed to hers, his cock hard in his trousers as she rubbed herself against him. “Fucking God,” he groaned, sliding his palms up her stomach. “Good girl.” He murmured when she tore her shirt over her head.

She whimpered when he dropped his head, skimming his lips down the column of her neck. “Draco.” He bit down where her neck met her shoulder, and her head banged against the door as it fell back.

And then he dipped even lower, his tongue darting out to trace where her breasts were nearly spilling from lace cups. Clinging to him as she gasped, she sighed in relief when he reached behind her to unsnap her bra.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Monday Mornings

A/N: Hey there and HAPPY MONDAY! This is the last of the Nick smooches, and I decided to tie it in with Made Man. Think of it as an interlude of sorts, falling between the time that Nick arrives at the Dockside, and that lovely moment in the intro where the L-word drops for the first time...about two months before that, actually. Anywho, these Nick smooches have been F U N. I do plan on at least one more follow up section to the 10,800/ Make Somethin’ Nick, but that’s gonna have to wait it’s turn, because after this one... IT’S BILLY SEASON! 

Word Count: 2,282

Warnings: some lemons. and like ten seconds of HIGH STRESS. 

Prompt from: @its-my-little-dumpster-fire

AGAIN, i was feeling generous with this one, so have a whole day full of no reason. ;) 

Monday had quickly become Nick’s favorite day of the week. The Dockside was closed then meaning that you had the day off from slinging drinks and concealing drop offs. Steve rarely ran any illicit operations when the restaurant wasn’t open, not wanting to draw attention to the establishment with cars and people coming and going, so for all intents and purposes it was Nick’s day off too. The way that the two of you had been spending your Mondays lately made him realize that he never really stood a chance when it came to falling for you, regardless of how hard he’d tried not to after stepping off that ferry. 

He rolled over in the unmade bed. In the two months since your lazy routine had evolved to involve the bedroom, he’d only seen the comforter made up once. You preferred the feeling of getting into a bed that had already been slept in, even if the two of you hadn’t done much sleeping. Nick’s preference was simply a bed that you were in with him. Since all he had was the air mattress on the floor in the room he rented, your place was where you spent most of your time together. Face pressed against the mint green pillowcase, he inhaled the scent of your shampoo. A shiver went down his bare back and even though the windows in the old house were drafty and the radiator hadn’t worked since you moved in, he was sure that it had nothing to do with the temperature. It was you, the way you overpowered all of his senses. Especially common sense. 

From the white gray light coming in through the curtains he could tell that it was somewhere around midday. He lifted himself up to his elbows, your pillow still between his arms and bunched up against his chest, to look out the window properly. Sliding the curtain aside with two long fingers, he blinked against the blinding clarity of the colorless March sky. A thin layer of transparent slush covered the ground and coated the waxy leaves of the holly bush beneath your bedroom window. Another blink and his dark brown eyes adjusted to the light enough so that he could see that the precipitation had started to turn to rain, fat, frigid drops falling to water down the snow that started earlier. It would all be washed away soon, dripping into the sewage drains and leaving the day damp and cold. Letting the curtain go, he slumped back down into the sheets, releasing a long breath through his nose. Five more minutes. She gets five more minutes before I drag her back here…

He vaguely remembered you saying something about breakfast, vaguely remembered telling you all he needed was you...and maybe some coffee… but you’d slapped his hands playfully away from your waist as you laughed, shaking your head. “You can stay here, lazy bones, I’ll be right back.” You grabbed the closest scrap of clothing- the tee he’d worn the night before- and tugged it over your head. Nick tucked an elbow behind his neck and watched as the soft dark fabric unfurled over the curves of your body, just barely concealing the rounded cheeks that only moments ago he held firmly in both hands. 

“Looks better on you,” he mumbled as you scooped up a pair of jeans from the foot of the bed and stepped into them. With a smirk and a hop you pulled the tight denim up your legs and fastened them shut, tucking his shirt loosely into the waistband. 

You turned to him, your smirk still showing through the fringe of hair that had escaped your messy bun. “Maybe I should keep it then, huh?” You leaned over him in the bed and he stared up at you, a smile growing on his own lips to match yours. 

He reached for your waist again and this time, since there were clothes involved and the distraction wouldn’t be too impossible to walk away from, you let him make a grip on your hips. He slipped a finger through your belt loop and pulled you down until you fell giggling on top of him, one leg on either side. He dropped one hand to your thigh, the other still hooked through the loops at your hip. “Yeah. Yeah maybe you should.” 

You looked down at the shirt, pulling the loose fit away from your body to emphasize how large it was on you. “Yeah, I mean, fits so good’n all.” With a playful roll of your eyes you released the shirt and instead made a grip in his hair, letting yourself fall forward onto his chest. “I dunno though,” you said in a low voice, inching closer to his face. “Still think it looks best on the floor.” You gave a light pull on the thick locks in your hand and the sound he made was somewhere between a groan and a laugh before your lips made contact with his and his hands slid all along your body, over your jeans and untucking the shirt in question to seek the satisfaction of your skin against his palms. He felt you sigh into the kiss as he pressed you closer, and rolled his hips slowly but intentionally up into yours so that your sigh melted into a moan that he hungrily devoured. He knew that if you’d gone through the trouble of actually getting dressed that you meant business about getting breakfast, even though he’d be happy to go the whole day without food if it meant getting to continue this; getting to feel you like this, to taste you, to hold you and draw those sounds from you, with no rush, nowhere to be and no reason for any of it aside from absolute pleasure. 

He’d stalled you earlier when you’d gotten out of the shower, your wet hair smelling like rosemary and citrus, the steam still coming off of your body as he talked you back into the sheets and his arms. He flipped you under him, stealing your breath and absorbing your warmth as his fingers undid the towel you had wrapped around yourself so he could use them to undo you as well. His kisses matched each pass of his fingers, tongue slipping in, lips pressing and teeth nipping to mirror the pressure and pace he set as you writhed beneath him until you collapsed, spent for the third time that morning. Taking advantage of your dizzy euphoria, Nick’s limbs enveloped you once more and he held you close until you fell asleep against his chest, indecisive snow and rain falling outside the window. 

When you’d finally pulled yourself away from him, tucking his shirt back into your pants and pulling a sweater from a hook over the bedroom door, you blew him one more kiss and told him not to move, that you’d be back, and that after breakfast you could get back to the nothing that you both wanted to be engaged in. 

It was a war of wills every Monday morning, dragging each other in and out of bed, and Nick sensed that your will was waning with each passing week. It started out as nothing more than killing time on your shared day off, both of you clearly attracted to the other, but still naive enough to think that nothing would come of it; that you could get away with watching movies together, lounging in your living room while the day went to waste and you flicked popcorn kernels at one another. It progressed into sharing meals and one or two times, before the bedroom came into play, he’d crashed on the couch and walked you to work the following morning. Eventually, it had turned into what it was now, his lips and hands on you as soon as you were out of sight of your place of employment on Sunday night, not leaving until you were back in view Tuesday to open the bar. Somewhere in the last few weeks, Nick felt his own will fade, too, and as much as he’d told himself that he wouldn’t fall for you, you’d given him reasons to: the shape you made curled against his body while you slept, the way your scent soaked into his clothes so he went home missing you, the sound of your laughter as you teased him about his accent or his baseball team. I’m toast. 

The five minutes from the time he peeked out the window passed, and you still hadn’t come back to bed. With a sprawling stretch and a contented yawn, Nick sat up and looked for something to pull on. But with you wearing his shirt, all he could find were his pants. He yanked them on one leg at a time, then ran a hand through his hair before leaving your room for the first time in over twelve hours. Descending the narrow staircase, he heard the creak of the third step and felt the give in the railing. His eyes roved over the few pictures lining the wall, and the triangular bit of torn wallpaper that was peeling away from the sheetrock. All of these things were becoming as familiar to him as your bed and your body. It was what he didn’t hear or see or smell that heightened his senses; no coffee brewing, no sizzling eggs, clattering pans, or soft footsteps dancing through the kitchen. By the time he was halfway down the steps, Nick was on high alert. This ain’t right...she’s not here… 

The click of the door handle turning made him spin towards the living room as he quickly came down the last few stairs. He reached behind himself instinctively before silently cursing. Shit! Fuckin’ gun’s upstairs. He swallowed and squared up, waiting for the door to swing open, hands clenched in tight, white knuckled fists at his sides. The door opened and a few wet drops blew in before two boots- two bright green, polka dotted boots came into view, attached to a pair of legs wearing the jeans he’d watched you wiggle into earlier. Nick blew out a breath in a huff as he shook his head and you hurried inside, shutting the door behind you. You were balancing two cups of coffee and a paper bag and your hood was pulled up over your head until you shook it off. Nick leaned against the doorway from the hall to the living room, arms crossed over his bare chest. You still hadn’t noticed him, despite his racing heart that he swore could be heard back in Boston. He cleared his throat loudly and raised an eyebrow at you. 

You turned then, stripping your soaked outer layer and leaving it in a pile on the tiled floor of your entryway. “Oh,” you smiled, cheeks and nose cherry red from the chilly air. “Hey, Nick, I thought I told you to stay put?”

“Yeah, you did. And I thought you were just down here. You went out?” 

You held the bag up to show him the logo. “Yeah well I told you Atlantic Bagel is only open ‘til 2,” you checked an imaginary watch as you slid your boots off. “And I wanted my fix. Bacon egg and cheese on Everything?” You looked at him like he was supposed to know what that meant. “C’mon, Tortano, I told you about it when we woke up.” He shook his head questioningly. She thinks I’m gonna remember somethin bout’a bagel after all...that? You shrugged. “I got you one too, grumpy.” You set the bag and coffees down on the side table next to the couch and crossed the few remaining steps to wrap your arms around his midsection. 

You had brought the cold in with you and he hissed as you made contact. “You’re freezin’,” he uncrossed his arms to wrap them around you. “Jesus, is it really that cold out?” 

“Yeah, it is. You gotta warm me up.” You looked up at him and winked with a smile, a frozen flake still stuck on one of your eyelashes. 

He chuckled softly, scrunching his nose at you. “Yeah, I can do that.” Nick dropped a quick kiss to your lips. “Ya know, when I didn’t hear you down here I got...I uh,...I was worried. So… you gonna go out make sure I know, yeah?” You started to protest and he knew what you were about to say. “Yeah, yeah, I know you said you told me but how was I supposed to keep my head on straight when you were up there doin’ what you were doin’, huh?” You giggled and he loved the way it felt against his chest. “Just...doesn’t hurt to tell me twice. I just…” I just wanna know you’re safe. 

You rose on your toes to kiss him back. “Yeah, Nick, I’ll tell you twice.” You grabbed his hand then and tugged him back towards the stairs. 

“Thought you had to get your fix?” He tilted his head to the bagel bag and coffees. 

You shrugged and climbed one more step. “I can heat ‘em up in the oven.” You reached down and untucked his shirt from your jeans, pulling it up and over your head. “Or they’re good cold.” You tossed his shirt down to him and it landed on his outstretched hand. “But I think we were doing some quality nothing up there before I left, am I wrong?” 

Nick dropped the shirt so that it dangled on the rickety railing, taking the steps two at a time. “Yeah, yeah I  think we were.” I’m done for. 

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thebbtongue  @lexxierave @songtoyou @poindexted @thesumofmychoices@gollyderek @zaffrenotes @traeumerinwitzhelden @breanime @roses-in-your-country-house

[xxxtrouvaillexxx]

Even This Won’t Stop Me

A/N: I’m coming back after a long hiatus strong with another entry to another challenge. This one was being held by @buckysforeverprincess 500 writing challenge, though this entry is very... VERY late. I am so sorry. I entered this challenge when I was still active, haha... ha.. ha. Also! Any words here that are not in English that are wrong, I used Google Translate and I believe we all know how trustworthy that can be. I tried.  Also x2! This is really bad, and I am so sorry, it has been ages since I’ve written. 

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Summary: You’ve been targeted by Hydra in order for them to get to Bucky. You are unaware, however, that Hydra agents have already infiltrated the Avenger’s Tower until it was too late.

Word Count: +5k

Warning(s): Pre-established relationship, angst, violence, minor character deaths, mentions of torture, self-doubting Bucky, fluff toward the end. It builds up really quickly, not gonna lie. Bad writing.

Prompt(s):

“Every single time you leave, I cry!”                                           @/nearly-witches w/ Bucky

“Are you safe?” “I-I don’t know.”

“This is going to hurt. I’m so sorry.”

“Gah! Why are you so cold? Get off of me you icicle!”

“Even after all of this, after everything that’ll come our way, nothing is going to stop me from being with you.”

It was a rather slow morning for Y/N. Most of the team had been sent off on separate missions. Steve, Tony, and Nat were sent out to help Fury make the teams next tactic plan for an upcoming mission and give him the last mission report. Sam, Thor, and Wanda all went out to collect files from our last ‘outing’, all the while Clint went home to be with his family again. Basically, the only people who were left in the tower still were yourself, Bruce, and Bucky. This left you to a quiet morning in the kitchen, sipping away at a cup of coffee and reading the Sunday paper with soft jazz playing through the speakers. Humming lightly as a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a head rested on your shoulder, gently placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. “Mornin’ doll,” Bucky whispered before leaving your side to make himself a cup of coffee. “You’re up rather early today, have plans?” He asked, his voice still raspy from sleep. “Not really, just figured I’d get a good start to the day.” You turned in the bar stool and watched him, admiring his form while he walked around the room. “I thought about waking you, but I figured you could use the extra rest. Besides, how could I wake you when you were so peaceful?” You chuckled and closed the paper. “Sure, or you just wanted to brag that you woke up before I did. Just remember doll, that it only happens on a rare occasion. I’ll rub it in your face tomorrow when you sleep into the afternoon.” He teased. Playfully sticking your tongue out at him, you chuckled and nodded. “But you could at least be nice about it. I was kind enough not to bring up the topic of conversation.” “Anything for you, doll. Now, you go and get dressed. But don’t take to long, every single time you leave, I cry! So make it snappy. We’ve basically the entire place to ourselves, might as well enjoy it.” “Day in? Sounds good to me, I’ll be right back James.” You laughed and wandered to your room. Changing from sleepwear into casual day clothes, a simple tank top, and cardigan with some torn blue jeans. You had just been about the leave your room as a voice came through the intercom. It was unfamiliar and cold, foreign, your heart rate picking up incredibly once you recognized it the thick accent. The frigid and unfeeling Russian voice cracked, “At last, we’ve come for you, Soldat. Finally, we are here to bring you home. Just be patient, and we shall come to you. Or perhaps, you should come to meet us? I’m sure Y/N would love for you to be present during her execution.” It said static snapped lowly before all com went dead and the power was in the tower was cut. You were swarmed by the dark as you took a moment to collect your thoughts. Breathing deeply, you ran to your bedside table and grabbed out the handgun you always kept there, making sure it was fully loaded before quietly leaving your room. Creeping through the long halls slowly, carefully taking each step and listening closely to your surroundings, you made your way to the kitchen where you had last seen Buck.

Just before you had turned the corner to the common room, you heard the loading of a gun behind you. Shifting your weight ever so slightly, you cocked your head to the side to see the barrel of it pointing directly at you. “I’d have to advice you from making any further movement, a flick of a finger and you’ll never walk again,” a man said, pushing you forward harshly. “Walk, we have a lot of work to do before Barnes finds us.” Nodding, showing that you understood his warning you walked into a small clearing between the couches and dining room before making your move. You had rotated in his grip, bringing your elbow into his temple harshly and kicking his knee back. Taking your gun, you fired a quick round into his side, using the handle of the gun to hit the back of his head effectively knocking the man unconscious. Before you were even able to think twice, however, several men ran into the room and disarmed you, but not before you were able to take out another three of them. They all had their weapons now pointed at your head and chest, closing in on you until you were eye to eye with the rifle he held. “Walk,” he said menacingly, but you simply stood your ground, smirking you spat in his face. His fist was as quick as your comeback when it met your stomach and face, sending you to your knees for a minute to catch your breath. “I said walk.” Complying with his order, you stood and were directed into the main garage level. Being that it was a weekend, there were few cars lining the parking spaces, a rather stupid move on their part. There was absolutely nowhere to hide once Bucky got here, they don’t stand a chance otherwise. You couldn’t help but think, ‘These poor bastards,’ at least until the shoved you into a chair and tied your hands and feet. “Well, I don’t know about you boys’,” Y/N spoke through the tense silence, tilting her head back to rest on the chair casually, “but I gotta admit, I had thought this would have been a bit more entertaining. You know, some questioning or something.” You drawled in a bored tone. Her eyes meticulously observing each of their movements, years of training kicking in. “I mean, come on. You’ve already made it obvious why you are here, but that is a pointless venture. And I know that I heard something about my execution, which doesn’t exactly sound pleasing, I have to admit.” You babbled on for a while longer, watching as their patience dwindled bit by bit, seeing as each would glance at another with an annoyed look until finally, one snapped and made his way toward you. “Do you ever shut up?” He nearly shouted in exasperation. You smiled and shook your head, “No, not often. But it’s just part of my charm I suppose.” You joked. “I’ve been told that I am ‘Easy to talk to,’ and ‘Quite good company’ so I just assume that I’m a catch. Are you getting irritated? You look a bit irritated,” and with that, he lost it. His fist collided with the side of my cheek an instant later as he spat at you, “You want interesting? Fine, let's get interesting.” Chuckling, you tossed your hair back and glared at him defiantly, “It's your funeral pal.” That was the last snarky comment you were able to get out before two more men came to join him, crackling their knuckles along the way. 

Bucky sneaked through the halls silently. It didn’t take him but a second to realize what was happening when the power was cut. Panic had already flooded his system before the cold voice rang through the intercoms, but once he heard it he could hardly breathe. 

