#i didn’t know the etiquette or how to get one so i just lingered near the stage after the show

[killherfreakout]

still can’t believe i got a samia set list. my first and only one i’ve ever gotten 💞 feels right

[manjiroscum]

SAPPHIRE TEARS

Character/s: Pantalone/Regrator

Warnings: f!reader, mature language, explicit sexual themes, enemies to lovers, reader is a business woman, slight angst, light hurt to comfort, happy ending, mentions of arguments, pantalone has violet colored eyes here, safe sex practices, soft!pantalone, cunnilingus, and pet name used. Minors do not interact.

Note: commissioned by @imma-write-stuff 🫶 thank you so much luv and i hope you like it! 🥺

Synopsis: His god, gold, and glory is all Pantalone cared about until you came along to push on untouchable buttons.

WC: 1.5k

Miscommunication can lead to unfavorable arguments and encounters. The ninth harbinger, eyeing his glass of wine for a while now, thought so, too. If he had known you would be in this party, nearby the vicinity, Pantalone wouldn’t have come. A year may have passed since your last heated dispute, the Tsaritsa’s money maker still couldn’t forget the words the two of you exchanged. What was even more irritating than having Tartaglia burn through the monthly allowance he was told not to spend so tactlessly was the fact he couldn’t get near you or even strike up a conversation.

Because he was afraid you’d shoot him down.

To be the first to break the ice and dominate the conversation was Pantalone’s forte. It was a mere simple act that he knew the song and dance by heart. However, when his violet eyes which carried well-kept violence and malice landed on the poor unfortunate man hoping to be your last dance, the harbinger wished he could break etiquette. Maybe ramming his fist on the bastard’s silly face would do wonders for his souring mood. It was pathetic, really. For him to stay where he is, watching you from a distance, was irksome. And while he was a man with great ambition paired with a reputation known from miles away, Pantalone suffered cold feet for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t comedic for him, to say the least.

The whole image of him teetering between confronting you and remaining where he was bothered him the entire night the second he saw your elegant form waltz into the ballroom. The hugging dress you wore made every hue of eyes seek after you. You had grown more beautiful since the day you walked out on him while spitting curses at his ‘unethical’ ways of conducting business. Needless to say, the harbinger has burned the sight of your angry expression into his retinas that it was strange and oddly made his heart beat twice as hard whenever you directed a smile at someone. As an adult, petty fights shouldn’t be dwelled on. He should put the past behind him and move on to greener pastures like forming an alliance with you. Your businesses in Snezhnaya were doing well and he has heard about your accomplishments even during his trips to Liyue.

He just didn’t know what to say to you.

“What a spoil…” he muttered to himself, keeping the rim of his glass close to his lips. It was a quick tactic to keep unimportant conversations from occurring. Pantalone, despite how he loved the sound of business deals and whatnot, hated small talk. You knew this, endlessly berating him for this and how he can’t be considerate to his ‘potential’ partners. Oblivious to his gaze averting from your eyes down to your lips, sometimes even lingering on your breasts if he couldn’t help himself. Really, he was disgusted by what you can make him do. Even the Tsaritsa wouldn’t be able to command him to strip himself naked and admit Dottore was the superior servant of the archon. But if you would ask him to, Pantalone would run his bank dry and make himself appear as the fool he has always been since he let you walk out that night since your last fight.

Perhaps everyone was a fool at the hands of love and hate, toyed by mere emotions.

“You’re here,” you whispered to the harbinger. Whether he was surprised by your sudden proximity or the casual way you addressed him, Pantalone never gave away his thoughts. He wouldn’t be one of the Tsaritsa’s trusted men if he was an open book. Frankly, you wished he gave you a minuscule hint of whatever he was feeling. You wouldn’t be standing here, rubbing your arm awkwardly in search of what to say. When was the last time you two weren’t at each other's throats? It was embarrassing that you couldn’t remember. Thankfully, Pantalone did not prolong your silent agony as he raised his glass at you.

“Lovely party, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” you admitted, unafraid to speak your thoughts to him. “Been quite boring. Not much to talk about with these people. I’d rather be on my way home.”

Whether it was the wine he has been sipping on all night or because of the atmosphere giving the possibility of something more than intense stares, Pantalone’s lips acted quicker than his brain would’ve liked. You didn’t hide how stunned you were at his offer to take you home by his carriage. Anyone who has hated the Regrator at some point in their life would have frozen at the abruptness of it all. And just as he was about to take it back, you found yourself laughing softly while nodding your head. To hear you laugh was so much better than your scorn.

“I’d be happy to accept that offer, my lord. That’s if you’re serious about it…”

He was. Pantalone was not someone who backed down. You realized the severity of his words the moment he called for you out the front door. Your coat wasn’t even put on correctly when he motioned for you to get in the carriage. Yet, he cursed himself for sitting across you. The entire ride to your house was filled with silence except for the sound of breathing. His gaze continuously landed on you, unable to look away for you looked beautiful under the moonlight’s blessing. It wasn’t until you confronted him about his staring that Pantalone stopped.

“What’s the matter, my lord? Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Nothing in particular,” he answered after composing his expression. Pantalone’s wish for you to drop the subject was left unanswered as you continued to prod him with various questions ranging from a teasing tone to an accusatory one. If he admitted that he found you pretty—right here, right now—the harbinger knew he had only two outcomes to face. An ultimate rejection or a confused look. He would rather stay quiet than reveal his feelings carelessly.

Unless he wanted to hurt himself with the reality of your hatred for him.

Seeing that you’re not getting a reply, you gave up with a sigh. The carriage carried you both through the icy road, the horses slowing down as your house grew nearer. Pantalone’s worry about improving this relationship grew as the frost built against the glass window. Maybe his hopes of becoming friends with you—perhaps even more in the near future—were baseless and lacked something. It lacked support from you.

And yet, when you glanced at him, longing in those eyes that were ruthlessly cold to him before, no one could blame him for taking your outreached hand as soon as you got off the carriage. The silent plea for him to join you in the comforts of your home was too deafening and tempting to merely ignore. He didn’t want to lose this chance handed to him on a silver platter. Your soft fingers against his gloved ones, pulling him into your house. Pantalone, willingly as he may, thought that if he were to meet his demise as soon as he got inside, he wouldn’t complain as long as it was by your hands.

Contrary to his imagination, he found heaven instead the second the bedroom door was flung open. His lips found yours in a heated manner, as if he was seeking warmth and to convince himself those days shrouded in the bitter cold were over. He even found euphoria in the shape of your pussy folds opening for his tongue. You guided his touches, encouraging him to continue when he hesitated for a moment. Pantalone’s lips, which were glossed with your juices, moved under the moonlight in the most unfamiliar way to deliver three words you never thought you would hear from him.

“I… desire you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been in love with you, sweetheart. I don't know when, but I guess I have always liked you.”

Strands of silver stood out on his dark hair, making you coil them around your finger, lips curled up as he kissed you more. Tears rolled down your face at his confession, especially the moment he sheathed himself inside you. He saw them and immediately pressed his mouth on them. The feeling of rubber wrapped around his cock was a bit uncomfortable, yet the second he started thrusting made you forget all about it. His kisses and groans fueled your passion, wanting nothing more than to hear him call out your name as you do the same at the peak of your climax. It was no secret that Pantalone sought the feeling of ecstasy from other people, but he has never felt such pure bliss in your arms. Especially once he slowed down his thrusts to hit deeper into you, savoring and burning the look of desperation in your face to reach your high. He came in thick spurts, spilling his warm cum into the rubber while hugging your quivering form. Your juices coated his cock and your thighs messily. Pantalone breathed in your scent, relishing it all with you by his side as what is believed to be an eternal winter continued to rage outside. Spring, at last, fell within the four corners of your bedroom.

[yutasbimil]

Polar

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (2/~) [series fic] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: angst, pre-smut, fluff, comfort cw: mental anguish, interrupted; cut-short sex, panic attacks, love at first sight, slight prejudice, psychology major student x professor? hmmm . . . eventual smut (i promise!), eventual romance + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 2.7k

part 1 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part x

do not repost © yutasbimil (2022)

cont.

Opposite they are to each other.

But being brought too close to each other’s proximity, it’s harder to pull further apart to get away from each of their magnetic fields.

In the same way that alcohol can bring out one’s vulnerabilities… But we can never be sure if spilling these thoughts can drive us closer to the warmth or coldness of those who would hear it.

At first glance there’s always something so entrancing about Vyn the more that Yule watches him. Standing across the room with him it’s clear how he exudes such prestige aura, it’s alluring how upright he stands yet so much feebleness despite his charismatic façade. It all seems like a mask.

Yule spins and twirls her wrist along the glass of wine. Just remembering how Vyn taught her the etiquette of drinking made Yule blush under her skin. Mostly, yes, it’s because of the effects of alcohol kicking in. It at least helped lessen the coldness she feels. Though she felt  cold  in other aspects, the bitterness outweighs the supposed sweetness of the laughter around her. Expecting the booze to boost off her self-consciousness, it didn’t help a tad bit as she felt her head spin more and the almost empty glass in her hand. 

The clear dissonance between her and the white noise crowd signals an ending of the event, or at least to her and her social battery.

She might’ve gone too far to even climb up to attend such a fancy event.

As if on cue, the escort accompanying her takes the glass from her the same as it didn’t even register in her brain that he’s already footsteps close to her.

His breath near her paints a blush on her ears.

Now the redness is because of something else.

“I would suggest you sober up before we head home, m’lady.” The light hoarse in Vyn’s tone signals the lateness of the night. “I do not see clear skies for tonight, I ought to take you home soon so we won’t get caught by the winds.”

“The night seems young though.” And at that slight refuseness in her thoughts, it surprised Yule how it’s been a long while since she doesn’t want to go home yet. Also connecting it to the skin on hers as Vyn is touching her arm for support.

“Sorry to cut the night short, Yule… But I do insist more on your safety.”

The softness of his voice delayed her receptivity more on how she had said her thoughts out loud. The alcohol did the magic for her, and she was on the ride with it.

She knows this is all much of an act, especially for today, but it lingered till days past and it felt like a dream…

Though she had also noticed the distance he draws whenever she steps closer to him, as if she was brought further away the more interactions they are presented with.

This is a peculiar feeling to every meeting.

“What's it like in your hometown?”

The crescent of the moon illuminates along the cold snow that fell on the lady’s nose, she almost shivered at the gaze the taller male gave her. Similar to the white of his hair, his answer seemed frigid.

“I haven’t been there for a long while,” Vyn says.

Silence enveloped them, she almost gasped for warmth as the cold winter air brushed stiffly against them. By instinct she stepped close to him for body heat, he almost filched at the almost contact.

“Oh sorry, do I make you uncomfy?” Yule asks, between the lines, her concern of ‘haven’t we had a close relations contact recently for you to act too surprised this way?’  specifically, to pertain to her choice of words at this moment.

Vyn also took this into account and was as direct as her.

“No, no… It’s just that you are cold,” he states, relating to –at most– the weather. But she quickly caught on to the subtleties.

“Likewise.”

“Hmmm?” Vyn turned to her, eyes caught in the rose hues straight across her face. Her demeanor appeared to be in her favor as it aligned easily with her behavior and sound reasoning.

What acts coy in tone, she says. “This is just because of the cold...” As if covering both her ears isn’t enough, she repeats as she recollected herself.

”It is cold tonight, Dr. Richter.”

She's the type to get cold easily, given that he also has cold hands instead of warmth is… not quite what she expected as to why she filched. She thought at that one time but felt the same thing at this instance… she’s met with rather quivering arms.

She looked at him frozen.

“I am also the type to have cold hands, my body temperature is lower than normal,” Vyn states as if reading a glimpse of her mind.

Despite his cold demeanor, warmth is felt between them. Or at least at her end.

The barrier between them seemed to bubble away as Vyn slightly leaned on her proximity. But which made her intrigued all the more by the sudden shift.

Partially, Vyn noticed he is to blame but even he cannot understand his complexities, what more on observing others behavior… And it is supposedly his profession; Yule cannot reckon this field he planted in.

The shifts didn’t change at the sudden gust of wind as they went just by the front porch of Vyn’s home. Her way home is by his route and talks about such luck she has.

They get caught in the snowstorm.

She’s meaning to just pass by his house for some reference books as she needs them for the following weeks. But by the looks of the hail outside, it cannot be.

As polar they astutely discern each other's personalities, their bodies seem to have found a way to gravitate toward each other.

The warmth of his breath by Yule’s ear had the same effect of a blizzard wind sending down one’s spine.

She didn’t fully know how or why they got into this exact situation, bare skin-to-skin; less than hair strands apart, but it felt right to the bone.

But her head says otherwise, despite Yule’s body yearning for any means to get warmth by body heat. Her body seems automatic as it elicits tones of pleasure. Specifically, asking for Vyn’s skin near her, his lips exploring the surface of her naked skin by her collarbone, more so with how he pulls her close to his chest. 

Both their breathing grows more ragged and labored as if exchanging replies along their bodies. Yule moans as he ascends from her territories, Vyn’s vision looks darker towards her darkened crimson cheeks.

“Can I touch you?” Vyn breathed by her ear, momentarily fanning her intense desire. His fingers lingered above her scorching core, with full consent, she quickly led his fingers by her damp panties.

“Ahhh…  there, please.” She hissed at his cold fingers digging through the fabric.

With his impatient touch, it’s as if she can’t believe her body can get more blazed, more so as he sets aside her panties as Vyn fingers her. 

“Let me treat you well here as well, my lady.” he musters, and she could only gulp a breath of surprise as he went in to make her squirm good at his techniques. Vyn heavily grunts as she clenches more in his fingers, a smile of triumph appears on his face as she slips profanities. 

“Fu-fuck…  shit- sorry—” Yule covered her foul mouth, quickly turning weak as he curled his digits in her. She almost yelps. “Don’t be…  so, g-good.”

Yule could only give in to the pleasure. Her muscles fight over clenching or relaxing over the sensation. Her wetness squelches the deeper Vyn’s fingers buried in and out of her vagina, gaining more grunts and moans from both their lips.

As if a request for more silence, Vyn’s lips crash into hers, turning more aggressive and passionate, opposite to his light touches. Yule’s nails say otherwise, it remains gripped and clenched by his hair. He took it as a validation he was doing so damn well, moving along his lips on her drenched lips down between her legs.

Yule contained all her control not to wrap her legs into his head. But every time he looks up at her, eye-to-eye directly into hers, his lips are devilishly distracting.

She pulled his hair out of frustration.

In between the twists in her stomach overwhelmed with pleasure, there are also evident signs of the looming feeling in her guilt. Particularly feeling good about having sex.

Oh no, shit.

There go her thoughts consumed with her bad view of sex. 

She felt disgusted with herself. 

The shame takes over her, suddenly feeling insecure and inadequate. Her exposed body felt embarrassing, this is wrong. Yule thinks she’s doing something horribly wrong. Even so, she can’t pinpoint what is at fault really…  But still!   Maybe I am just using him, taking advantage of him with my body.

Before anything else, she is a virgin, and this is so wrong taking this ounce of opportunity to taint that. But I also want it?

She zones out, feeling out of it as much as his touch is nowhere out of her personal space.

Still, the feeling floods over her like liquid lead. Her consciousness and lucidity are leaking out of her bit by bit.

Crap.

“Yule? Are you okay?”  Vyn sounded muffled to her.

The heavy breathing turned more appalling on her end as she felt a familiar enclosed tightness around her chest. It’s anything but pleasurable.

They are cut short of the pre-intercourse the same as her breath.

“Doc… Richter, stop, let’s…” her breathing is a clear sign for Vyn to halt any of their acts progressing. He’s quick to break free and observe.

A blatant sign of a panic attack.

“ Breathe in…  catch your breath, properly now.” Vyn’s voice is slow and coherent.

One would be quick not to question the source, even ask about the trigger. But even Yule is ashamed of her helpless, vulnerable state at the moment.

She can’t even look Vyn in the eye.

With his intensity and slight hesitancy to hold and comfort her, Yule predicts she would melt at his touch.

It was worry,  and somehow it had more effect on her than the darkened orbs of lust he showed earlier.

She felt a pang in her chest.

Also, her intrusive thoughts and aching core left unsatiated. Her selfishness also crept in, though this is the most inappropriate time to have such indecent thoughts despite  being in the obscene act itself.

But it’s more shameful and  such a waste  they didn’t even reach that point.

Instead, something like this happened, with him tending to her and being a burden–

Why did she let such a chance slip away?

It kept overplaying in her head, although it wasn’t a full-blown panic attack– it was still leading up to that point. But that made her scrunch up into a ball more, closing her walls completely after closing the gap between them.

Yule tries to tap back into her system, even after all that… his touch still lingers in her skin as if she’s still in that present moment. His weight on hers still feels tangible. But the actual weight of the situation and consequence of delving into intimacy further, there and now—

It scared the crap out of her.

Everything makes it more guilty, turning her soft and yet,  wet  in her core. She wouldn’t admit that, not openly.  Fuck…

This is supposed to be like a crush in high school… But his effect on her ought to make a lady out of her.

Why did it have to be the perfect timing they were supposed to do  it?

It was awkward after he was about to insert his erection into her drenched core. Although, looking back it’s drenching her more with sweat and distress. 

How is it he’s still accommodating to ease her throughout the night, when she's the one who needs to make up for what she did? Or more on, there lack of?

-

A bit after the incident, Yule apologizes to Vyn for acting in such an embarrassing way during their last meeting.

The flush on her face still aches on how  cringe  or revolting it was replaying in her head. She can’t assess the situation objectively as she can’t even look at him directly.

He’s just quiet across her, opposite to her difficulty to contain her frantic body language.

Vyn sips into his cup, his face is solemn. “It is fine, I am fit to assess such situations.”

But she's still ashamed as fuck of what happened! 

She could only muster up an  “okay”  even if she was far from being fine, lowering her head. 

Yule wanted to go, especially on the way she acted, messy and disoriented. The pensive look of the white-haired male in front of her made her more disarray with her thoughts.

Being back in his household feels sacrilegious after such events.

Do I even have a right to be in his presence?

The calm demeanor he portrays across her seat answers her unease, more so the softness of his urgency. “No use beating yourself up, come on, the tea is getting cold. The sweetness of the cake may help ease you up.”

Why is he still doing such nice things,  still?

“I would like to apologize as well, I may have gone too fast at your pace,” Vyn says, now there is an evident flush across his pale skin, much opaque but enough to see a difference in his expression. He sighs a deep intake of breath but stops it for sounding heavy. Along with his ever-growing… emotions.

He was driven by irrationality as if he's lost some sense of control that night. 

It was evident, even until now, they are both feeling the tension, but on her end, the shame and anxiety, and embarrassment eat her up more.

With Vyn, it’s unclear, but it’s faintly implied that there’s tension. He’s still out to tackle and satiate both of them, and pick up where they both left off.

Only then when she’s fine and ready.

“I-I want to as well but I don't know what's up with my body.” Yule is pertaining more to the sudden ‘attack’. And this rotten brain of hers.  She also got it checked on her previous therapy sessions, but it immensely bothers her still… She worries over her lips. “I also got a bit ahead with my alcohol that night, but even without the alcohol, I can affirm that I do like you still.”

Her bravery took him back.

Vyn’s lips curled upwards, finding her eyes to magnetize it back into his, then says. “Can we admit that we are attracted to each other to that certain extent?”

Too soon.

But…

Yule worries her lower lips more.  I have been feeling the tension lingering for some quite time now.

At least she's getting better at noticing the signals.

But she's still embarrassed.

“I can say it's reciprocal,” she affirms. The sudden gust of the wind blows the smell of the flowers spread out in his garden, the smell of the pastry and tea reigns back their flavor, blending into their space.

“So what now?”  She’s surprised herself for the lack of stutter saying that. Confusion mulled over her, panicked at his warmth remaining at arm's length.

“That is also up to you where you would want this to go, Miss Yule. I am interested in you.” His honesty made her retract.

Yule is overwhelmed as a myriad of thoughts domino over her. She’s growing more and more panicked as the man in front of her is still willing to face her after such inconveniences.  Most throw me out.

He even made time to meet up and spare his time to invite her over for tea after. 

So how is it that he’s willing to even bother to look at her?

“I don't want to lean in too much on you.” she croaked, the anxiety obvious on taking the weight on her sullen face.

Vyn’s face in contrast deflects her agitation. 

“Of course, I wouldn't want you to be overly dependent, but I would be by your side to accompany you, alright?”

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[twstedtales]

𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑, 𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋.

❝hold your ground; stand up for yourself with grit and grace.❞ - Unknown.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | when he heard you broke from your timid and soft-spoken self just so you could defend him.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, azul ashengrotto, kalim al asim, vil schoenheit, idia shroud, malleus draconia × female reader.

𝐭𝐰 | none!

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | of course, <3 anon chan 😘 nice to meet you and have a good day too 😆 by the way, freaking gosh, this becomes soooo long 2,241 words if you wanna know bdjejwjeeh 😭😂💦 HELP-

𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 | reposting and queued this in time for my classes because i am determined to put it in tags lfmaooo and I also added few more because I noticed some of Leona’s part was missing and typographical errors are fixed shsbjd

Riddle was always grateful that you were a lot tamer than your chaotic friends that give him constant headaches. He also appreciates your quiet and soft nature because it helps him calm down a lot during his near outbursts when he was about to behead some of his rebellious dorm mates.

So, one random day, Riddle overheard you talking to some students; he presumed they were your classmates? He trusts you a lot, and was about to leave because he didn't want to disrespect your conversation when he heard his name, including the loud series of continuous insults directed to him, repeatedly calling him a ruthless tyrant and such, that had made his elegant brows raise to his hairline. 

A lady such as yourself shouldn't be hearing such crass words from those uneducated fools. His eyes twitched in seething anger, a vein bulging in his forehead and he was about to step in to teach them a lesson they won't forget when Riddle had heard your voice snapping.

It took him by surprise when he heard your usual soft and timid tone raise an octave, your loud yells reverberated greatly across the empty halls. Riddle felt some sort of pleasant shock; he couldn't imagine you, who was usually soft-spoken, to defend him like that. Though that aside, immediate pride and affection swells inside him. 

Riddle always believes that as a gentleman, he should be the one to protect you from fools, or defend you against malicious people like that. But he supposed the position getting reversed once in a while feels...good as well. Now, if you'll excuse him, he still needs to, ah, re-educate those imbeciles, a lesson they won't ever forget.

Leona doesn't care that you're timid most of the time, in fact, it even brought a slight relief to him because firstly, he won't have you loudly reprimanding and nagging him if he doesn't attend classes like Ruggie does, disturbing his naps. And secondly, he secretly finds you a great wonder, knowing that most women in Afterglow Savana were all "warriors" and they intimidate him. 

Though for your own sake, Leona would drop casual hints about arming yourself in an argument here and there for you to catch. He favoured your soft-spoken persona, yes, but that doesn’t mean he would go around letting you be in danger just because of it.

And just when he thought that you were tamed and a well-behaved little lamb, Leona was slightly bewildered to hear your loud shouts that knocked him out of his sleep. He almost thought that you were in danger and would instantly leap in to tear off the person who dared to attack you limb by limb if not for the obvious anger lacing your voice.