Only a minute. It was only a few minutes that he was away from her and he could stop thinking how had he allowed this to happen? He had barely made it to Y/N’s room before the voice spoke his final words. “I’m sure Y/N would love for you to be present during her execution.” It repeated over and over in his mind like a mantra as he burst to open her door and quickly scanned the room for any sign of her. It only took him one once over to realize she was no longer there, though he also didn’t fail to see that her nightstand drawer was wide open and missing the firearm that usually was placed inside. He couldn’t help but send a little prayer of thank you to the sky as he turned and continued to creep through the hallways, making a quick stop to the buildings armoury along the way to grab himself a few of his own guns and blades. He knew that he had a few moments to be able to grab the essentials knowing that Y/N, too, was a trained assassin much like himself and Natasha and knowing that they wouldn’t dare actually carry through with their threat of killing her until he was present. However, there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t do as much damage as possible until then. Slowly, he made his way out and continued his search, thinking about all the places that they could have possibly been hiding. There were more than several secured places within the tower, on their floor alone there were six rooms that you needed to have yourself in the database to be able to enter, and he doubted that they were hiding far from where he was. The sound of a gun firing rang through the entire building and he could feel his heart still. His head whipped in the direction of the cracking and raced in its direction, imagining the worst as he ran through corridor after corridor, chanting in his head over and over for you to be alright. You spat out blood as you were beaten over and over. You were positive that your face was covered in bruises and cuts, your nose was worse for wear now that is was surely broken and bleeding, you lips cut from the unrelenting punches and dragging your teeth across them so harshly to keep back any shout or whimpers. You weren’t about to let the fact you were in pain defeat your stubborn defiance. Rocking your head side to side, trying to clear your now foggy mind, you looked up to your captives from under your lashes and offered them a crooked smirk. “I thought you said you were gonna make this interesting?” Leaning your head back to rest on your shoulder, you barely held back the wince of pain shooting through your rib cage as you tried to decide if it was bruising or cracked. “Gotta say, I’m not really all too impressed.” The men surrounding you chuckled as one grabbed a fist full of hair and yanked your head back, hard. “Still got such a foul mouth on you, принцесса? Maybe you should start thinking before you speak, don’t you think? It’ll only get worse from here you know. And it still looks like your knight in shining armour isn’t anywhere to be seen,” his voice whispered in your ear. “Well, where would be the fun in that?” You asked sweetly, your voice dripping with false innocence. You met the man's eyes and you could see the very moment of recognition that sparked in them just before you slammed your head back and jammed his jaw in. The entire room could hear the impact and the sound of his teeth gritting on each other and you knew you did some damage when his shout of pain rung out followed by a growl. “сука!” He shouted and again you were met with several of their fists. You took each blow quietly, never showing emotion, though you struggled to breathe each time they came into contact with your stomach. At some point during their assaults, your chair tipped over and fell on its side causing you to hit your head on the hard concrete. Already dealing with the constant beatings to the head, the impact made you lose consciousness for a few moments. It seemed like it was a never-ending stream of men around the tower. Every corner Bucky turned there was another one of them. The more he had to fight the longer it was taking him to get to Y/N and he was frantically trying to get his mind under control and stop thinking about his worry about what they could possibly be doing so that he could reach her faster. The more time he wasted fighting, the more time they had to do as they pleased. He did notice after a few groups of men that the father he went along, the more meant would be grouped together. He figured that meant he was getting closer to Y/N and the bastards that were holding them and it didn’t take him long to figure out where that was. Garage, a numerous amount of entrances, but he knew these people well enough to know that they would all be covered by men. Group after group, he defeated all the men that stood in his way from where he needed to be most. He was a man on a mission and there was nothing that was going to stop him from reaching Y/N. Even still, it took him nearly thirty minutes to reach the parking lot doors. No matter how much his mind was screaming at him to run in there and grab Y/N, he knew he couldn’t just go in without knowing what he was going to do or have some sort of plan. 

“Stop!” “Вы дурак, что вы думаете, что делаете? Я сказал вам, что вы не должны возлагать на нее руку, пока он не прибыл!” “Именно она начала все это. Мы делали то, что вы проинструктировали, и она просила об этом.“ Your head was aching and the constant yelling was not helping the situation. It took you a moment to remember what was happening and were careful not to stir and bring attention to yourself while the men argued. They were speaking in a foreign language and you couldn’t quite decipher what it was they were talking about. “Хорошо, если она попросила об этом, тогда все в порядке, не так ли?” You may not have been able to understand what they were saying but even you knew that he was speaking sarcastically. Peaking at the men through squinted eyes you took in the room. There were more men now if she had to guess she’d say a good fifteen or so. One of the men who had been pounding on you earlier had one of the new arrivals up in his face yelling. And he apparently did not catch onto the sarcasm. “действительно?”

“НЕТ! Вам дали очень конкретные инструкции, и вы нарушили каждый из них! Если вы думаете, что так легко справляетесь с этим, вы совершенно неправы. Теперь, прежде чем я сам убью тебя, встань на место. Солдат будет здесь в любую минуту.” They all began to move around the area, spreading themselves out and you knew what was happening. If not anything else, you knew what солдат meant. Bucky was coming was surely going to be beyond pissed. The man who, you were guessing, was leading this mission of theirs, came to stand behind you. Pulling your chair up to stand on its legs properly, he gave you a swift smack on the cheek to startle you awake. “Best wake up, принцесса. We want you to pay attention to this next bit,” he murmured, a sickening vial grin on his lips and a small handgun pointing at your head. Opening your eyes completely to the sounds of yelling and guns firing. ‘James,’ you thought and let a small smile sit on your lips. There was so much happening that it was a bit difficult for you to pay attention to with your mind being so clouded. Your eyes shifted from person to person to find him among the mass of bodies and he clearly stood out from the rest. He didn’t have the look of fear on his face like some of  Hydras men did as they faced him. He looked livid and out for blood. One after another, bodies dropped to the floor either dead or dying. Nothing was going to stop him from getting to you and they knew it. He finished them off soon enough, and now it was just the original four men and the one who helps you at gunpoint. He stared at you with wide eyes as he took in your appearance and all the damage done. Meeting your eyes finally, he took the small smile on your lips as a good sign and turned to glare back to the Hydra agents. “You made a mistake this time,” he growled lowly and stalked forward. Laughing, the man behind you cocked his head to the side, “стой. I’ll only say it once.” Bucky made no move to stop as he continued to trek forward. Before your mind could so much as comprehend the clicking sound, the loud crack the sounded by your ear, and the sudden red-hot pain shooting through your shoulder, Y/N screamed hoarsely and loud. “Y/N!” Bucky exclaimed, panic rising in his voice and terror was clear in his eyes. You felt hot tears run down your face and you hung your head down, desperately trying to catch your breath again. ‘Dammit, that hurts,” you thought. Gritting your teeth together, you took a deep breath and looked up again. “Are you safe?” Buckys voice was barely audible and shaking as he asked. “I-I don’t know.” And that was true. You couldn’t quite tell where the bullet went in, if you could even move your arm, or if it was a clean shot all the way through your shoulder. All you knew what that you were in pain. “I told you, солдат. I won’t repeat myself and next time I won’t be so kind as to where I put a bullet.” Bucky stopped moving forward after that, keeping his gaze locked onto you as he listened to the man's words, moreover, his orders. “Put all your weapons down, солдат.” You silently pleaded with Bucky not to, to fight and not think twice about it because you had no doubt he would win, but you could see it was a losing battle from the look in his eyes. The hidden terror that he tried to hide behind built walls and a fake calm facade. He didn’t take his eyes from yours as he placed his guns to the floor, carefully keeping watch over your wound knowing that the loss of blood was going to take its toll in no time, and the small crinkle in his eyebrows showed you plenty about how nervous he was about anything else happening to you. “Good,” the man behind you spoke. “That wasn’t too hard, now was it? But, that doesn’t change the fact that I still summoned you here for one purpose.” The venom in the man's voice was tangible as it dripped from his mouth, making Y/N shiver. You watched Bucky through hooded eyes, suddenly finding them harder and harder to hold open as their voices drifted into the distance. You were aware that words were being spoken, aware that Bucky’s eyes were in thin slits and raging hatred flamed in the blue of his pupils as he snarled something Y/N could only imagine wasn’t very pleasant, but nothing reached her ears and she was just so tired. “James-” she choked out but her throat seemed to close up before she could get the chance to finish, but in an instant, he was looking at her again. He nodded, understanding what needed to happened even though he was terrified of what may come of it. “It’s alright, Doll. I’ll get you out of here, just stay awake for me. You gotta stay awake, alright?” His voice was dull and it was as though she was listening to him from under water but she nodded nevertheless. ‘Alright, but just for a minute. Just let me sleep for a minute,’ she thought and let her eyes drift close. 

Bucky watched carefully as her eyes shut and her head bobbed as sleep took over her, and he had never felt such fear. His heart raced frantically as he tried to see or even hear her shallow breaths. He was running out of time and standing here wasn’t helping him got to Y/N but he knew he couldn’t act without thought. One wrong move and a bullet would be in her head without so much as a second thought from Rumlow. He growled and forced himself to tear his gaze from Y/N again to the gun in the hands of the bastard behind her. There were only two other men in the room who weren’t knocked out or dead beside himself and Rumlow, and he knew that he could defeat them all easily on his own, and so did they obviously otherwise Y/N wouldn’t be tied to a chair right now. “Солдат, мы оба знаем, почему мы здесь, не так ли? Мы здесь, чтобы стать свидетелями казни ужасного человека, убийцы, мрази общества. Начнем?” Rumlow laughed and cocked the gun. Bucky was sure his face was nothing short of murderous as he watched, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He was going to end this today, all the years of pain, it was going to end here. Taking deep, steadying breaths, Bucky placed his hands on his thighs slowly as to not to bring attention to his actions as Rumlow gave orders to the other two agents behind him. He let out a single breath as his hands met the cold metal of the blades he hidden away and let his head clear of any other thought. Raising his had quickly and launching one of the blades forward, he turned as Rumlow yelled out and dropped the gun knowing his blade hit his hand perfectly at the sound to fight off the agents. Quickly making work of the first before fending off the second with a quick blow from his metal arm. “Сейчас, солдат. Не будь таким опрометчивым,“ Rumlow huffed. “У нас все еще есть твоя милая кукла, которая только что постучала в дверь смерти. Ты действительно думаешь, что сможешь убить меня и вовремя спасти ее? Лучше всего уйти, пока ты еще впереди.“ “I’ll have plenty of time yet, don’t worry,” Bucky growled as he leaned down to pick up the gun Rumlow had dropped. “You should have figured this was gonna be the end for you when you threatened her,” he said void of any emotion as he raised the gun and let off a single round into Rumlows skull. 

“Do-” She could hear a faint voice, an annoying buzz as is rang in her ears. ‘Just a little longer,’ Y/N thought and tried to rest a bit more. “Doll!” It said again and this time she recognized the voice as a panicked Bucky. And suddenly she didn’t want to sleep anymore. Rather, she wanted to know why he sounded so worried, what happened? “Y/n, you gotta open the eyes. You gotta wake up for me, alright. You gotta wake up, please wake up.” ‘I’m trying,’ she thought but her eyelids refused to listen to her commands and open. They were too heavy and her mind was still a blurry fuzz. ‘I’m awake, Bucky, I’m awake,’ she wanted to tell him but just like how her eyes wouldn’t open the words didn’t leave her lips. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry doll. I’m getting you out of here, I promise.” His voice was horse and she could imagine the face that was paired along with it. A pained expression, the one he wore when he thinks about what he did when he was used by Hydra, what he was forced to do for them and all Y/N wanted was to tell him it was okay, it wasn’t his fault. None of it was ever his fault. “This is going to hurt. I’m so sorry.” She hadn’t quite realized what he was talking about until she felt his arms wrap around her cold body, she hadn’t noticed how absolutely frigid she was until she felt to warmth radiating off of him, and began lifting her body into the air. Sudden streaks of white hot pain shot through her and a blood-curdling scream left her mouth before she could stop it and her mind went silent again. 

Y/N woke slowly to an annoyingly loud beeping sound that assaulted her ears and a bright light that shown from seemingly everywhere around her. Groaning softly Y/N went to throw her arm over her eyes to shield them only to let out a soft cry of pain as heat prickled her shoulder. “Y/N, doll, are you awake?” Bucky’s tired and worried voice sounded off beside her and she could feel his presence beside her bed immediately. She wanted to say some witty and snarky comeback but her mouth seemed as dry as sand and she was left a coughing mess before words were even able to form. “Hold on darling, I’ll get you somethin’.” He said and quickly rushed off for him to return but a moment later, and she was sure that he ran to the sink and back so he wasn’t away from her for too long. He reached behind Y/N to help her sit up, his metal hand resting on the back of her neck and she shot up so fast that she felt like she had whiplash. Trying to shove his hands away from her, she shivered and laughed, “Gah! Why are you so cold? Get off of me you icicle!” Bucky laughed and refused to back away, but took his hand from her neck and placed it on her knee instead, whether it was meant to comfort her or him neither of them knew, but she allowed it because there was at least a blanket to protect her from the sudden chill, thought the grin never left her face. After taking the glass from him and drinking the first half on her own, she smiled and peaked open her eyes just a little bit against the white light, “Thanks James,” she whispered. Something inside of him must have snapped at the sound of his name coming from her because the ragged breath he drew in was enough for Y/N to turn to him completely to see what was wrong. The shock that ran through her body at seeing the stray tear that made its way down his cheek was more than words could explain, and she raised her hand to wipe it away softly. “I thought I was gonna lose you, doll. You weren’t waking up and there was so much blood loss already, I wasn’t sure if I made it in time. I wasn’t sure if I was ever gonna hear you say my name again, or if I’d ever been able to tell you how much I love you and that I am so, so sorry that all of this happened. I-” “James, this wasn’t your fault, so hush right now. We all know things like this happen, it’s part of the job description. Plus, on the bright side, they never went through with the execution thing and I’m alive! I consider this a win, personally.” He looked doubtful and only shook his head at Y/N’s words. “But this time it was my fault. They were after me, it wasn’t some mission gone bad. It was Hydra and they got into the tower to get to me know the best way to do that was to go through you. They know about you Y/N, what if they come again? They could do so much worse than this,” he ranted quickly, hardly drawing in a breath to only start again. “Buck-” she tried to interrupt, but he only continued on. “And what if next time I’m not there in time, huh? Or they get into the tower again, and we just can’t stop them. Y/N, if they know about you, if they know that you are the one thing I care about more than anything else, they are going to come after you again without question.” “James, I’ll be fine. I do this sort of thing for a living-” “But it’s not fine! They could kill you Y/N! They could kill you and it would be because of me that they did. Do you not understand that? This is why I was so hesitant to get close with anyone here, let alone a relationship, but now that I have it’s every single thing that I was terrified of and I don’t know if I will be able to stop them again! I got you into my mess because I’m being selfish and greedy because I love you but now that means I might lose you to the very people who stole everything from me! I can’t allow the-” “James!” She yelled loudly to cut him off and it finally seemed to have grabbed his attention as his eyes snapped to hers. She looked at him and made sure he was giving her his full attention, she needed him to be away from what she was saying and she knew he needed to hear it too. “Even after all of this, after everything that’ll come our way, nothing is going to stop me from being with you. I love you too much to suddenly leave because of something like this James. I knew what I was getting into when I first started talking to you. I saw you, all of you, and I knew I wanted to be a part of your life and you of mine. I have never doubted, not once, that you wouldn’t protect me with everything you have, so don’t you think that something as simple a bullet in the shoulder is enough for me to leave.” “Doll, I-” “No, it’s my turn to speak. James, I’m a trained assassin. I may not be as good as Natasha because Lord knows she is the best at her job, but I can take care of myself too. I screwed up and it was my fault, that is why they were able to get a hold of me. I didn’t realize that there were so many of them but they all shuffled in, and I knew I wasn’t gonna be able to get through them all alive. I was the one who let them take me because I knew you would come and that I could trust you to get me out of there. I trust you still, no matter what, I will always trust you, James. And I want you to be able to trust me too when I say that there isn’t anything in the entire world I would give for you. So no, I’m not going to go, I’m not going to get scared because your past comes knocking every once in a while, I’m not going to leave because I got a few bumps and bruises along the way.” She took a deep breath and offered him a warm smile, “Because I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. So unless you can look me in the eye right now and tell me that you don’t love me anymore, that you don’t want to be with me and that you aren’t happy with me. If you can’t look at me and say that honestly, I’m not going anywhere.” Y/N waited quietly as Bucky looked her in the eyes and grasped for words. His mouth opening and closing from time to time as he searched for the words to tell her that because in his eyes she could see his struggle for her to be safe but she could see the love too, and he knew he couldn’t tell her honestly. Hanging his head down low, he let out a breath of defeat, “No, no I can’t tell you that. I love you so damn much, I should be able to let you go for your own safety, I should be able to- But I can’t. I can’t do that, I’m sorry.” Y/N chuckled and ran her and through his hair gently, “Don’t be sorry James. I don’t want you to ever be able to tell me something like that. I don’t think I’d be able to survive without you anymore, you’re like my own personal knight in shining armour.” She grinned and lifted his chin so she could see his eyes again. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes, Don’t you ever forget that,” she said seriously. “And I love you Y/N Y/L/N. More than you could ever possibly know.”

[writing-royza]

Blame It On the Dress

A/N: Happy Sunday, everyone! Afraid I can’t take time to say more than that; I’ve gotta get to bed, but I hope you enjoy this little story. ^^

I do not own FMA.

Blame It On the Dress

The restaurant was one of the most difficult to get reservations to, which went along with the fact that it was the highest-rated establishment in Central. The only reason a table had opened up for the four of them was that Maes had done some very skilled investigating for the owner as military and civilian lifestyles clashed, and some sort of off-the-books reward had been in order.

Roy sat across from his rival-turned-best-friend, thankful for the high pile carpet to dampen the sound of his nervously tapping foot. He was certain that Hughes was setting he and Riza up, and in a city crawling with with soldiers, it was exceedingly risky.

"What happened that the two of you wound up in separate hotels?" Gracia asked curiously. "Doesn't she need to be closer to be a bodyguard?"

"Normally, we're able to swing an adjoining room," he answered, shaking his head. "But this time, the accommodation arrangements got left to some rookie administration clerk that messed up somewhere along the line. We didn't find out there'd been a mix-up until we arrived in the city, and by then, it was too late."

"I told you that you could stay with us," Maes said, the mock scolding clear in his tone. "But did you listen? Noooooooooo, Roy knows everything." Unable to keep a straight face, he broke into a grin at the glare his friend shot him.

"You can't fit two extra adults in your place for a week," Roy countered. "Besides, you'd drive me crazy."

For a brief second, the other man's eyes flicked to the side, looking past the dark-haired alchemist's shoulder, before his grin widened and he lowered his voice. "Maybe. But not as much as that pretty girl walking your way."

Turning to see what Maes was staring at, Roy froze, eyes riveted to the woman weaving her way through the tables toward theirs. Her hair was down, pulled back along the sides and held by a pair of subtly glinting barrettes. Her dress was a dusty red, with gold accents along the left side. It was in the Xingese style, with a high neck, and cap sleeves, divided partway up the skirt on the outside of the leg. A pale gold pashmina around her shoulders made sure that no tiny corner of her tattoo would accidentally be shown.

Riza's gaze found his, and he stood automatically as she smiled. "You haven't been waiting long, have you?" she asked, eyes going to Gracia, then Maes. "The police were diverting traffic around an accident on Second Street, so it slowed me down a little."

"No; they were just able to seat us early is all." Gracia got to her feet, stepping around the end of the table to exchange a brief hug with the blonde Lieutenant. "We're just glad you and Roy were able to make it here."

She resumed her seat, Riza taking hers across the table as Roy held the chair out for her. She glanced briefly at him over her shoulder, giving him a small smile, before he settled down beside her trying hard to ignore the sly grin on Maes' face, and the way his eyes kept flicking between the two of them.

"So," he commented, trying to divert the attention away from himself and his Lieutenant. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the first time you two have been out since Elicia was born. You sure know how to celebrate."

"Picture time!" Hughes had his wallet open on the table faster than anyone could protest. Inside was a picture of a baby girl, only a few months old, green eyes wide as she stared at the camera.

Riza smiled, speeding Roy's pulse up again. "She's beautiful. And she looks just like her mother."

"Of course she's beautiful!" Slipping the wallet back into his pocket, Maes shrugged. "Though if she looked more like me, she'd be even more good-looking." He missed seeing Gracia roll her eyes skyward with a smile. "We were thinking of going out East for a vacation some time soon, so that you two could meet her, but you got to Central before we could." He mock-scowled at Roy. "Throw my plans for a loop again, why don't you. Thanks."

"Considering some of your plans are outright insane?" the other smirked. "You're welcome."

"You don't have to walk me back," she said as they moved along the nighttime streets. Early summer in Central left the night air warm enough to go without a jacket even at this hour. No one else was about; just the two of them.

"Yeah, I know." Hands in his pockets, Roy was careful not to look at her directly; he was sure that if he did, the same thing that had been happening to him all night would start again. Losing the power of speech right now would only lead to the world's most awkward silence. "But this is Central, not East City; there's a few more lowlifes around here than back home, and I just want to make sure you get there safe."

"That takes care of me," she mused, and he could hear the humour in her voice. "Who's going to take care of you, then? I thought that was my job."

He shrugged. "I have my gloves. I only brought them because I didn't figure you'd be using a gun as an accessory." When she didn't answer, he glanced sideways to find her fighting back a smirk. ". . . How the hell are you hiding a gun on yourself right now?"

"Very carefully," she answered, giving up the battle against her amusement.

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Riza studied her surroundings, as was her usual habit as a bodyguard; as was his habit, Roy surreptitiously studied her. "I don't think I've seen you in that dress before," he commented. "Is it new?"

She looked down at herself with a non-plussed expression. "When you go dress shopping with Rebecca Catalina, she makes absolutely sure you don't leave empty-handed," she murmured. "It was her choice, and I kind of like it . . . but I went along with it mostly just to shut her up."

Roy laughed, half to himself. "She's got good taste. I think you look —" He stopped himself, both verbally and physically. Riza took another two steps before doing the same, turning back to look at him in concern. Her gaze met his, and the word on the tip of his tongue disappeared into thin air.

". . . Roy? Are you all right?"

All the years of being so careful to avoid doing anything that even resembled fraternization were screaming at him not to say the word, if he could remember it. Just the way she said his name was making his head spin. Something deep in his chest wanted her to say it again, was wishing desperately that she would.

He watched as her expression became highly alert, those brown eyes watching him in concern. "You're starting to get me worried," she said quietly, retracing the last couple steps toward him. "What's wrong?"

Still speechless, he shook his head, and forced himself into motion again. Riza fell in beside him, still watchful, only now with suspicion. Her hotel was ahead on the left, golden light spilling from the lobby out onto the dark street.

I’ll walk up with her, Roy decided firmly. I can't guarantee we're alone out here, but once we're inside . . . .

It was the most agonizingly long and silent walk of his life. No longer than three minutes, but it was beginning to feel like fifteen by the time they arrived outside the door to her room. Riza looked up as she fit the key into the lock. "Did you want to come in and make sure I brush my teeth properly?" she asked sarcastically.

"Sure." He caught the flash of an exasperated smile before she opened the door and stepped through. Following her in, he shut the wooden panel, watching as she crossed to turn on the lights beside the bed.

"Are you ready to talk about what happened outside?" she asked, over her shoulder. Pulling off the pashmina, she began folding it neatly. "I assume you didn't want to risk unfriendly ears listening in."

Roy's stomach flipped. ". . . . I'll just come right out and say it," he said, hands slipping into his pockets again as he took a few steps forward. "You look . . . there's no other word for it. You look beautiful like that." He watched as her head whipped around to look at him, the pashmina forgotten in her hands. "I . . . didn't want to say anything outside . . . like you said, in case someone was around. Not that any of the soldiers here would recognize anyone from out East, but just in case —"

"It's all right. I understand." She set the gold fabric down on the bed, turning fully to face him with a small smile. "It's nice of you to say so. Thank you."

Roy took another step forward. "It's not just being nice, it's . . . ." He hesitated, realizing that she might not want this to spill over into fraternization any more than it already had. ". . . . Permission to speak freely?"

She lifted one eyebrow, curious at the question — a superior officer always had the right to speak freely — but as well as he knew her, Roy knew she understood his reason for asking. ". . . Go ahead."

"It's not just being nice," he said again. "It's being truthful. You walked in the room tonight, and I didn't see First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye, bodyguard and adjutant. I saw you. You were yourself for the first time in a while; I've seen you smile more times tonight than in the last year. And that's one of the prettiest things I've seen in the whole damn world."

The same smile spread slowly across her face as she folded her arms. "Well . . . . It's been a while since I heard you talk like that."

The weight of what he'd wanted to say finally off his shoulders, Roy shrugged. "It's like riding a bicycle. You never really forget how. How did I do?"

This time, it was Riza that stepped forward, further closing the gap between them. "I think you did very well, all things considered." Her eyes flicked down, then up in a once-over. "I have to say, you really don't look so bad yourself. It's a good change, to see you in something other than a uniform."

Roy inched forward another step. "If we were in uniform," he said quietly, "we wouldn't be standing this close. Funny what a change of clothes can do."

"And what exactly," she said softly, "are you hoping will happen before the clothes we wear dictate how we act?"

He smiled as she closed the distance by stepping into his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. "I think you know what I'm hoping for," he murmured. "But I'll hold off if you want me to."

Riza was quiet for a moment. "You're hoping for an invitation to spend the night," she said, and he could hear her smile. "It would mean I don't have to worry that you got to your hotel all right."

". . . . That reminds me . . . ." Leaning back to look at her, Roy lifted an eyebrow. "I want to know where you're hiding a gun under a dress like that."

Rolling her eyes with a smile, Riza took a step back. Pushing the divide in her skirt to one side, she unfastened a leg holster from the opposite side, just above her knee. Standing straight, she held it up for inspection, the semi-automatic nestled among the leather clearly visible. "Does that answer your question?"

Roy grinned, moving forward to slip his arms around her waist. "Sometimes I forget just how dangerous a woman you are . . . ."

"Maybe . . . but never a danger to you." She gently tossed the holster onto the bed, turning back just in time to meet his kiss lips-first. "If you're going to — come in for a visit," Riza said, speaking between breaths. "You could at least — take your coat off — stay a while."

"Thought you'd never ask."

He worked his arms out of the sleeves, lips never leaving hers, and let the dark fabric drop to the floor. Waiting just long enough for her to slip her feet out of her shoes, he backed her slowly toward the bed; her one-handed grip on his tie made sure he followed her down.

"If I didn't think you looked so good in a dress like this," he said, grinning, "I'd put a moratorium on you wearing them."

Riza smirked. "In the interest of protecting what remains of your sanity?"

"I'm perfectly sane, thank you." The grin widened into something dangerously confident as he nuzzled against the side of her neck. "It's in the interest of your protection. If I keep seeing you looking like this, I can't be held responsible for my actions." She laughed — nothing more than a quiet chuckle at the back of her throat — and he froze. ". . . Damn, I love that sound."

There was time for two kisses to the soft skin of her neck before the door was kicked in. Heavy booted footsteps rushed through the door along with the sound of gun safeties being taken off . . . and then silence.

". . . I realize this is a bad time, Colonel, but if you'd both be so kind as to put your hands up," a voice said, trying hard to cover the tone of someone taken aback.

Mentally cursing a blue streak, Roy rolled to one side and sat up, scowling at the first man he spotted with a gun pointed his way. "What? You've never gotten drunk and fallen over on someone before?" he snapped, taking care to slur his words convincingly. He looked back to Riza. "You okay?"

The man who'd spoken, who was the only one without a weapon, glared. "Your conversation, the one that determines whether you live or die, is with me, Colonel."

That one look at her had been enough; she had her usual mask back in place, and she had a plan. She just needed his input to make it work. And so he would. "Okay, okay." Roy shot another glance at the quartet of guns pointed in his direction. "But if we're going to talk, you tell your boys to put their toys away, all right?"

Smiling tightly, the man shook his head. "I don't think so. I'm not an idiot."

"My gloves are in my coat, my coat is on the floor, and I am freaking shitfaced right now." He shrugged eloquently. "Couldn't shoot straight if I wanted to. But you said you wanted my hands up, right?" Getting to his feet, listing slightly to one side, he laced his fingers together on top of his head. "There. See? Now put 'em away."

With an impatient gesture, the man gestured his thugs to stand down; they did so, putting the safeties back on. "What about the girl? What's her purpose here?"

"Her?" Roy shrugged again. "She works in the club downstairs. When the bar cut me off, the manager sent her up here with me to make sure I made it." He leaned a little too far to the right, taking two staggering steps in that direction, putting him now on Riza's right side. "Look, fellas, I'm really not sure I ought to go anywhere right now. Can you maybe come back tomorrow?"

"No," was the snappish answer.

"Too bad." Dropping the slur, Roy smirked. "That was your last chance."

Riza's hand had started inching toward the gun she'd set aside the moment he stepped between it and the gunners' line of fire. Now she drew it, beginning to fire as Roy dropped into a crouch. Five shots, one to the shoulder of each gunman and their spokesman, dropping all of them to the floor in pain.

Rising fluidly, she assumed a stable firing stance. "If any of you reaches for any sort of weapon, my next shots won't be aimed for non-vital areas. Understood?" When no answer except one or two groans came, she spoke over her shoulder to Roy. "Colonel, if you'd be so kind as to call hotel security?"

They watched the doors of the truck close on the spokesman of the attack group, before the engine started and the vehicle pulled ponderously away from the curb.

"We were lucky," Riza murmured. She'd changed into casual clothing since the attack, her hair still down. "They're affiliated with a group that's against the military, so there's very little chance of them wanting to report what they saw."

Roy shoved his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. "Even if they did, it would be the word of criminals against that of a high-ranking military officer. With no concrete evidence, it's all hearsay; no real basis for court-martial. We're in the clear."

"Good." She cast him a sidelong glance, smiling in dry humour. "I'm not sure I should let you stay by yourself tonight, if that's the kind of company that finds you. It would be safer if you had a bodyguard present."

He smirked. "Are you volunteering for the position?"

"Of course. And you should probably stay here; they'll be checking military-held hotels with a reservation under your name. We can pick up your things in the morning." Brown eyes flicked briefly around the street, seeing no one else within earshot; nevertheless, her voice grew quieter. "Besides; I believe you were just starting in on a list of things you like about me."

[beautifulramblingbrains]

The Dog - Chapter 4

Fandom: Vikings Characters: Ivar, Ubbe, Hvitserk, OC (However brief they appear.) UbbexOC Rating: This is Mature content with trigger warnings.

A/N: A big thank you to @murmelinchen for forever cleaning up my mess, and to those following the story.

First Chapter // 2nd Chapter // 3rd Chapter

Tags:   @pathybo@oddsnendsfanfics@sparklemichele@singingpeople@captstefanbrandt @equalstrashflavoredtrash@whenimaunicorn@kiiiimberlyriiiicker1995@emmysrandomthoughts@pokeasleepingsmaug@underthenorthstar @ariwolf14 @bcat1291 @tomarisela (If you want in or out of the tags just tell me, it’s all cool :))

The Quiet One always kept a hand on the top of Avery’s arm, guiding her back quickly to the woods, beyond the treeline, where in the distance she was surprised to see movement. Once they were hidden, he stopped her again, and Avery shrugged his hand off.

“I’m not going to run,” she hissed, fed up with his hovering.

“You lie beautifully.”

Avery only frowned. “I have nothing to trade with you.”

He clicked his tongue, placing his hands on his hips in thought while staring down at her. “I think you do. Well, not an item trade…”

Tilting her nose up at him, she pulled her cloak further around herself. “Not my body either.”

“So, you do think lowly of me. That is nice to know.”

“I hate the ground you walk on. I won’t be fooled by you.”

He snorted and ran a hand across his mouth. “Huh, that so. Well, you can hate me all you want but I am what stands between you and becoming an evening's entertainment.” He sighed and stepped closer, keeping his voice low. “For the trade, it is your help in return for the life of your holy man. Your holy man can live if you make them open the gates.”

“One life for a whole Keep? How stupid do you think I am?”

“Do you favour your life? If you don’t, that is stupid. Not one of them in there care for you, not even a little. You are just a casualty.” Avery peered to the ground, watching his leather boots step into her view as he crept closer. He wasn’t wrong. She’d seen it before; how easily they disregarded her safety, how people were left behind. “And it is two lives we are talking about, including yours. If you don’t help, there is no use for you, and I don’t travel with useless people. It’s not like we can let you go.”

“This isn’t a trade, it’s bribery.”

“..Or perhaps protection?” He smiled toothily. “But you call it what you wish.”

“I do this, I become an enemy. Once you and your people are flogged back to your boats and leave, I have nothing but a past that is going to haunt me.” She became desperate as she spoke, gripping the sides of her skirt in frustration, panic. “Will you kill me after?” Avery’s eyes shone, and for a moment he was wordless. “What happens after? Am I a slave now? Will you give me to that… demon,” she spat.

The Quiet One seemed far away, then crossed his arms over his broad chest. “You are a slave now, stulka.”

“Slave…” She tested the word in a whisper, her sense of pride dwindling. “I have another condition.”

“Yes? What is that?”

“I want to go back to my Keep. I need to know what happened to them.”

“There is nothing to go back to.” He chewed his cheek, tilting his head with a sigh. “But I will take you if you agree.” Avery couldn’t look at him anymore, and nodded, swallowing thickly. “Your name?”

“Avery.”

“A word of advice, Avery,” he said her name so thickly, pronouncing it with the hindrance of his accent. “Betray me and you will know Hell. Pretty face or not.” He roughly grabbed and spun her towards the men gathering heavily in the trees. “Move.” And she did, this time without being restrained.

The path leading up to the large gate was quiet, just the sound of crunching earth under her feet disrupting the silence. Her heart pounded and the sweat that slowly started breaking out was cooled by the light drizzle. The Keep was a picturesque view, a form of sanctuary portrayed before her like the gates of heaven. Though, the devil secretly flanked her, the heathens slinking to nearby buildings, eyes locked on the prize, watching her and every movement.

For a group of dangerous, rumbunctious men, they were undeniably quiet - not a sound. No wonder her Keep never saw them coming.

“Halt!” shouted a man’s voice when she got within reach and she froze.

“I come from Benedict Biscop’s Keep to the North with news.” She tried not to look around her, to give away anything. “And I’m in need of help.” She lowered her hood, brandishing her cross for all to see against her chest, a woman standing alone at the mouth of dragons. If her accent and fluent talk wasn’t anything they could trust, she could conjure up a prayer, or beseech them.

“Benedict Biscop?”

“Yes. There has been a great tragedy.” She suddenly remembered what Benedict had told her. “It’s for Father Murdoch’s ears alone.”

The one face of a man disappeared and left a great silence, and for moment she didn’t think it had worked. Until the sound of thick chains began to rattle, a loud crack as the gate began to lower. It sheathed itself against the earth and Avery was signalled forward by paranoid and iron clad churchmen with spears in their hands.

Clasping her sweaty palms, she made a slow walk without any haste, praying for her soul, raindrops running from her hair down her face. She stopped within their reach. Confusion swept across their features when she whispered, “May the Lord be with you.”

Deafening were the battle cries from the heathens as they passed her, weapons held high in full sprint, while she stood solidly in the middle of the path like a witch that had cast their deaths.  

Eventually the celebrations of the night tumbled into the first light of the morning. Only a few had caught sleep. Ubbe wasn’t one of them. His brother Hvitserk was outstretched on some furs, daydreaming across the small river by their camp.

“A Christian woman damning her people,” he said aloud, not looking to Ubbe, chewing stolen dried meat. “She doesn’t run now.”

“No,” Ubbe said. She was out by the water, crouching down to wash her hands, having aided a man with a blunt wound to his forearm. “She prays for it though. You can see it.” And he could, her face turned into the sun, following the stream across the field. “But now she can’t.” Especially now, he thought.

“A Christian woman with courage,” Hvitserk toyed.

“Is it courage or self-preservation? There is a difference.”

With Ubbe’s tone sharp, Hvitserk changed the subject. “The villagers will tell tales.”

“Let them.” Ubbe stood up and stretched. “We move soon. But there is something I must do. Perhaps you can lead and I will catch up.”

“Let me guess, West?” Hvitserk sat up. “And where are you going?”

“I promised to take her back to the Keep to look. What for, apart from rubble, I’m not sure.”

“It will be swamped with the Christians,” Hvitserk almost laughed, linking his arms over his knees. “You can’t be serious.”

“My plan worked better than I thought. If I can’t stick to my side of the bargain she won’t do it again.” Ubbe tied a knot in a sack of travelling items. “And we might need her to.” He eventually glanced at Hvitserk with a smirk on his face. “You’re not scared for me, little brother?”

“You know Ivar’s men are here to watch you. Hendrick-”

“Can suck my cock. I may not be King of anything, but I rule here, right now.” Ubbe flicked his wrist to the old man by the cart in the distance, beckoning his horse. “Dog or not.”

“It’s a stupid title only Ivar finds funny.”

“Ah, well, I happen to not mind it much.”

Hvitserk was bothered though, letting it show on his face. He’d seen the physical torture, the training, the pain. And still, Ubbe had come out on the other side, awoken by the leash of Ivar being cut.

The freedom, the distance, relying on hope of re-establishing their brotherhood kept Hvitserk restless. Yet, there was something still lost. It looked and sounded and had the quick criticism of Ubbe. But the determination and stamina, tactics, thinking rationally, were not.

Had this been what Ivar had subtly planted into Ubbe’s image without possibly realising?

Hvitserk stared at Ubbe a long moment, even when the old man approached and Ubbe commanded another horse. It could have been a delirious, drunken thought but it dawned on him like the sun that lit up Ubbe hitching the saddle. He’d even said it himself. ‘I may not be King, but I rule here’.  

“Two days and I’ll be back,” Ubbe broke Hvitserk’s thoughts. “Move our camp further West, a day’s ride, and I’ll find you.”

The younger brother was still mesmerised in his own discoveries. “Yes, brother.”

There was many things Avery was expecting. But for the Quiet One to approach from behind, the thudding of horses on reigns, was not.

“We go now,” he told her.