Hou? Leona listens curiously in patient silence as you apparently "defend" his reputation. It would be a lie to say that he didn't care what others say about him, but at this point, he had completely given up on how others perceived him, all their opinions be damned. But he had to admit, you saying that he was more than just being an "indolent bastard" makes his heart do a quick lithe leap. Just a little bit.

However, of course, he can't let you hog in all the fun to yourself. If those fools were brave enough to lash out and dish out their problems about him to you, they must be prepared to face the consequences of his payback. Though perhaps he must thank them as well? For encouraging and pushing his timid herbivore to stand up and hold her ground to what she believes to be most important? Heh.

Azul thought that your soft and timid self is quite a refreshing sight; you're like a breath of fresh air for him. Being surrounded by the chaotic twins all the time drains his energy, no matter how efficient they seem to be for business. So, having you around calms him down, and your soft voice was like enticing him to sleep and relax.

That's why when he heard a loud scream outside of the VIP room, Azul had seriously doubted his ears, blinking his eyes in mild shock and refusing to believe that person who had just raised their voice was you. You, his precious angelfish who spoke so softly and tenderly to him all the time, just shouted? 

Azul snapped out of his trance when he had heard your voice again, this time, it was even louder, and he could clearly hear just what makes you this furious. He quietly left the sanctuary of his office just as the argument kept on getting clearer. He had heard his name, how the students called him a "scammer", "manipulator", "evil schemer", "stupid octopus" and such. 

Under normal circumstances, Azul wouldn't feel any remorse when he had tricked them into a contract for servitude as a small payment for what they boastfully spout about him. He was ready to make them pay a hundred folds...if not for you defending him wholeheartedly. You were readily refuting every falseーor were they really false?ーclaims about him; a bit more menacing, a little more proud, and very much seething in anger. 

Adoration bloomed inside him as he almost felt tears start to prickle in the corner of his eyes. He never had someone who would defend him, who would boast how "hardworking" he was, or be angry...just for him. Azul had to steel his knees from buckling over, blinking back his tears and parading his usual, haughty smile. As much as he wants to rejoice and melt for your brave words, he first needs to get you out of there. He can't have his precious angelfish deal with those pests all by yourself, no?

Kalim was understanding, empathetic enough to know not to push you beyond the limits you could give. He was content to see you interacting and hanging out with him, no matter how quiet and timid you may be! Fret not, it doesn't matter one bit if he's the only one speaking and getting the conversation going, as long as he knew you were there and listening to him, that's all that matters to him.

Though seriously speaking, does anyone even have the heart to say malicious things about this sunshine? Though let's admit it, not all people would see Kalim's open generosity in a positive light and some people would even find it rather irritating (ーlike Jamilー). So, things like "bad-mouthing" him does happen, maybe not as much in NRC but he does hear them back in Scalding Sands.

Due to his position of being the heir to a big clan, Kalim was very much exposed to the harsh criticism and perhaps hatred and envy of others, though he does his very best to ignore them, and understand where they are coming from because he knows that not all are as privileged as him. So hearing people say bad things about him in the NRC is nothing new as well. 

What was something new though...is you raising your voice that made him jump, his heart almost made a quick leap out of his throat. Especially when you declared that he was the kindest, the most understanding and the best person you ever met in your life. Kalim didn't even hear the insults because he was more focused on drilling the image of you, looking so gallant like a honourable warrior defending him. 

Before it escalates into something serious though, Kalim would jump in the conversation and sway the topic into a more light-hearted one. You would notice his smile looked a lot brighter than normal, and that his cheerfulness is so contagious that you forgot the person who badmouthed him as Kalim dragged you to somewhere he could spoil you rotten.

Vil doesn't usually mind your timid self; he finds himself surprisingly adoring it at times. Especially after those stressful and chaotic days that all he needs is to have a peaceful respite that he had found in you. Though there were times that he would...ah, help you to become more open and confident when talking to people. Unlike Leona who would just drop hints, Vil was determined to teach you how to arm yourself with words, if not magic or any other weapon. 

Hence why Vil was very much accustomed to harsh criticism and dare say, downright hate. He was an actor and a model after all. He had long prepared himself to accept those healthy criticisms, and block off all the malicious comments thrown at him. So, hearing his own schoolmates lash out their hate against him is nothing to waste his time about. After all, they weren't even brave enough to say that to his own face. 

Even so, what took him in a pleasant astonishment is when he heard your voice, loud and clear and confident, rebutting their foolish claims about him. He didn't even pay enough attention when those potatoes blatantly compared him to Neigeーwhich was, by the way, will be dealt with laterーbecause all he could hear was your voice.

Vil huffed in amusement; you had incorporated everything he had taught you today and he could say that he was pleased with your development. As much as he wanted to see how far you could go and how good it was that you were defending him, Vil cannot allow you to linger longer around those fools who don't know basic etiquette more than necessary. 

Brimming with confidence as he was, Vil swept between smoothly, the long and loose sleeves of his dorm uniform flaunting behind me like a perfect picturesque as he hide you behind his back. He looked down coldly at those potatoes, ignoring your surprise yelp. Now, Vil can't let the improper things they say pass without a proper punishment, no?

Like everyone does, Idia doesn't care if you're timid or soft spoken either. To be honest, it was even encouraged by him. He could get around everything between you two without speaking, especially since he wasn't used to being around people a lot. After all, your quiet voice when you're talking to him doesn't feel like any otherーit was more relaxing, more soothing…

That's why when he heard you shouting so loudly and angrily one day, Idia fell on his chair in shock. He was surveying the surroundings from the CCTVs around the school for possible routes he could take when he went out to buy snacks for the weekend when he caught sight of you in the hallway with some unfamiliar students. It doesn't look like a one-sided argument, but you were definitely more pissed off than the others.

The longer he listens, the more Idia wants to wither awayーfrom embarrassment, or from self-resentment or from pure adoration, he cannot pinpoint exactly what! You...you were defending him! Him! You were seethingly refuting every claim he heard directed to him. Every single negative thing they pointed out that he himself knew of all people possessed, said it was nothing but baseless untruths. 

How could you say that he was not useless when all he could do now was to watch you from afar as you fight for his reputation? How could you still believe he was not a coward after all those things that people said about him and his failures? How could you still love him after all the things you were hearing right now? 

Idia clenched his fists that his nails dug in his palms. He...wants to be like you as well. He wanted to be the man you could depend on, the one who could defend you like those in his otome games he played. If one day...if only he could build up the courage to be...anyway, for now, Idia mysteriously alerted some of the professors that someone was bullying you. He couldn't be there personally, with how he is right now, but he would make sure to protect you in the way that he himself could surely do this time...

The one who insults and badmouth The Malleus Draconia himself was probably tired of living, having a death wish or something. Almost everyone was scared of facing him, but alas, there surely exists those who are...brave enoughーor was it simply foolishness?ーto insult him in the presence of his own beloved. 

Malleus probably didn't hear your "heroic acts" personally, but due to Sebek's garrulous mouthーand he can't simply keep this a secret to his Waka-sama!ーhe was informed how you defend him in front of many people. 

He would ask every detail, how it started and how it escalated to how it ended. Sebek wouldn't leave a single detail, though he supposed he could make you a little more "gallant and chivalrous" to his Young Master because you were the first one to stand up for him, and you are his lover, not his guard!

After hearing the full details from the extremely proud Sebekーand how he had already taught the impudent students a lesson for insulting himーMalleus had found himself teleporting next to you, that made you jump because it was so sudden. And he would hug you so suddenly and wordlessly. When you ask him why, he would just reply that he feels like you had done something so incredible for him that he wants to repay and spoil you in any way you desire.

Malleus does mind the insults, but he was more focused on you and how you stand up and hold your ground despite your soft-spoken self. He wished he could've seen you break out from your shell once again, but he won't force you to it. After all, there's plenty of time to rectify that and he would wait patiently on the day you showed all your sides to him.

[floral-force]

Knight in Beskar Armor: Chapter 5

The Defeat

words: 3.3k

series masterlist | read on ao3

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When you woke up, you felt your feet kick metal as you stretched, sending you into a panic. You were banging on the metal that trapped you in this tiny space, yelling to be let out, that the Naboo guard would have your captor’s head, that your father would pay any ransom to have you back—

You would have toppled onto the floor if it weren’t for the strong arms waiting to catch you. When they pushed you back onto the cot, you saw that familiar helmet. “K’uur!”

You could only assume he was speaking Mando’a, a language you’d briefly read about during your lessons. You could also infer from his tone and body language—looming over you as you curled up into yourself on the cot—that what he had said was a command and not an ambiguous suggestion. That was when you remembered the events of last night, a blur of green, gravel, and metal, faint screams and chaos and the sound of bodies hitting the ground. The air suddenly felt incredibly cold, and you rubbed your arms, looking up at the Mandalorian, then averting your eyes again.

“I-I apologize, Mandalorian,” you bashfully said, still avoiding his searing gaze. You could feel the visor lingering on you, making you feel cold and itchy at the same time.

He straightened and took a step backward. “Don’t be sorry.”

You finally looked back up at him and sat up straight. You didn’t even care that your thighs were exposed, or that your hair was probably a mess. You just wanted this nightmare to be over. “So, what next?”

“We landed on Nevarro. I came to wake you up.”

Nevarro…Wasn’t it some planet in the Outer Rim? You didn’t learn too much about the Outer Rim Territories; your tutors focused on sectors that were more advantageous to Naboo than dingy planets that were filled with shady people. “You can’t expect me to walk in public in a ratty, old shirt,” you said, raising an eyebrow at the Mandalorian.

His helmet tilted up to gesture at the pink fabric on the shelf. “You always have that—”

“I refuse to dirty my expensive Coruscant gown.” You crossed your arms, feeling frustration seep into your veins at his suggstion. As much as you had protested to your mother about the cost of that gown, you suddenly had an attachment to it, maybe because it was one of the last pieces you had of your home.

The Mandalorian groaned. “Dank ferrik. Let me call someone.”

His cape brushed your knees when he turned and left you, and you heard him climb back up the ladder to the cockpit, leaving you alone again. Goosebumps formed on your arms as a chill began to set in after the warmth of adrenaline had left your veins. You were suddenly aware of how out of place you felt; a princess on an uncomfortable cot in a Mandalorian’s ship on a planet known for—what was it again? Bounty hunters? Some sort of hunting guild? You could care less. Presently, you were focused on what you’d be wearing off this ship, because it certainly wouldn’t be the last piece of home that you had, and you also would not walk off this ship in the Mandalorian’s old shirt.

Just as you were about to touch your toes to the metal floor below you, you heard soft footsteps on the ladder. Interesting—for a man so broad and tall, he was incredibly quiet. It reminded you of that night in the garden, how he barely made a sound when he moved towards you to taunt you like you were his prey…

It made your heart drop past your belly and made your panties get a bit damp. You tried your best to fight off the blush that was spreading on your cheeks as the Mandalorian crossed the distance to you, making your heart race. You took a deep breath and looked directly at his visor. Now was absolutely not the time.

“I know someone. She’s coming to meet us here.” He seemed to awkwardly pause, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the Mandalorian was trying to be delicate with his words. “She’s bringing clothes for you so you can be..decent leaving the ship.”

You straightened. “I appreciate that.”

“You can thank her when she arrives,” he grumbled, his modulated voice chilling your bones.

As he turned from you again, you felt yourself wanting to have him towering over you again, trapping you in the small rack, maybe forcing your legs open with a gentle nudge of his knee, one of his hands pushing you down and snaking up underneath the shirt—

You shook your head, needing physical movement to snap yourself out of your daydream. The Mandalorian’s silent and brooding nature was unlike anything you’d experienced before. He didn’t kiss your ass like others did, nor did he bow or address you with your full title each time he spoke to you. No—he spoke to you like you were any other girl off the street, and it was amazing. You were used to respect—whether it was out of necessity or not—and you had never experienced someone not placing you on a pedestal and bending to your every command like you were their golden idol. The Mandalorian gave you no extra courtesies, no special treatment, no “my lady” at the end of every sentence, and no false sincerity. He was blunt, and it was so attractive.

There was a hiss as the ramp lowered, pulling you out of your head and into the present moment. Soon, heavy footsteps traveled up the ramp, and eventually a tall, muscular woman entered the ship, smiling at the Mandalorian. She had a satchel across her body and carried another bag in her hand. You noticed the tattoo on her arm and squinted at it, trying to remember where you had seen it before.

“Well, Mando, I brought the clothes. Where’s the princess?” When the Mandalorian pointed to you, she strode over to you and held out her hand. “Cara Dune. I’m the marshal around here.”

You shook her hand, introducing yourself, trying your best not to let your embarrassment about your relatively exposed state show. “I assume you’re who the Mandalorian enlisted to lend me more suitable attire?”

Cara chuckled, looking back at the Mandalorian. “How’d you land this one, Mando? She says more words in one sentence than I hear you say in one day!” She laughed, and you blushed. “Yeah, Princess, you’re right. I doubt it’ll fit you well, but something is better than nothing.”

When she handed you the bag, you noticed the tear below her left eye, and your heart shattered. You cleared your throat, nodding and thanking her as you stood to go to the ship’s small fresher and change. Cara was right, the clothes were a bit too big on your frame, but they were leagues above some ratty old shirt that the Mandalorian had tossed your way. She had even included a pair of boots and somehow, they fit you almost perfectly. Your hair still had pins and ties in it, so you tried your best to comb it with your fingers and fix it back and away from your face. You took a deep breath, splashing a bit of cold water on your face to ease the bags under your eyes. It had been a long cycle, and something told you that you wouldn’t be relaxing any time soon, not for a while.

You stepped out of the fresher, and Cara took the bag from you, giving you a once-over, fixing your belt, and then slapping your arm. “Hey, not too bad,” she remarked, looking back at your silent companion. “Don’t you think so, Mando?”

“Let’s get going,” he said, adjusting a satchel across his torso, the one Cara had around her before you’d entered the fresher. “You know Karga is impatient.”

He descended the ramp without waiting for either of you to join him, and Cara rolled her eyes, walking away to trail behind him. You followed suit, jogging just a bit to keep up with their large strides.

Nevarro’s landscape was rugged and reeked of sulfur, a byproduct of the lava fields that littered its surface. You were focused on trying not to trip as the other two managed to keep a quick and steady pace. Maker, you wish you had a speeder right now; you were decent at driving one, good enough to get by if needed. Nevarro’s terrain was making you long for the royal treatment you received on Naboo. Although Naboo’s landscape wasn’t as treacherous as this Outer Rim planet’s, it was easier to cross large stretches of open fields by speeder rather than on foot. You softly smiled, remembering the multiple rendezvous you’d had in the meadows near your favorite waterfall, at the edge of a forest, the wind whipping your face as the speeder took you and your partner to your destination quickly, so you had more time to fool around in the cool Naboo air. Something inside of you told you those days of messy kisses and sloppy sex were long gone. Nothing would be the same after the events of the past cycle.

You and your companions finally reached more solid ground, and soon approached an archway with a smiling man underneath it waiting for your group. He extended a hand to the Mandalorian as he approached, grasping it and firmly shaking it, offering the same gesture to Cara.

“Mando! How’s my favorite bounty hunter?” the man asked, grinning.

“Do you have any bounties for me, Karga?” The Mandalorian remained stoic, his modulated voice giving no indication of emotion.

Karga looked at you and shook his head, chuckling. “Always business, this one.” He walked over to you and took your hand, kissing the top of it, a gesture that felt welcome for some reason, maybe because it reminded you of the palace etiquette you were accustomed to. “And who might you be?”

You noticed the Mandalorian stiffen ever so slightly. You told the man, Karga, your name, neglecting to tell him you were the Princess of Naboo. You wanted to know what it felt like to be treated as a normal woman, not as a dainty princess.

“Well, shall we?” Karga said, moving back up by the Mandalorian, leading the way into the village.

You reached a cantina, and although it wasn’t full of patrons, you could feel every eye watching you, the new addition to the trio they were used to seeing. You finally sat in a booth, the Mandalorian guiding you towards a bench, sitting next to you, while Cara slid in across from you, followed by Karga. The Mandalorian was so close that you could feel the touch of his right beskar cuisse against your thigh, eliciting a throb from below that you tried your hardest to suppress.

“It’s always business with you, isn’t it, Mando?”

“I need the jobs; I need the credits.”

“Don’t we all?” Karga sighed. You thought you saw him glance down at the Mandalorian’s left side, but he quickly met the helmet again. “Lucky for you, I have a few bounties.”

He set down three tracking fobs on the table, sliding them towards the Mandalorian. “Should be simple and easy enough—two owe a debt, one is on the run. Nothing you can’t handle.”

The Mandalorian nods, scooping the fobs up and nodding. “Shouldn’t take me too long.”

“Even with a stowaway?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you notice Cara’s eyes dart back and forth between the Mandalorian and Karga. The Mandalorian straightened, then rose out of the booth to stand at the edge of the table, and you felt the tension in the air.

“She’s staying here, on Nevarro.”

For some reason, his curt response is what makes your eyes burn. Sure, you hadn’t been with the bounty hunter long, but this made you feel disposable. You glared up at him, his helmet still trained down at Karga. You stood up, pointing a finger at his chest so he’d notice you.

“When you took me away from Naboo, you told me you promised my father you’d protect me. Am I just some disposable bounty to you? Something you can toss to the side? Don’t you have any honor, Mandalorian?” You waited for a response, and when you received none, you scoffed and stormed out of the cantina. You had no idea where you were going, but you just wanted to get away from the Mandalorian.

You were so focused on trying not to let your tears fall as you stormed through the winding streets that you didn’t notice the eyes lingering on you, or that a pair of quick strides had joined yours. All you could hear was your heart pounding in your chest, and all you could feel was the burn in your throat and the tears that threatened to fall from your eyes. Sure, your father was barely anything more than a biological relation, and he had barely shown you any affection, but something just hit a nerve when you heard the Mandalorian essentially reject the promise he’d made your father. It was one of the last things he’d asked for in his life, assuming he was…dead. Even thinking that he was gone made a single tear slip from your eye, cracking your mask.

Regardless of your own complicated feelings about your father, you felt betrayed by the Mandalorian, and you were angry at his lack of honor and whatever nobility he had, if he had any. Kriff, maybe if he had been paid enough, he would have killed your father too.

You felt a tug on your arm, and you were pulled off to the side of the street. You looked up and saw Cara staring at you, concerned. “Princess, are you okay?”

The question made your eyes water even more, but you managed to hold them back. “I’m doing the best I can given everything, I suppose.”

Cara nodded, then nudged you back into the street. “Let’s keep walking. At least if I’m with you, I can take you back to my place.”

You took a breath, then walked next to her. There was a brief moment of silence, and you took in the noises around you—the alien languages, the sound of entryways opening and closing, the occasional sound of a cantina fight. It was all a stark departure from the peace of the palace, the gentle sound of birds in the garden, and the crash of Naboo’s waterfalls into crystal-clear lakes.

“Cara,” you said, clearing your throat. “I noticed the Alderaanian tear. I just wanted to express my condolences.” You cringed; that sounded like one of your canned responses to a citizen begging for funds to cover a funeral for their loved one.

When she said nothing, you walked in silence for another moment. You noticed the mess of sounds starting to fade away and an expanse of homes begin to appear in the distance.

“One of my best friends was our Alderaanian diplomat. Her name was Ede,” you smiled, looking at your feet, memories of racing through the tall meadows with Ede flooding your brain. “She was on Alderaan on the day of the Disaster.”

You began to approach one modest building. You assumed it was Cara’s, as it appeared to only be able to house one person, maybe three max. It only seemed to be a bit larger than the size of your bedchamber, boudoir, and bathroom combined.

Before entering, you faced her and looked into her eyes. You could see the pain behind them—it must be pain she hid often, and you could understand why. “What I’m trying to say is that I understand the feeling of losing someone. I’m sure you lost more than I did that day, but I couldn’t not offer my sympathy to you.” You wiped away a few tears that fell down your cheeks, turning your head away from Cara.

Losing Ede had been your first brush with the feeling of loss. It was something you buried, something that you still hadn’t processed fully. You were barely a teenager when the Disaster happened, old enough to feel the pain of knowing Ede wouldn’t be able to enjoy her life. She was older than you, and you looked up to her like she was your older sister. You’d cried into Nelly’s shoulder many nights after you learned that she wasn’t coming back, that there were no survivors, that Alderaan was annihilated. You couldn’t imagine how devastated Cara had been, and maybe still was.

“I appreciate it, Princess. And I’m sorry for your loss,” Cara said, looking down at the ground before turning and unlocking the door. You decided not to press her any further; all you’d wanted was to air how you felt, something you’d often been denied back home.

Her home’s interior was just as modest as the exterior was, furniture scattered throughout with a hallway branching off the small kitchen that was straight ahead of you. She showed you where the fresher was down that hallway, hurriedly finding a towel for you since you asked to shower.

You thanked her and closed the door after she’d left you with new clothes—some large pants and a shirt—and turned the sonishower on. When you stepped under the water, you breathed a sigh of relief; it felt so good to rid yourself of the dirt from the past cycle and clean up a bit. Something that was guaranteed on Naboo was suddenly a luxury, and you could tell it would take a bit for you to accept that. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you dried off, your skin still wet and sticky. The bags under your eyes had finally gotten better, but you could see the exhaustion in your eyes. Kriff, even your breasts ached a bit; you weren’t used to such a firm bed, and you were restless last night. Restless because of anxiety and because of the strange attraction you felt to the Mandalorian. Thinking about the way he eyed you up like prey and the way he loomed over you at any given moment made your cunt ache and your heart skip a few beats. It was unsettling but so very sexy at the same time.

You blinked and threw your clothes on, fighting off a blush once again before opening the door and walking down the hall. You heard Karga’s voice as you walked into the common space, and he stopped and stared at you when you entered. Your breath hitched when you saw the Mandalorian standing there, a chrome dome levitating next to him.

“You’ll be staying here with Cara until I finish my bounties, or until we hear from your kingdom about what to do with you,” the Mandalorian announced, his arms crossed. You saw Cara glance at him, then at you, frowning a bit.

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes and nearly snarling at the Mandalorian. “No. I am coming with you.” You clenched your jaw, pushing down a sob before it could make your voice shake. “You made a promise, and I expect you to keep it.”

“With all due respect, Princess,” he said in that demeaning tone that he had used before. It made your blood boil. “I’m keeping you out of danger.”

You scoffed, moving towards him until you were standing in front of him. ��Well, with all due respect, Mandalorian, my life has been in danger since you dragged me out of the ballroom.”

There was silence, and you could feel the Mandalorian’s gaze burning through you, burning a hole through your head and into the ground. The air grew thick with tension, Karga and Cara withholding any response they might have.

Finally, the Mandalorian spoke. “We leave tomorrow.”

You felt a sense of pride when he turned and left Cara’s home, the dome following behind him. A smirk took over your lips, and you put your hands on your hip. You defeated the hunter—for now, at least.

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[themonotonysyndrome]

Guilt Eater

Part 4 of the ‘Successors of the Future’ is here! And yes, I will do my absolute best to squeeze in as much Blazblue reference in this series until I can’t! (I mean, that’s how I got the plot bunny for this series anyway~)

We’re moving the spotlights today to Malleus and Ace and a special guest! I thought it’ll be an interesting shift of perspective and change. Don’t worry, we’ll get right back to the kids in the next oneshot. 

As always, big thank you to @tri3tri for letting us expand her Second Wive AU. Hope you guys enjoy this oneshot. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species. 

For creatures who only grew stronger with time while their bodies remain near immortal, the passing of time means nothing to the Fair Folks. Time is likened to the ocean; ancient yet full of wonders. 

For Malleus, however, time has not been kind to him. Not since his dear heart and children vanishes. 

Ever since then, there is an unspoken rule among the residents of the Castle of Thorns: the Queen’s family wing is forbidden to everyone but the King.

Even Lilia nod his head to the rule; even he has been walking on eggshells around their King. 

And the years had transformed the Queen’s domain into a catacomb. The rumpled beds, the toys littered in Princess Sherrie’s bedroom, the Queen’s favourite book on her study table - everything is left untouched with layered of dust and cobwebs covering every inch of the surfaces. 

Every evening, the King would stalk the empty halls and bedrooms like a ghost; constantly yearning to feel the memories that embedded on the walls. Once he did his duties as the King and beget the male heir that the court had been pushing, Malleus has been living in regret ever since. 

He should have known that his beautiful wife would attempt to escape during the night of his second wedding. He should have tightened the security not on his concubine, but to the Queen and their Princesses. He should have assured Renata and Sherrie that only their mother holds his heart and that Bellatrix is just a means to an end. 

He should have told them that he loves them. 

Regret and guilt are terrible poisons. It festered under your skin and twist your heart painfully. They plague your mind with ‘what if’s’ and ‘should have’s’ and Malleus have been carrying them ever since that night. 

Tonight, he lost hours inside Renata’s bedroom, just staring at her favourite doll that he bought for her. He still remembers how her eyes lit up and how sweet her smile was when he presented the doll to her; how she was so happy that she clings on him and the doll that day. Deeply amused, he humoured her and carried her in her arms the whole day. Malleus even brought her to his court session, regardless how it broke propriety. 

His every waking moments now drift to MC and their daughters. Where are they? Why couldn’t he find them no matter how many soldiers he dispatched across Twisted Wonderland, no matter how far his magic blanket the lands? Are his daughters healthy, happy? What are they currently doing now? Are they safe? Have they forgotten about him - 

The mirror on the vanity table shattered. Malleus releases the doll in his grip and struggle to calm himself down; his body curl inwards and his breaths erratic. The thought of his wife and children far away and happy from him nearly drove him crazy if it weren’t for Lilia’s quick and careful words of consolation.

“They can’t hide forever, Malleus. Don’t ever give up, you hear me? And once we’ll find them, we’ll make sure her little escape routines are put to a stop. Permanently.”  

Lilia’s words are enough to ground him. For now. 

Malleus failed to assured his wife and daughters his love towards them, failed to show just how deep his convictions towards them are. The moment he finds any threads of their whereabouts, he’ll make sure to rectify that. 

And as the night made way for morning, Malleus forces himself to leave his daughter’s abandoned bedroom to prepare for another long, monotonous day. The only reason why he hasn’t delegate his duties to Lilia was because of his grandmother. His grandmother had come to visit on the eve of his second wedding and stayed when a frantic Silver announced MC and their children’s disappearance. If it weren’t for her, Malleus would’ve burned away his suit and transform into a dragon to search for them. While Lilia organise a search team with Silver and Sebek, his grandmother made sure he understood his duties as King once more. 

That was the first and last time he slept with Bellatrix before his thoughts and desire are consumed with the need to find his family. At that point, neither Lilia nor his grandmother could’ve stop him. 

The castle staffs and guards know to scattered when they see him step out of the Queen’s wing. The moment they heard the door creaked open, the room is empty. 

All but for one individual. 

“Good morning, Father!” 

Malleus stop his track. He tilts his head towards his heir, expressionless. Victor refused to be deterred by his Father’s gloomy aura yet he’s smart enough to carefully approach him. 

The king is stoic on the best days, frightening on his worst. 

“Will you be joining us for breakfast later? I heard from Grandfather Lilia that the kitchen staffs are planning to cook your favourites.” 

“I’ll be taking my meals in my office as usual.” Malleus reply and starts to walk away. 

Victor’s smile drop a little but he pressed on, jogging behind his father. In a rare burst of courage, the Prince grab Malleus’ hand. Surprisingly, Malleus stops walking. He stares at his hand before narrowing his eyes at Victor. 

“W-Would Father like a report of my recent academic progress? My tutors said that I’ve been doing well in my magic classes! O-Oh! I’ve also been diligently keeping up with my etiquette lessons.” Victor stutters out after he immediately let go of his Father’s hand. Feeling like he just committed a grave crime. 

“No need. Your tutors have been sending letters of your progress, daily.” 

“Oh... then would Father be willing to... to train me - ”

“I’m busy. Ask Lilia or any of your tutors.” And with that, Malleus refused to linger any longer, leaving Victor in the empty room. 

Crestfallen, Victor watch his Father go. Knowing that if he bothers him even more, it will just upset him and another storm would loom over the castle for the next few days. His expression immediately morph into a combination of anger and sadness as he stomps away before the staffs could return, not wanting them to see him vulnerable. 

As usual, Victor desperately hopes that one day his Father would finally acknowledge him as a son, not as his Prince. 

-

Time tend to leave its mark differently on each species.

For creatures with a set of years as flimsy as a lit candle’s flame, humans are creatures who bear the passing of time with a passionate vigor. Time is likened to fireworks; beautiful, bright but only for a short moment. 

For Ace, however, time is a constant remainder that he had failed his best friend. Being vulnerable in Night Raven College is a sure way to be taken advantage off and Ace is never known as anything but his brutal honestly, mischievous streaks and habits of getting himself (and others) into trouble. 

But when the headmaster announced that he couldn’t find MC anywhere the day after their senior’s graduation, was the moment that he, Deuce and Grim completely lose their composure. Deuce was too shocked to say anything while Ace couldn’t stop screaming alongside Grim. 

She couldn’t have just vanish! People don’t work like that! 

And even if she finally somehow found a way back to her world, she wouldn’t just leave without saying goodbye! 

Ace hated himself as that moment. If only he texted them the night before. Why didn’t he? They usually send stupid texts to one another! If only he kept a closer eye on them. If only she kept Grim close to her. 

For once, the headmaster drop all pretence. For once, his guilt laden answer and heavy sags of his shoulders are genuine. 

MC is gone and he has no idea how or why. But the three of them refused to gave up just like that. Ever since that day, they would do their best to figure out or research about MC’s fate. Jack and Epel, after finding out what happened, did their best to help out too. But days passed without any leads and with heavy hearts, they accepted that their friend is lost to them. 

That was not a good day. 

After Ace and Epel managed to pull Deuce and Jack away from one another (Deuce had completely lost it when the wolf boy reluctantly admit that maybe it was best to stop their research), strangely enough, it was Sebek who finally interjects. 

They need to accept that MC is gone. Even if they could never gain the closure that they desperately want, it’ll be no good to carry this sort of horrible guilt with them forever. With a long sigh, Sebek told them to find peace with it, even if it’s hard. 

Easier said than done. Even now that he’s already an adult and have a son, Ace still couldn’t help but wonder what happened to his friend. He hopes that wherever she is, MC is safe and happy. Anything other than that Ace couldn’t bear to think. 

Ace takes out his phone and checks the calendar app. The anniversary of MC’s disappearance is coming. Usually, Ace would cook MC’s favourite food in honour of her memory and over the years, he has gotten pretty good at it. Good enough that it also becomes his son’s favourite dish. 

Just as Ace was about to put down his phone and get ready to go out for lunch with his older brother, it suddenly rings.  

The name on his phone surprises him. His son rarely calls him ever since he got accepted to Night Raven College. Something about wanting some independence from his old man that Ace retaliates by ruffling his hair because of his boy’s cheekiness. 

Ace press the accept button with a grin, knowing that this is going to be good. “What’s up, kiddo? Finally admit that you miss your old man?” 

He expects a scoff, maybe a reluctant admittance, hell even his son’s rare bout of innocent honesty. What Ace didn’t expect however, is hearing his son’s frightened shriek.

“Dad! You knew a MC/S before right!? Please tell me you know what to do when she went batshit insane!” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down! What are you talking about? I can barely hear you!” 

Ace impatiently wait while pressing the phone close to his ear as he hear his son rapidly talking to someone, shouting apologies and heavy breaths as if he’s currently running. 

“Oh Sweet Seven, ok, I think we managed to hide from her.” His son panted. “Yeah, so, I might have, uh accidentally threw my food tray all over this girl and she immediately went supernova. We barely managed to dodge her fireballs!” 

Suddenly, Ace felt his heart drop. “Girl? What girl? Night Raven College is an all-boys’ school.” He heard himself reply. Absentmindedly, his mind brought up the memories of his Entrance Ceremony, years ago. Of a girl that looked so lost in her robes as she stood in front of the Mirror of Darkness. 

“Renata MC/S. She’s the only girl that ended up a student here. I remembered that you had a friend with that surname so I thought she might be related.” 

At that moment, Ace choose to believe it. It’s way too coincidental for it not be. A girl that shares his lost best friend’s surname who also just happend to be the only girl to be accepted in Night Raven College? 

But what Ace doesn’t understand is his son’s comment about the girl throwing fireballs. MC doesn’t have magic. So what’s going on? 

“Hmm, I usually gave her some space before I apologised to her. And a little bribery never failed too.” Ace advised, recalling how MC reluctantly accepts the candy that he offered after he upsets her. 

“That’s not a bad idea, Dad! Will report back the result if I’m not scorched to death.” Ace’s son dryly answer. Some rustling noises and hush whispers can be heard through the phone before his kid ended the call. 

Ace is already calling Deuce’s number. He needs to know about this. 

-

I hope I managed to did Malleus and Ace justice in writing them! I’ll get better with writing the rest of the boys once their children are introduce. Because Renata needed friends/allies against Malleus after all~ 

Speaking of Victor, I was really nervous when I was writing him. Here, he’s not all haughty because deep down, all he want is some praises and love from a Father who only see him as something to appease his court. Not a son. Hope I managed to portray that properly! 

(Also, the name of Ace’s son and two others will be reveal in the next oneshot)

[gayshrug]

you will beat this, starting now, and you will always be around

(tk strand/ carlos reyes, teen+, 1.5k, ao3)

Prompt: "I love me some Hurt/Comfort so what about TK and Carlos early in their relationship [...]; What if Owen has a complication from his treatment [...] and Carlos stops by unprompted to wait with TK?"

Or: TK doesn't care about waiting room etiquette and Carlos wears flannels when he's in a hurry.

TK could practically feel the stares of everyone else inside the waiting room, the bouncing of his leg probably irritating to say the least. It’s just – he couldn’t not. There was nothing else for him to do but sit this out, stick around for his dad to reemerge from the doctor’s office with news. Good or bad. TK had no control over the potential outcome, and it killed him; his brain conjuring up the worst-case scenario over and over again.

His dad was strong and careful, he knew, going to all scheduled appointments and receiving his treatment diligently. The fact that his fatigue had gotten so bad they’d felt it necessary to inform his doctor scared the shit out of TK.

Being the one to walk up to his father’s room to check on him after he hadn’t gotten up for breakfast or his skincare routine in the morning – it had felt like each step closer could change his life forever. The rational part of him knew that his dad wouldn’t simply – he wouldn’t just disappear, overnight. Not with how well he’d progressed and how optimistic he’d sounded after each of their recent talks.

But TK was still his father’s son, weary from his own troubles and the dread of what this illness could mean, hanging over their heads with each passing day.

Thankfully, what he’d found after opening the door was just his dad, legs thrown over the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. Not ideal, but better than what TK had feared to see.

When Owen had let him know he felt too tired and nauseated to get up, TK had sprung into action immediately – he was a first responder, after all, instincts taking over and dialing the doctor’s office in a daze. Making an emergency appointment, even when the secretary had gently told him that this was all normal and an adjustment that was to be expected. The last thing he was going to be nonchalant with was his dad’s health.

Getting Owen dressed and ready to leave had been a chore, movements slow, long breaks in-between.

While his dad had freshened up in the bathroom, TK’s ears picking up on every little sound so he could barge inside if he’d sensed something had gone wrong, TK had shot Carlos a quick text.

worried about dad, taking him to see doc jacobs rn. don’t think i can make it, will update you asap, i’m sorry

They’d made plans for lunch, wanting to check out a popular sushi spot and get to know each other better outside of the bedroom. TK still felt awful about cancelling. Their thing was still fresh, vulnerable, and he’d already fucked up enough in their short time together. But his dad was his priority, so he’d seen no alternative.

After his dad had left the bathroom on unsteady legs, they’d powered through like they always did. Out the door within less than thirty minutes of making the call. He’d supported his dad’s weight all the way to the waiting room, knocking incessantly on Dr. Jacobs’ door until she’d helped Owen inside, uncaring of any potential meetings or other patients in her office.

Her warm but amused smile as she’d regarded the panicked look on TK’s face, telling him not to worry, should’ve calmed his nerves somewhat, but. But. TK wasn’t prone to overreacting for no reason.

The minutes his dad had spent in her office up until know had felt like hours, each passing second making TK more anxious than the one before.

He checked his phone – no notifications – and pocketed it again, not in the mental space to check Instagram or his pile of unanswered e-mails. No response from Carlos but it was still early – maybe he hadn’t gotten up yet, or maybe he was pissed off. TK doubted it, what with Carlos literally being the kindest and most understanding person he’d ever met, but he’d blown him off before and – yeah. TK wouldn’t exactly blame him for being upset.

Before his thoughts could spiral further into that direction, he was startled into looking up by the clunk of the practice door falling closed.

Holy shit.

Striding over towards him was Carlos, hair ruffled from sleep and pillow-creases still visible on his face. The flannel he’d seemingly thrown on in a hurry was only halfway buttoned up, his undershirt askew underneath.

TK’s breath caught in his throat.

When Carlos sat down right beside him and pulled him into a hug, smelling like sleep and comfort, TK couldn’t stop the tears from welling. He clung to Carlos’s shoulders, burying his face in his neck. The panicked breaths he’d somehow managed to hold in for the better part of the morning tumbled out of him in quick succession. For the first time all day, TK felt safe enough to let go and really confront the fear he felt, the anguish.

Carlos’s soothing strokes across his back and neck calmed him down after a little while – like they always did. This wasn’t new for them, not by a longshot.

“Shhh, baby.”, Carlos whispered into his temple, now resting his hands on TK’s waist, drawing patterns into his shirt with his thumbs. TK blinked up at him, seeking out his eyes. Brown, warm, kind. He didn’t care about the other people waiting in the room, their judgement; he leaned up and pressed a thankful kiss against Carlos’s lips, holding onto him.

“Thank you. I’m sorry, Carlos, I-“, but Carlos shushed him again, kissed the corner of his mouth. “Nothing to be sorry for.”, he whispered. “I’m glad you gave me a heads-up, though. Jumped into the car right away. Has he been inside for long?”

Before TK could check, his perception of time always fucked in hospitals and doctors’ offices, Dr. Jacobs opened her door and guided Owen out with a hand on his lower back, keeping a watchful eye on him.

They were on their feet immediately, Carlos rushing over to support Owen while TK quietly asked Dr. Jacobs what was going on, voice shaking.

“As I said before, Mr. Strand, there’s really nothing to be worried about. The nausea and fatigue are, sadly, a routine effect of the treatment we’re administering to him. He needs rest but he’ll adjust. In the meantime, I’ve prescribed some antiemetics he can try.” She held out a few papers for TK to take, putting a gentle hand atop his own. “Do call me again if you’re unsure about anything. I’m glad your father has you to look out for him.”

TK swallowed down the lump in his throat, blinking rapidly. It hadn’t sunken in yet, the fact that his dad was actually going to be okay.

“Thank you, son.”, Owen spoke up from next to him, giving a gentle squeeze to TK’s shoulder. “Doctor, if you’d excuse us – I’d quite like to make use of my bed for the foreseeable future.”

❦

Not wanting to let Carlos go just yet, TK pulled him to the side after they’d filled the prescription at the nearest pharmacy and successfully planted his dad in the passenger seat.

They leaned against the car, TK holding onto Carlos’s wrist. Stroking over his pulse-point. The steady thump-thump-thump draining the remaining traces of anxiety from him.

“Thank you, Carlos, I mean it. You didn’t have to – to do all of this. But I’m glad you did.” The little smile Carlos gave him made TK blush, eyes fixing somewhere near Carlos’s collar to stop himself from rambling on.

“I’m glad I did, too. Your father’s in good shape but I wouldn’t want you to get a lumbago, dragging him all around town by yourself.” He ignored the offended look TK gave him in response. “What do you say – we drive to your place together, you get Captain Strand snuggled up, and I – never mind. You’ve had a rough morning.”

Carlos cradled TK’s face in his hand, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“Carlos Reyes, if you don’t – of course I want to go to lunch with you. I’m fucking starving.” TK turned to kiss Carlos’s palm, lingering. “I’ll make my dad a bowl of fruit, get him to try one of those mystery pills, and then I’ll come down.”

They could hear his dad’s exaggerated cough through the window as TK leaned in and pressed small kisses against Carlos’s neck, pulling him into a hug that lasted way too long to be platonic. Owen rolled the window down, amused. “If I recall correctly, you were still concerned about my imminent death a few minutes ago. I’m sure you can catch up with Officer Reyes at a later time.”

Out of spite, TK held on for another moment, giggling against Carlos’s throat – ignoring Carlos’s quiet “he’s got a point”.

“See you in a few, Officer.”, TK eventually said with a wink, and bounced over to his side of the car. Throwing a grin over his shoulder as he regarded Carlos standing in the parking lot, looking just as disheveled as he had when he’d entered the waiting room earlier.

If TK’s heart felt like it could burst with feelings akin to something he shouldn’t be thinking about this early into their – whatever, nobody had to know.

[deathduty]

Pain of the Week || Deirdre & Milo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: An alley somewhere PARTIES:  @deathduty & @wickedmilo CONTENT: discussions of addiction, drug abuse and drug use. Medical blood (for first aid), gore (removal of debris from wound), suicidal ideation (death imagery) SUMMARY: A vampire finds a banshee in an alley. A vampire decides to help; a banshee calls him stupid. OR two grumpy people insult each other

Milo wasn’t drunk, but he definitely wasn’t sober, and as he wandered down the empty suburban streets of White Crest, he used the alcohol in his system to suppress any memories of Dani, and his parents. Avoidance wasn’t exactly a healthy coping mechanism but he couldn’t care less about that fact. So long as he could stop thinking about her, so long as he could stop thinking about them. If only for a brief, blissful moment in time, he wanted to forget what he was, his new life and the complications brought with it. But when had he ever gotten his way? When had life ever been that easy, especially now? The scent of blood hit him first, followed by the quiet sound of ragged breathing, and he realised the town had well and truly swallowed him whole when his first response wasn’t shock, or fear, or concern. But rather frustration, and resignation. He was growing used to unusual situations, growing used to being chased, or hurt, or coming across others who were being chased, or hurt. It made him wonder whether White Crest had always been this dark. According to his supernatural friends, it had been. And yet, how could anyone be so unaware of the violence? He had been living in ignorance for twenty-two years, oblivious to the things that were happening around him. And now that he was finally being forced to address them, there didn’t seem to be an escape.

Regardless of his annoyance, regardless of another walk home being interrupted by something that was very much not his problem, he knew he needed to offer his help. As selfish as he was, as self absorbed, and inconsiderate, there were certain lines he wouldn’t cross. Sure, he might steal someone’s wallet to pay for a hit, or look the other way during a bar fight he didn’t want to get involved in. But leaving somebody alone, and injured, when there was nobody else around, felt beyond wrong. In the same way he had insisted upon helping Raina, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t insist upon helping this person. Whoever they were, whatever their circumstance. Letting out a pointed huff of breath, he changed direction, crossing the street to head towards the source of the blood. It was easy to follow the scent, and it didn’t take him long to reach a small alley between businesses, the buildings closed and locked up for the night. “Uh… hello?” He called, eyeing the woman he could see sitting between the narrow brick walls. Her legs were flat against the floor, and his eyes were drawn to the pool of blood steadily building beneath them both. “Are- are you okay?” Wow, what a ridiculous question. But he wasn’t exactly well versed in the etiquette of helping bleeding strangers. “I mean, you know... can I help?”

Deirdre was used to pain. Sometimes, it seemed she lived in it—cycles of her pain, other’s pain. Sometimes, it was just a matter of what pain of the week it was. This week: her legs. Some creature had found her to be easy prey. It clawed and scratched and stabbed and bit at her legs, as she tried to kick it away. Normally, she was a killer. Normally, creatures of that sort never got close enough to hurt her. But she stared into its hungry eyes, and knew it was not a creature of malice. And perhaps she had grown tired of all the pain she caused, but she couldn’t bring herself to do more than let loose and harmless scream and stumble away. With Deirdre’s palms screaming red as she scraped them along the rough alleyway brick, she tried to find steady footing. She couldn’t walk like that, she could hardly stand. Soon, she wasn’t doing either. She slipped to the floor, hissing and cursing on her way down. Getting home wouldn’t be as easy as hailing a cab in the night hours. She didn’t know how many minutes passed with her sitting on the damp ground, painting with her blood, only that when she did open her eyes, a boy was staring at her.

“I don’t need your help,” she hissed at the boy. “And I don’t want your help. Do I look like a charity case? Do I look like I need help? I’m perfectly fine, you idiotic--” Her leg protested. Deirdre winced and leaned forward, beads of sweat rolling down her face. “I don’t need…” She reiterated, “I don’t need…” Normally, she never asked for help. As it turned out, she wasn’t her normal self. “...help me…” 

Milo raised his eyebrows, almost shocked out of his hesitance by the venom behind the woman’s words. “Okay, yeah- fuck me, right? The guy asking you if you need any help. It’s not like you’re bleeding on the fucking ground.” He laughed, resisting the urge to give her what she wanted. If he left her alone it would certainly save him a lot of trouble. Moving closer, despite her rather forceful insistence, he realised there was an edge to the scent of her blood, something sweet, and alluring, and decidedly not human. Whatever the Hell she was, he could only hope she wouldn’t pose a threat to him. Not when he was genuinely trying to do the right thing. Without giving the memory permission to surface, he was suddenly thrown back to his first attack, his first time drinking human blood. He had been in an alleyway just like this one, only a stranger had been offering him help. He had killed them. He had watched them die. Apparently good intentions meant jack shit in this town. 

Watching for a brief moment as his company seemed to struggle against the pain she was in, it took a surprisingly short amount of time for her to admit defeat. Eyeing the blood on the ground, taking a moment to ensure he wasn’t about to lose it, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Apparently other people weren’t the only danger now, he was very much a part of it. A new member of the twisted, underground community responsible for so much pain, and suffering. But he was determined not to hurt her, and hopefully, if she became aggressive, he would be able to fend her off in her current state. His parents were doctors, they had basically been grooming him his entire life to follow them into the profession. If anybody could do this, he could. He needed to try, at the very least. “Oh, so now you want the idiot’s help?” He asked pointedly, moving to crouch before her in an attempt to find where the blood was coming from. “Are you going to tell me how you’re injured or would you rather insult my intelligence again?” 