Still ashamed, she didn't bother to speak to him, walking up to the horse tied to his where he helped her up onto it. He was covered in thick furs, a sack dangling down from the saddle. He briefly looked to her in silence and clicked his tongue, moving them out to the shallowest part of the river to cross again.

She wished she was knowledgeable, had paid attention to the lay of the land and took the few occasional lessons on basic survival seriously. But at the time it was left on deaf ears as she mourned for her family and old way of life. What drove her was basic instinct. And furthermore, a guilt so deep for betraying people just like her.

The sun burned her eyes and she squinted past the silhouette of the quiet one leading ahead until the liquidy warm rays slightly tinged her skin. If she was already going to burn in Hell for the children's sake, she may as well make damn sure that she lived in the short time that she had left. Maybe, once it becomes her time to leave and fall into the afterlife, God may forgive her then.

But could she forgive herself?

Avery had wrapped herself tightly in her cloak, letting the horse sway her from side to side, eyes heavy. The cold chapped her face and it had been hours since she could last feel her fingers.

The Quiet One dropped back until they were side by side, at a leisurely pace, and he didn’t seem bothered by the weather at all. “On my travels I prefer to hear stories to pass the time,” he said, watching her as she kept her eyes straight ahead.

“I know none.”

He chuckled to himself. “Tell me of what happened to your home?” Avery raised an eyebrow, but still didn’t say anything. “Your original home before you were a hidden slave girl.”

“I minded the children. I wasn’t a slave.”

“So you say. Did they give you a pretty title instead?” He began reigning in the rope between them, bringing them closer. “You know, we have a very long way to go. It’s going to be longer if you don’t talk.”

“Everybody was killed, every woman was raped, everyone is dead.” The wind picked up and swung her hair, covering little noises from the horses and scurrying off into the trees in the distance.

“Hmm, apart from you.” Suddenly he tugged on the reign of her horse and halted it.

“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to tell you so you can get off on the details?” she finally snapped. “Do you want me to tell you how I watched people and the buildings burn? How I hear them still?” She turned her nose up at him. “Ha, that is probably exactly what you want to hear. You’re all a bunch of scruffy barbarians. There is nothing between you and those who ransacked my village.”

The Quiet One leant over and grabbed her foot, unhooking it from the saddle, and in one easy movement flipped her entirely off the other side. She landed with an ‘oomph’, the air knocked from her. He laughed loudly. “Your skills on horseback are terrible, stulka.” She was dusting herself off angrily. “I need to rest. Here will do. We have cover and I can tie the horses.” He grunted as he dropped down, pulling away the two steads and tying them. He brought back his sack, laid out a fur he’d stashed and sat down. Avery took a place opposite him, far away enough that he couldn’t touch her, but near that she could still hear him and not look like she was running away again.

He indulged himself on bread and dried fruits while Avery wrinkled her nose at him, hugging her knees. “You eat like a dog,” she said, beginning to pluck grass.

“It works for me. I am called The Dog.” While he took another bite, Avery got a glimpse of fine braids crossing over the top of his head, and then into the small hair he had pulled back.

“That is not something you should be proud of.” His blue eyes shot up, daring her to speak further. “Dog,” she let out slowly.

“I am going to get tired of you very quickly. Have I not stuck to my word? You should be thankful.” Out of his sack he pulled a lump of meat and carved a piece with his knife, sticking it on the end.

“Oh, yes. Let me thank you for being a dog walking upright. Scavenging peaceful villages, stealing, killing.”

He stood so quickly she jumped and shuffled back, but not fast enough. He pulled her up by the back of her hair, his breath curling out in foggy whispers while he cursed in his language over the sound of her prayers.

At last, he held up the knife. “Enough with your noise. Eat. And when you're finished, you can find wood for a fire.” He shook her to capture her attention. “And no more from that mouth of yours.” He tipped the point of the knife towards her, and she took the food. “Good.”

They’d fallen asleep around the fire. It was Avery who woke first as the flames died down to nothing but embers and the chill set back in. The Quiet One was on his back, long and deep breaths while he slept, and in one hand Benedict’s cross.

It looked as though he had been examining it before dozing off, though she didn’t see him doing that. But right now it glinted so openly for the taking, loose in his palm.

It’s not his to keep, she told herself, sitting up. It is mine.

And it was indeed hers. Benedict had given it to her. It was her salvation, her currency if she ever survived being a Viking’s captive. And on that thought she crawled on her knees very slowly, taking it from his large and scarred hands, claiming it back for herself. Acting like she hadn’t moved at all when he begins to stir, she rests her head back down and pretends to sleep.

Avery got the feeling they were close just before the light had begun to die earlier that day, leaving them travelling by moonlight. The river had began to widen, similar to how it was by her Keep, how she had last seen it on that night.

The Dog, The Quiet One, or whatever his name was that she still hadn’t learnt, lead ahead, casually guiding her horse with their tie. She’d been gloating inwardly to herself the whole time as so far he hadn’t noticed, and a smile kept threatening beneath the half-faked forlorn look on her face.

“We are almost there,” he said, confirming her thoughts, his voice trailing off while keeping his sights turned straight ahead of him. He dropped back beside her again. “When we get there, we are quiet.”

She nodded. There was nothing she had to say to him. The night was beautiful and calm, the moon lighting their way. It shone from the mane of her horse while she pulled her fingers through it.

“Isn’t it a sin to steal?” Avery snapped her head to him, mouth opening to defend herself but he interrupted her. “I know you took it.” His voice was smug, body swaying with each step of the horse. “Don’t deny you didn’t.”

“Well, it is mine,” she said curtly, scrutinizing him with a frown. “You stole it from me. I was taking it back.” He only chuckled. “And if you should know, it is my salvation after I am free from you. I will sell it if I need to. Then my plan is to find work, a manor or farm... Keep a roof over my head until I find a husband…” she mumbled the last part, not really agreeing with the idea that in order to have a normal life, she needed a husband.

Sometimes she didn’t even think she would live to have one. And so far, with what she had seen, she didn’t know if she would be healed enough from her experiences to live so quietly. She would be forever dreaming off into the night in vivid nightmares, perhaps screaming out that the Vikings were coming again while they slept. That no place was safe.

“Once I am finished with my duties here, I will have a big farm. You can work on my farm.”

Avery scowled at him. He was leaning over his horse in his own amusement. “If there is any good in this world, you will be dead,” she said simply.

“My name is Ubbe. That is what you will call me.” He was smirking, self-assured. “When you are my slave on my farm, I will allow you to call me by my name… perhaps. I will think about it more - whether I can put up with such a heated mare.”

“Your humour is sad.” She meant to offend him, but it didn’t work. He was happy for a reaction she’d tried all this time not to give him. “And your name is stupid, ooh bear.”

Even though he had demanded silence, he laughed loudly. “Your accent is joyful. Your mannerisms not so…” He thought about what he wanted to say for a moment. “A little guidance and you could talk like a true Viking.” They began to incline a hill to a break through some woods, having to turn away from the river on their detour. “It’s U, B, B, E. Ubbe.”

“It still sounds like an infant cooing to a beast.”

“I like that…”

She couldn’t help but snort in disdain, trying to cling to her horse and not show she was fearful. “It is not a good thing.”

“Your mouth is still feral, that is not a good thing. Especially while still being held captive, stulka. It could get you into trouble.”

“Don’t call me th-” Her horse suddenly stumbled, lost its footing and slid back while she held on for dear life. It made an awful noise, a squeal, and Avery tried her best to unhook her feet and roll off the horse’s side as it collapsed and began to slide all the way to the bottom, leaving her a crumpled mess half way. Ubbe let their tie go and motioned his horse to the brow of the hill, then skidded back down, bringing debris with him.

Avery coughed, once again thrown from the saddle. But this time, Ubbe pulled her to sit up. She groaned from the jolt, but the whimpering of the horse was worse. At the bottom it lay heavily breathing, throwing a hoof out, and Ubbe, having looked, wiped a hand down his face cursing. “Stay here,” he told her, his eyes saying more.

She watched him unsheath a knife that was hidden within his furs, make his way down quickly to the stead laying helpless, and without hesitation, jammed it through the animals skull. He took whatever supplies her horse was carrying and jogged back up to her still seated in a daze on the incline.

He flicked his head to get moving back up the hill, and she did so, watching him climb effortlessly back onto his horse. “You ride with me now.” And without speaking further, pulled her up to sit behind him.

“You killed it,” she said, barely.

“I killed it quickly rather than letting it die slowly. We can’t help a horse with a bad leg,” he said, his amusement completely deflated by the unexpected accident.

Avery nodded to which he couldn’t see. Then, he prompted by shifting his elbows outward and letting her hold onto him, her fingers slipping between his furs, finally finding warmth.

There was no bodies like Avery had seen in her foresight. All the little huts that used to surround the Keep in a magnificent show of life, were all but five. Three, if she didn’t count the ones that still stood erect but without roofs and half blackened. It smelt charred and burnt too. A smell not like campfires and comfortable memories of feeling safe and warm, but a poignant stench that was wretched. When she looked down on the dirt, it was etched with pools and lines from a rain that must have passed, and the reason why the smell was so powerful.

As far as she could see in the dawn lighting, there was no Keep but a shell of a once fortified wall.

They stayed seated on Ubbe’s horse, walking directly through the middle - through the silence. They had hung back far enough to watch for movement, to be left with nothing but a bird tittering down to the ground and pecking, calling to its mate and fluttering off. There was not a soul.

“It doesn’t exist anymore…” she managed to breath through the squeeze in her chest. She went to slip off the side but Ubbe grabbed her thigh.

“There are track marks,” he said cautiously.

“They are gone.” She intentionally used her blunted nails to try and hurt him as she pushed his hand away, but he didn’t flinch at all. Slipping down, she surveyed her surroundings. “They are all gone.”

With her feet flat on the ground, she searched aimlessly, each image burning into her mind. She could see her own village now, how it looked after the raids. She could feel how the people did when they came across it. All of those things she didn’t experience and wished she could to lay her mind to rest, only triggered it.

“Avery-”

“Shut up!” She turned on him with tear-stained cheeks marking through the dirt on her face, pointing a finger to drive her point home. “Don’t you speak to me!” She ran through what was once the arch of the Keep’s gateway and across the barren courtyard towards what would have been the entrance to the kitchen.

She could remember stumbling through the fencing of the chickens, the items scattered around her when she had fled to find help, telling the children to stay there. They were supposed to hide and not come out unless days had passed or she had come back for them.

Avery’s knees gave out.

They never had a chance. The weight of the building had fallen sideways, crushing everything in its path.

Rubble and dust, nothing else was left. After a while, the guilt shifted to sadness, leaving her in a bleary haze. Emotionless, still entranced by the exact place where the kitchen of the Keep used to stand, she rose to her feet. The horse snorting as it came to a stop behind her was the only sound.

“We can’t stay here, stulka,” he said in a low voice, sounding almost compassionate.

Avery knew they had been here longer than necessary, knew that she couldn’t stay here much longer, frozen to the very bone. “You slaughtered them without any thought, just like that horse. Are the innocent seen as bad limbs - unworthy of fixing?”

“Men have fought over land endlessly; way before we were born, and long after we die.” She finally turned to look at him while he spoke. “We are all pieces to a lasting game and will never see the end to it. That is what you must see.” He gestured towards the rubble. “Not this.”

“Is there a choice?”

“To play the game? No. It has already started. But some of us make do. And we do that, we all lose something. It’s what keeps us playing. It is the way it goes and always will.”

Avery gathered her cloak around her. “And your farm? Is that what keeps you going?”

“It is my dream. I know I will never see it,” he admitted. She went to the back of the horse and Ubbe shook his head, holding out a leather bound hand to her. “You take my hand and you risk playing something with no known end, stulka. But it is the path of the make-do. And I think you have already suffered your losses, don’t you?”

Her fingers itched, half extended to his. “What does that mean?”

“That you may find something that keeps you playing. And from nothing, we can only gain.”

“You sound like you know a lot about it?”

He ignored this question, his posture only giving away the slightest discomfort with it. “It is time to go.”

Avery noted the damaged and scarred palms of his bared to her; the knicks and scabs of terrible doings. When seeing her own half-extended in moral hesitation, there wasn’t much of a difference.

Her fingers slid past his slowly, an uncertainty, but rather, a fascination. The possibility of finding answers to nightmares, her own existence, and how far her beliefs would carry her began to swarm her mind. There was a chance to heal, even if minutely, and also, to see the faces behind the monsters that plagued every day of her life.

She could save one man - Benedict. But she couldn’t save them all. Maybe that was her objective, her path she was destined to take.

Avery’s feverish touch was hastened by his roughness. He grabbed her hand, pulling her up until she sat in front of him. An uncomfortable minute passed as they adjusted, a turn of her head to see him behind her so close and leaving her blushing.

Ubbe tugged the reigns and guided the horse back around.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

The Hard Things--Alternative Ending

Doing the right thing is never easy. Calum and Freya have a lot going for them. But what happens when fear gets in the way.

Inspired by I Follow Rivers by Marika Hackman and Starting Line by Luke Hemmings.

Calum X Black Female OC. Angst with a happy ending. Because my characters should never be happy.

The Hard Things--Original Ending.

Materlist (on a semi hiatus)

___________

If Freya were going to be honest, she would admit that the second she saw Calum and his friends walk into the building she knew things were going to be bad. But Freya’s not being honest. Because being honest would almost include admitting just how too easy it was that day. How if those particular sequences of events hadn’t happened that specifically, then she wouldn’t be here--trying not to watch the quiver in his chin or the way he blinks rapidly. Then she wouldn’t be trying to forget the way his voice quakes.

But they did happen in that particular order. On a Thursday afternoon, he and his friends walked through the door. And here, here at this part, it’s easy to be honest.

Honestly, she is staring--way too hard and way too long at the rag-tag gaggle of people, but especially the man pulling up the rear of the group with a bright red hat snug on his head and covering his eyes, though not even the brim can hide the plump full lips pulled up into a tiny grin at something that must’ve been said. Because another guy, this one fairer-skinned in a hat too and a baggy t-shirt is also laughing. And of course, this group would enter just as Tre stepped away to check on the lanes already throwing. Vanessa wasn’t too far from the desk, but she was trying to help some parents figure out when they could schedule an event for someone’s birthday in the coming weeks.

This only leaves Freya as the only person available right now until rounds were completed to handle any new patrons. With a glance down to the clock on the computer, she could see that a couple more folks would be coming back to the front at any point. But clearly, that point wouldn’t come quick enough.

“Hi,” Freya greets flicking her gaze back up to the group with a quick smile. It’s the training. The fact that more than once she’d been told that customers liked her, especially the way she gave instructions but she needed to smile more. And if this weren’t the job keeping her afloat during her time of getting her degree, in addition to the administrative desk work she did at the university, she would leave here in a heartbeat. Possibly even in the blink of an eye. Whichever was faster.

“Hey! We were hoping you had a couple of lanes for us.”

Freya counts the head. “Just you seven?”

The guy that spoke initially turns the man in the back with the bright red hat on. “Still no word from her?”

The guy shrugs. “Don’t sweat it.” And Freya clings to every syllable. The almost sleepy drawl to his voice lined with a twinge of an accent. She can’t place it at first. But all of them share slight variations in it. The man in the red hat’s voice is low but smooth.

“Yeah just the seven of us,” a taller man pipes in.

“Okay, we can only have two people throwing on a lane at a time. I can put you on neighboring ones but we’ve got very strict rules about how many people can throw at a time.”

There’s a murmur amongst the group but eventually, it comes back to Freya that they’re okay with it. She runs down the safety rules, the forms they have to form out, and checks their IDs. She notices the man with the red hat’s name is Calum and though she knows she shouldn’t, she tries to commit it to memory. It won’t last long. She forgets names all too fast, but she never forgets a face.

“Nessa, watch the desk for me!” Freya calls out as she collects the cases with the axes and directs the party to their lanes. There’s a table for convening and a separate for the axes to rest. “Alright,” she starts with a quick whistle to settle the group. They get chatty but are quick to turn their attention back to her. “I don’t want to kick anyone out, but I will. So one last recap of the rules.”

When Freya finishes, she has the entire group repeat the rules back to her. When they return it to her all correctly, she smiles. “I appreciate y’all already. There are several range officers. They monitor carefully from several posts,” and she points them out as she speaks. “The shift rotates out in an hour. Meaning you’ll have to pause let the old shift go and let the new shift jump in. You’ll hear beeps to signal you to stop and start. If you have any other questions or concerns, you can find me at the front or a range officer. And we’ll be happy to help. Let’s keep all fingers, toes, extremities, and eyeballs intact and we can have a great day together. Enjoy.”

Usually, in her safety spills and best way to throw, Freya makes sure to keep eye contact with everyone in the group. However, she places a purposeful gaze on Calum when she tells them to enjoy. It’s reckless--she knows that. A little flirting hasn’t hurt her. Besides, she knows the moment she walks away, he’ll forget about her. They always did and she likes it like that. Flirty enough to keep good reviews, but never too flirty to insinuate anything more.

In her departure, Freya feels eyes on her, lasting longer than usual. And maybe she put more emphasis behind the swish of her hips and maybe she hoped it was Calum watching her walk away. But she doesn’t dare turn around. No matter how much she hopes in a fleeting second that maybe she had flirted just a little too much, Freya does not turn around to confirm or deny anything.

Back at the front desk, Freya takes a look at the cameras. Anyone at the front can see the lanes too--it’s for safety when you have live blades. Her gaze travels over each one though just out of the corner of her eye she catches the bright red hat. A few guys clasp him on the back but she can’t hear whatever else is said. The rest of the afternoon goes by slowly. As people leave, few come in to replace them. The weekend will be busier--it always in. And Freya knows that soon too, once the afternoon becomes evening things will pick up just a little.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Everything okay?”

Freya barely sees who it is talking before they’re out of the door. Calum, phone pressed to his ear. She watches him for a beat as he paces near the front windows of the establishment. Her gaze doesn’t linger long before something on the floor catches her eye. She sees it’s black and square. When she gets closer it looks like a wallet. Clearly used and loved by the creases in it. She glances back up to Calum to see him still on the phone and peeks at the ID just to make sure who it belongs to.

With the blank stare of Calum’s ID photo looking up at her, Freya takes it back behind the desk. She’ll wait until he gets off the phone. A minute or two later, the door chimes again with Calum reentering.

“Hey, you dropped this,” she calls out, stepping out from the desk to hold out the wallet.

Calum pats his pockets and a split second panic causes his eyes to go wide. “Oh shit, thanks. I-I didn’t even realize it fell out of my pocket.”

“No worries. Just glad to get it back to you.” Calum takes it and slips it into his pocket, hands patting the outside to make doubly sure it’s secure. “You guys doing okay back there?

“Yeah, we’re good. Though I think somehow the girls are kicking our asses.”