The boy was not human. Deirdre knew this because, as he neared, he stank. Not of sweat and questionable body spray like most human boys of his presumed age range (how old was he? 16?) but the way she had grown up on. A stench that buried deep in her heart, filling her with warmth. Being a banshee meant she knew these things; being fae meant she was tasty to the undead of the world. She groaned. Was he going to use her legs like a water fountain? The last thing she wanted, after being attacked, was being licked by a boy in an alley. “No, I’d rather just insult you,” she hissed, “you pea-brained, piss-filled, wet bread ex-human.” It occurred to her that she should probably be kind to the boy who might help her. It was a thought that didn’t linger for long. “Do you even know what to do?” She asked in more of a grumble. “And I don’t need your help, you prepubescent—” She wheezed again, cursing as she gripped her leg. Don’t be mean to the boy who can help—this time, the thought lingered.

“I’m sorry,” she conceded in a whisper. “It just...hurts. I think...I think there must be something stuck in my thigh. Normally I would be healing now but…” Deirdre winced and knocked her head against the brick. Through clenched teeth, she tried to point the spot out to him. “I was attacked,” she explained plainly, “what else do you think happens in this town? And you can’t see my ass from your angle, but I’m a real snack.” She tried to smirk, but in her state, the best she could do was a tight-mouthed, toothy wince. “Are you going to help me, or not?”

Milo listened to the woman berate him, almost amused by her insults until she called him an ex-human. His expression hardened, and he glared at her. It wasn’t as though he needed the reminder of everything he had lost, especially not now, when he was trying to help someone. “Yes, actually. I’m sure that comes as a fucking shock.” He bit out. “My parents are doctors, they kind of raised me to follow in their footsteps…” Leaning back on his heels, he eyed the woman. The fact that she knew he wasn’t human implied she wasn’t human herself. The smell of her blood had made him suspicious, but her words offered him undeniable confirmation. Usually, he would be annoyed by the knowledge. Where were all the humans in White Crest? Living normal lives? Away from this chaos? But he actually felt a strange spark of hope. If she wasn’t a human there was a good chance she healed a Hell of a lot faster than one. Continuing to glare, he sincerely hoped he didn’t look prepubescent and she was only trying to get to him. Jeez, the thought of being perceived as a teenager forever wasn’t exactly a fun one. “I’m 22, asshole.” He muttered. “Like, actually 22, before you ask.” It felt necessary to add given what he was now, even if it did essentially out him.

Beginning to carefully roll up his sleeves, he chose to ignore the apology. He had a reputation for utilising his sharp tongue when he was angry, upset, or hurt in some way. He knew exactly what the woman was doing, the least he could do was make an effort to be understanding. “Yeah, no shit it hurts. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re bleeding out in an alleyway.” He made an effort to soften his tone, matching the way she had carefully softened her own. “How is your healing?” He asked. “If we get this shit out, are you going to be good to walk?” He knew that healing abilities greatly depended on the severity of the wound, but he figured she would know better than him just how badly she was injured. His mind running through the various ways of dealing with a potential stab wound, you weren’t supposed to remove the item until you were safely inside a hospital but that wasn’t exactly an option here. “Hm, I’m gay. Don’t flatter yourself.” He countered, resisting the urge to point out she could still be considered a snack. Only literally. “Yes, I’m going to help you. Why else would I still be here putting up with your bullshit?” He asked. “I’m trying to figure out the best way to do this- show me where you’re hurt? This thing that attacked you, I’m assuming it wasn’t a person… do you know what it was?”

Doctors... Deirdre stewed the thought in her head. Parents that wanted him to be a doctor, but now he was a vampire. Was that tragic or funny? “You look like a teenager,” she muttered instead, turning her face away from him. Sympathy for a stranger wasn’t her style, she wasn’t about to make it. Yet, as she decided she wasn’t going to ask, wasn’t going to care, was simply going to make this kid help her and then throw cash in his face, something he said stuck out to her. Actually 22. She turned back to him and the annoyance in her features softened. “Are you new?” She asked him, “newly turned, I mean.” Deirdre opened her mouth to say more; part of her wanted to say she was sorry, another part knew there was no point. He must’ve been sorry enough for himself. His parents wanted him to be a doctor, he was a vampire. She turned her face away again. 

“It’ll take me a bit, but I’ll be fine,” the banshee sighed, turning her eyes to the dark sky above. “I don’t heal like a zombie, but I heal faster than a human. And I’ve been hurt worse, and walked in worse conditions.” As he continued, she turned back to him, surprised to find a chuckle escaping her lips. “Well, you’d still know a good ass when you see one, wouldn’t you? Or are you tasteless and stupid?” Deirdre reached down, tearing up her dress to get it out of the way. “It was--” She grunted, the shrill sound of ripping fabric cutting her off. “--something like you.” Deirdre glanced up. “A spawn. Something you very well could’ve been turned into.” She paused, having torn up her dress enough to expose the wound. “Assuming, of course. Maybe you’re of the brain-eating sort, I don’t know.” She pointed out the spot where the cut was the deepest, where she felt the most pain. “I think maybe its nail broke off, or a finger.” 

Milo glared at the woman, giving her his most powerful deadpan stare. If she wanted him to help then she needed to stop insulting him. At least, he spitefully wanted to think that. He had a feeling both of them knew he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from her. “And thank you for that boost of confidence.” He countered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He opened his mouth to continue, to make it clear how annoyed he was by her consistent mutterings, but he witnessed her expression shift, and was caught off guard by her next words. He wasn’t expecting sympathy, or empathy, or whatever this was. He hadn’t been given time to build up his walls, and the alcohol in his system certainly wasn’t helping him to hide his pain. “New enough.” He admitted. “It’s been a few months, not that it’s any of your business. What are you going to do, plan a memorial? Tell me you’re sorry that I’m going to look like a fucking teenager forever? I don’t want to hear it.” He pointedly turned his attention to her leg as she began to tear away the material of her dress, hoping he could hide his expression.

“Give me that.” He said, holding out a hand, gesturing for her to fully tear away the strip of material. At least then he would be able to stem the bleeding. He could only hope supernatural creatures followed a similar logic to humans when it came to blood flow. Faster than a Human. That was good. Even if stemming the blood flow didn’t help it to congeal around the wound, she would begin healing the moment he removed what was embedded in her flesh. He nodded to let her know he had registered her comment, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as she continued. Jeez, did she ever shut up? “Well, maybe I’m a bottom and I have more important things to worry about.” He countered, saying the first thing that came to his mind because he couldn’t bear to give her the satisfaction of winning. Feeling his heart sink at the mention of a Spawn, he didn’t need the reminder of how close he had come to becoming one himself. How somebody had killed him, and turned him, not knowing what his fate might be. 

“You think I don’t know that?” He snapped. “Lucky for you, I’m still Milo, and I think I’ll be sticking with blood.” Were there vampires who ate brains? Or was she talking about zombies? Maybe she didn’t know which undead creature he was. He shelved the question for another time. Harsh would know, and the man seemed to have a strange sense of patience when it came to his never ending questions. Wrinkling his nose at the mention of a nail or a finger breaking off, he wasn’t entirely sure which possibility was more disturbing. A Spawn was a person, after all. Or a Spawn used to be a person. His heart broke for whoever had been forced to suffer in such a way, whoever had lost themselves to become such a monster. “I don’t exactly have any tweezers, are you going to be good if I like- get in there and remove whatever it is?” He had no other choice, it needed to happen, but asking for permission first felt like the right thing to do. “I’ll do it as quickly as I can. I’m not out to hurt you, even if you are incredibly annoying.” 

It wasn’t Deirdre’s business. She knew that. This child—Milo—was telling her that. She was telling herself that. And yet, her mouth opened without her meaning for it too. Her voice drifted out soft and warm and apologetic. “Did you get a memorial?” She asked, “you could have one now. All the dead deserve to be remembered; as they were, and in your case, as they will be.” But it wasn’t her business, and she liked calling the brat annoying more than she did thinking about how sad and terrible his life must’ve been. All their lives were, that was just the thing about pain anyway. 

“You would be a bottom,” Deirdre said, hoping it came off as scathing as she wanted it to. Her legs burned, and the only person who could help her was some tragic undead child. That alone was enough to make her grumpy, but as Milo suggested it, she realized the bratty vampire would have to stick his fingers into her thigh. Which was exactly as terrible as it sounded. “Some vampires don’t realize,” she clarified with a groan, preparing herself for the pain to come, “how close they were to becoming something else. If it had just been a different vampire that turned up. If the intention had been different…” Her words trailed off, knowing she had no real point to make. “You’re stupid,” she said suddenly, as she realized she was being too nice to him. “Go ahead and stick your hand inside. I very well can’t do it myself, or else I wouldn’t be here.” 

Milo faltered, opting to feel anger instead of the many emotions threatening to break through and overwhelm him. Who did this woman think she was, asking him such personal questions, questions he hadn’t even considered until now? It infuriated him because he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t want to think about everything he had lost, the fact that he really was dead, the fact that somebody had targeted him, killed him, and clearly walked away from his body without caring what might become of it. “I was born and raised here.” He snapped, an edge to his voice as he tied the strip of material around the top of her thigh. His movements were probably sharper than they needed to be, and he definitely tightened the knot with more force than necessary, but it was proving to be a helpful outlet for his frustration. “Kind of hard to have a memorial for someone you see walking around at night.” When the blood flow had been stemmed, he began using the sleeve of his hoodie to scrub away as much blood as he was able to. It was coating her skin, making it difficult to see exactly where the injury was. “I don’t want a memorial.” He insisted, only briefly looking up so that he could glare at her. “I don’t want to be remembered. I’m still here… saving your ass.” 

When he could adequately see the entry point of whatever was embedded in his company’s flesh, he began to roll up his bloody sleeves, ignoring the sweet scent that permeated from them. “Yeah? Don’t be jealous because my sex life is more interesting than yours.” He countered, despite his sex life currently being very, very uninteresting. After becoming a vampire, the last thing on his mind had been getting laid. He was far too focused on maintaining his existential crisis. “I do realise.” His voice was dripping with bitterness, and he made no effort to hide that fact. Her words were drawing out memories he would much rather forget, he was being forced back into the fear, and anxiety he had been drowning in the night his life had been stolen. “I’m stupid?” He demanded an explanation, refusing to let the comment go. “Really? Why? Because I got myself killed? From where I’m sitting it looks like you nearly did the fucking same like, ten minutes ago.” Giving her no warning, the moment she offered him permission he slid his thumb and forefinger into her puncture wound. 

The anger in his chest was almost helpful, it allowed him to concentrate on anything but what he was actually doing. Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of heat, muscle, and slick blood, It didn’t take long before he discovered what he assumed to be the nail or finger. Slowly he began to inch it backwards, so that he didn’t lose his grip. It seemed to have scraped against bone, which was definitely why it had broken off, and not been pulled out when the creature had been forced to withdraw. He shuddered to think about how painful it must have been for the woman beneath him, about how painful it must be for her now. As irritating as she was, he couldn’t bring himself to delight in her pain. He wasn’t that person. He had vowed to never be that person. So he was careful, and considerate, his movements slow, and gentle in a way they hadn’t been only moments before. “I’m sorry- If I do this too quickly I could cause more damage… just- a couple more seconds, okay?”

“That’s not true,” Deirdre was quick to retort, wincing at herself. Perhaps it was a sensitive subject for her given Morgan’s death? Yes, yes, that sounded right. Deirdre sighed and clung to that explanation. Morgan had mourned herself and pained over the lack of recognition of her death in the world. The idea of a memorial sounded nice to her. Did it sound that way to this child too? “To move on, to move past it...wouldn’t it be something to face? Memorialize? Wouldn’t you want to? Don’t you think someone other than yourself should mourn you?” Deirdre winced again, this time from the pain and jostled forward with ragged breathing. She could see the child glaring at her through the corner of her eyes, and truthfully, she would too if some lady she was forced to save was trying to philosophize about something she didn’t know. But Death was a force she knew well, better than anyone else ever could. She was born to it. She lived by it. And one day it would claim her servitude. 

But that day was not today, and she wouldn’t let it be. To die in the hands of a bratty vampire would be embarrassing enough to cause her ghost to haunt the alley forever. And she would’ve liked not staring at damp bricks for eternity. “My sex life is very exciting, thank you very much,” Deirdre huffed, “in fact, it’s very active and just yesterday my girlfriend and I—why am I telling you this?” She groaned, knocking her head against the brick behind her. It seemed all she could do was lean forward or back, and both caused undesirable pain. “No you’re stupid because you’re stupid,” she growled, “and I didn’t—I’m not going to die. I’m not going to die. I’m not.” She always worried any wheeze or cough of pain would be a scream waiting to rip out of her, but if that was the case, it would’ve happened ten minutes ago. 

Unless it was the child’s shoddy doctor work that would do her in. “I’m used to this,” she confessed, addled with pain that grew sharper and sharper as the child dug around. But what she’d said was true. She knew a life of pain, she had been raised to endure it. Deirdre had suffered far worse than this, and that truth was the only thing that kept her awake and hissing. But in her agony, where the world turned dark and then white, she always thought it was like looking into Death. It smelt like fresh cut grass, and it sounded like the jingle of cow bells. The sort of place she’d like to be, the sort of place that wanted her. Unfortunately, in the moments between her spasms of pain, it was just old brick to look at. “Were you a med student when it happened?” Her head rolled to the side, staring at him. “Bright prospects? Future to look forward to? Boyfriend waiting for you?” 

“How the fuck am I supposed to move past it- you know what, no. We’re not having this conversation.” Milo snapped. He had more important things to worry about, he refused to get drawn into an argument. “No.” He insisted, his tone laced with aggression. “I don’t want other people to mourn me. I’m still in their lives, I’m still here, I’m still me. There’s nothing to fucking mourn.” Of course, that wasn’t true. There was an awful lot to mourn, but he wasn’t about to admit that, not when this woman clearly thought she had the answers to all of his problems. Laughing, unable to help himself, the sound was sharp, but not devoid of genuine amusement. He enjoyed the fact that he had clearly gotten to her. The pain might be making her delirious, or keeping any filters she had in place from working, but his attempts to annoy her had evidently been successful. “I don’t know, but you sound awfully defensive.” He replied, ignoring the comment on his stupidity as he focused on his task. For a brief moment he could see an element of fear, or anxiety. Something that made the woman beneath him seem incredibly vulnerable. It didn’t feel right to continue in their back and forth when she was quite literally in agony. 

“I know you’re not.” He assured her. “You’re going to be fine, okay? I just gotta remove this thing…” It didn’t matter to him what she was used to. Be it pain, dangerous situations, clumsily applying first aid while sitting in a pool of blood… nobody deserved to hurt like she was currently hurting. Chewing on his tongue as he concentrated on what he was doing, he was still in the process of carefully drawing out whatever had created the puncture wound when she decided to ask about his past. It seemed every time he softened towards her, she found a new way to upset him. He considered her question, despite not wanting to. For the first time ever his heart was aching for the life he would never have. He wasn’t the type of person who went to med school, and settled down. But until recently that had been his own choice to make. Now he couldn’t do those things. Even if he wanted to, they didn’t feel like options. He wasn’t going to find a stable career, or a boyfriend who loved him. Nobody was going to grow old with him. Choking on an emotion he couldn’t quite place, he dug his fingers into the woman’s injury with an unfair amount of force. “No.” He admitted, his voice cold, and distant. “I gave up any chance of that when I chose getting high over going to class.” Twisting his fingers yet again, he tugged at the object embedded in her thigh, his jaw set, his body tense. “And I don’t date.” 

“Not ‘move past’ but….” Deirdre held her tongue; he didn’t want to talk about it. And she, for that matter, wasn’t supposed to care about it. “Don’t you want them to know how it hurts?” She was speaking partially to herself now, delirious with pain and knowing the child didn’t care to listen anyway. “How much you’ve lost? You’re still here, but you’re not you. Not the same. Maybe you’re better off like this. Maybe it’ll be okay. But don’t you want someone to remember that you had a life? A life that was worth living?” And then he laughed, and the sharp sound broke her train of thought. “Or something like that…” she mumbled.

And then it was her turn to laugh, and she did so readily. How funny to be comforted by a stranger. “I’m not going to die because I woul–“ Deirdre’s sentence halted with a cry of pain, she bit down on the inside of her cheek until she could taste sweet copper simply to stop herself from screaming. Her lungs burned as she swallowed down more gasps of agony. As annoying as the child was, she thought it would be wise not to scream right at him. Maybe she really would die, it almost felt like the child was trying to kill her. “Just take it out, you grape-sized-brain having stinky child!” It wasn’t her finest insult, but control in moments of impulse were her specialty, and so she also thought it was wise to censor at least some of her thoughts around the boy. “Not ‘give up’...” she spoke through clenched teeth, “you didn’t give anything up, you idiot. Nothing is over until–” you die. Or, that was the adage her family imparted. But he was dead, and what did that mean for him? “–until it’s over.” She rasped, “and don’t act like sadness and loneliness is the only choice you can make.” Deirdre huffed. “Idiot.” 

“I am.” Milo snapped, his voice cracking with emotion, giving away how terrified, and upset he was by the statement. His biggest fear was losing who he was, and now somebody was here, telling him he already had. Blinking away tears, he took a deep breath, desperate to hide how badly her words had affected him. “I’m still Milo, and I still have a life. So you can stop it, okay? Just- just stop it. I don’t give a shit about memorials, or mourning… I don’t…” He swallowed his emotion to the best of his ability, focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. He was trying to do something good, something selfless. Why did it have to be so difficult? Glancing up briefly, he didn’t get to hear why the woman knew she wasn’t going to die, but maybe that was for the best. Her cry of pain reminded him of why he needed to be careful, and despite his inner turmoil, he genuinely didn’t want to hurt her. He didn’t like hearing how much agony she was suffering. 

Then she was insulting him again, and it was everything he could do not to make his task hurt even more than it already did. Apparently it was going to be a constant back and forth. “Most people are smart enough to not insult their doctors.” He muttered, any bite from his voice long gone, replaced with a melancholy sense of resignation. “And if you call me an idiot one more time I might actually leave you here.” He added, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose as the object steadily became visible. “I’m not acting like anything. I’m not sad, or lonely, so you can fuck off with that bullshit-” He broke off as whatever the spawn had left behind finally came free. It was solid, but not enough to feel like bone. More like cartilage, or keratin. The shape vaguely resembled a nail, but certainly no human nail. It was thick, and rounded, as though it had been pulled right out of a claw. Even covered in blood, the sight of it was enough to cause a jolt of disgust, and repressing a shudder, he threw it away. Whatever it was, he wanted it as far away from him as possible. He heard it clatter against the asphalt, but forced himself to focus on the wound. A fresh surge of blood had been drawn from it, but there was no indication that it was still actively bleeding. Wiping his fingers on his hoodie he looked up to catch the woman’s eye. He wanted to say he had done everything he was able to, he wanted more than anything to walk away, but he couldn’t. Not before making sure she was able to walk herself. So he set his jaw instead, letting out a huff of breath. “You know your body better than I do, is there anything that might accelerate the healing process?” 

Deirdre closed her eyes, listening to Milo’s annoyed bursts through the lens of her fatigue. He sounded like he was trying to speak to her through a wall. And she felt like she was sitting in the pasture again. Beyond them, jingling; wind chimes, cow bells, fae running around with their wood-carved instruments. The sort of place she’d like to be. The world stretched thin, yawned and gasped and snapped back to wet bricks and bloody messes. And the child, who sounded a touch more melancholic than she remembered leaving him off. Must be the inevitable loss of her colourful company. To his credit, her leg did feel better. She ran her hand down, and pressed her palm to the wound. “You’re pretty sad,” she said, looking over at him, “and you sound pretty lonely. But I bet you know both those things already.” Deirdre looked at her leg; she would heal in time, but the thought crossed her mind that she really might just owe this child a great deal more than she was willing to admit. She wouldn’t have died. She could’ve fished the damn thing out herself. She was sure of these things, and yet…  “Thank you,” she said sincerely, the first genuine comment to leave her lips so far. “And I’m sorry. And you’re right, you know, you are still Milo. And I’m Deirdre.” 

The banshee turned her attention to the sky, lazy clouds rolling over bright moonlight. Not everyone who died in an alley got such a sight, and she wasn’t even dying. “My jacket,” she gestured to it, “you’ll find some cash. Take it.” But, to her surprise, the boy was still standing there. As if waiting to know she’d be okay. “Oh, yes,” she smirked, “if you let me call you an idiot a hundred more times I’ll heal so much faster; insulting children sustains me.” She eyed Milo, wondering if he just might storm off instead. “I’ll be fine,” she assured, “you’ve done everything you can for me.” 

Milo couldn’t bring himself to argue anymore. The anger, and annoyance was still burning in his chest, but it was clear the woman wasn’t about to believe a word he said. And that was a lot of energy to expend when it meant getting absolutely nowhere. Regardless, he still wanted to open his mouth and insist he wasn’t sad, or lonely. She said the words with such conviction, as though she knew him better than he knew himself. But the voice in the back of his mind, the one usually responsible for whispers of self doubt, had him wondering who he would really be trying to convince. “Agree to disagree.” He muttered finally, glad to see a little colour returning to her cheeks. It appeared as though her pain was fading. If it was still present, it was far weaker than it had been only moments ago. Faltering in surprise at the unexpected thanks, he realised her voice had taken on a new tone, one he hadn’t heard from her before. 

He wasn’t entirely sure how to react. After everything they had said to each other, he could hardly consider her a friend. Yet she was making herself vulnerable, admitting he had done something to help her. “Oh… uh, you don’t have to thank me. It’s whatever...” He insisted, feeling suddenly awkward. And then she decided to tell him he was right, he was still Milo. The relief he felt was difficult to hide. It was almost as though she had been holding his identity, ready to crush it in her fist, and now she was handing it back to him. Intact, and unharmed. “Deirdre.” He echoed, committing the name to his memory. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you but…” He gestured vaguely to the pool of blood she was still sitting in. “You’ve also taken every opportunity to insult me so…” 

Glancing down at her jacket pocket as she insisted upon drawing his attention to it, he wasn’t about to reject her offer. Maybe somebody else would have, but he knew how valuable money was, how easily it disappeared when you kept such expensive habits. “Thanks.” He said quietly, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small wad of cash. Shooting her a pointed look as he pocketed it, he should have expected something akin to another insult. “I’m not a child.” He countered, taking one last look at her leg. It already seemed to be in the process of healing, but he had a feeling it would be a while until she was able to put any weight on it. “Are you sure?” He asked, needing to know before he essentially abandoned her. “I mean- I can stay here if you want me to?” 