Freya smiles with a small tuft of laughter escaping her. “It’s power and finesse. You can tear down brick buildings but if you don’t get the release right so it’s not twirling over the axis too many times, you’ll come up with nothing.”

“So says the expert?”

Her cheeks heat for a second at the raised eyebrow Calum gives her. Running her tongue over her teeth to hide the smile, Freya nods. “Yeah, I’ve thrown an axe or two in my lifetime. So I guess that counts as me being an expert.”

Calum laughs. Whether it’s at her or not, Freya’s not sure. But she likes the sound of it. “Tell me what else the expert suggests.”

A moment passes where Freya’s watching his gaze. Wondering if an anime glint will twinkle over his brown eyes because it’s a smooth delivery. Smoother than some of the stuff she’s done. There’s no way he’s fucking real.

Freya takes a half step back, slipping through the threshold that separates the front desk from the main lobby and the hallway to the back where the lanes are set up. “This expert suggests that you try her advice and impress all your friends.”

“More finesse. In the wrist, right?”

“In the wrist.”

A shy smile is shared between the two of them. It borders telling everything and saying nothing at all, borders on giving away on how much Calum might’ve considered concocting a ruse just to get her attention and how much he did backtrack on his plan because it was his sister calling and that shocked him. The smile borders on Freya twirling the Havana twists around her finger and her rolling her eyes at Calum’s thinly veiled attempts at flirting.

Both of them are saved by the front door chiming and Freya gives a nod to Calum before turning her attention to the person now entering. But Calum watches the way she leans into the counter and smiles down at the small child standing next to their parent. “Oh my god, you’re getting so big,” Freya comments and then walks back around to settle next to them.

“No, Fre, I’m not bigger dan yesterday,” the kid responds.

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Your dad will be out in just a second. Shift change had to wait for one more person. Anything cool happen at school today?”

Calum leaves then, though he can catch the small boy gush about the races he won at recess. It’s probably crazy of him to try and find some sort of way to come back here again soon, but Calum’s already trying to put together an excuse.

When Calum heads back to the front with the group, laughing at Michael’s utter disgust at the way the last few throws went, he does look for Freya. A girl with red hair is sitting at the desk instead. And though a little bit of disappoints settles into his stomach because he wanted to tell her how well her advice worked, he finds himself resolved and it wouldn’t be broken.

******

Calum told himself whatever Freya had to say during this talk wouldn’t break him. Hell, if he were honest, he didn’t think it would go like this. “You know, I used to say I was no good for people all the time,” Calum laughs. He sniffs hard and wipes his noses on the back of his nose. “It was a clean get-away line.”

“I’m not giving you a get-away line. I’m giving you the truth,” Freya returns.

“No, I’m-I’m not saying you’re giving me bullshit. You’re setting a boundary and a good one at that. I respect it. I’m just saying the irony. The same thing I used to tell others is coming back my way.”

“Karma’s a bitch.”

“I don’t regret it.” Calum shakes his head, not because he’s lying. But to emphasize his point.

*****

Calum doesn’t regret going to the Yelp, Facebook, or Instagram page of the business to see if she had liked it or appeared anywhere on their social media. And luck would have it, he manages to find her. The owners like to show off their employees. Their preferred form of employee appreciation appears, in Calum’s investigation, to be a quick bio of new employees along with a video of them throwing. He nearly misses Freya’s post because of his quick scrolls. The bottom of the page comes up quicker than the app could handle and just as the new page loads that he notices it. The thick twists and black lipstick sitting on her cool dark brown skin.

He doesn’t regret it when he followed the account that was tagged, or the message he sent her from his finsta, or the messages they exchanged for a few days. And he for damn sure can’t find himself to regret it when he came back to the place a couple of weeks later to see if Freya was working.

There’s no regret when she smiles at him and laughs. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to test your theory yet again. It worked last time. But I want to make sure that it wasn’t beginner’s luck.”

“You doubt me. You dare doubt me? I’m offended.”

Calum laughs briefly as he leans into the counter of the front desk. “It’s more like I’m testing a theory. Making sure the results can be recreated.”

“Oh, I promise you my results are valid.” She reaches out for his ID and every so gently their fingers brush. Calum can’t tell if that’s intentional or not, but it doesn’t the slight shiver that runs down his spine. “So just you today, huh?” Freya continues on, grabbing a clipboard, some forms, and a pen.

“Just me.”

“Rest of your friends scared.” Her gaze falls to the stack she’s gathering, checking something off on the top page and then sliding the ID back to Calum.

“They’d probably laugh at me if they knew I was here.”

“Laugh at you?”

“Tell me--why do you think I’m here?”

A moment passes between them. Though it takes up more like several seconds, time feels froze as Freya studies his face. Calum wants to reach up and readjust his hat out of a nervous habit. He wants to take it back. But more than anything, he wants to know if he has a shot. If it’s worth really pursuing.

“I think you’re here to test a theory. Maybe, just maybe you’re here because of Vanessa too,” she smiles as it says. Like she knows that isn’t the truth but she doesn’t want to give into Calum.

And while it’s not the answer he was hoping for, Calum takes it. She wants to play a game and he can be down for that.

*****

She wants to reach out for his hands. They sit next to each other in the lounge chairs Calum keeps lined around his pool. But Freya thinks twice about it. The bulbs dangle above them casting an amber hue onto the water, a stark contrast to the twilight pressing evening closer to night’s full darkness. Freya does regret it. She regrets not leaving her teasing response just to testing a theory. She knew what Calum was fishing for, what he was hoping to confirm when he came back by himself.

Maybe it was just where she was then. Then she thought she could give more. Now she realizes she can’t. She likes it when she’s dating someone and they can decide on a random Sunday for errand runs. She likes having them around. And not that Calum wouldn’t be around. Tours didn’t happen all the time. But they did run long. And who the hell knows where she’d be in eight months after she graduated. Her life wasn’t stable--she wasn’t tied to the West Coast like Calum was.

Her life was full of variables. Ones that she didn’t really plan on trying to solve until closer to Christmas in the spring right before graduation. And she didn’t want to give Calum any more false hope. It wasn’t set in stone that she’d be staying in LA and it wasn’t set in stone that she could handle the long departures. Calum deserved someone that was more sure of themselves.

“I think having regrets is no good anyway,” Freya says, finally breaking the long silence between them. “Having them doesn’t change what happened anyway.” But that doesn’t change the fact that you still regret this, Freya thinks to herself.

“I used to believe love could overcome any obstacle.”

Freya turns to look to Calum and catches thhe way the stubble on his chin from the few weeks he’s gone without shaving halos just a little in the lights. “Used to? The right person, the right love--”

Calum shakes his head. “Now I think people loving me means that they love themselves and they can tell me what they want or need. No guessing. No games.”

“Still sounds a lot of a hell lot like overcoming obstacles.”

“But it’s not a dream. It’s tangible. It’s not me daydreaming up in the clouds. It’s me--right here. Right now. Knowing seeing what it means more than anything else that all the shit I was thinking of as a kid really needed just to be put on the ground level for me.”

“What-what do you mean?”

“I mean as much as it fucking sucks that you’re telling me no, I know you’re doing it for the right reasons. I-there’s like this thing with me. I watch people. I don’t walk into a room of strangers and become the center of attention. I don’t like people all that much, but I care. You know? I care about the people I put into my life and I want them to do well and succeed. I want what’s best for them. It’s not always easy to want that, but innately, I do, I think. Deep down I want what’s good for people. And maybe love is doing the hard things, you know.”

He pauses. Freya watches the way he drops his head, fingers threading through the curls. She keeps quiet. There’s something more, something deeper to the words. “And you’re doing the hard thing. Whether it’s for me or not is debatable,” Calum continues. “But I think love is doing the hard things.”

“You said that having some space was important to you. And while I understand that, like you do need to be your own person in a relationship--”

“Your reasons or how you want to justify it to yourself for me isn’t something I need. You already said that you know what you expect and like out a relationship and that the touring would be too hard for you. Set boundaries for you. What good does it do to justify it to me?”

“So you know I’m not being an asshole, Calum. For fuck sake.”

“No, no, I-shit. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant--who are boundaries really for? What do they do?”

“I guess they do protect the person making them. But I’m not trying to be an asshole to you. I swear.”

Calum looks up from the cement of his background lining the pool to the glossy sheen coating Freya’s eyes. They’re black in the settling night. But Calum knows they’re more like a medium brown--dark enough to get lost in them, but when they catch the light just right, they can feel like an enchanting spell sucking him in.

“Freya, you are a sarcastic son of a bitch. But an asshole to those that don’t deserve it, never.”

She sucks on her teeth, swatting at his bicep. “Take that back.”

Calum leans onto his left elbow, closing the gap between them just a little. A smile lifts his lips gently. “Never.”

“We’ve both been burned. Is it bad I didn’t want that again?”

“No. I used to say love is a scam. So I don’t think I’m necessarily the poster boy for relationships.”

“But admit it, you hoped this was the one so you wouldn’t be the odd man out.” His brows furrow at her comment. Freya gives him a soft smile. “Two of the guys are engaged. But all three of them are in a relationship.”

He sighs, gazing dropping from her face. “Maybe I was hoping so. Is it bad of me to want to be in love?”

“No. I told some kids that my boyfriend was Shermar Moore,” Freya admits with a laugh. “I was working at a summer camp and one girl saw his picture on my phone. It was my lockscreen for the longest time. So I just went with it. Well, I was spurred in part because of Drew who was a fucking creep and wouldn’t leave me alone. But I did fantasize about it. Dream of being in love with some famous and the limelight. Shit at that point, I hadn’t even dated anyone either. So another part of it was a desire too.”

“Is that part of it too? Worried about what trolls and whatever will say?”

“Oh, no one who doesn’t know shit about it can make me get outside myself.” Freya laughs but reclines into the cushions of the chair. “But maybe it’s a little bit of it. That’s too many voices talking all about you. It’s a lot of noise and some of it has to bleed through you know. Even if you’re careful and you work not to take it in, some does, right?”

“I don’t think humans were created to be able to handle that much criticism or even love and adoration. Our brains can’t handle it. So yeah, a little bit seeps in. But you keep that door closed as much as you can. You talk to people that also get it. Fuck, you even get a therapist.”

“Or a dog,” Freya says before turning her head to watch Duke laying inside next to the back door.

“And a dog,” Calum corrects.

“Excuse me, you get a therapist and a dog.”

“Tell me something.”

“I’m listening,” Freya returns, looking back to Calum.

“Before you go tonight, tell me the thing you’re going to cherish between us.”

“Will you do the same?” Calum nods at the question but doesn’t respond verbally as he gazes at her.

“Do you want to answer now?”

“Are you leaving now?”

“I-I didn’t think you wanted me to stay.”

“I want you to stay as long as you feel comfortable. And then when you leave, the parting thing we have is the good, the best of us.”

“What if I stay until dawn?”

“Then you stay until dawn. Though, I think it’s safe to say both of us will pass out by 3 AM.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I think I’ve ever done,” Freya laughs. Remembering the same she spent a Friday night after a shift at Calum’s place. He had a birthday party on Saturday along with a vet appointment with Duke. And then Sunday, Freya had we weekly lunch with her friends that she couldn’t miss. So Calum asked her if she wanted dinner Friday night at his place. Which she said yes to, but then it turned into them doing a movie marathon. Which then turned into Calum betting her that he could stay up longer than her. But they ultimately passed out around 3 in the morning on Calum’s couch.

“Thankfully, I did not miss Duke’s vet appointment that time,” Calum tacks on.

“Yeah, no thanks to me waking you up half an hour before it.”

“That darlin’ is what I call details.”

“No, I call that a very important fact,” Freya defends sitting up. “Duke would’ve been late twice if not for me.”

Calum giggles at her incredulous look. She always got heated fast, though she knew when it was serious things and when it wasn’t. “It wasn’t him paying for the visit.”

“So you ought to kiss the ground I’m standing on right now because you didn’t have to pay anything like a cancellation fee.”

“You’re not standing on any ground right-” the sentence doesn’t get the wind to complete itself when Calum watches her stand up. “Or maybe you are standing up.”

Freya hears him, but she gazes up to the sky. Trying to look past the twinkle of his backyard lights. There’s not much to see due to the light pollution. But the sounds capture her attention next. His neighborhood’s almost been mostly quiet. But with the twinge of the summer’s heat fading, Freya can hear the last bit of people outside. A dog barks into the night and there’s the crunch only tires on gravel and asphalt can give. There’s a hum in the night that Freya can feel in her bones.

It’s hard not to fall in love with the sounds of the night. It’s hard not to romanticize this, how possibly if things were different she could find herself at some point always standing in the middle of this backyard listening to the sounds of the night, having Calum beside her or maybe Duke when he’s gone and just letting herself go to the buzz. In all honesty, Freya craved stability. Always having something to come back was her dream. But in that dream it was a partner who would be there for every dinner. A shared space that was full with both of their presences.

“When you think about coming home what’s there?” Freya asks. “Like, in ten years, what’s in your home when you walk inside?”

Calum closes his eyes, bringing the picture to his mind’s eye. “Like, the truth of what I see?”

“The truth,” Freya confirms.

“Two kids, a dog for sure. Maybe two. A wife. A lot of laughs. Being knocked over with hugs. Maybe a movie that hasn’t quite been paused catches my ears. Maybe it’s summer and my mum’s over too. Because she wants to be around the kids as much as possible. And my sister--she comes over when she can too. So we have to figure out what to cook because it’s a family dinner night. I’m mostly likely in Australia. But I could be somewhere else. Just not LA. I don’t think I could have kids here.”

“That sounds lovely, Calum.”

“But I am scared. My parents divorced. What if it doesn’t work out?”

“That wasn’t your fault. And if we heal from our trauma before having kids then maybe some of our fears won’t come to reality.”

“And if it does.”

“Then we know the boogeyman is real and sometimes we can do our best but things that are meant to happen will still happen.”

“Your parents are divorced too, right?” Calum remembers her mentioning a distinction between her mother’s house and her father’s house. But she hadn’t outright stated that her parents were divorced, just alluded to it.

“Yeah. My dad remarried. He seems happy.”

“What about you? If you closed your eyes and thought about yourself in 10 years, where are you?”

“I technically asked what do you see in your home when you walk inside 10 years from now.”

“Oh, come off it,” Calum laughs, throwing a dismissive wave her way.

“But,” she giggles and then closes her eyes. The breeze blows across her face and she lifts her chin up to catch as much of it as she can. Then she speaks, “I don’t know. Home’s full of the people I love. And I feel stable. I’m not worried about what I’m going to do weeks from now when something inevitably has to change. Because nothing’s going to change. Or at least, I’m not anticipating change. I think that’s what I’m sick of. I’m sick of dealing with change and constantly moving around and not knowing what the next year is going to look like. I’m tired of looking over my shoulder and planning. I just want to be still.”

“You did the whole back and forth between houses, huh?”

“Yeah. I always felt like I was playing two versions of myself when I was younger. I had to be one way around my mother and one way around my father and according to my therapist, the constant games of charade fucked me up a little.”

“How often did you go between their houses?”

“Every weekend.”

Calum sucks in air through his teeth, “Yikes. Yeah, no wonder you want stability.”

“Oh, thank you Dr. Hood. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Well this is a question so it’s not something you don’t know, but is the thought of me being gone for months at a time remind you of that? Like, you’d have to be one way while I was here and then another way when I was gone?”

Freya shrugs. But it’s right on the nose. “I’d have to learn to be with you and then be without you. And all I have are switches. No dimmers. I’m either on or I’m off. And I-I’m working on it. But I’ve got a long way to go.”

Calum scoffs, whispering mostly to himself. “All I have are switches. No dimmers.” It’s not a taunt to her. It’s not him blowing her concern off. It’s recognition that colors his tone. It’s the sigh when hearing something that connects so deeply it takes all the oxygen from lungs with it.

“And I swear to Christ, Calum, if you make a Lowe’s or Home Depot joke, I will extract your ankles from you right here right now.”

“Extract? What the hell?” Calum laughs.

“Broken ankles heal,” Freya returns with a smirk. Her face is lit mostly from above due to continued standing position but Calum catches the way her lips move.

“Remind me to really never piss you off. Between your ability to throw axes and the time you told me about putting ham on a girl’s car, I don’t think I want that kind of trouble in my life.”

“I only put the ham on the car because my friend was heartbroken and she was a cunt for cheating.”

“Yeah, see that’s what I mean,” Calum points out, his index finger swirling in a circle in front of her.

“I could’ve slashed her tires too.”

“I think ruining her paint job was more than enough.”

Freya places her hands on her hips, looking down at Calum. “I’ve got some anger issues too. Did I mention that?”

They laugh but Calum recovers first to speak. “I hadn’t noticed it before. Thank you for telling me that. But in all seriousness, Freya, the boundaries you have make sense. I hope you continue with therapy as well,” he states with a giggle. “But it’s not easy to look back at yourself and realize ‘Oh shit, maybe I don’t want that thing again because that actually fucking hurt’. And do something about it. That takes a lot of strength.”

“Thanks, Calum. And I will continue with this therapist for the rest of the school year because it’s free. Shoutout to some universities for having really accessible mental health resources.”

Freya finally sits, facing Calum. He keeps his gaze averted. But it doesn’t bother her. “What’s the intention behind telling me I can stay as long as I want? Is it to get me to change my mind? Just earlier both of us were near tears and now we’re walking down memory lane. Sharing things we hadn’t shared yet.”

“I want as much of you as I can get before you’re gone. Selfish, right?” The tears are back, she can hear them in his voice.

“No. A bit of your masochism showing, certainly.”

“You ever know something’s bad for you, but you want it anyway? You want the pain anyway?”

“I mean considering both of us are littered tattoos, pain’s not something we’re too worried about.”

Calum wishes he didn’t laugh, not even the short burst of laughter. “Someone’s coping with humor.”

“Someone’s self flagellating.”

“Can I be honest?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t want you to go. But I don’t want you to hurt yourself either.”

“Maybe love is doing the hard things. You said that yourself.”

Calum swallows hard and his voice only comes out in a whisper. “I know I did.”

Freya blinks away the blur of tears. But as soon as they clear, more replace them. Her voice is tight as she speaks. “Doing the hard things suck though. Don’t think this is easy.”

“It’s because it’s the hard thing,” Calum returns. He wants to smile and manages to get a small one but he knows. Freya’s going to leave. She won’t stay.

“My favorite thing,” she starts and Calum exhales hard. There it is--the confirmation. The sentence gets caught in her throat so she pauses to clear it, work the tears down to at least speak. God, why couldn’t it have been easy. “My favorite thing between us, about us, whatever you want to label it as, is that we could also be honest. And even if it was burning waffles or ducking paps to watch a movie for an anime that you had no idea anything about because I wanted to go desperately and you had to Google a summary during the previews, we were always honest with each other.”

“I want to put it out there that you only told me that it was for an anime as I was buying the tickets. So I had zero time to prepare beforehand.”

“I told you the name of it the Monday before we saw it.”

“And admittedly, I forget it the second after you said it.”

“Fair enough, Calum. Fair enough.”

Calum spins in the chair and takes her hand. The first time they’ve touched today. Normally, Freya was more than happy to give out hugs but when Calum opened the front door, she have a half smile and stepped inside. If he could go back to earlier, he’d tell himself that was the first sign.

His thumb passes gently over the butterfly on her left hand. “The thing I’m going to cherish is that you made me feel sixteen again. My entire life changed at sixteen and I felt pretty invincible. I was also scared and excited. I was going to be in a band, like a one with lots of records and I don’t know--I only had that dream to believe in because I damn sure did not have a back up. It was before the downs. And I don’t regret the hard times either. But you’re the first person in a long time that gave me those butterflies. Assumed I was just never going to feel them again and I wasn’t a good person before, not as good as I could’ve been. But you gave me something to be good for again. Getting your text made my whole fucking day. And you-god, you cared about so many things. I bought books you recommended and couldn’t wait to talk about them with you. I remembered the kind of person I want to be. So thank you. For making me feel sixteen again in the cheesiest way possible but also in the best way possible too. That things are worth giving a shit for and that we can let people in and it won’t always burn.”

“Just a little sting.”

Calum nods. “Just a little sting.”

Freya brings his hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to the right one. Her sniffle is loud amongst the hum of the night. “If it weren’t for the fact that my eyeliner is tattooed to my face it would probably be running. I’m sorry it has to hurt at all. But-but I’m hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Hopeful that we’ll get what we need out of life.”

He nods again, watching the tears track down her cheek. “We will.”

Her hands gently slip back out of his grasp and she uses the back of her wrist to press under her nose. The tremors shake her hands, so she shakes them before standing. Calum cranes his neck up, words about to fall from his lips. But she cups his cheek and smiles at him. “Don’t. There’s nothing else to say.”

It happens just as he blinks. He sighs, eyes closing to steel himself. Because there’s always so much else to say. And then her lips are pressing to his forehead. It last long enough for Calum to take hold of her thighs instinctively want to pull her in closer to him.

Then she’s gone. His hand slides down the rough denim and Freya’s walking to the edge of the backdoor. Duke picks up his head but doesn’t move much else. “Oh yeah, you don’t need to move. You know everyone comes to you, huh?” She gives him a few pats and scratches. “I’ll send you something for your adoption day, okay, love? And you might hate wearing it or you might love eating it. But be on the lookout for the mailman. He’ll have something from me.”

Calum doesn’t say anything as she says her goodbyes to Duke. She kisses the top of his head too and he thinks she might’ve whispered something else but he’s not certain from his spot on the chair. The swish of the tassels on Freya’s jeans signal her and the click of her heeled boots tell Calum she’s walking farther from him. The latch in the fence clicks and the wood around the hinges creak as she presses into the door. There’s a soft thud as the door shuts and then Calum can’t hear anything over the cough he uses to try and cover the tightness in his chest, can’t see anything in the blurry vision of his tears

She’s just gone.

******

When the front door bell sounds, Calum doesn’t think much of it. It could be a package or someone selling something. So he pushes up from the kitchen table and heads to the door. There on his porch is a light blue box with white bones on it. The subscription box that Calum gets already came. But then he notices an index card with a handwritten address on it. He picks it up. Right there in the return address is Freya’s name. He sucks in a breath and then looks to see who it’s addressed to: Duke Hood + Calum.

“Duke,” Calum calls out, stepping back inside to the house. He closes the door with his foot. The click of paws let him know the old man’s heard his call. “A little early birthday present has arrived just for you.”

He walks deeper into the living room and sets the box on the coffee table. Inside holds an olive green harness, treats, and a card. Calum laughs as Duke presses his snout against the bag of treats. “Alright, alright. I get it.”

Duke happily munches on one of the chews from the bag and Calum opens the card. A different letter slips out into his lap. He can see the ink and lettering pressing through to the other side. His heart hammers, but he forces himself to turn back to the card. “Dear Duke,” Calum pauses to see if Duke responds but his investigation continues on the treat. “I mean, fair enough.” Calum continues to read the card written by Freya, “Even though only the universe knows your true birthday, this card, harness, and bag of treats is meant to mark you sticking it out with your pops for yet another year. To spare you the grumps about a very cute hawaiin shirt I, instead, got a badass harness. Now you’ll be the coolest guy on the block. Happy Birthday/Adoption Day. With Love, Fre.”

Duke, done with the treat, looks to Calum and settles next in front of his folded legs. “Oh, so much work eating a treat.”

But Calum reaches down to gently pats at his tummy. The front of the car is cute, Calum finally recognizes. A cartoon white dog is drawn on it with large pink glasses against a yellow background. There’s no telling where she found it at. Calum looks down to the handwritten letter on printer paper. What would Freya possibly have to say?

Calum hadn’t had the guts to press send on any of the texts he drafted in the three months since they last talked. He wasn’t sure if he could. He is sure that if Freya hadn’t wanted anything to do with him, she would’ve said so, and she wouln’t have sent this box for Duke. His fingers tremble as he unfolds the letter.

Calum,

I figured you heard me tell Duke he was going to get a gift. And I knew I couldn’t not deliver on my promise to him. But I do apologize if it crosses any line. Please let me know too--if it crossed any boundaries.

I hope you’re well. Congrats on the latest album too.

With Love,

Freya.

P.S. I saw you a couple times drafting a text to me but never seeing one go through. And if you’re asking why I hadn’t sent a text either, know it was fear too. And me not being sure if keeping it open like that between us would only do more harm than good. So I’m sorry. But I am here, in the sense that to the best of my capacities, I can try to be here.

*****

Her bag’s slipping off her shoulders but she finally gets the key into the lock and gets her front door open. She sighs as she falls into the ugly blue apartment door and all but flings herself into her place. The stack of mail in her hands barely makes it to the edge of the kitchen counter too. It was just one of those days and Freya couldn’t be mad at herself. Everyone had days like this.

Putting her keys up and getting her backpack next to the couch, she settles into the stools at the kitchen counter to sort through the mail. One’s a bill from the dentist she visited a few weeks back. The one thing her student health insurance didn’t cover. But she couldn’t complain.

There are few junk flyers that she immediately tosses. And it’s her name scrawled in a almost all caps that catches her eyes before she even gets finished with the rest of the pile. In the top corner for the return address she catches the name: Calum Hood + Duke

“Mail from Duke, what a surprise.”

But the real surprise is Calum’s name. It’s just a plain white envelope with a stamp and the city mark it was mailed from. Freya pops it open and sees a sheet of legal pad paper folded up.

Freya,

Thank you for Duke’s gift. The chews are a hit. The harness is much appreciated for our walks. Though, I think they’re more like walks for me. And Duke gets a little exercise in before he tuckers out. But I don’t fault him. No lines were crossed. So no need to worry about that.

I think I like the idea of mailing letters more than I do like texting. But I understand. Doing the hard thing sucks. It always has and always will. Do what you need to for yourself.

Thank you. I wouldn’t normally do this. But there’s a couple songs--they’re about you. I wanted to give you a warning before you listen to it. If you listen to it, I guess I should say.

Best of luck with your last year of school. You’ll have that Master’s in no time and then maybe soon you can take over the Library of Congress like all your evil plans have laid out. (I know, I know. Not what your Library Studies degree does. But I still think you should.)

With Love,

Cal

Freya chuckles at the Library of Congress comment. She picks up her phone and finds Calum’s thread. It’s easy to want to tell him that she can’t take over the Library of Congress and that she’s glad the treats went over well and that the harness was really more of an accessory to make sure Duke looks like a badass.

But she knows--she knows the ease got her into a pickle before. It’s why she stopped things before they got more serious. But was fear going to always predict what she was going to do in her life? Maybe the ease of things was a sign to continue. But if what if things got too far? WOuld be able to handle Calum being gone? Would she inevitably get her heart broken? And sure no amount of contemplation can predict things like this, but she did want to play with that risk no matter how fucking easy it was in the moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Freya drops her face into the forearms. Her phone is still in her grip with the movement. “It’s never fucking easy is it!” she shouts into her apartment.

There’s silence that engulfs her and then her phone chimes. She doesn’t halfway pay attention to it but her phone almost never makes a sound because she keeps it on vibrate. “Who knows what I’ve done now?” she mutters but doesn’t look. Whatever it was she should explain it away for sure. “Why wasn’t there a guarantee money back or some shit with love? It would make life a hell of lot easier for fuck sake. I mean the reward was a lot bigger if I did decide to date Calum. But the fucking risk. Where’s a genie or some fortune teller when you needed it?”

With the frustration dissipating with every shout, she finally lifts her hand and looks to see what caused the noise. Her fingers slip across the screen and she watches a message lift up before settling down with the delivered underneath it. “Whoops,” she mutters. And starts drafting a message in response. Sorry, didn’t mean to send that. Was just venting and must’ve hit something in my blind rage.

She sets the phone down without another thought and then goes back to sorting out her mail, though she glances down at the yellow page that Calum wrote his letter. She’d all her best friend in a bit to talk it out with them. A buzz sound--no doubt some sort of alert. She listens for how many buzzes. A text coming through.

Turning over her phone, Freya reads who the text is from. The name barely registers before her heart goes into a frenzy. Calum--New iMessage. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, why is he texting me?”

A warranty on love is definitely a new concept. I assume you got my letter. You made it clear that you still weren’t sure where the boundaries were, I just wanted to say thanks. Or Duke did, I should say. You said you cherished our honesty and I’m going to be honest. I wrote a lot of different letters before sending the one I did. I’ve drafted a text to you nearly every day but never sent it because I didn’t want to put you in a predicament. But maybe we’re both at a point where maybe the risk might not be all that bad.

Freya exhales reading the text. How do you feel about splitting a pizza at my place tonight?

The message lifts and then settles again. The moments stretch for minutes. The bubble pops up and she watches the dots cycle from light to dark gray. I would love to.

Her hands shake and for a moment she wishes she hadn’t quit cigarettes. They weren’t good for her and she knows that. But god, right now with the shakes, she needs something to bring her down from the edge. The picks at her pinkie nail, leg bouncing. A knock at the door sounds and Freya freezes. The pizza’s already delivered, arrived maybe two or three minutes before this knock.

Another moment, maybe two passes, and then another knock sounds. She pushes up from the couch and heads to the door.

“Hi,” Calum exhales.

“Hi,” Freya returns. “Oh, come-come in.” She steps aside and waves Calum further inside.

As he steps through, he turns, keeping his back away from her. The door closes and he unveils a tiny pot, a greenish-purple plant staring back up at Freya. “I know you’re sensitive to flowering plants--like sunflowers or carnations. So I went to a local nursery, one that my gardeners recommended and one of the workers recommended succulents. They told me the name and I have absolutely no memory of what it is. Echev-I don’t know.”

Freya steps closer, gingerly taking the terracotta pot from him. It sits in the palm of her hand. “Echeveria. I think this one is a Black Prince.”

“Yeah, yeah, that.”

“Thank you.” It falls from her lips in a whisper. “Really, I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“It shall live,” she says after a big exhale, “right here on the kitchen window sill.”

Calum grins a little watching her open the blinds to set the plant in. “How-how have you been?” He knows he came under the guise of pizza. But that’s not even close to the truth. So he closes the distance between them, crossing the kitchen. One hand settles on her hip.

Freya turns in the inch or two she has. His gaze is sincere but hesitant. Like there’s more he wants to say, but not sure if he can say it right now. His cheek is a little stubbly when she touches it, settles her palm into the warmth and squish of his face. She hadn’t expected seeing him in person would stir her gut like this. Maybe it’s because she was only giving excuses. Good ones, but still excuses. “Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“When I asked you about what you say in your home 10 years into the future and you said wife, did you see me?”

It doesn’t shock him that she sussed it out. That even with his vague include of the term, Freya would still see between the lines. “Honestly?”

“I’m making you an honest man.”

“Yes.” He closes his eyes for a moment. Not out of shame or some need to hide from the truth. But to steel himself. “When I said wife, I pictured you. And two kids--who in my imagination definitely had your hair texture and that scared me.”

“Scared you?” Freya asks.

“I barely can do my own curls. Two daughters with your texture would feel like jumping into the deep end without a floaty.”

“But you, theoretically, wouldn’t have been in the deep end alone. Me, my hairstylist, my mom, and stepmom--a lot of Black women to teach you a thing or two. But specifically two daughters, huh?”

Calum nods, his second hand sliding up onto her right hip. He holds her waist and she holds onto his cheeks ever so gently. He smiles at her. “That’s not to say I didn’t ask to try for a son as a third. Now you tell me something.”

“Scouts honor.”

“Can you really give into the risk? If you can’t, I will walk out of here right now and I won’t bother you again. Because above everything, I want what’s best for you. As much as it’ll hurt not have you again, we can’t keep going back and forth. It’s not good for either one of us.”

Freya knows he’s right. Would she regret giving Calum up a second time? Was the universe trying to give her the ever elusive second chance? Getting into a defined relationship with Calum meant she would have to figure out what to do after graduation and if had to leave would he be able to handle that? Was the chance of heartbreak worth the moments of bliss?

“I want my PhD--and I don’t know where that’s going to take me. I might be leaving California and that would be years, Calum. Years of me in a different state. And I don’t know, California doesn't feel like the end game for me. And that could just be the now talking. Who knows? But a lot is in motion and uncertain right now, does that change how you feel? Because maybe--maybe I can take the risk for a few moments of bliss.”

Calum’s knees almost give up on him, but he squeezes her to keep himself steady. “When I said I wanted as much of you as I could have before you left, I meant it. I absolutely meant every word of it. I meant I would take days, hours, decades if I could with you.The last time I even thought about daydreaming about a girl was so fucking long ago. And when you asked me about my future, it shocked even me to see you. That’s when I knew. I knew I was a fucking goner.”

“But I don’t know if I can give all that to you.”

“I’ll take what I can get it, Freya. And I am sure that in the future one of two things is going to happen: it will either hurt like hell when you leave or we get more time. I don’t know how much more. But I do know that those are the two options. And I will gladly embrace whichever one of them comes our way.”

Freya doesn't miss the inclusion of the plural. “Our way,” she teases with a grin, stretching up just a little. “Our way, huh?”

“Yes, our way.” Calum watches just how close she gets before she pauses. Her breath tickles over his skin. “Now, either we’re kissing and then eating pizza, or we’re kissing and then--”

Freya’s lip sealing around his cuts off the sentence. They exhale into each other, Calum pressing in closer and pinning her to the edge of the counter. Freya slides up against his chest just a hair, hands sliding up and then tying her arms around his neck. As they part, Calum rests his forehead against hers. “What’s tomorrow?”

“Thursday. Why do you ask?”

“Because I wanted to gauge if I could keep you up until 3 AM again,” Calum giggles. “But not about a competition this time. Like possibly pissing off your neighbors.”

“But I have the 8 am shift at the office.”

“And homework that you’d kill me for keeping you from.”

“Not quite murder, but there is a paper I have about 5 pages left on and should submit because it is like a third of my grade.”

“But Friday night?”

“I’m free--I traded a Monday evening shift earlier this week to get Friday off.”

Calum kisses her, soft and slow. It makes his whole body electric, to feel her relax into his touch. “Friday night then.”

“Before a night of debauchery, do you think we should talk? What happens if it’s too much or not working?” Freya doesn’t want to be the barrier of bad news. But she does like having a plan, a clear path to follow.

Calum’s not way to think too hard about things, to worry about things until they come up. But he knows Freya’s not like him. Clearing his throat, Calum holds up his pinkie. “This a pinkie swear that on Friday when you come over to my place for a night of debauchery, we will talk all about contingency plans.”

“You make it sound--”

“No, I know. You want the air clear and you want it clear sooner rather than later. And though, I normally am very much against a lot of the feelings talk. But for fuck sake, I already admitted that I thought about marrying you, so I don’t think now is the moment to shy away from it.”

“When you put it like that.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Freya hooks her pinkie around his. “But it is Wednesday. So, pizza and then if you want to stay after you can, I’ll just be working on that paper.”

“If you don’t mind the company, I would love to stay.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

[toonerdyandiknowit]

Hardware

Hardware Part 1.

This is a Tony Stark X Reader, may be NSFW smut in future chapters.

Swear warning.

[Y/N] = your name [YLN] = your last name [H/C] = hair colour [E/C].

Character is written as over 21 but younger than Tony, you can decide how old you imagine her to be.

You're a young English woman hiding out in America after a few embarrassing accidents back home, caused by your powers. With the ability to manipulate any machinery into doing whatever you put your mind to, you would probably get on well with a certain Avenger. If he hadn't helped kidnapped you.

You'd tried really hard to not draw attention to yourself. Really. You kept moving around, never staying still long enough to make an impression. No wild parties, no public shenanigans, no bright clothing. You avoided using your powers, even in private, and just generally laid low.

It had been a year since you’d snuck your way onto a plane that took you from London to America, figuring if you were gonna get lost anywhere, New York was your best bet. You never settled in any particular spot, and you only took the jobs where the cash was handed to you at the end of everyday, and no one gave a shit where you went after. The only thing that stood out about you was your accent, and no matter how you tried, you just couldn't pull of an American accent of any kind.

You couldn't help but become fond of Manhattan though. It was right in the middle of everything, you'd spend the days going from bustling city to calmer parks. Central park almost reminded you of all the woods in England. You'd become so fond that you'd stayed longer than you should, but you were growing more and more comfortable.

You'd even settled in enough to sort an online profile for people to hire you for work; one off hardware repairs meant that you'd get paid straight away, and you'd only have to see the clients once or twice.

The truth was you couldn't name a single computer component, you'd never seen the point in learning. You "gift" meant that machinery did whatever you wanted it to, even if what you wanted was not technically what it was designed to do. You carried a bag of tools, poked, prodded, and pulled things apart, all for show. The reality of it was you could just kind of...tell the machine to sort its shit out and play nice, and it would.

It was as you were passing an alley on your way to your studio flat - or apartment - after your latest job, swinging your bag of three or four tools you couldn't name, that you heard the shouting.

You tried really hard to lay low, but when some ass-holes decide to gang up on and mug a kid, what sort of person would you be to just keep walking?

One who wouldn't be strapped to a table in SHIELD, that's for damn sure.

At least you assumed it was SHIELD, you couldn't remember anything after the taser that caught you in the back. All you knew was one moment you were kicking arse, the next you wake up in a...container. The walls were grey on black, and had the same honeycomb patterns as the surface of the table.

The table itself had a hook running through it, to which you were currently handcuffed.

You tried entertaining yourself by stretching, difficult when you're cuffed to a table, since the hard chair was making you back ache. You then alternated between humming and tapping your fingers on the table.