“Don’t take it personally,” Deirdre groaned, “I insult everyone.” She paused, “actually, do take it personally. I want you to be insulted.” She expected him to run, she hoped he would run. Instead he stood there, staring at her with worried eyes and reluctance. Her stomach tensed. She turned her face from him, sickened. She wanted to tell him to stop, yes he had helped her out but she wasn’t expecting him to care. She didn’t care. And she was sure, more than anything, if she told herself that enough times, it would be true. “Have you ever tried nectar, Milo?” She asked, looking over at him again. “Seems to be popular among vampires. You know, that money you have could buy you a good drink. Take it and go find some vampire bar.” She knew what she was doing, and as her mind protested—if the boy already knew, he didn’t need a reminder. If he didn’t, then she shouldn’t have been telling him. But she grinned, toothy and lopsided, eager to assert to the world that she was still the apathetic woman she was made to be. She had spared the spawn that tried to eat her out of a foolish idea that the creature was pitiable. But she wouldn’t make that mistake again. She didn’t care. Despite it all, she didn’t care. She was Deirdre Dolan, born to an ancient religion of pride and sacrifice. She was not going to die in the alley. She was not going to be kind to some stranger. 

“Go on,” she urged him, “get out of here. I’ll be fine, and I’ll heal better if I don’t have to look at your sad face.”

Milo continued to glare at Deirdre with the air of a parent waiting out a tantrum. The woman could say whatever she wanted to say, she had already managed to ruin his mood. He was tired of trying to decide whether he cared about her wellbeing, or wanted to outright abandon her, so he settled on making it clear she was an incredibly irritating presence. If this was what being a doctor felt like he was grateful he had managed to avoid that particular path. Even if becoming a vampire was the alternative. His expression shifting suddenly at the mention of Nectar, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew what it was. But it was jarring, hearing somebody mention the substance so casually. “Once.” He said, his voice cold, and curt. “I woke up dead.” Finally straightening up, brushing off the blood that had dried on his hoodie, he watched some of it as it flaked away. It still smelled enticing, but he wouldn’t let himself dwell on that. Not now. “I’m not going to a bar,” he muttered. “I’m going home. Or I was going home before you decided to interrupt me with this bullshit.” 

Feeling a surge of annoyance at the sight of her grin, he could only assume her pain level had taken a dramatic dip. As much as he hated the fact that it apparently made it easier for her to get to him, he was undeniably proud that he had been able to help in some way. His medical knowledge of the supernatural was questionable, but it seemed basic first aid was applicable to most creatures, human or otherwise. Pulling a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, he sparked up, pointedly taking his time now that she was clearly trying to get him to leave her. He was more than ready to go, though he would be lying if he said he wasn’t satisfied by knowing he could annoy her a little in return before eventually giving her what she wanted. Exhaling a breath of smoke, he faltered, wondering if he really did have a sad face. He hoped not, the idea of people being able to read him so easily made him uncomfortable. And he wasn’t sad, was he? But he could worry about that another time, maybe spend a few more hours staring at himself on his phone’s front camera, attempting to see what other people saw. Tapping ash dangerously close to where Deirdre was sitting, he finally turned on his heel, resisting the urge to look back as he walked away from her. It still felt wrong, leaving her alone like this, sitting in a pool of her own blood, but he trusted her to take care of herself, regardless of whether he would ever admit that out loud. If she said she would be okay, she would be okay. He had done his part, and if he was lucky, he might never have to see her again. 

All of a sudden, guilt flooded Deirdre’s stomach, choking up her body. Slowly, she dragged her blunt nails across the wet asphalt, swallowing back the apology that wanted to free itself from where it was lodged in her throat. She’d only been trying to hurt him, yet knowing she had succeeded in some regard left her mouth acidic. At the very least, his opinion of her would be soured, and wasn’t that what she wanted? She imagined some measure of control and relief in making someone hate her just as much as she did herself. And she could only hope that he did; anyone who had seen her this vulnerable ought to. But he stood there, letting smoke collect in the air and in her nose--scrunched up in distaste. It went without saying that banshees in general didn’t appreciate smoke much, though Deirdre didn’t share her mother’s venomous hatred for it. She only turned to look up at the stars again, Milo’s smoke occasionally obstructing her vision, to her displeasure. She didn’t say anything, and he didn’t either. When the acrid smell of tobacco cleared the air and wet footsteps receded beyond what she could hear, Deirdre turned finally to face the world around. If she was lucky, she’d never have to see Milo again. If she was really lucky, he wouldn’t realize how much of a liar she was. 

Her legs were not okay. She was not okay. But Milo had his own problems; people like him often did. He ought to be spared what lived in the shadows, as much as someone like him could be. He wasn’t all that bad, really. Not that Deirdre would ever tell him that. 

After all, she was never going to see him again. 

[anarcoqueer1994]

You Are My Sunshine

A little Shrinkyclinks fic I am working on. Not beta read so ope.

Steve had retired a few months back, giving Sam the shield. His life had been quiet enough since then, getting a two-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn with Bucky when Bucky returned from the blip. Bucky, though,would still go out on missions with Sam and did some freelance work for the government. Steve would never admit that though his friend was more than capable, he would still get nervous when he was away for days at a time, worried that he would lose his friend for a third time. But overall, it was going fine. That is until one day when one of Bucky's jobs followed him home.

An unfortunate result of the recent Flag Smashers attacks, some anti-super soldier terrorist groups rose-up out of fear. Some wealthy elites, both part of world governments and independent ,backed these groups in secret, supplying tech and money, as they see super soldiers as a threat to their power. They weaponized these people’s fear. These groups were ruthless in their pursuits, ordered to not care who they hurt, as long as they eliminated super soldiers. 

Bucky and Sam had faced one of these groups recently, when they attempted to come after and kill Bucky while they were out on an intelligence mission. The two men thought that they had taken care of the group after a long, drawn-out battle, rounding them up to deal with the consequences. What they hadn't had counted on was a second team following Bucky back to Brooklyn, after he and Sam went their separate ways. He had done well to keep he and Steve’s location a secret, but got careless this time, letting his guard down.

So now these militants were in New York in front of their apartment building, threatening to hurt other people, to get to Steve and Bucky. Of course the men don’t  back down, not waiting for backup to arrive. The fight had been tense, Bucky and Steve vs 10 well-armed men, but nothing they couldn't handle. So they managed to subdue them. But as a last-ditch effort, one shot something right towards Bucky who had been occupied with another one of the men. It appeared like a red laser beam, almost something out of a sci-fi film. Steve noticed it coming, and not having the time to warn Bucky, jumps in front of his friend, taking the hit. He goes down hard to the ground, unconscious instantly. "Steve!" Bucky yells out, heart sinking. When his friend doesn’t  move, he is urged back into action, protecting his now defenseless friend. It takes everything in him not to revert to killing, like the Winter Soldier, but the man who shot Steve was definitely in bad shape by the time backup,government agents, arrived. They round the would be terrorist up and get them hauled away.

As the men are being taken away, Bucky runs towards Steve who is unresponsive on the ground but still breathing. He yells for an ambulance. He scoops Steve up in his arms, and against his chest, kneeling on the ground, whispering "Come on, Stevie…" he feels like this is all his fault. He was the one who brought them there, he was the one the gun was aiming for, and now the love of his life, however unrequited that may be, is lying unconscious on the ground, and god only knows what that laser did. He feels a tear well up in his eye, forcing himself not to shed it. This is not the time to break down. But he is terrified. He hasn’t seen Steve completely unresponsive in years, not since they were kids and he would get into fights and get knocked unconscious. Bucky, then too, would often lose his mind, beating up anyone who had touched his Stevie, whether Steve knew it or not. 

But before the ambulance arrives, Steve is opening his eyes again, smiling at Bucky. “Hey Buck.” He sounds completely fine.  

Bucky lets out a sigh of relief, it looks like whatever the laser was intended to do didn’t work on him. “How ya' feeling, pal?” Bucky smiles back.

“Great, just a little tired, but I don’t feel any different otherwise.” Suddenly, Steve becomes aware of Bucky’s arms still wrapped around him, pulling him close to his chest. He blushes as he clears his throat. “You planning on squeezing me to death, bud?”

Now Bucky is going red, trying to laugh it off as he lets go. “I thought you were dying, punk.”

Steve just laughs back, sitting up right as the ambulance arrives. They bring him to the truck and check him out, giving him a clean bill of health. So, Steve and Bucky return to the apartment. Both showering and then Steve opting to go lay down. Seriously injured or not, being knocked unconscious took a lot out of him.

Bucky sat in their living room, trying his best to block out the events of today. For those few minutes, when he thought he could lose Steve, he had felt like everything around him was going to crash down, burying him in a pit of loneliness and sadness that he knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The thought of losing Steve again made him sick to his stomach. Steve was his everything, even when they were kids in Brooklyn, when sickness would ravage the blonde’s body and he would spend days at the Rogers’ home, sitting near his bedside, or sliding into bed to pull him close to keep him warm. Worried that he could lose his Stevie at any moment. Terrified at the thought. And seeing Steve unconscious today, brought all those feelings back. It was worse than seeing him roughed up in battle, because at least those times he had been conscious. But this time was different.  He doesn’t know what he would do without his favorite person in the whole world, the one person who understands him. The person he would do anything for, be anything for, just to make him happy. But Steve was fine, he reminded himself.

So, he tries to shake away those feelings, sending mindless texts to Sam, who had messaged him as soon as he heard what happened. Bucky filled him in, told him Steve was alright. Then deciding to read, he picked up where he left off on The Lord of the Rings. He has to say, he loves these books, always liking The Hobbit, so being ecstatic to find out that the author had written more later. One good thing about waking up in the future. This did the trick, immersing himself into the story, melting away any lingering thoughts of today. 

That is until a couple hours pass, and he hears rough coughing from Steve’s bedroom. This catches him off guard. Steve (and himself), don’t really get sick thanks to the fantastic immune system afforded to super soldiers.

He gets up and makes his way to Steve’s bedroom, knocking as he hears the continued coughing fit, punctuated by wheezing. When Steve doesn’t answer, Bucky just opens the door, too worried to care about etiquette. When he enters the room, he stops dead in his tracks. There, sitting up coughing, is Steve. But Steve is different then when he went to lay down, He is much shorter, lacking any muscle mass, skinny, drowning in the navy t-shirt and grey sweatpants he went to sleep in. He looks like he did before the serum, give, or take a few years due to the time he has spent outside of the ice.

Bucky steps closer “Stevie?” He is shocked and worried again.

When Steve finally catches his breath, he looks down at his own hands instead of meeting Bucky’s stare, mortified by his sudden appearance change. The other man stepped closer to the bed. “Steve, I think the ray wasn’t so harmless.” He tries to say plainly, not showing the worry in his voice. For as much as he had been angry at Steve back in the day for letting the military experiment on him, he was ultimately grateful that the serum had helped his body fight back diseases that had tormented him his entire life. 

Steve’s bright blue eyes, which always stood out more against his paler, sicklier skin, shoot up and meet Bucky’s and he snaps “You think?” His harsh tone caused Bucky to recoil slightly. Steve, seeing this, quickly apologizes, feeling guilty. “Sorry, Buck…” Bucky nods and steps forward again, taking a seat on the edge of Steve’s bed. "Don't  worry about it, it was a dumb thing to say. "Bucky blushes slightly, cursing himself for being such an idiot sometimes. 

Steve sighs, not towards Bucky but in general, towards the room.“I’m just frustrated. I woke up a few minutes ago and I was this…and then it got hard to breathe and for the first time in years it felt like I was having an asthma attack. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Something switches in Bucky’s head when Steve calls himself pathetic, something more protective like how he used to feel when they were much younger. He reaches over like it is nothing, placing his hand on Steve’s bony knee. “I’m going to tell you like I did back then. Nothing about you is pathetic. You can’t help what your body does. And you…you jumped in front of a gun to protect me. I wouldn’t call that pathetic. I’d call that being a hero.” 

Steve cracks a small smile. “Whatever you say…” He does not believe him but knows Bucky won’t back down on this, he never has. He lets out a shiver. The apartment is freezing. It is February but they keep the heat low since both men had such a high tolerance to cold. Bucky notices his friend shivering. “Oh shoot, I sorry Stevie. Let me get the heat and then…I’m going to call down to the Avenger’s Tower.” Pepper has been keeping it going and he knows she will know who can help them. 

Steve nods, hating feeling so useless, but knowing Bucky is there to help. That he can rely on Bucky not to make him feel worse, just be there to support and help him. He used to hate the way Bucky would always step in. He used to think it was because Bucky thought he was weak. But in reality, its because Bucky is the best friend a guy could ask for.

Bucky turns the heat up before making the call. It’s pretty late at this point, so Pepper tells them to come down tomorrow and they will take a look at him. Bruce can be there in the morning to help. Bucky hates that, hates that he has to wait. He is worried about Steve and wants answers now. But he knows she is right. They should just rest, but first thing in the morning Bucky will be down there with Steve. 

He makes his way back to Steve’s bedroom not bothering to knock on the half-opened door, wishing he did though. Steve was facing away from him, but he was naked, ass in full view of Bucky. Even when he was small and skinny, Bucky thought he had a fantastic ass, not that anyone would have been able to tell back in the day, Steve always wore clothes too big for him. Bucky blushes as he tries to get out without Steve noticing him, but he is distracted, clumsily bumping into the door framing, causing a loud bang. Steve, turns around, suddenly covering up with the shirt that is in his hand and turning red.

Bucky stumbles through an apology. “I am so sorry…sorry…I…uh...” before just running out of the room like an embarrassed school girl. 

Smooth Barnes. He thinks to himself as he slumps down on the couch. He doesn’t know why he got so flustered, it's not like he hasn’t seen Steve naked before, changing around each other all the time as kids. Well, until his dad said they were too old to be getting dressed around each other. That was also the same time his dad had told him that they were too old to be “hugging like that”, too old to be holding hands, “Boys your age don’t need to be that affectionate with their friends'' and “Do you want folks to think you are a pansy?” Bucky closes his eyes, unsuccessfully trying to rid his mind of that memory. He thanks god that his dad never found out how he really felt for his best friend. Not that Steve felt that back, so nothing happened but still. Steve was just a good guy. He sits and tries not to drown in his thoughts. 

~

Steve can’t believe Bucky just walked in on him like this. He feels so unattractive, so weak, and sickly. His mom had told him once that he was just a "late bloomer, but he was still a very handsome person that any girl would be "lucky to have", a sentiment that Bucky would back her up on. He never believed them, and without the serum he would have never "bloomed." To be fair, he also didn’t want "any girl". He just wanted Bucky. And he knows Bucky is not checking him out, why would he be? But if Bucky were to see him naked, he would have preferred it would have been in his serum enhanced body, strong and not so fragile. 

He sighs to himself and goes back to what he was doing, looking for something, anything he could wear without it practically falling off him. It's hopeless, so he settles on a pair of boxers that happened to be too small prior to today, now having to roll the waistband to get them to stay up. As far as clothing though, he doesn’t even have a pair of sweatpants he could pull tight enough to prevent from falling off. He frowns to himself, knowing Bucky was a little smaller than him, not quite having the same muscle mass. Maybe he has at least a shirt he could wear and a pair of sweatpants he could pull tight. Bucky does have some pretty tight shirts he wears when he is working out. Steve begins automatically blushing, picturing the way they cling to his muscular chest after working out, before shaking his head back to the current moment.

Given the embarrassing situation that just occurred, he is a little apprehensive about asking. But he knows he has to, already feeling terribly cold in just these oversized boxers. He calls timidly from his room. "Buck?"

His voice snaps Bucky out of his thoughts, instinctively jumping to his feet to see what Steve needs. Walking in this time, he is met with Steve staring at the floor, obviously embarrassed, clad only in some comically large boxers and socks. He feels bad for his friend, who is clearly struggling with this. He tries to stay calm, not letting it show that he thinks Steve looks absolutely adorable...and fucking hot. 

Honestly though, Bucky has thought Steve has looked hot, both when he was skinny and when he was muscular, but he has always had a soft spot for his pre-serum appearance, loving how perfectly Steve fit under his arm when he used to pull him close "to keep him warm." He is also very careful about not staring down at the boxers, knowing from accidental glimpses when they lived together in the tiny one bedroom tenement, that even before the serum, Steve was packing a lot more than you would think by looking at him. Bucky had spent countless nights picturing what it would feel like if it was inside of him, ultimately just hurting himself more with fantasies that would never come true.

Realizing quickly that he had been standing there awkwardly in silence, Bucky speaks up. "Um, what did you need pal?"

Steve refuses to look at him, Bucky understanding that this is definitely pretty hard for him. The blonde shyly asks "Um...all my clothes are too big. And um...I know you wear a slightly smaller size. Do you have anything that is tight on you that I could wear?"

Bucky lets out a small huff from his nose, smiling as he says, "Sure thing, give me one moment." Without another word, Bucky turns around and walks out of the room towards his own. 

His thoughts have been in a constant struggle with themselves since this happened. He is worried beyond belief for Steve, and what this all means to him. Will he get sick again? Can he be changed back? Should he be changed back? Is it safe? But then a part of himself, a part that he hates, is so turned on by Steve right now, having not seen him like this in years. He is having feelings he has no right to have. He is always attracted to Steve (inside and out), it's always there, and punctuating all their interactions, even if Steve couldn't see it. He was head over heels for the man. But he hates that right now while Steve is in such emotional distress, that he had the nerve to still let his head wander into fantasies. He is appalled by himself and his fucked-up head.

As he reminds himself of his continued shortcomings, he grabs his tightest pair of pants, a pair of compression running leggings, the ones he usually wears underneath some of his other pants. He hopes the stretchiness of them means they are small enough to fit on Steve. He grabs a t-shirt he recently got that is too tight on him, never wearing it but buying it at a yard sale because he had to have it. It's a little embarrassing though, pretty sure Steve has not even seen it before. It was a Captain America shirt from the 80s with a fade shield across the front of it. Bucky had tried it on once, though it was too small for him to even justify it as a workout top.

He anxiously walks back to Steve’s room, trying to make up a lie about the shirt other than "I like it because it makes me think of you and sometimes I take it with me on missions so I can pretend you are with me." Luckily when he hands Steve the clothes, Steve only raises his brow for a second, before smiling and nodding in gratitude for the clothes. Bucky sees himself out Steve could get dressed. 

After a little bit, Steve joins him out into the living room. Bucky has to hide a smile when he sees Steve in his clothes. The shirt is still too big for Steve and he can tell the pants must be pulled up high above his waist. Steve chooses not to acknowledge it, opting instead to sit down on the couch next to Bucky.

Steve doesn’t want things to be weird. Today has been weird enough, and the last thing he wants right now is his best friend being freaked out around him too. Steve, in the most casual voice he could muster says “Want to order a pizza and watch a movie?” His blue eyes stare, waiting as Bucky turns to look at him.

He simply replies “Sounds good, Stevie. I can call and you pick out the movie?” Steve nods before bending down to look at their collection of VHS tapes (they like those better than a million different streaming services.) He listens as Bucky orders, as he grabs their copy of Snow White. It always serves as a comfort, something connected to their time. He and Bucky went and seen it in the theater. Bucky had secretly saved a little extra to take Steve. Steve cherishes that memory, one of many.

Bucky for his part does everything in his power to not steal a glimpse of Steve’s ass in those leggings, scolding himself when he does anyways. Little does he know; Steve always takes any opportunity he can to check Bucky out. 

Once the pizza arrives, they settle onto the couch, and watch the movie. The pizza box starts between them, on the middle cushion as they eat. But halfway through the movie, Bucky can see Steve is shivering, the apartment still too cold for him and his body, that was lacking the ability to properly circulate his blood. He says quietly “Stevie…do you…” he blushes, embarrassed for what he is about to ask, turning his cheeks pink. He reminds himself that it is for Steve’s good. He continues. “Do you want to…cuddle?” Steve gives him a questioning look, so he quickly adds. ‘Because you're cold. I can tell you are shivering, man. Like when we were kids, you can steal my body heat. I’m basically a human radiator.” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

But Steve, regardless, looks anxious as he tentatively nods, moving the pizza box to the floor as he scoots closer, moving very close to Bucky. He looks expectantly at the bigger man to raise his arm so he can press against him, hoping he doesn’t come off as desperate and weak. But Bucky smiles as he obliges, lifting his arm and pulling Steve to his side, arm fitting perfectly around him, like Bucky was made just for Steve. He wants to melt into the feeling. He wants Bucky to never let go.

Steve is careful to keep looking forward, to not let himself get distracted and drawn in by his friend. But it is hard. He has been in love with Bucky since he was 14 years old. He always walked a thin line between appreciating Bucky’s touch as a way to get warm, like when he was sick, or in the one bedroom tenement they were living in together didn’t have proper heat, and loving Bucky's touch as something more. Just wanting to feel Bucky's skin on his, even if it was a selfish little fantasy. But he always craved that touch. Even little things like when he would put his hand reassuringly on his shoulder, or when Bucky would playfully throw his arms around Steve.

But he noticed that since the serum, Bucky had touched him less. Less casually pulling him in by the shoulders and just walking with his arm around him, or climbing in bed to keep him warm. Obviously, he didn’t need that second one any more, but he was desperate for something. Anything. Sometimes he would just squeeze Bucky’s  shoulder, or pat him on the back just to feel him. Sometimes when Bucky had a nightmare, Steve would hold him, but that was only because Bucky was scared. No joy in that touch. On rare occasions  they would hug, and if he thought about it too long, he could swear something more was there.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not realize the movie has ended until Bucky yawns, snapping him out of his head. "Hey, Stevie I think I'm going to hit the hay. You should too, we are going down to see Bruce and Pepper early tomorrow. Night, man." Steve is still staring ahead but he feels Bucky start to untangle himself from him. As Bucky stands up, Steve does not want the sensation to end, not wanting to lose the touch he desperately needs, the only silver lining of this whole ordeal. 

Without putting any thought into it, he reaches for the bottom hem of Bucky's shirt as the other man had turned to walk away. Bucky freezes as Steve hurriedly lets go of his shirt, feeling ridiculous. Steve whispers in a voice that is barely audible. "Can I sleep with you? I'm cold." He feels guilty, knowing he isn't saying the whole truth. He is cold but could have done with a pile of blankets, they aren't in the depression anymore with only one blanket each. This was 2024 and they are way better off now. But he wasn't ready to lose Bucky's touch again.

Bucky clears his throat, suddenly hard to breathe, lump forming before he can swallow it down. Steve wants to sleep with him and Bucky wants this so bad. But he has to remind himself that this is for Steve to stay warm, not because he wanted him. His love fogged mind coupled with his own self-dislike, prevented him from putting together that Steve had blankets to keep him warm. He looks back to Steve, whose face seems torn by something,  maybe guilt? Bucky didn’t want his friend to feel guilty so he finally replies. "Of course, Stevie."

Steve’s eyes light up for a moment before he reminds himself not to be so…obvious. Bucky thinks he saw something but plays it off as Steve being relieved over Bucky not making this situation any more awkward. He watches Steve smile shyly as he gets off the couch silently, ready to follow him to his bedroom, so he leads the way.

Once in there, Steve just crawls into bed like it was nothing. He figured he might as well rip the bandage off and just do it. He stays completely dressed because he really was freezing in the apartment. Bucky on the other hand was extremely warm, not used to sleeping with the heat on so high. He doesn’t know how uncomfortable Steve would be if he slept in his boxers but decides to do it anyways. It would be more suspicious of him not to. He knows Steve isn’t dumb and has to realize that he would be extremely warm in these temperatures. 

So, Bucky slides out of his sweatpants and T-shirt, throwing them into his hamper. Steve tries his hardest not to watch, turning on his side to avert his eyes. He pretends to be preparing to fall asleep, but, in reality, he is attempting to bargain with his heart to not pound right out of his chest and fly away. They haven’t slept together in more than 80 years, not since before the war. 