It didn't take long for you to get irritable, slumping forward to bump your head against the table with an audible thump. Turning your head to the side, you flick your [h/c] hair out of your eyes, glaring at the small camera in the corner.

You could sense it was high tech. Top of the range, if there was a range above top of the range...you'd bet money it was some sort of Stark tech. Either way, you shouldn't be able to see it, but it hummed pleasantly across you tech senses, practically waving a banner at you.

You blew a raspberry at it.

"I don't like games." You called out, sitting back up to raise an eyebrow at the camera, "Arrest me, interview me, lock me up, whatever. But the longer you leave me waiting, the less cooperative I'm gonna be!"

You waited a beat. Two. Then the doors slid open with a gentle hiss.

Three people walked in, and you weren't sure what you were expecting, but it wasn't this.

"Oh shit." You sighed, as Captain America and Iron Man walked in. By their side was a unremarkable looking man in a suit, carrying a folder. You decided to focus on him.

Captain Rogers took the seat opposite you, on your left hand side, while Suit Guy took the one to your right. Stark elected to lean against the wall, tapping away at his phone and looking generally uninterested in the situation.

He was wearing a pair of totally unnecessary red sun glasses, though they went with his outfit; jeans, Metallica shirt and leather jacket.

Captain Rogers was also dressed casually, though his stern face made it seem more threatening; blue shirt, brown jacket and jeans.

You decided this meant you were supposed to pay more attention to Suit Guy. So you straightened and gave him you full attention, before your nerves sharpened your tongue.

"I've been here 8 months," You started, crossing your arms over your chest, "I think I would have noticed if you guys had decided kidnapping was legal."

When no reaction was forthcoming, apart from blank, slightly intimidating stares from the seated men, you threw your hands up. Well, as far as the chains would allow.

"I didn't do anything!" You complained, and that finally got a reaction. Not a great one. And not from who you expected.

From his spot against the wall, Tony Stark scoffed.

"Didn't do anything?" He chided, "You took control of those idiots watches and phones, and pulled some...transformers shit. Now two are in cuffs, and hospital beds, and the third is in a cell." He flicked his phone towards you, pulling up a grainy hologram of you...

"Ok, so I beat up some dickheads who had it coming. Why do you care?" you asked.

"Your powers make you dangerous miss. [YLN]. We need to register them in our database, measure them, and establish some ground rules. Then, we can talk about you going back to your life." This came from Suit Guy, and his steady voice should've been authoritative. Unfortunately, all you heard was condescension.

"Ground rules? Nope." you objected, shaking your head in an over dramatic fashion, "Look. I keep to myself, I don't socialise, I don’t flaunt my powers. Hell, I don't even use them when it's just me in my flat! This was a one off situation. I wasn't gonna just let them mug that kid!" Your argument seemed to fall on deaf ear, until Rogers perked up at the end.

"You saying you wouldn't help, if you could go back?" Unlike Suit Guy, he could pull of authority just fine, and you were so not in the mood for it. It was becoming more and more clear that they had no intention of letting you go, and the panic was rising.

"Don't try to pull that crap on me. I'm not a soldier, vigilante, hero," You paused, eyeing Rogers and Stark, who'd started paying attention to you, "or an avenger. And I have no interest in becoming one."

"We both know that's not true." said Suit Guy, who was slowly morphing into Arsehole in your mind, "Why don't we talk about why you left England?"

Though he wasn't looking at you when he spoke, flicking through a file instead, you decided to respond anyway.

Sort of.

You groaned, slamming your head onto the table again.

"How about we don't?" You muttered bitterly, "Just Wazowski me. "Put that thing back where it came from!"

The only person who seemed to find you funny was Stark, who chuckled as he watched you, spinning his forgotten phone in his hand.

"Let's see," murmured Suit Guy, "Ah. Detonated an un-exploded bomb in the river Thames. Caused a train crash..."

"That was an accident!" You yelped, sitting up.

Rogers raised an eyebrow.

"The bomb wasn't?" he asked.

"Well...not really?" You winced, "It was a mess, someone had to do something, I just happened to be there at the right-ish time." He frowned.

"And the train?" Asked Stark. He'd lost the sunglasses and was smiling at you with amusement.

"Bloody trains." You huffed to yourself, "So, these guys were harassing this little old lady right? And this girl gets up to help, and it just goes from bad to worse. I was just tryna scare them, use the same trick I pulled today. But I kinda...misjudged."

"Misjudged?" He questioned, looking more and more intrigued. You groaned.

"I was new to it! I was aiming for their phones but the train wouldn't shut up, wanted to join in or some shit. Any way, when I told the phones to move, the bloody goddamn train jumped up instead." You told them, hoping they'd drop it. The Train Incident wasn't your finest hour.

"You can see how that makes you dangerous, right? We can't just leave you to wander around unchecked." Stated Rogers, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table, and piercing you with a hard stare.

"One," you pointed a finger at his chest, "You're one to talk about dangerous. Tech manipulation is all I have. And two," You squinted, wiggling your finger between Rogers and Suit Guy, "This is how we get super villains. You can't just abduct people and preach about their powers. I want nothing to do with you, SHIELD, or anyone else who thinks a person with powers is a weapon."

"You sayin' if we don't let you go you'll become a villain?" Rogers asked, his voice hardening as his eyes narrowed. You rolled your eyes, becoming more and more exasperated.

"Nah, I'm not like that. It's just a side note you should consider for the future. Kidnapping, chains, and passive aggression isn't exactly endearing." You explained. The truth was, you just wanted to go home, have a bath, and pretend today didn't happen.

"Ok kid, you got a point. So, show us what you can do." You looked to Stark in surprise, so did Suit Guy and Rogers.

"What?" The three of you chorused in shock. "Mr. Stark..." Suit Guy started.

"Hey, I've been waving my phone around this whole time and she hasn't done a thing with it," he pointed my way with a smile, "either it just didn't occur to her to try attacking us to escape - which is a plus in my book - or she can't do it, in which case we got the wrong girl, but since she already admitted she was...ah!" His prattling was cut off abruptly as his phone crawled up his arm and jumped onto the table.

You'd grown tired of the sound of his voice, and turned his phone into a "Spider". A "Spider" was your go-to tech choice, manipulating cogs and gears and whatever else is in there into becoming legs that sprouted out the sides. Once it made it to you, you asked it to undo the cuffs, then turn back into a normal phone.

The three men stared at the phone with distrust, as you stood, rubbing your wrists and hissing.

Stark was the first to look at you, frowning in concern as his eyes flicked between your face and your hands.

"Oh, they don't hurt. I've just seen it happen so many times in the movies, kinda felt like I had to." You smiled sheepishly, stuffing your hands into your hoodie pockets.

"So..." you hummed, "Now what?"

[noonmutter]

I’ve Got a Confession To Make

(Below is the conclusion to the as yet unnamed secret admirer series, where the Courier received a trio of curious, anonymous notes professing love for her and eventually inviting her to meet the writer at the Ledgerdemain. Imagine her shock when she found the fizzy chef waiting for her, dressed up all pretty and bearing cheesecake and wine! Enjoy!)

“Well, Leon,” she started with a wry smile, focusing on the sliced cake, “I think more words are needed tonight. Maybe the cake will help us through, yes…?” Already, the sight and smell of it put Safrona in mind of thoughts she was not sure she was ready to share, especially with the Chef. Yet, the three letters aforementioned were gently placed on the tableside. He had requested her own confessions, and they would be given.

…it simply might take a good portion of cake and wine to get through it all tonight.

"Last...we talked," she started gradually in soft, careful tones, eyes still on the slice he seemed to be eternally slicing through. "You were...quite different. And less than inclined to talk. And ...now in your letter, you confess that you love me." She shifted slightly in her seat. "It is easier to think of the letters as...gratitude for business, but clearly this is deeper. I am...confused, as to when this happened."

He was quiet while she spoke and for a time after, occupying himself with serving them both and sitting down while he mulled over his response. His smile had faded into a more pensive line, not pressed thin, simply flat as his mind wandered away from the task at hand.

"I was... I've had some revelations over the past year or so." His accent was practically muted, a trick he'd hung onto if only to make it easier to understand him in the din of a busy shop.

"Repressed memories. Ugly times I'd tried so hard to forget that I'd succeeded in forgetting most of myself alongside."

Picking up his fork and tapping it absently on the tabletop, he sighed. "I never did anything about it, once I'd been reminded of all I'd lost or thrown out. It came back to bite me, hard. And now I'm..." Leon looked distinctly uncomfortable, like the next words tasted foul on his tongue. "I'm getting proper help. Talking to someone. ...Admitting things to myself. And others."

As Leon set the slice of cake to her plate, Safrona decided it would be best to do what she did best and uncork the bottle of wine. An ear flexed faintly at the way the man minced his wording by the time he finished his explanation, but she did not give her wry words until his glass was filled with the light gold of the white wine. “Sounds as if it would have been easier to forget. Or...keep forgetting.”

Again, she poured the Riesling, now into the glass that was meant to be her own, watching the sparkling bubble of the sweet white until it began to settle in its embrace of delicate glass. “Living in the now becomes easier when the past is empty in your mind, yes?” She chuckled witheringly just under her breath after considering her own words in a silence, eyes having closed. “But ‘easier’ is not always right, is it?"

Once his glass was full and gently bubbling, Leon raised it with an appreciative nod, but didn't drink, simply watching the liquid settle. "Easier and harder. Quieter, but lonelier. I used to talk about how I never saw the same set of faces twice in a row. Used to think that was funny. Problem with that is that you eventually...come up with your own company. I wasn't very good company for me."

"The past…” She exhaled her words softly. “The past for me are lifetimes of lessons to draw from, lived by someone else. Or maybe I am a shadow, unrecognizable from the shape it originated from, trying to eternally begin again through the breath of life others give me…”

His eye rose from the surface of the wine to find her face again at the mention of shadows, and he set the glass back down, then reached up to delicately remove his eyepatch. She'd seen the scarring and the pale, slightly flickering iris before, but he was still careful not to just whip it out. "Shadows always carry a little hint of what cast them. Sometimes other shadows simply fall across and make it harder to tell one from another."

Her eyes flicked back open on Leon, “...do you feel more whole in the confessing, lovely boy?”

Dragging his hand through his hair, he smiled wryly and gave a short, soft laugh. "No, not at all. Whole? I feel ...deflated. I--I've laid myself at your mercy, red lady. I don't think I've ever been as afraid as I am when I tell someone that I love them."

The unveiling of Leon's eye did not seem to faze her, a certain interest glinting in her own gaze as it travelled the man's face like a map. His last words did end in chasing those absinthe sights away, though not without the weakening of the elf's smile. "Well, I don't often recommend throwing yourself at anyone's mercy or loving shadows too deeply, Leon. But it's sweet, all the same. I know well that some love so easily, and you've that sweet sort of soul. Dangerously sweet. Like that Riesling...Or..."

Safrona guided the fork through her cut of cheesecake, welcoming it to her lips. Lips pursing on the fork, she chuckled almost painfully. "It's so good," she'd admitted as she worked on swallowing, a little comical in the way she suddenly seemed close to tears. Either the cake was some sort of deliverance to the pearly gates of euphoric goodness, or it...was bad and the elf was near tears for the awfulness. A third insightful eye might have caught there was something else going on in her mind, to make her reach for the wine as she did.

He was watching her, always studying her. The worst mistake he could've made was to take her at face value, in speech or expression. Virtually nothing she said or did was the whole of the thing; he'd worked out that much by now. Still, he hasn't quite gotten to the point of being able to pinpoint what she held back, at least not every time.

For a second, he wanted to touch her hand, but thought better of it and let her take her glass unimpeded. When he opened his mouth again, his voice had dropped to a nearly inaudible volume, and he was allowing his accent to seep back in. Or possibly it was breaking in. Such things took concentration. "Safrona, no matter what you do, what you say, what y'call yourself, I see you an' think about you. Not th' Courier, not a shadow, not a target, not an idea. Somebody I've bared m'self to without fear, an' somebody I 'ope can do th'same with me."

Mid-drink of the wine, the Fizzy Chef's quiet words had brought her to a stillness, a meaningfulness that came as unexpected as his letters. Slowly she returned to draining that glass, a single line of wetness rolling from the corner of an eye as she did.

When she finally put the glass down, Safrona was shaking her head, her words watery and weak. "And what do you see, Leon? I have been so many things...even the name you know me by is in part a lie. You're baring your soul, and I'm...honestly, most nights I'm still trying to figure out if I ought to be in a grave. I wonder if I've lived too many lives...lived too long. Watching others drift in and out of this life like the tide..."

She scooped up a strawberry with a dollop of cream, chewing with a smile that had grown bittersweet and apologetic at once. "Like...Vandy. Did...did you know she used to save little cheesecake snacks for me every time I'd visit? She knew I loved them. And...and then here you are with this, and she is gone. As is my Watchman, my Renwyck." Her little chuckle was mirthless, sad, but soft. "You humans are beautiful, passionate souls and I'm always drawn. But sweet shadows when I hear the word love I feel it’s some prelude in you checking out of my life too..."

The utterance of that name brought a stillness to the chef, and his expression became briefly wooden. His mouth didn't move, brow didn't furrow; it simply became apparent that he was either deliberately holding his face where it was, or unable to change it himself. A few seconds and it was past with a careful, deliberate breath, and he was rising from his chair to settle into a kneel by hers. He knew she would try to avoid him now, and he wanted to make it easier to see him than not.

"Soldiers say th' same thin', Safrona. 'Should I 'ave died then?' I've said it. ...I still say it. Especially if I think of 'er." If she didn't mention the wet shine to his eyes or the slight break in his voice, he wouldn't. "She..." He had to force himself to breathe again, recalling far too fresh a loss and working not to let it drag him under entirely. "She worried about th' same thin'. It took so long t'convince 'er that--that I wouldn't leave. That I'd do ev'rythin' in my power t'make sure she wasn't alone."

His hand slid over his mouth and then up across his eyes before he convinced himself to put it back down. "Vember--a woman I met barely two years ago now--she's close enough t'my sister that we don't see th'point in callin' each other anythin' else. She's lost, too. She worries, too. So 'ard for 'er t'let 'erself be attached, an' she lost 'er lover in th'invasions last year. A lot o' people did. I never even knew about Deathwing at th' time, but I was--my fam'ly was--we were in Dusk'aven when it, it fell an' I wasn't there, an' my mum--"

Voice breaking again, he trailed off, just breathing hard for a minute while he tried to collect himself. He was only able to try again after clearing his throat twice. "Ev'ryone staggers up t' that threshold sooner or later. Steppin' across it or turnin' away from it, that's- that's up t'chance. Not choice. Eventually, it won't be in yer control anymore; it never was."

"You're not alone."

Watching Leon crumble out of his chair and next to her on the floor, she stiffened, her regret deepening in those that had been lost, and touching on that grief in him. But there was a connection that was established, and one made physical as she moved her idling hand from the table to the top of his head, gently moving each digit within his hair.

"No, not alone," she whispered quite softly, "though I think most times I am used to convincing myself that I'm better off to be. I lost loved ones...but most of all I lost myself. I subsist on the sacrifice of others, lovely boy, and whether that is out of need or want, attachment has never been...so good for me."

Still, her hand stayed, a gentle petition there to offer comfort with a touch, appreciation for his trying to open up and comfort her in turn, even while she opened his wounds. "You're a brave thing, Leon. That's all I know. To be here. With me. And I don't know if I can...love you in a way that is wanted, or needed, right now. But I am...I'm glad you are here. You remind me of better days in my existence..."

To try and claim he wasn't disappointed would be an impossible lie, so he chose not to acknowledge it just then. Instead, he lifted his head to lean into her hand and, finally, closed his eyes. "I've waded through th' Nightmare, seen th' death o' gods an' dragon aspects up close. I met you alongside some of th'most fright'nin' times o' my life. You? Are not one o' those times. Comfort follows in yer wake, whether you b'lieve it or not.

"For what it's worth, I think you're stronger than you do. Otherwise, I don't think you'd 'ave come 'ere t'night."

"Yes, bringing you what you need as your Courier must help, hm?" She chuckled lightly, trying to breathe an air of wry amusement into somber talk.

"No, th' courier doesn't. My friend talkin' with me about anythin' that might pass our fancy, sharin' a drink, just bein' t'gether? Yeah... that 'elps."

"I don't know what I was expecting when I followed your letters to this room, but I'm glad at what I found." Her fingers slipped from his hair, and went to the seat, patting a place next to her. "Now you come and sit, tell me more about you, and help me finish this cake and wine. They're not going to be finishing themselves."

He took the invitation gladly, pulling his chair around the table and settling down beside her with a tiny, but genuine, smile.

Chancing a soft smile, Safrona picked up the bottle and topped off Leon's glass, allowing her eyes to meet his with a thread of trust. "...I'll confide a few truths in you in return, if you wish. Definitely will need the whiskey for that though." She snickered softly. "Both of us will need it."

Forgoing manners for the moment, he plucked a piece of strawberry off the top of his untouched slice of cheesecake and set it on his tongue, chewing slowly. "Th' more I tell, th' more wine we're gonna need. Just t'be fair."

"...Sounds like the night calls for whiskey rather than wine. Your Riesling goes well with most things, but it may be too sweet for this cake. Should be saved for spicier fare."

Leon nodded toward the glasses as his smile became a touch sheepish. "I'll defer t'wiser minds in tha' regard. I 'ad t'ask in th'shop, t'be honest, an' I don't yet know enough about it t'know if they were givin' an honest try at pairin' or just sellin' me somethin' they wanted t'get rid of, y'know?"

With an abrupt sigh, he lifted his glass and finally took a sip. "Confession one: I'll still 'old out 'ope that I'll 'ear you sing for me one day." He gave her a wink and a wicked smile that held the kind of promises that could make a generation of mothers thankful he was an honorable man. "I will, 'owever, try my 'ardest not t'go full Gilnean on you an' keep th' pinin' to a minimum."

Wine advice came easy from her, too naturally, "Quite alright, I'll throw in a little chart for you I have to show you what drinks pair best with what and..."

But as she registered the rest of Leon's confession, her habitual helpful business talk seemed to flounder, for the moment unsure how to reply to that wicked smile that it came with. His promise to not pine after her too deeply left her finally with a little chuckle, looking away to moisten her lips for the right words to reply with.

His smile twitched for a moment before growing into a grin and splitting for a soft laugh at the rare sight of the Courier being driven off-track.

"Mmn, well. I'm...not the singer most will want in their arms. I...tune to a different melody in the body when I find I want it. A song past the sea of flesh, sourced at the cradle of the soul." Her eyes slid back to Leon, lingering at his chest, then slowly travelling back up to his face with a restrained sensuality. "I want more than most are willing to give. When you are such a greedy soul, you know it is best not to get too lost in the sound of desire."

Leaning back in his chair, he set his glass down and finally chanced a touch, since she had been the first to do so already, and brushed his thumb under her chin as his eyes found hers. She'd called those eyes piercing before, and just then, it seemed he knew exactly what they were capable of. "Lovely lady, in an ideal world, I find myself most comfortable in th' role of th'servant. To give is my purpose and pleasure, mm?"

If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then Safrona was for the moment pulled to gaze on his as he turned her chin toward hers. Those were the eyes of a sweet soul that were set to worship too freely, along with the rest of him.

His smile suddenly faded to give way to thoughtfulness once again. "I... Safrona, b'fore we move on t'easier thin's, I need t'ask, an' be clear... You said 'right now.' Does that mean not now, or not ever?" It was not a question that held desperation or even hope, asked with the sort of tone one might carry for clarification on the time of a meeting.

Her gaze left the lovely mismatch of his eyes to drift irrevocably to watch his mouth move with his question, and as it ended, she inched closer just to bask in the warmth of breath.

Yet her lips softly pressed against each other with lingering uncertainties, and she closed her eyes within them, exhaling slowly, steadily. "That is...a question set for future minds, I think, and I do not live in the future. I only understand what is here, and now." Another weak, but sincere smile, and then she coiled her fingers gently around his, guiding them from her chin. "And I know that you have crept in to become a deep friend tonight, deeper than most know how to be. That in itself is precious to me."

Like her, Leon found himself leaning in just a touch closer, all but transfixed while she spoke. While it was very possible he gave too freely of things best kept closely guarded, there were notes here and there in him that spoke of darker things and deeper hurts, to him and by him, than perhaps she thought him capable of committing or enduring.

Still, he smiled and hid nothing in that smile at her answer, and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze when she took his. "My apologies, red lady, but I can't find it within me t'be upset at bein' that kind of creep. It's a precious thin' t'be allowed, an' I thank you for bein' brave with me, an'avin' just a little bit of 'ope." For a fraction of a second, his eyes flicked just slightly downward before returning to hers, and he sighed. "I only 'ope you'll forgive me my distraction just now; yours are th' kind o' lips it feels shameful leavin' un-kissed."

With that, he forced himself to settle back into his chair, picked up his glass, and drained it in one long pull.

"I think overall we have cake that deserves our attention," Safrona chuckled almost evasively, trying to dispel the small wind of wine-drenched thoughts in the room tonight.

It would prove to be an evening of shared stories, tentative offerings of the past rather than baser things, almost in spite of the nearly tangible frustration of the succubus watching Safrona from the shadows. They parted ways a few hours before dawn with nothing more risqué passing between them than a kiss on the cheek that lasted perhaps a second longer than it ought.

Before the chef found his way home to Stormwind, he made certain to pick up a new quill and a set of nicer stationery.

Letters suddenly had more appeal than they used to.

( @safrona-shadowsun )

[vannahfanfics]

You and I Part III

Before you read, here’s Part I and Part II!

Category: Romantic Fluff

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Ichigo Kurosaki and Tatsuki Arisawa

Tatsuki felt like she was floating on air as she strode along the sidewalk, her hand still firmly locked within Ichigo’s as he walked alongside her. Now that she was out of her head, it was quite an enjoyable experience, and despite herself she was downright giddy. Just be myself. I can do that, she thought as she glanced out of the corner of her eyes at her date. He was staring off into space again, thinking about whatever he liked to think about on his walks. Ichigo really is a mysterious guy… I thought I knew him well, but honestly, there are some times that I can’t really tell what's going on in his head. She flicked her gaze back to the sidewalk, lest she be caught staring again, and then coughed uncomfortably.

“So, where are we going?” she asked. Ichigo's mouth curled upward into a small smirk.

“It's a surprise.” Tatsuki began pouting again, turning to look up at him with narrowed eyes. He just laughed at her, quite intent on their destination remaining a secret, and so she grunted and rolled her eyes. Ugh, so he's one of those, huh? What’s he trying to do, be smooth? Though it was irritating, the plot worked; Tatsuki found herself dying to know just where he was taking her.

Karakura Town was relatively small, so everything of interest was within walking distance. They traveled out of Tatsuki's neighborhood into the business district of town, where cars were rolling by and other passersby were out enjoying the evening. Some schoolgirls, still dressed in their uniforms, giggled as they passed by laden with shopping bags and talking about a fun weekend at the beach that was coming up. A young mother towed along her young toddler, who was gleefully attacking an ice cream cone, succeeding more in smearing it across her chubby cheeks than actually eating it. A businessman chattering on his phone walked briskly by, his briefcase swinging alongside him. A trio of young boys rolled by on their skateboards, startling an old man as they raced by and causing him to irritably shake his cane at them. It was a normal day for everyone else. Yet here I am… Out on a date! She thought. It was certainly out of the ordinary for her.

As they passed by the various businesses, Tatsuki wondered which of them could be the mystery destination for their date. A little café sat on the corner, a quaint little brick-and-mortar construct with flowerpots on the windowsill and an overall cheery demeanor; school students and business people alike were inside, tapping away at their computers as they sipped at various caffeinated beverages. A nice barbecue steakhouse was across the street, and well-to-do men and women strolled in and out of it, indicating it as an upscale establishment. An ice cream shop was down the street, with colorful lettering advertising an assortment of flavors and toppings. Ichigo continued to tote her along, giving her no hint of where they were headed. By the time he finally stopped, she was almost dying of curiosity.

“Oh! A noodle shop,” she blinked when she read the signage displayed above the doorway. It was cute, a red brick structure with warm brown accents and a wide window that allowed her to peer inside. There were quite a few patrons inside, enjoying steaming bowls of noodles garnished with various meats and vegetables.

“Yeah, it's new. I thought it would be fun to try,” he smiled at her, releasing her hand to open the door for her. Tatsuki felt a little sad to feel his warmth fade from her hand. Ugh, don't be so gushy, Tatsuki, she scolded herself before striding through the door, acutely aware of Ichigo following closely behind her as she walked to a table. She slid into a booth, settling herself into the cushiony fabric, while Ichigo sat across from her. She found herself growing anxious once more. Relax, Tatsuki. It's just Ichigo. You've gone out tons of times before.

Yeah, but never alone, the annoying little devil in her mind chimed, and she sunk slightly down into the booth with a groan, attempting to ease her nerves. She busied herself with the menu, her eyes sweeping across the various items. Her problem soon became that she could not decide what she wanted to order, because everything looked so good.

“I don't know what I want,” she laughed after a minute, shyly peering over the edge of the menu at him. He was leaned back against the booth, one arm slung back over the top. Always making himself comfortable, she thought wryly as his gaze flicked up to meet hers. She was grateful that the laminated booklet in front of her face could hide her blush. “It all looks so good, doesn't it?”

“Yeah. I’m going for the pork ramen,” he mused as he snapped his menu shut and regarded her. ��You like chicken, don't you, Tatsuki? Why don't you get something with that?” She blushed darker. He remembers something like that? She thought and returned her gaze to the menu, concentrating on the chicken section.

“Hmm. I guess I’ll try this spicy chicken ramen,” she decided before closing the menu. The waiter arrived just then to take their orders, and while they waited on their food to be made they sat in silence, Tatsuki sipping on a water while Ichigo partook in a soda. He was gazing off again, but every once in a while his gaze would flicker to her, peering at her out of the corners of his eyes while his mouth twitched into a small smile. “What is it?” she asked him after a while, slightly irritated with him just staring at her.

“Nothin'. You're just cute.” Tatsuki's cheeks flared pink again, and this time she had no menu to shield her.

“I told you already. I’m not cute!” she whined, turning her face away as she tapped her fingernails against the smooth wood of the table.

“My bad. Adorable, then.”

“That's no better!” she cried and slammed her hand on the table, looking back at him. He was grinning stupidly, obviously teasing her, and she was feeding right into his amusement. “What? You think you can just tease me now that I’m you're girlfriend?” As soon as she realized what had come out of her mouth, she slapped a hand over it, her eyes wide. Ichigo’s grin widened devilishly.

“Oh? So you agree that this is a steady thing,” he smirked as he tilted his head to the side, baiting her. She silently fumed, angry at herself for saying something so compromising and angry with him for being such an annoying but frustratingly handsome jackass, and took a moment to carefully weigh how she was going to respond. I mean, it's not that I don't want this to be a steady thing, but I don't want him to know that!

“That isn't what I said,” she muttered, a weak excuse but the best thing she could come up with in the moment. He chuckled, and she sunk down in the booth with a huff, crossing her arms grumpily. He's just playing me!

“All right, order for the lovely couple!” the waiter chimed cheerfully as he set two steaming bowls in front of them, and it certainly didn't help Tatsuki's sour mood. Ichigo's eyes glittered with amusement, obviously very pleased with himself; Tatsuki just grabbed her chopsticks and snapped them apart, pretending that it was his spine. He's so annoying! And handsome! She whined, unable to really be mad because he looked so infuriatingly attractive when he was grinning at her like that. Grumpy, she swirled her noodles for a moment and, forgetting that she had ordered something spicy, shoveled a large amount of them into her mouth. A shiver went through her body, traveling from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head, and her eyes immediately began to water as the hot spices seared her tongue. Oh my God! This is really hot! She wailed silently, simply holding the noodles in her mouth because she was in too much pain to try and chew them.

“What is it? Too spicy for ya?” Ichigo teased. He was watching her with that same stupid grin, leaning his cheek in his hand while he slowly stirred his noodles with the chopsticks in the other hand. Tatsuki immediately realized that her pride was at stake, and so she forced herself to swallow the noodles, managing to keep the whimper from escaping her mouth as her entire mouth burned like it was on fire. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, trying to seem composed as she looked at him levelly. She probably wasn't accomplishing much, with her reddened face and her eyes brimming with tears.

“It's great.” To her disappointment, her voice came out in a croak, and she flushed as Ichigo laughed at her.

“Here, try mine,” he said, and Tatsuki rolled her eyes, moving to dip her chopsticks into his bowl. However, to her shock, Ichigo plucked a piece of pork from his bowl and held it out to her across the table, indicating for her to eat it.

“I am not letting you feed me.”

“Whatsa matter?” he grinned at her, and she knew that he was baiting her again. Where does he get this confidence? I could kick his ass right here and now! He waved the meat in front of her face, sending broth splattering in small droplets across the table. “Come onnn. You know you want to,” he goaded, the sneer traveling across his face as he watched Tatsuki squirm. The meat did look good, and her mouth was burning so much, she needed some relief. But letting him feed me? I’ll look so girly! She thought in dismay, her eye twitching as the heat in her mouth began to intensify. After a moment of internal struggle, her pride gave into the fire in her mouth, and she leaned slightly across the table to take the pork in her teeth and pull it from the chopsticks. She glared at him, eyes locked, as she slowly chewed the meat and swallowed, and he watched her levelly the entire time, quite pleased with himself. “Well?”

“That's really good.” Tatsuki didn’t want to admit it, but it was quite savory and delicious.

“Good. Now gimme some of that chicken.” She stiffened like a soldier at attention, completely incredulous that he was now implying for her to feed him. That stupid, maddeningly attractive grin flashed across the table at her, taunting her, and the heat that had once been burning on her tongue now flared across her cheeks. She gripped her chopsticks so tightly she could have broken them, then hissed under her breath and plucked a piece of the spicy chicken from her ramen bowl.

“I hate you,” she muttered as she held it out to him, eye twitching and her lips pursed.

“If you hated me, you wouldn't be here,” he snickered in response and leaned over to snatch the meat off the sticks, winking at her as he devoured it. She went darker, but watched with some satisfaction as he coughed and waved a hand over his mouth. “Wow! You weren’t kidding! What'd they do, dump the whole can of spice in there?” he huffed as he fanned his burning mouth. She chuckled and took another, smaller bite of her noodles. Though it was spicy, it wasn't too bad once she got used to it, and she was able to finish it off. However, she was panting by the end of it, her face steaming and her eyes and nose running unattractively. “You really do have too much pride. You could have gotten something else.”

“It was good, though!” she protested as she sipped gingerly at her water. It didn’t provide much relief to her fiery mouth, but enough. The waiter brought the check, and both of them reached for it at the same time.

“Oh, no. We aren't going Dutch.”

“I can pay for my own food!” she protested, attempting to jerk the checkbook out of his hand. He kept a firm hold on it, scowling.

“This is a date, Tatsuki! I pay for you!” he asserted and jerked the book back, and with a yelp she ended up halfway across the table, sending the empty ramen bowls skittering about and her face ending up a few inches from his. While she squeaked and went red, he continued to glare levelly at her, eyes narrowed. “Let go, Tatsuki.” She had no idea how he could be so serious when their noses were nearly touching. Stiffly, she released the black checkbook and slid back into her seat, while Ichigo pulled some cash out of his pocket to pay the bill. When he handed it off to the waiter, he looked at her smugly. “You're too stubborn, ya know.”

“Isn't that one of my endearing qualities?” she grunted back, arms crossed.

“Yeah, I suppose so,” he smiled, and the warmth there stunned her into silence. The waiter returned with his change, and with that he stood up from the table and began walking toward the door. Tatsuki scurried after him, her dress swishing about her knees as she trotted, walking out of the restaurant as he held the door for her.

“Whoa! I didn't realize we were here so long.” While they had been inside, night had descended over Karakura Town; the streets were bathed in the soft light of the moon and the fluorescent glare of the streetlamps with the occasional wash from the headlights of a passing car; neon signs blinked here and there, advertising the local businesses now that the sun was gone. It was still early evening, and many people were still about, mostly adults and couples looking for a fun night on the town. She heard the door swing shut behind her, she turned her head to look up at him. “So? What now?”

“What? You don't want to go home yet?” he mused, then blinked when her expression went serious.

“No…” she admitted quietly, looking shyly at her feet. Though Ichigo was a pain, she could not deny that she was having a lot of fun. He blinked down at her, then smiled softly and reached down to grasp her hand once more.

“All right. Let's go for a walk, then.” Tatsuki smiled as he pulled her along the sidewalk deeper into the business district of town, and she even deigned to press a little close to him, their arms brushing together as they walked. Every touch send electricity sparking through her nerves, but it was a good feeling, an exciting feeling. I think I’m really starting to enjoy this.

They meandered around town for a while, window-shopping and poking into little shops to look around, before they finally decided it was time for them to return home. Ichigo insisted on walking her, of course, despite the fact that he knew she was perfectly capable of walking home alone; behind her banter, though, she welcomed the few extra minutes she could spend with him. I guess dating really isn't that much different than being friends… We just hold hands and stuff, she told herself as she plodded along beside him. Out in the neighborhoods, the streetlamps were spaced father apart, with lines of darkness stretching between the circles of yellow light. In these patches, they were basking in moonlight, and Tatsuki could not help but appreciate how Ichigo's orange hair turned a mute gold in the whitish glow, like a tiny sun bobbing along in the dark. She wondered if he thought the same kinds of things about her. Did she look pretty in the moonlight, too? She doubted that; her dark hair absorbed the light rather than reflected it, making her look like some kind of gloomy spectre. A gloomy ghost in a cheery dress, she thought with a wry smile as she pulled at the loose fabric. She had possessed reservations at first, but she had to admit that it was more comfortable than she thought and gave her legs freer range of motion. Plus, though she would never admit it, she like the way it flowed around when she moved.

“What're you thinking about?” Tatsuki looked up when he suddenly addressed her. For once, she had been the one whose thoughts had wandered.

“Just… Little things. Like how nice this has been,” she answered quietly. She certainly wasn't going to tell him she thought his hair looked like the sun in the moonlight, he would never let her live that done. He smiled at her, that lopsided smile she liked so much.

“So, you never answered me. Are you and I a steady thing?” They had reached her house now, and he stopped in front of her, one hand in his pocket while the other still gently held her hand. You and I. She liked the way he said that. She looked down at them, appreciating the way their fingers seemed to fit so seamlessly together, and swung their arms side-to-side a little as she thought.

“… I guess… We are a steady thing,” she replied, looking up at him as she puffed out her cheeks slightly. He makes me so… Ugh. She wasn't sure how to describe it, really. He just brought something out in her that she wasn't used to, but she didn't think it was necessarily a bad thing. I could get used to this. He smiled happily down at her, and she couldn't help the happy smile from appearing on her face, too. “So, um… Wanna do this again sometime?”

“Yeah. I’ll call you,” Ichigo mused, and Tatsuki glanced down as his hand suddenly slid from hers to travel up her arm, coming to a rest just below her shoulder. In her moment of inattention, he had stepped close to her, and when she looked up, Ichigo's face was inches away from hers. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, and her muscles locked so that she could not move. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and her breath caught in her throat, as his other hand rose to rest on her cheek. “Are you gonna get mad at me if I say you’re cute again?” he asked her, his voice low. There was something about it that made her heart flutter. He sounds… sexy…

“Maybe I could get used to it,” she mumbled back, trying to seem calm despite the fact that she was pretty much freaking out. She felt dizzy and short of breath, and unconsciously she stepped forward to put her hands on his chest to steady herself. What’s wrong with me? Is it… him? Ichigo almost looked different now. How had she not noticed all this time how maddeningly handsome he was? And that smirk. Damn, she loved that smirk. Her mind was in such shambles that she did not notice Ichigo's face descending over hers until he was right on top of her, and by that time his lips were sliding over her own. As soon as they met, Tatsuki melted in his arms, her eyes drifting shut as she abandoned herself to the kiss. It stole what little breath she had left in her, and her fingers dug into his shirt, afraid that if she did not hang on to him she would collapse. Their mouths moved in a slow waltz, and Tatsuki felt like a symphony was starting inside of her, her heart was singing so loudly. When they finally broke apart, she felt like she was entranced for a moment, and had to blink several times to finally come to her senses. When she did, she stepped back from him, flushing. “Ah-ahem. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Tatsuki,” he chuckled and ruffled her hair, then turned his back and strolled off with a little wave. Tatsuki watched him leave, her heart still humming, before turning to go into her home. As she reached for the doorknob, it abruptly turned and the door wrenched open to reveal the four girls who had prepared her for her date earlier that day. Tatsuki yelped as Chizuru and Ryo grabbed her by her arms to yank her inside, while Michiru kicked the door shut behind her.

“Well! Tell us everything!” Michiru demanded, hopping up and down with delight.

“Yeah! Yeah! Where did you go?” Orihime asked.

“Was there a lot of kissing? Tongue? Did you put out?”

“Chizuru!” they all shouted in unison at the perverted redhead.

“What? They’re legitimate questions!” she pouted, but the girls were already back to pestering Tatsuki. Under the fierce interrogation, she could still not help but smile. As her friends sat her down on the sofa, she began to relate the exhilarating tale to them, while they squealed and wriggled about with glee.

You and I… I’m looking forward to it.

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