While Steve is busy forcing himself to pretend to try and fall asleep, Bucky sneaks a look over at the blanket, letting himself smile at the lump under the hidden beneath, blonde hair peeking out. He makes his way over to the other side of his full-sized bed and slides in under the covers. It feels like the most normal thing in the world, like things are more normal than they have been in a long time. He reaches over, turning out the light, before scooting close to Steve. Again, he reminds himself that he is just helping him stay warm. He pulls Steve’s back against his chest, wrapping his arm over his hip. For a moment, Bucky wonders if he is over doing it, if this is too far for Steve. 

Steve forgets how to breathe for a moment when he feels himself pressed against Bucky’s body so tightly. He worries he may have an asthma attack. He doesn’t remember them ever being so close, well when they were awake that is. Usually they would only get like this in their sleep. Steve remembers one particular time when he was 19, when he woke up in this position, with the still sleeping brunette’s morning wood pressed against his ass. He had to force himself out of bed and into a cold shower after that. All of this is to say that his position really did something to him, and it took all his energy to keep his breath steady. 

They lay in the dark, quietly like this for a while. For all of Steve’s worry, and all of Bucky’s self-doubt over this, both men were content. Both men lie together, keeping their secrets, but cherishing this moment. They lay for a long while before it is obvious that neither man is sleeping. It may be subtle, but it was impossible to not feel the electricity that filled the air around them and every space in between them. It was an energy that has been there for a while.  It was something that should have been obvious from the start if it weren’t for the fact that both of them were painfully oblivious. 

Steve shifts in the bed, turning so he is facing Bucky. Even in the dark, Bucky could see the light blue tones that make up Steve's eyes. He would be lying if he didn't admit they were the most beautiful things he has ever seen. He has been around the world, has seen so many beautiful things, He has seen sparkling oceans, the large majestic sweeping expanses that surrounded Wakanda, tall, purple mountains throughout Europe, but nothing he could think of could make him feel the way he felt whenever he stared into Steve's eyes.

There are some things he has never admitted to Steve about his time as the Winter Soldier. One of these things being that every so often, he was able to bust through, have a moment of clarity before frozen again. In those moments of clarity, he would think of these eyes, of being home.  Staring into Steve's eyes, whether Steve was hulking and muscular, or skinny and small, felt like home to him.

Seeing him like this, back to the way he was prior to war has reminded Bucky that beneath all the bravado and responsibility that came with Captain America, he was still Steve. His Stevie. He knew that though, but he has been so wrapped up in guilt for all Steve has done for him, as well as countless atrocities he has committed as the Winter Soldier, he had refused to think about it. Refused to get comfortable. Refused to just be with Steve, always feeling less then, undeserving. 

Steve was like the sun, bright and powerful. Bucky had always been content to be sucked into Steve’s gravitational pull. He felt like Steve was the reason he existed, giving him life. He was just a planet who was lucky enough to be pulled in by the sun. But the sun didn’t need the planet that revolved around it, and he always felt that at some level, Steve didn’t need him. He was afraid that if he tried to be more than a planet, wanting more from the sun, Steve could easily destroy him, reject him. 

But Steve has been there all along for him, never changing. Bucky had fallen all those years ago, losing his sun, ripping through space aimlessly. The sun had fought, got himself trapped in ice in the name of his planet. Waking up in the future, getting new planets, people finally seeing what Bucky had seen all along in Steve. But as soon as Steve saw that his planet was alive, he was willing to rip his new galaxy apart like it was nothing, to pull his first little planet back in. 

Steve had always loved Bucky, and Bucky had been so wrapped up in the fear of losing his sun, that he never let himself appreciate that. Maybe...maybe it was okay for Bucky to want more out of their friendship...because maybe Steve wanted more.

He doesn't know what makes him do it, but he reaches towards Steve's face, and rests his flesh hand on the golden-haired man's face. Both lay perfectly still for a few seconds before Steve closes his and lets out an anguished sigh. When they open back up, Bucky sees a tear running down Steve’s face, worry is coating his features, his brow scrunched up in a way that Bucky just wants to reach up and smooth out. In a soft voice, the brunette asks "Stevie....what is it...."

Steve closes his eyes again, taking a pained sigh as he moves his own hand softly over the hand resting on his face, doing his best to hold on for a moment longer before he comes clean. "I don't want you to hate me..."

Bucky feels his chest tensing up, not knowing what could have prompted Steve to say that. "What makes you think I could ever hate you? I don't think that is possible. " Bucky replies truthfully.

"It’s...just..." Steve takes a deep breath, before sitting up and staring down at Bucky. Bucky frowns at the loss of contact before sitting up as well, facing the blonde who looked like he might break if Bucky stared too hard. He continues, "It's just, I didn’t need you to keep me warm, Buck."

"What?" Bucky stares back, genuine  confusion on his face.

"We have plenty of blankets now, I would have been fine in my own bed. But since this happened, earlier I hated it. I hated feeling small again, weak and sickly. But...there was some good. You...you were holding onto me again, like you would when we were younger….and I missed feeling your arms around me. " Steve is blushing like crazy. "And when we were on the couch, it felt so good for you to be holding onto me, and so I lied. I didn’t want it to end...so I told you I needed you to keep me warm. I'm so sorry, Buck. You must think I'm a freak." Steve takes a deep breath, steadying himself, before pulling the covers off, readying himself to stand up. He stutters "I'm going to go to my own room now…I'd appreciate it if you never bring this up again. I am so sorry."

Bucky is confused, trying to put together what is happening. Before he could respond, Steve had shuffled out of his room, leaving him alone.

~

Steve drops onto his bed, mortified at himself. He really was pathetic, too scared to even stay and find out the fall out of what he has done. He just admitted to his best friend that he lied to him and used him all because of he wanted to be touched. He wishes he didn’t have this weird crush on him. But he does and for him it has always been Bucky, and probably will always be. It wasn't fair to push that on Bucky, though. He buries himself in blankets, dreading what the morning will bring. 

He lays there for a few minutes, mauling over what will happen. Will Bucky move out? Will he not talk to anymore? Did he just mess up everything? All the worse scenarios play in his mind like a horror movie. He feels a tear run down his face and he just lets it happen. Soon tears are covering his pillow,the dam broken, his body shaking. He feels like he will never stop, terrified he just lost his best friend.

He is so wrapped up in his own mess, he doesn't hear the door opening. But then he feels the nattress shift as someone gets inside the covers on the other side. He doesn't turn his head, afraid that he is just imagining it, that he is going to lose whatever is there if he looks. But then he hears "Hey Stevie…I'm cold."

Steve’s head is spinning, what is going on. He finally gets the nerve to turn around,  finding a beautiful brunette, his Bucky, smiling at him. "Buck….what are you doing?"

He softly replies "I just told you, I'm cold and need someone to cuddle with, is that okay?"

Steve can’t help the smile that comes to his face as the last few rebel tears fall. Something tells him that the shirtless man in front of him was in no way cold, but he plays along. "Yea, its alright. Will alway be alright…."

With that, Bucky pulls Steve into his arms, Steve’s head falling onto his chest as the other man holds him close. Both men able to fiy fall asleep.

Maybe not quite a confession yet, but its babysteps. As long as they keep moving forward,they could take their time getting there.

[storyofmychoices]

Just Right

[Bryce Lahela x Olivia Hadley Masterlist]

Characters: Bryce Lahela, Olivia Hadley

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆  

The scent of the crisp, near-autumn air tangled with that of the just-beginning-to-turn leaves, on the cool Massachusetts’ morning. Though the sun illuminated the sky, the brisk night’s breath lingered in the fields above the dew-covered grass that had yet to dry.

“Remind me again why we had to be the first ones here on our one day off?” Bryce stretched, fighting back a sleepy yawn. “–the one day we get to sleep in… and when I can have you to myself.”

His strong arms snaked around her, pulling her from her quiet appreciation for the autumn orchard in front of them.

Olivia nuzzled into the warmth of his chest, her hands traced the length of his arms in front of her, sending a tingle down his spine. “On our next day off, you can choose what we do, but today, we are apple picking. Successful apple picking requires patience and diligence in searching for the just-right apples, but it also requires being the first one to the elusive prize.”

“And the prize is—”

“The juiciest, most deliciously refreshing apples, of course!”

“Of course.” He brushed a kiss on the top of her head, suppressing a laugh at her determination. “Where to first?”

She scanned the orchard, observing the way the sunlight reflected off the crimson fruit high in the trees. She noted the well-worn paths heading through the orchard from where they were, eventually deciding on a lesser-traveled one in search of fuller trees.

Tree after tree, they passed by, leaving the delicious apples untouched, until Olivia had settled on one she deemed worthy of consideration.

Bryce’s fingers immediately wrapped around an apple hanging just above his head, pulling it straight down.

“STOP!” The high pitch of her voice forced him to step back and move immediately to her.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“What were you doing?”

Bryce shook his head trying to understand the question. “Picking apples, like you wanted.”

“You can’t just pull an apple down like that!” She protested. “There is an art to it! Look! First, you find a plump apple that has the right coloring; the skin should be almost completely red with some pink hues. Then, you palm it gently to check that it’s firm and has no bruising. If it is, you gently twist it off the branch like so, taking care not to disturb the other apples on the branch.”

Olivia modeled each step of proper apple picking etiquette slowly and carefully. “You can’t just pick the first apple you see.” A low laugh vibrated on her lips, “it’s like you’ve never been apple picking before.”

His lips pulled back quickly, his eyes turning down in the corners, as a red hue warmed his cheeks. His talented fingers coursed nervously through his hair. “Actually…I’ve kind of never been.”

“What? How? I thought you said there were orchards in Hawaii.”

“There are…I just never got to go.” His foot dug at a patch of dirt beneath the tree, kicking up a small dust cloud. “I asked once, but then, the next day there was a bag of apples on the counter. I guess my parents had people to do that sort of thing. They said it was better that way.”

“Bryce.”

“It’s fine,” he tried convincing himself. His gaze remained at the ground, knowing the look in her eyes would have the potential to break him. He attempted to regain his confident composure. He wasn’t that little kid anymore. He had carved a different path for himself. “It is what it is.”

Her hand slipped into his, offering a gentle squeeze to remind him he wasn’t alone. She knew there were no words that could change his past, but she wouldn’t let the memories haunt him anymore.

“Forget everything I said,” she offered softly, breaking the thoughtful silence that had fallen between them. “Forget looking for the just-right apple. Forget the proper technique. You do you. You choose whatever apples you want, using whatever method you want. It’s not about finding the best, most heavenly apples… because honestly, all apples are amazing. It’s about the time spent together and the memories we make doing so. That’s more important. You’re more important.”

His thumb tenderly caressed the length of her own. That elusive prize she had been hoping to get her hands on was already in his grasp. He didn’t need to search high and low to know that the greatest find he could seek was already right in front of him.

☆  ☆  ☆  ☆   ☆   ☆  

Perma tags: @lilyoffandoms​​ ; @raleighcarrera​​ ; @mfackenthal​​ ; @the-soot-sprite​​ ; @virtuallytakenby​​​ ; @zeniamiii​​ ; @kaavyaethanramsey​​; ; @xjustin-ethansgirliex​​ ; @caseyvalentineramsey​​; @trappedinfandoms​​; @anotherbeingsworld​​ ;  @tyrils-star​

Bryce //  Open Heart Tags:  @thearianam​​  ; @burnsoslow​​​ ; @mvalentine​​​  ; @rookie-ramsey​​​ ; @missmiimiie​​; @princess-geek​​; @jamespotterthefirst​​ ; @adrianadmirer​​ ; @bitchloveskcbaseball​​ ; @nyastarlight​​ ; @lucy-268​​ ; @doriansapprentice​​ ; @soft-for-drake​​ ; @bratzlahela​​; @loveellamae

Prompt: heavenly - @choicesseptemberchallenge20

[ragingbookdragon]

You Can Take Off All My Clothes And Never See Me Naked PT. 6

A Haytham Kenway x Reader Story

Word Count: 3,200 Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Past Abuse

Author’s Note: This chapter does go deep into the past abuse, so if that’s triggering, please be advised and be responsible. -Thorne

Haytham…was conflicted. Which wasn’t something he was too keen on telling anyone, let alone admitting to himself—he was a rather proud man. Feelings of the heart—love, which he even dreaded thinking about it—were not something he was truly accustomed to following.

           He’d not had any dalliances nor anything deeper since leaving Ziio and while he knew he’d never forget her, he couldn’t help but feel the same deep longing when he thought of (Y/N), the desire to hold her.

           Regardless of the fact that their social standings proved error, she was about as tight lipped about herself and her feelings as a miser’s purse during tax season. She was temperamental and found herself in deeper situations than she realized, partially in anger, the other part—well, it was mostly anger. She was snippy and used so much profanity that Haytham was surprised she hadn’t been struck by biblical lightning.

           But she was smart, absolutely, phenomenally intelligent, and could bounce theories with him back and forth for hours, pointing out every little instance of error and correcting it—(Y/N) was really the reason they’d conquered the gang-headquarters so easily, and increased trade-route with southern merchants. She could read and speak at least four different languages, from what Haytham had inconspicuously spied her doing so, and found that she gathered more information from drunk patrons than any of his top informants. She was broad-minded, which made him smile as he remembered the way she took Charles down six or seven pegs when she mentioned the Cherokee and Creek tribes. He’d never admit it, but the anger that had filled her and righteously come out towards his second-in-command filled him with great desire for her. He almost felt juvenile for even thinking about it. Foolish, is how he really felt.

           And she was beautiful. Not because she took special care of her appearance—she did, but that wasn’t what Haytham meant—but because she simply was. She hid every aspect of herself that she could, her personality, her life, even her soul. And while Haytham couldn’t claim to be the most open person, even he was more so than (Y/N). He briefly wondered if his attraction to her was the result of her obscurity. Did he genuinely feel attraction to her? Or was he just enticed by her secrets? By the dark shadows that lurked behind her eyes, holding tight to an equally dark past? Haytham had the feeling that her past was just as dark as hers, and from the little pieces she’d shared, the scar, the betrayal, perhaps worse.

           He heaved a sigh and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the spots to disappear before he opened them once more. When he did, she was before him, a cocked eyebrow high on her forehead.

           “That was quite a sigh.” She remarked. “Everything alright, Haytham?”

           He almost smiled at how easily she used his name now but forced himself to frown. “I’m fine, (Y/N). Simply tired.”

           “Probably wouldn’t kill you to take the day off,” she said, collapsing into the seat before his desk. “Or days.” Her eyes shown with humor. “All work and no play makes dull boys. Isn’t that what they say?”

           Haytham chuckled. “Something along those lines.” He flicked a piece of paper her way, watching as she picked it up and read it. “Truthfully, that’s what I’m dreading.”

           (Y/N) glanced up at him. “I shouldn’t be surprised that the elite are holding a ball during a war, and yet, I am.” She tossed the invitation back onto the desk and crossed one of her legs over the other. “Are you required to go?”

           “Not required,” He said, and she filled in for him.

           “But bad manners and image on you if you don’t.” He nodded and she hummed. “So, what’s the deal? All you have to do is go, say hello, spend an hour, and then leave?”

           He allowed himself a rare moment of complaint, lolling his head back onto the chair. “That’s the deal. I don’t want to spend an hour talking to uptight colonists.”

           “This coming from the ‘King of The Uptight Gentries’, himself?” (Y/N) deadpanned and Haytham’s head snapped up as he glared at her; she waved it off. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Haytham, but—”

           “I don’t understand why people say don’t take this the wrong way, and then say something that is usually taken the wrong way.” He remarked and she rolled her eyes.

           “Well if you don’t act like a pissbaby about it, you’ll be okay.” Again, she ignored his glaring eyes. “So, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re an uptight asshole who’s arrogant around people who aren’t of the same social standing that you are.” His jaw dropped. “You think that people who are of lower classes aren’t really worth your time and that’s why you think attending a ball of the colonies is a pain in your ass—because you’re of the gentry and they think they’re better than everyone else.” (Y/N) simply wore a satisfied expression. “And that’s why all your friends are also uptight assholes.”

           Haytham felt like he’d been slapped, and he could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck and across his cheeks—she definitely saw it because she grinned.

           “Aw, are you embarrassed?” (Y/N) huffed a laugh. “I’m not surprised. You’re not the type to get insulted with the truth very often.”

           “I am not embarrassed.” He countered, though his flustered appearance and voice did little to convince her.

           She leaned forward and hit him with a barrage of commands. “Then look me in my eyes and tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they were a servant or a maid. Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they didn’t have shoes on their feet and were begging for money or food.” Her eyes narrowed almost sadly, and she murmured, “Tell me you’ve never disregarded someone because they weren’t fortunate like you, and born into a wealthy, high-class family that never wanted for anything.”

           “I—” he couldn’t manage anything and it had been a long time since Haytham felt any form of shame, but as he lowered his head and frowned, he felt it searing through his chest with a fury.

           “You’re a good person, Haytham.” His head shot up and he met her eyes, though they held a heavy bearing. “But for all the good you do for the upper-class…you’ve still got a long way to go with the little people.” (Y/N) rose from her seat and headed for the door.

           Something in his mind screamed at him to stop her and he called, “(Y/N), wait.” She turned, waiting for him, and he confessed, “I…have yet to find a partner to attend with me.” He tried for a smile. “Would you do me the honor of attending with me?”

           A rare smile crossed her lips, and it made his heart thump wildly in his ribcage. “I shall.” She spun on her heel and opened the door.

           “I’ll have a dress ready for you!” he added, and she simply waved a hand in response.

           When the door shut, Haytham collapsed into his chair and breathed, “Oh god, what have I done?”

***

           He smiled politely at every couple that passed and while his composure gave off the feeling of full confidence, inside, Haytham was a mess. (Y/N) hadn’t shown up yet, and he felt like a fool waiting around for her. He briefly wondered if she was standing him up. And while he wouldn’t put it past her—because it was something she would absolutely do—he felt like she would’ve at least sent a note before it. He let out an inaudible sigh and the ladylike giggle from behind him nearly sent him a foot in the air. He spun and he followed up an elegant navy-blue gown adorned with glittering jewels; he felt like he’d been shot.

           (Y/N) stood there with a coy smile, the gown tailored perfectly to her. “Lord Haytham, if I may be so bold, it’s almost as if you’ve never seen a woman before.”

           His mouth opened and closed like a fish and he blurted out, “You look beautiful.”

           She pressed a hand to her chest, toying with the ribbon at her décolleté, “I feel I should’ve known this was the color you’d choose.” She took his arm and squeezed his bicep. “Navy Blue is your signature color.”

           Haytham swallowed thickly and cleared his throat. “It’s always been an easy color to request.”

           (Y/N) laughed delicately and whispered, “Liar.” She nodded to the doors. “Do be a gentleman and escort me.”

           He snapped his mouth shut to prevent any more embarrassing statements and did as she said. As they neared them, he murmured, “I can help you when you need it when dealing with the elite. Some things might be—”

           “I know how to act like a lady, Haytham.” Her words were short and clipped and they booked no room for questions, but something in the way her jaw set told Haytham that she’d learned etiquette in a less than pleasing way.

           “As you say,” he replied and tipped his head at the guards stationed at the doors.

           They walked inside and immediately he could feel the eyes of the room on him, and gauging (Y/N)’s reaction, she could too. But she merely smiled and batted her eyelashes as they passed the other attendees.

           She gracefully plucked two champagne chutes from a servant’s tray and handed one to Haytham. “Here,” she hummed, taking a sip of her own.

           He accepted it with a quiet, ‘thank you’, and raised it to his lips. It was light, bubbly, and pleasant to the palate and as it went down his throat, he looked to her. Her eyes inconspicuously drifted from the patrons of the ball, sometimes lingering on people she seemed to know, others she didn’t.

           “Anyone catch you eye, (Y/N)?” It came off more teasing than he’d meant, and she chuckled.

           “Why? Are you jealous, Haytham?” She stared into his steel eyes. “Afraid to lose to a colonial man?”

           His jaw twitched and a flash of indignation came across him, but not at her—rather the thought of some other man taking his place.

           A woman appeared from the side and practically squealed. “(Y/N)!”

           She turned her head, face brightening at the woman in the lavender gown. “Grace!” (Y/N) pulled away from Haytham and he almost made a noise of complaint at the loss of contact. She hugged the woman before pulling away, looking her up and down. “Look at you! You look absolutely wonderful!”

           Grace flipped her long golden hair. “Well, it’s all thanks to you!” Her green eyes shifted to Haytham and she nudged (Y/N) in the ribs; a flash of pain crossed her face and Haytham almost asked about it. “Who’s this handsome fellow you’re with?”

           (Y/N) shushed her. “Grace!” The woman giggled and she sighed. “He’s my boss.” She turned and held out her hand to Haytham. “Grace, meet Haytham Kenway. Haytham, this is an old friend of mine, Grace Montgomery.”

           Haytham took Grace’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, a charming smile on his lips as he greeted her. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Montgomery.”

           Grace giggled like a schoolgirl causing (Y/N) to roll her eyes. “The pleasure’s mine, Mister Kenway.” She looked at (Y/N). “If I wasn’t married to my Isaac, I’d be beating you away with a stick.”

           (Y/N) couldn’t fight the rather unladylike cackle that left her, and she quipped, “You and every other available bachelorette in the colonies.”

           The women laughed and Grace looked at Haytham. “Mister Kenway, I hope you’ll allow me to steal (Y/N) away for a few moments. Isaac and I owe her a lot, and we’d love to catch up with her.”

           Haytham saw a colleague coming his way in his peripheral and he smiled. “Of course. Please, enjoy your time.” He met (Y/N)’s eyes and winked, watching her turn away quickly, but with a smile.

***Later That Evening***

           For a master of observation and tracking, Haytham was absolutely clueless about where (Y/N) had gone. She’d made a game of catching his eye the entire night and sending him flirtatious smiles—at least, that’s what he hoped they were. But somehow, she’d managed to lose his watchful gaze and disappear into almost thin air.

           He inconspicuously looked around for her, not wanting anyone to know a man had lost his partner, god forbid anyone ask where she was. Haytham passed the balcony and stopped, catching sight of the familiar navy-blue gown billowing in the wind.

           He walked up behind her and leaned on the railing beside her. “Long night?” he asked.

           (Y/N) didn’t look at him, but a grin crossed her lips. “A lot of smiling and ass-kissing.” Her eyes drifted to the rose garden below them and she offered, “Care for a stroll in the gardens?”

           Haytham rose and held his hand out, watching her set hers in it. They ignored the looks people gave them and descended the stairs into the garden, finding refuge in the arch.

           She sat on the bench, Haytham beside her and she looked up at the sky. “It’s beautiful out here.”

           “It is,” he responded, but his eyes were on her. He watched her raise a hand to her ribs and gently prod the area. “Is something the matter?”

           (Y/N) glanced over then down at her hand. “Oh, no. I recently got a tattoo and I—”

           “A tattoo?!” Haytham’s voice reeked of incredulity.

           She rolled her eyes. “I take it you’re a tattoo-virgin, then?”

           He almost recoiled at being called a virgin of anything. “I’ve scars all across my body, but no…no tattoos.”

           “They’re not that bad.” (Y/N) shrugged. “It’s sore, but nothing serious.”

           “What is it?” Haytham asked, cheeks reddening, and he cursed himself at such delinquent thoughts running through his brain.

           “A sun and a moon.”

           “May I ask why those symbols?”

           (Y/N) met his eyes. “To remind me that with the night comes the day.” He eyes went to the stars. “That there is hope for tomorrow.”

           “That’s a beautiful sentiment, (Y/N).” he murmured.

           She huffed lightly. “Feels a bit childish.”

           “It’s not.”

           She looked over and smiled heartfully. “Thank you.” He tipped his head in acknowledgement.

           They lapsed into a peaceful silence and over time, their hands had drifted together, thumbs brushing the backs of them.

           (Y/N) let her eyes fall to the ground. “It covers the scar below my left breast.” She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him. “In fact, it’s not a scar at all…but a brandmark.” (Y/N) heard his sharp intake of breath and she stood, suddenly feeling cramped.

           She took a few steps away and leaned against the opposite arch, gazing out at the cityscape. “I received it when I couldn’t pay back the ‘time and resources’ he’d poured into me.” Her fingers dug into her side and the pain relieved her tension. “I was beaten and abused…humiliated and assaulted.” The tears felt hot coming down her cheeks. “For fifteen years, I lived in hell.”

           “How’d you escape?”

           (Y/N) looked over her shoulder; Haytham had stood and begun walking in an arc to stand on the other side of the arch. “I wasn’t the only girl there. There were others.”

           “A harem then?”

           She nodded. “Of sorts.” (Y/N) let out a heavy breath and wiped her cheeks. “A woman named Na’ilah trained me to fight. With my body, with weapons, with anything I could hold.” She met Haytham’s gaze. “We planned for two years to escape but…someone found out and told.”

           “You obviously got out.” Haytham recognized.

           “I did.” She nodded. “Na’ilah had managed to send message to a merchant’s boat. The guards appeared as we were boarding.” (Y/N)’s face twisted painfully. “Na’ilah threw me up to the sailors and told them to go. She…stayed behind to fight the guards off.”

           “Did she succeed?” he asked.

           “She did,” (Y/N) answered with pride. “She saw me off with a tearful smile and I never saw her again.” She looked at him. “I was twenty-five. I had no money, nothing to my name, and nowhere to go, but somehow I managed to get to the colonies and from there on I’ve…” she sighed heavily, her shoulders dropping. “I’ve managed to survive.”

           Haytham stood up from his leaned position and held out his hand to her. She took it. “How many have you told your story to?”

           (Y/N) scoffed. “That I haven’t killed afterwards?” He didn’t say anything, and she lowered her eyes. “You’re the only one.”

           “Truly?”

           Her eyes shot to him and she scowled. “It’s not exactly something I find I enjoy reminiscing about, Haytham.”

           He shook his head. “I meant no disrespect, (Y/N).” He met her gaze. “I just assumed you’d found someone to tell.”

           “Haytham, I’ve built a life on killing men who abuse women like I was. I’ve never really found time to tell people my life story.”

           “And yet, you’ve told me.” His words were soft, and he stepped to her, free hand coming to rest on her cheek, warm and gentle.

           (Y/N) narrowed her gaze, but it wasn’t with suspicion, rather fondness. “And yet I’ve told you.”

           Haytham’s heart grieved for her, for her pain, but with it came the urge to protect her. To keep her from ever feeling harm again. The indignation from earlier came back and with a harsh thump to his ribcage, he finally found himself admitting it—he was irrevocably in love with (Y/N).

           “(Y/N), I want to—”

           His words were cut off by the brush rustling and they split like they’d been burned, eyes narrowing suspiciously at the intrusion. A boot stepped out and (Y/N) picked up the concrete vase, raising it in defense. Someone turned the corner, and she felt her arms go slack.

           “Shay?”

           The Irishman smiled, but it dropped when he saw the vase. “Oh my god, were you going to hit me with that?”

           “I mean—I don’t know!” (Y/N) gestured to him. “What the hell are you doing here?” She set the vase back down and he turned to face Haytham as well.

           “We’ve got a bit of a situation, sir. We need you both.” The two looked at one another and Shay smirked. “Were you two having a moment?”

           Their heads snapped to him and they both snapped, “No!” They met eyes and laughed, and Shay rolled his eyes, spinning on his heel.

           “Yeah, yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

           (Y/N) glared at the back of his head and hiked her dress up, kicking him in the rear as hard as she could. “Yeah, and with hair like that, you’d pass!”

           Shay howled and turned on her. “That wasn’t nice!”

           “I’m not nice, Shay! I’m a bitch!”

           He scowled at her. “If my father didn’t teach me to respect women, I’d agree with you, but I won’t.”

           Haytham watched the two of them as they bickered, but his eyes kept drifting to (Y/N)’s face and all he felt was warmth spreading though him.

[allycryz]

WOL Challenge #3: You

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompt List Here]

Haurchefant x Nerys, set immediately after Ardent [Ao3 Link]

Heavensward, right after Inquisition trial and before “Keeping the Flame Alive”

Rating: T for off-screen sex, sex talk

~*This is 2K words, most of it is fluff and I revel in it*~

The Fortemps library is a grand one. Haurchefant is not certain how it compares–he has only been in Haillenarte's with Francel–but imagines it is the finest in Ishgard. His father is a man of letters, a true believer in the power of words. And one who expected his sons to follow suit.

His education differed greatly from his brothers’ the day he became a knight’s page. Even still, his lord father sent him monthly parcels of books. He was expected to read them all and send detailed reports on the contents. Had he ever kept up his thaumaturgy studies, he would have been hard-pressed to find the time.

As it was, he’d stayed up often to fit in the poetry and novels not on the list. Count Edmont was a modern man and his syllabus reflected this–vetted popular authors and poets made it into the parcels. Never in the quantity Haurchefant would have liked. And never some of the one-gil books he bought in The Pillars.

When he was a boy, there were songs for sale about body functions and noises; exaggerated tales of heroes fighting all manner of beasts and foes. As a youth, these became long, violent epics of battles and bravery. As a young man: lurid poems and explicit romance novels. Some as grand and sweeping as the classical romances his Father promoted. Some were not.

He has managed to introduce some contemporary poets into the collection. Not all. Edmont’s tastes in poetry run more traditional. Some of the rising stars of the field are roundly rejected.

Haurchefant is working on that.

Today, he feels romantic in both classic and literal senses. And as his Father has ordered him to stay for a day and night, indulging in a novel sounds just the thing.  It seems that getting trapped in a blizzard–even if things had gone fine, more than fine–means your noble father turns to such decrees.

At least, that is what it means now they are growing close, as they never had been. Another miracle Nerys has wrought with her coming. And as Haurchefant has full faith in Corentiaux and the rest...he allows himself to be thus ordered. 

Someone else is in the library. He can sense it soon as he enters. A soldier learns to tell when others are near, even in safe environs such as this. Haurchefant softens his footfalls, peering about the shelves. There, in the alcove reserved for study, he finds the source of today’s romantic mood.

Nerys looks up, eyes turning soft. His heart swells in his chest, his mouth cannot help but smile. It’s unstoppable and he does not ever want it to cease. Was it really only yesterday? That she told me my love was returned?

It seems a dream now, albeit the sweetest one he has ever had.

Her hands sweep at the papers she has laid out, pulling them into a stack. Flips over the one on top. “Hello.”

“Hello, my dear.” How nice to call her that. “I thought you were on a shopping expedition with Emmanellain?”

“I was.” She touches her neckline. So caught up in her eyes, he hadn’t noticed the gown she wore.

Scarlet as the unicorn on his shield, set off with dangling garnets in her ears. The heart-shaped neckline shows off her elegant neck and collar bones. The sleeves are slashed to reveal white fabric beneath and the cuffs have delicate pearls. “I found this. For when I’m here at the manor and not about to fight Inquisitors or dragons.”

“You are breathtaking in it.” He circles the table to take her hand. Bows over it before pressing his mouth to her knuckles. Etiquette demands he should kiss the air above it but surely exceptions are made for lovers. 

She is my lover now, he thinks in wonder. Her cheeks stain with a fetching indigo shade. “My lord is kind.”

Haurchefant drops to one knee before his lady and turns her hand. Her palm is just as lovely to kiss. “Your lord means everything he says. But if you require further proof of my ardor…”

Nerys darts a glance about before tilting up his chin. Her kiss is sweet and soft and not a little heated. Would that he might lay her upon the table in this temple of learning and know her better.

Alas, Nerys has asked for discretion. Time to better acquaint themselves as lovers before declaring themselves. They are still friends–always will be, if he has anything to do with it–but this dynamic is new and strange. Haurchefant can understand why the most public figure in Eorzea might want some measure of privacy. 

Though, he reflects as he parts from her. Half the fun would be keeping quiet and avoiding discovery.

“I know that look,” she says. “You’re thinking of something lascivious.”

“When I had this look before I confessed, what did you think it meant?”

“The same,” she admits. “But that your love of innuendo was good-natured teasing.”

He heaves a sigh. Either he is not as obvious as Estinien always accuses him or she’d been in deep, deep denial. “Dearest love, how-”

The library doors bang open and the culprit whistles as he walks inside. Haurchefant rises, knowing exactly who it is before he comes into view.

“Old Girl! Old Man!” Emmanellain grins. “You didn’t tell me we were having a party in the library.”

“Impetuous Youth,” Haurchefant shoots back. “What if one of us was deep in study?”

“Oh I don’t deal in ‘what-ifs’. You two are having a conversation, not studying; ergo all is well.” 

“He has a point. I think,” says Nerys. “By the by, if Haurchefant is ‘Old Man’, what do you call your eldest brother?”

The two men exchange looks. Smile. Say in unison, “Artoirel.”

Nerys groans and flaps both hands at them in dismissal. “Go fetch whatever you two were looking for. I am actually working on something.”

“Am I to be banished for my baby brother’s crimes?” Haurchefant presses a hand to his heart. “Mistress Eluned, you wound me.”

“If I must be quiet and meek like a mouse, so must you. After all, I am the true leader of our brotherly trio.”

“You are right of course. I could never compare to you.” Haurchefant shakes his head. “Very well, Impetuous Youth. As mice scurry to cheese, let us go to the books we seek.”

“Ordered to seek,” Emmanellian mutters. “I’m to review Ymbelet’s Theorem of Command and deliver a report. As if we hadn’t put our schooling well behind us.”

Haurchefant does his best to soothe his brother. They quiet down at last: the younger man taking his volume off to his chambers, the elder settling into an armchair within eyesight of Nerys. (Far enough away that she may stop hiding her work.)

His novel is a work of popular fiction he’d garnered approval to stock here. No erotic scenes, but romantic enough. Should he ever get his eyes to stay on the page.

Alas, the white-haired sorcerer-king and his beloved princess and his soul-eating sword are no match for the Warrior of Light. The curve of her cheek. The braided coronet of purple and white hair, crowning her while the rest of her curls are a lovely raiment over her shoulders. The quirk to her dark, sweet lips.

She lifts those golden eyes, meeting him. If he were not already lovestruck and bedazzled, that gaze would ensnare him. He smiles and lifts his shoulders in a helpless shrug. Haurchefant isn’t sorry for lingering before a sunset; and that natural wonder is naught in comparison.

“My lord,” says Nerys, her voice carrying. “May I help you?”

“Nay, Mistress.” He shakes his head. “Simply exist as you are and I am satisfied.”

That is when Alphinaud bursts in, looking drawn and pale. If Haurchefant is annoyed at another interruption, that vanishes at the sight. He jumps to his feet. “My lad! Are you alright?”

The youth shakes his head. “Nerys. Tataru has grave news about General Aldynn. We must be off at once.”

She rises, hurrying over in a rush of white and red silk. In an instant she has changed from playfulness to resolute determination. Always ready to become The Warrior, his Nerys. 

“Do you require anything?” He asks them. “You know my sword is yours, as is any resource at our disposal.”

Alphnaud shakes his head. “No one must see us enter Thanalan or leave. As soon as we cross back into Coerthas, we’ll send word.”

“I thank you. If you needs must bring the General somewhere safe, Camp Dragonhead’s doors are open to you.” If he must return to his command rather than fight at her side, at least he might be of some use to her. He loves–truly loves–his role but lately, his dearest wish is to be a shield at her back and a sword in her arsenal.

Ah, well, even Sorcerer-Kings do not get all they want. Why should he?

He dips into a sweeping bow to them both. Alphinaud returns it before rushing out, every emotion writ upon his usually perfect diplomat’s mask. Should the General die, the youth will carry it as he does everything else that occurred with the Braves. Haurchefant sends a prayer to Halone, asking for mercy on him.

Nerys takes his hand. Squeezes it. He squeezes it back. She smiles before picking up her skirts and rushing afterward.

It proves impossible to focus after that, even more than before. For a moment he entertains armoring up and following. This isn’t Dragonhead and so none of the knights with orders to keep him safe are here. (That time with Iceheart, Corentiaux had actually sat upon him.)

But they have asked he stay behind. So he will.

Haurchefant can take care of Nerys’ papers for her. He means to pointedly not look at the contents. He truly does. But he sees a piece of paper with his name on top, another with his last name, and his resolve crumbles.

The first piece of paper is titled “Minako” in large, neat letters. Beneath are names like Mamoru, Umino, Motoki. Her Yellow Chocobo is named Minako. Therefore, this is for…

The next sheet of paper confirms his suspicions. Under the heading “Black Chocobo” are the names Endymion, Starlight, Twilight, Onyx. Below that, a subheading “Elegance” with virtue monikers: Noble, Dignity, Charming.

And so, when he arrives to the last three papers (titled “Haurchefant”, “Greystone”, and “Fortemps”), he cannot contain his joy. The little note scribbled atop “Haurchefant” tickles him further. He gave you the Chocobo and you adore him. Will he be offended? He might be offended. 

Haurchefant is certainly not offended. 

He delights in the candidates, even some of the ones she crossed out. Sadly, there is no option for “Haurchefant” or “Haurchefant II.” I suppose that might get confusing.

Grinning, he picks up her leather folio and tucks her work inside. Hopefully, she will forgive his snooping because he has some ideas about this.

--

The Lord Commander’s bed at Camp Dragonhead may be the most comfortable place in Eorzea.

Nerys should get up to clean, brush her teeth, all the little nighttime rituals. But she is so pleasantly exhausted and the blankets are so soft and warm. She stretches, luxuriating in the feel of them against her skin. It has been a harrowing few days since her abrupt departure from Ishgard. But all is well and now, she feels nothing but comfort.

The bed could be warmer with her companion. But then she wouldn’t get to see his bare bottom as he slips into the bathroom. Halone must adore him to bless him with such a lovely rear.

“My love,” he calls after a while. “I have a confession to make.”

“Oh? Should I be worried?”

“I hope not.” He returns with a washcloth, his black silk robe barely closed against the cold. The fireplace sends flickers of light across his sculpted chest.  “I may be overstepping but...I must say that I truly adore the name Grey. Though Tempsy is charming. Also, may I suggest Haurchon?”

What does he...oh. Oh! Nerys groans and buries her face in a pillow. She had been in such haste to rescue Raubahn–rightfully so!–that she had left all her papers there. All face up, all in the open.

The mattress dips as Haurchefant sits beside her. One hand strokes her hair, gentle and sweet. “I should not have pried but Nerys–my dearest one–I am utterly and truly touched by the idea. Though of course, if you pick a different name I will not be offended.”

“I only...well, I wouldn’t have him if not for you,” she mutters into the pillow, heat filling her face. “And if not for him, we wouldn’t have been in Coerthas that day.”

“So we owe him a great honor, for bringing us together at last.” His lips press against her bare shoulder. “Of course, the truest honor would be to name him after yourself-”

She turns then, mortification at last leaving her. Cups his face in her hands. “I am not playing this game where we go on for hours about who is better.  Let’s agree it’s you and end it there.”

“Oh my love,” he sighs, bending down to her. “Though you are wrong, I must obey if it proves to you the depth of my regard.”

“I know another way you could prove it,” she says, pulling him atop her.

--

Grey likes his name.

[pricemarshfield]

fresh as a daisy

Chapter 2/2. Requested by @renluthor: dani/ainsley angst/angry makeout? 

Read on AO3 here.

Ainsley wakes up to a text from her brother and Dani pressed up against her, back to front. She's breathing slow and steady, like she doesn't have a care in the world. She does, of course--Ainsley's learned how crime scenes haunt her girlfriend(?) in the way she wakes up stiff and frozen, sometimes, like Ainsley does when she dreams about not-Endicott's blood on her hands. She's lied and said something about that time she got locked in Claremont, and Dani believed her, and that's the worst fucking part.

"I can hear you thinking from here," Dani murmurs, voice rumbling against Ainsley's chest. Ainsley doesn't jump, but it's a near thing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ainsley says, too quickly, a lie meant to be caught.

Dani rolls over, eyes still hazy with sleep. "Come on, you can tell me."

Ainsley sighs, props her head up on her arm so she's leaning slightly over Dani. "I'm just worried about my meeting with the head reporter. He said he wants 'more' from my reports." It's easy enough to muster up annoyance about it, because she is annoyed with him.

"Carr?" Dani asks, and Ainsley grumbles, leans into Dani so she's pressed right into the crook of her neck. She could stay here for hours. "Fuck that guy."

Ainsley laughs, teeth scraping at Dani's skin mostly-on accident, and Dani shifts so that Ainsley's half-on top of her. "When do you have to go into work?"

"You're insatiable," Dani says with a little put-upon sigh that's as fake as the innocent expression Ainsley's definitely wearing right now.

"That's not actually an answer to my question," Ainsley says.

Dani doesn't respond for a second, and Ainsley pushes herself up to see a frown on her face. "In...less than an hour and a half, actually."

"Boo," Ainsley says, dramatically flopping back down. Dani's chest rumbles a little with laughter that Ainsley feels more than hears, and it's so fucking nice in a way that Ainsley's not used to yet, even after months of it all.

She hasn't looked at her phone yet. She knows it'll break the morning into something she has to deal with and not just luxuriate in.

"Do you have time for breakfast?" she asks instead, and Dani laughs.

"What, you're gonna cook?"

"Better than you," Ainsley says. "I didn't know you could burn toast that bad unless you were trying."

"You have all these weird 'smart' appliances, how is that my fault," Dani mutters. "I can make pancakes."

Ainsley hasn't had pancakes since she was young enough to still wear a bright pink dress with ruffles to school. "Sure."

--

Ainsley's mom had asked her to move back in, and she had been planning on it before--this, with Dani. She still goes back basically every day--she has a little study space in the basement--but it's nice to have a place that's hers.

And Dani's, in a way.

Dani has her own apartment, a place with chipped paint but plants everywhere, homey in a way that Ainsley hadn't thought was a real thing outside of home and garden magazines. She spends more nights than not here, though, and Ainsley's started to feel like the place is too big without her home.

She doesn't have a key yet. Ainsley has no idea when she should bring it up. If she should, even; there's that whole thing with the murder she got away with and Dani being a homicide detective.

Ainsley glances at her phone to see the text from Malcolm, complete with hidden message. She should check it. Dani's busy at the stove, it's the best time.

Dani hums some oldies song at the stove, the admittedly-weak smell of cooking pancakes wafting towards Ainsley, and she still can't bring herself to break the morning. Instead, she puts the phone facedown on the table, stands up, and wraps her arms around Dani from behind. Dani doesn't start or stiffen like she used to, when they were still figuring each other out.

"Is it supposed to look that lumpy?" Ainsley asks brightly.

"Yes," Dani says. "They're pancakes, it's not gonna be perfectly even."

"As long as they taste good," Ainsley says. She has to push herself up a little to rest her head against Dani's shoulder. It's not exactly comfortable, but she has no intentions of moving. Dani flips the pancakes with an expert little twist of the spatula, and Ainsley makes an impressed noise. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"I worked at a diner in college," Dani says. "I was hired as a waitress, but I was way better behind the scenes." She shudders a little. "I hate customer service."

Ainsley's never had experience with customer service. She's thankful for that, but it does mean she doesn't have anything she can add, so she just hums agreement into Dani's shoulder. They sit and sway sway to the sound of pancakes cooking and their breathing for a little longer.

Dani covers her pancakes in almost as much syrup as Malcolm used to, and at Ainsley's disbelieving look, laughs, and says, "Really, you should try it!"

Ainsley does, if only so she can prove herself right, but it does end up being pretty tasty.

"Don't tell Malcolm," Ainsley says, ignoring all of her etiquette training to talk with her mouth full because she knows it'll make Dani smile. Sure enough, she does, and Ainsley feels this warm glow in her chest she's still not used to. "He'll be so smug."

"Really?" Dani says. "He doesn't seem the type."

Ainsley feels something twist in her stomach, remembering how horrified Malcolm was when he'd figured out that she faked it. She stands by it, of course she does, but yikes. He'd lied to her, why does she feel bad? There's the text she's ignoring, the worry around that...that's probably it.

Still, she can hardly check it with Dani at the table, so she smiles at her and says, "That's just 'cause he always had a soft spot for you."

There's an awkward beat of silence where both of them sit in the reality of that being true in a way that's completely at odds with them sitting across the table for each other, half-dressed and warm.

"I do have to head to work," Dani says after awhile, and Ainsley frowns as if she doesn't want her to go. In reality, she could use the time to check her texts, figure out how she's going to present herself when Dani gets home. Tired, probably, but not too tired, she's still working from home as much as she can. Happy to see her--that part she doesn't even have to fake.

"Aw," Ainsley says. "You coming back here after?"

"Of course," Dani says easily, like it's nothing to just let someone else in her life the way Ainsley's been letting her here.

Ainsley's not sure what tugs at her heart just then, but she's pretty sure it's not a good thing. Dani heads to the bedroom to get dressed while Ainsley finishes her pancakes. The syrup's significantly less enjoyable now that they're cold, sticking to her mouth in a way that makes her want to toss them in the trash.

Dani's not looking. She could.

She stares down at them for awhile too long, chewing on the mush in her mouth until she wants to gag. When Dani walks out of the room again, she looks up, forces herself to swallow, and smiles. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," Dani says, pressing a quick, casual kiss to Ainsley's cheek. Ainsley wants her to linger, but instead she rushes out. Ainsley has to get up and lock the door behind her, and she stands there, staring blankly at the front door of her own apartment for a bit.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket again, and she unlocks it. Something about a private investigator, because of course it's about a fucking private investigator. She just knows Malcolm's gonna lord this over her, talk about how this is proof he didn't overstep when he was trying to protect her. Biting back an annoyed reply--she has to give him the benefit of the doubt, save the rudeness for when he fucks up--she texts back something about meeting tomorrow.

Today she's trying to do something for Dani.

One: her apartment's always neat, but she remembers being told that neatness was onto holiness at her etiquette schools, and the lesson's hard to shake, so she cleans. She's not down on hands and knees scrubbing the floors or anything, but the place looks a little nicer, and she's proud of it.

Two: something Dani will care about a little more. She goes the extra mile--lights candles, gets flowers, is polite (if direct) with the restaurant worker on the phone who'll get something delivered to her door. The candles are warm, smoky scents that are a far cry from the crisp, clear ones Ainsley favors, but Dani had murmured stories about a campfire into her shoulder once, tracing her freckles, and Ainsley hopes she'll like that she remembered. The flowers aren't roses. Dani had a story about some ex who got her roses that Ainsley winced in sympathy at even as her sides hurt from laughing so hard. So she got orchids, as expensive as they are hard to keep happy. (It's a little on the nose, but Ainsley is her parents' daughter, and drama is the easier vice to indulge.)

The food is the part Dani will like the most, Ainsley's guessing. The thoughtful, almost-metaphorical gestures are Ainsley's thing, always unsure with how to give affection without giving too much away. Food, though, is an almost universal love language--Dani making pancakes in her kitchen, Ainsley buying her wines that cost more than Dani's rent. Plus, Dani likes Thai, and Ainsley hasn't had good tom yum in too long.

She gets this all ready by 10am, and finds herself bored by 10:03.

Ainsley would normally go bother Malcolm about a case, but Dani hasn't texted her anything interesting, so it's not worth the effort of dealing with his panic over this investigator guy. She does care about him, and she does worry, but just--God, he'd lied to her for ages. It's hardly like she's incompetent. She'd handled things just fine, hadn't she?

There's a bitter twist in her stomach, and she pauses, considers it for a second before choosing not to look at it too closely.

She goes to lunch with her mother, who talks around Ainsley and Dani as best she can while still prying for information. Ainsley ignores the more back-handed comment about her always wanting her brother's things and says, "We're having dinner tonight, actually."

"Oh, where are you going?" her mother says. "I can get you a reservation if you don't have one. There's that new French place on--"

"We're staying in," Ainsley interrupts, something she'd have gotten a ruler on the knuckles for if she'd tried it back in etiquette school. "Sorry."

"Oh," her mother says. "Well. We are quite different, aren't we?"

Ainsley shifts in her seat, immediately, uncomfortably aware that there's something hidden behind her words that she can't quite make out. "Not that different. You--" She cuts herself off, which is also rude, but she's pretty sure her mother would have slapped her if she'd finished saying you made compromises in your relationship, too. "You, uh, would have a home dinner if Gil asked."

Her mother finishes her drink without looking at Ainsley, cheeks a little pink. "Ainsley..."

"I'm just saying," Ainsley says, turning back to her food with a grin.

--

Working from home--the one thing the pandemic brought that Ainsley's happy to hold onto--is great, but she can't deny the little rush of productivity she gets from being in the office again, even if she's just waiting in a hard plastic chair to talk with a man she hates. He's got to listen to her about this private investigator thing, though; he always listens to her when it comes to crime stories.

She used to get pissed about it, she's more than her father's daughter, but...well. Hoxley's here to investigate a murder she did, so.

Not that she plans to include that in her pitch.

When he finally waves her in, thirty minutes after their meeting was supposed to start, she can feel her smile is a little brittle around the edges. He looks up at her through his glasses, which badly need to be cleaned, and says, "What've you got, Whitly?"

"There's a private investigator here in town," she says quickly. "According to my sources, he's here to figure out who killed Nicholas Endicott."

"Your sources," Carr says, looking at something on his laptop. Ainsley's fingers twitch. "Your brother or your girlfriend?"

"...my brother," she says, knowing better than to tell Carr that her sources are private, even if that's what every ethics in journalism conference tells them. Carr thinks he's above it all.

She wonders who he'd assign her story to, if it ever came out. Leslie doesn't do the crime beat. No one does the crime beat except for her. He'd probably take it himself, try and get a Pulitzer, squander the research completely, and make her look innocent. Hm. It would help in court.

It's not healthy that she's thinking this, she knows, but at least she can talk to her dad about it later.

"Endicott died ages ago, why now?"

"His head surfaced in a lake somewhere," Ainsley says.

"Find out where. You're good, take the camera crew."

Ainsley smiles at him. "Thank you, sir."

He waves her out rather than even do her the courtesy of addressing her.

Dick.

--

Reporting is invigorating, as it always is, and she gets to wave at her brother before the cameras turn on. He looks panicked when he spots her, but whatever, she's literally here to do her job. She goes into autopilot, reporting the facts as she knows them--Simon Hoxley is here, he's researching Endicott, and there's caution tape preventing her crew from getting closer to this boat. When the camera operator turns as if to film the boat, she quickly gestures them back, hands low enough that it shouldn't be broadcasted. Can't he spot the body there? They'll get sued.

Also, she wants to be on camera. It's not like she got her degree in journalism because she dislikes attention.

They're able to chat with Hoxley for just a second, and he looks at her with a polite disinterest that is simultaneously heartening and discouraging. Pros: he doesn't suspect her. Cons: she's not even worth suspecting, the fuck? He's already glaring at Malcolm. Malcolm's everyone's focus.

At least, everyone but Dani, and she shouldn't feel so much vindictive little pride in that. Dani smiles at her when she passes by, rushing after the chaos that is her squad on a case. Ainsley grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly while the cameraman's busy catching Gil passing by. Dani beams at her, and Ainsley's heart thuds a little heavy in her chest.

She drops her hand, switches back to reporter mode, and concludes her broadcast with something about Hoxley getting to the bottom of this, and be sure to tune in for updates on the case.

--

The day drags by after that, giving bland check-ins to the camera while getting bizarre text updates about it all from Malcolm. Dani doesn't text at work unless it's important, and Ainsley finds herself hoping nothing comes up so that their dinner isn't postponed. She just wants to spend some time with her--whatever Dani is.

They should probably work that out.

Carr just grumbles when she checks in with him at the end of the day to see if there's anything else she needs to do, so she takes it as she's free and heads home. The taxi driver makes small talk with her about her broadcasts, and while he doesn't seem to understand that she is not involved in actually solving the murders, it's the most someone other than Dani or her brother has talked with her about the day-to-day of what she does in months. She tips like $600, because who the hell cares, it's her mom's money anyway.

Then she rushes around the apartment getting the few things ready that she couldn't do in the morning--actually lighting the candles, setting the table, restraining herself from setting more than one of each utensil on the table, getting the food where it's left outside her apartment when her phone dings to let her know, remembering to tip the driver right away, and getting the food on the table.

God, she hopes Dani gets here soon. The food smells good and her lunch with her mother wasn't exactly filling. One thing Dani's taught her is how ridiculous rich people portions are. (Dani's words, not hers.)

It's not ten minutes later when Ainsley hears Dani's hand on the handle, and realizes shit, she forgot to light the candles. She scrambles to get at least the one on the table. She turns to grab the lighter and hears Dani say, "Uh."

She whirls around. "Hi."

"Hi," Dani says with a soft smile. "What's all this?"

"You treated me to breakfast, so," Ainsley says.

"You didn't have to do this," Dani says, looking at the Thai on the table, smile not dropping or dimming in the slightest.

"I know," Ainsley says. "I wanted to."

"You're sweet," Dani says, and walks over to pull her into a kiss. "Do you really only have these long lighters?"

"I don't smoke and I don't like the small ones, I'm always worried I'm gonna burn myself," Ainsley says, and Dani laughs and lights the candle on the table for her.

The dinner's perfect, and Ainsley gets to vent about Carr not caring about her reporting beyond profits at all and Dani gets to talk about how ridiculous Hoxley and her brother were acting all day and Ainsley gets to bite down a joke about thumbs that she couldn't explain. Dani sneaks some of Ainsley's food off her plate, Ainsley smacks her hand away, and Dani shakes her hand as if it hurts while failing to suppress a smile.

Normally, this is the part of the night where Ainsley would pull Dani into bed, or into the shower while Dani gripes about the jeans being new. But the night feels warm and soft and Ainsley just wants to hold her.

"You've got me completely messed up," Ainsley says, and when Dani looks up at her, a bit of sauce on her lips, she can see she doesn't understand what she means. "I mean, like." She huffs. "I never felt like this in any of my, uh."

"Relationships?" Dani suggests.

"Are we? In one, I mean," Ainsley says, tapping her foot against the floor, an anxious tic she's had as long as she can remember.

"I'd like to be," Dani says slowly, and Ainsley knows what that cautious expression means. She's pretty sure she has it, too. "Do you?"

"Yeah," Ainsley says, and Dani relaxes. "Also, you've got some sauce on your lips." She wipes it off absent-mindedly, and Dani leans across the table to kiss her. The angle's awkward, but Ainsley's smiling into the kiss too much to mind.

The rest of the night is just idle, easy conversation. Ainsley feels light, giddy. Dani's arm around her shoulders, Ainsley's hand in Dani's, the dim mood of the candlelight. It's all perfect.

Still, at the end of the night Ainsley can't quite sleep, even as Dani snoozes peacefully next to her. She's not sure why. Everything's perfect. Dani's here, Dani's officially her girlfriend, she's getting to do her report on Hoxley, her and Malcolm got away with it. Every piece of her life is fitting together just fine.

"Babe?" Dani says, and Ainsley turns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ainsley says grumpily. "I just can't sleep. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," Dani says, already half-asleep again. "Sleep soon."

"I'll try," Ainsley whispers, staring at Dani. The easy acceptance, the give-and-take--it's new, but Ainsley loves it. She feels like she could tell her anything.

Oh. Dammit.

Seriously? she thinks to/at herself. You're upset we can't confess our murder? Fucking ridiculous. That's a normal thing to not tell someone. I mean, Dad--

Ainsley abruptly sits up, goes to take a shower. That's not--she can't think like that. There's unhealthy and there's self-sabotage, and that barrels over the line at lightspeed. Jesus.

Still, she turns back to look at Dani as she closes the bathroom door--slow, so as not to wake her again--and she can't help but think on it for far too long, staring at the tiles of her shower with a bitterness she wishes she could bite back.

She should text Malcolm. But he and Dani--that's still too fresh a wound. It's not like she can talk to her mom about it. And Dad...

The only reason she can think of not to is Dani would be disappointed. But that's enough.

Probably.

[mrsmaybank]

Midsummers But JJ x Reader -Everything

Content: Angst, Then Fluff, Then Smut, Then Fluff again. Kook!Reader

Summary: Misummers episode but make it JJ x Reader. 

T/W: Violence, Smut, Language, (Sexy) Use of the word slut, ignorant family

A/N: This is so fucking long (I’m sorry) but I like it! It’s a rollercoaster of emotions and its pretty packed. That being said, ty for reading at all lol. 

“Mom how could you even say that?” You gulped back tears and looked at your mother in both hurt and disgust. How could she be so insensitive, so cruel, and so nonchalant about the somebody you cared about so much. 

“I didn’t like you hanging out with those marina rats in the first place! It won’t be the last time one of your gross friends ends up in a jail cell. That boy is just like his father, a dirty degenerate.”

“Don’t say that!” you spat out at her, tears burning your eyes, “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.” 

She slapped your face hard, you felt your cheek burn and blood start to pour out of the little skin breaks. You knew that it was wrong to word it like that, but you couldn’t contain it. JJ was the love of your life. And he was nothing like his father. 

“Watch your damn mouth girl. Get dressed, look pretty, and smile. If you could stop being selfish for one minute, you can enjoy tonight. It’s very important to your family.” she rushed out and slammed the door. 

Midsummers was not your thing obviously, but you usually didn’t mind it. Kie was there, and Pope too, and a couple hours in, you and Kie would sneak off to the Chateau to smoke with JJ and John B, your parents too busy drinking with their obnoxious friends to notice. You’d text them later, Went to Kie’s. The only friend they approved of, solely because she was “A good girl, just confused about her place in society” just like you. Your parents were judgmental and snobby and it disgusted you. They really thought they were better than your friends because they had money. Your mother especially, and she grew up on The Cut. It makes you want to vomit. You sat down at your vanity looking in the mirror and all the nice things around you. You started to sob, five miles from here, there were people with no power or water, working harder than you ever would have to, just to feed their families. And another couple miles away, was your boyfriend, and best friend, a boy who would die to protect you, walk through fire to make you happy, and took anything that came at him, was in a jail cell, taking the blame to protect another one of your friends' future. And here you were, in your million dollar home, in your beautiful room, getting ready to go to a fancy party with fancy people. 

“Fuck.” You wiped your tears. Your heart beats hard in anxiety. JJ had the survival instincts of a cockroach as Kie would say, he had a way with words and could talk his way out of tricky situations. That wasn’t what you were distressed about. You were ridden with fear about what his dad was gonna do to him. You started to hyperventilate. You felt disgusted by your privilege, disgusted with your family, and disgusted by everything around you. But there was nothing you could do. 

You’d spend the night nodding courtley in your white dress, faking a smile and politely introducing yourself to random rich people. 

“Why do you still look like that?” Your mother bursted into your room once again. “Get ready right now, or I swear to god, you’ll never see the light of day again.” 

You nodded and started to put make-up on and slipped on the white silk dress your mother bought for you. It was long and tight at the top, clinging to your body perfectly. As beautiful as you looked, your soul felt empty. 

Your eyes were red with tears, and your lips were puffy, you looked in the mirror. You definitely looked like you had tried to cover up sobbing, but you didn’t really care. You remembered a moment before you and JJ had even started dating. 

You and JJ were watching the sunrise on the beach, you on one of your runaway episodes, trying to escape the tight grip of your mother. You both knew you police were searching for you everywhere, and that as soon as you were inevitably found, you’d be in a heap of trouble, but somehow on that beach, in that moment there was nothing that mattered except the sound of the waves and the company of each other. 

JJ asked you a simple question, “How do you feel?” 

Your response was genuine, “I don’t know. Everything is wrong. Things aren’t okay at all, and yet somehow, I feel alright.” You looked at him with a smile, his blonde hair sparkling in the sunrise’s glow. You put your head on his lap and looked up at him. “It’s ‘cause of you J. You make me feel like everythings alright.” Tears started to stream down your face, “You’ve treated me with more kindness then anybody I’ve ever met.” 

He wiped your tears and just nodded, happy to hear that he made you feel like that. “Always.” he said. 

“I must look so stupid,” you said trying to clean your face.

 “No.” he said. “You look so pretty, even when you cry.” 

You got in the car, your mother lecturing you on what was expected of you tonight. “Be who you are. A well brought up girl, with a beautiful smile, and manners, and etiquette. You are not the pogue delinquent filth you glamorize.” 

Your older sister added “Now that you actually look like you belong in this family, try acting like it.” she said with a fake smile. Your brother just snickered and your father nodded in agreement. 

You tuned them out, knowing if you listened you wouldn’t be able to control your mouth and would wind up with another dull bruise on the side of your cheek. 

Finally you had arrived, and your family practically fled from your side instantly. You’d think mom would have me on a fucking leash after that. You thought. But no, as much as your mother yelled at you about what you should be, and how you should act, nothing was more important to her than climbing up the social ladder and socializing with the Outer Banks bourgeois. 

Your sister and brother sat down with their Kook friends, making sure you knew that you didn’t belong, and they certainly didn’t want you anywhere near them. They act like I want to sit with them. 

You spotted Kie and Pope by Heywards oyster table. 

“You look gorgeous.” Kie said, You smiled and thanked her. 

“Not as gorgeous as you.” You tried to return the compliment, but it came out gloomy and monotone. 

“What’s wrong?” Pope asked. 

“JJ.” your voice cracked and tears swelled at the thought of his current state. 

“The last thing JJ would want you to do, especially while you’re dressed like that, is worry about him.” your friends reassured you. 

The night went on, but your nerves were anything but calmed. Kie and Pope tried their best to try and cheer you up, but it was to no avail, and they themselves were worried about him too. 

You sat on the stairs towards the back of the club, drawing circles in the sand. The dull throbbing of your head was starting to bother you. You got up towards the festivities, walking over to the bar to ask for a ginger ale that could maybe cure your dehydration. 

You sipped slowly, other than the lingering sting of anxiety, your mind empty. That was until you heard a familiar voice. 

“Mr Dunleavy! I see you got your drink, that's wonderful. I’m actually gonna down that.” It was none other than your boy, JJ, in a typical JJ situation, being escorted out by security. 

“JJ!” you ran to him and he freed his arms from the securities hold to spin you around and kiss you on the lips. “My pretty princess.” You smiled. “This is my girlfriend.” JJ started to tell the guard, who just scoffed. 

You’d never been so happy to see somebody in your life. Your smile faded when you noticed the bruises and cuts on his face, you started to say something, but the guard shoved him and kept moving. 

“Hey! You can’t do that!” you started. “I’m a member of this club! And I.. I invited him!” 

Your sister stepped in, “No she didn’t,” she tried to reassure the party goers watching. 

JJ pushed the guard into a table and smiled at you, you instantly grabbed his hair pulling him into a passionate kiss. His hands went to your waist and he smiled into the kiss. “You look fucking amazing.” 

You smiled and adjusted his tie, “Spiffy.” He jokingly gagged. 

More of the crowd began to stare at the situation, and you saw your mother walking with the intentional enunciated walk ever, stomping her feet and flaring her nostrils. You pointed it out to JJ and you both laughed out loud. “Don’t move a muscle young lady!” she shouted at you. 

JJ grabbed your hand and you both started running to the exit of the club porch. “Mandatory power hour at Rickson’s Kie!” he pointed with his free hand at her. “You too Pope!” 

You quickly let go of JJ’s hand to grab Kie by the wrist, and he kept running. “Lets go!” You smiled excitedly. 

You saw out of the corner of your eye Pope taking off his stuffy apron. 

“Workers of the world unite! Throw off your chains!” You giggled at JJ’s antics, the rest of the party looking in horror. 

Your mother was still doing her best to chase you while still maintaining her poise, and it just made you laugh more. You and Kie ran hand in hand, Pope by Kie’s side to JJ and John B across the field, you only let go when JJ pulled you into a hug spinning around, putting you on his back right after. 

You both turned around to face the party, most of the guests turning their snobby noses up in disgust, and you both peaked Rafe at the same time.You flipped him off together and you saw your mother practically faint. 

The rest of the night was insane. John B’s revelation and then him falling from a fucking tower and all. So many things happened, and your brain was having trouble processing. When JJ    had finally gotten word that John B was going to be okay, the pair of you left the hospital and headed back to the Chateau. 

You sighed and laid down in the bed that was now known as JJ’s, taking a hit of JJ's juul.

He took off his shirt, and laid down next to you, snuggling into your chest. 

“Hey baby,” you put the juul in between his lips and he inhaled hard, as you played with his hair. 

 You tilted his jaw so you could get a good look at him, his precious face littered in bruises and cuts, and you knew why. His father. 

“Jay-” tears started to stream down your cheeks. “It’s so selfish of me to cry I-” 

“Hey,” he sat up to cup your face, “Hey. I’m fine. It’s nothin that hasn't happened before.” 

Perusal, your boyfriend was trying to put on a strong face to keep you from worrying, but you knew him all too well. In the sense that he wasn’t okay, but also that he didn’t wanna talk about it, he just wanted you to tell him how much you love him. 

“I love you baby. You’re my world. You know that right? You know how much I care about you?” 

He nodded and pulled you into a kiss, “Yeah baby?” He slid his hand up your thigh and leaned in closer to your ear, “You know what my first thought was when I saw you in that dress?” You gasped as his hand worked up your leg to begin rubbing your clothed clit. Wetness pooled almost instantly. “I wanted to rip it off and fuck the shit out of you right there.” That sentence was enough to make your pussy throb, and you gasped as JJ pushed your panties to the side, dipping his two fingers into you. 

“Oh baby, you’re so fucking wet.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and shoulder, biting down on his shirt to try and have some control over yourself. 

“Nuh uh,” he tsked. “Wanna see your pretty face. And hear all your pretty sounds.” His free hand positioning your face so you were looking right into his eyes. 

At that, you were a moaning mess. Right before your release, he quickly removed his fingers and showed you all of your stickiness in his hand, dripping to his palm and down to his wrists. 

With one hand, he grabbed your throat, the coldness of his rings sending shivers down your spine. The other pushed his sticky fingers into your mouth, and you began sucking hard, closing your eyes and pretending it was his cock. 

“Oh my god. You’re such a good girl baby.” 

You heard him sliding his shorts down, quickly letting go of you to lie you flat so he was hovering over your body. 

 He started pressing wet kisses on your neck, sucking hard to give you purple marks, so everybody knew you were his. “Your mine, you know that?” 

You nodded and shimmied your shirt off. “You know exactly what I want huh baby?” 

He massaged your boobs gently, worshipping your body. 

“JJ. Fuck me already.” 

“So needy.” 

He placed his hard cock right in front of your entrance, sliding up and down before slamming into you with no warning. 

“Oh fuck!” you screamed at the pressure of his dick against your walls. You could feel every vein and ridge, every throb. 

“Be a good fucking girl and take it.” He said in between grunts. 

You felt your clit rub against his skin every time he was fully inside. He grabbed your waist so every time he bottomed out he could slam back into you even harder.

He kept saying the most insane things in your ear, each word bringing you closer to coming. 

“Good fucking girl.”

“Let me hear how good I'm making you feel baby.” 

“You take it so well baby.” 

“Such a good little slut for me.”

“Fuck” he moaned slamming into you, impossibly harder. You clenched around him as he buried his dick into you.Thrusting without bottoming out, hitting your g-spot repeatedly. Your walls began to converge, as JJ said, “Cum for me baby. Yeah, baby-“ he grunted loudly as you came on him, his sticky load began shooting into you, drenching your walls. 

“Jesus christ.” he said panting, flopping down next to you. “I love you.” 

“I love you too JJ.” You cuddled up to his chest, “More than anything.” 

He placed a quick kiss on your forehead and you both drifted off into a peaceful sleep. 

 Again, very sorry this was so long and if it sucked. 

[georgemackayhey]

Remember Me?

"Could you please write something where the reader knows George from a long time ago and runs into randomly him after he's gotten famous? Really fluffy please?" - annon

This was so fun to write! Thanks for askin' nonny!

w/c: 2k

───※ ·❆· ※───

You sat in the airport, swinging your legs from the barstool of some overpriced pizza bar. Your flight to London had been delayed for a couple of hours and you'd ran to the food court for a distraction. While sipping from a soda, you cast your glance around the waiting gates, wondering where everyone was going, and what they might have been waiting for.

Then you saw him. George, your old school mate. Well, someone you went to school with. He was the boy who once gave up his seat on the swingset when you asked politely. You'd shared a few classes together, and maybe even a few hellos. But George couldn't possibly recall those times. George probably wouldn't even recognize you . Especially now that he was some big famous movie star.

Over the past year, you'd mindlessly scrolled past all the social media buzz that George's new film had gotten and felt selfishly blue because you wanted to say hello to him now. But you didn't want to waste his very important time.

Instead, you looked away from George as he meandered sleepily through a passing crowd while you turned, gathering your rubbish and heaving a sigh.

When you landed back in the waiting gates, you lazily tapped through your phone trying to avoid the time slowly passing time in the corner. There were still a couple of hours to kill, and you'd already wasted forty minutes at the pizza bar. When you scrolled past an advert for 1917 you couldn't help but stifle a giggle, feeling quite proud of how far your classmate had come. The only thing you were known for was-

   "Fainting nurse?"

Who just read your mind? You looked up in a flash, eyes wide and startled.

You hadn't been addressed like that since school. You'd managed to fly under the radar every year, but you just had to try stepping out of your comfort zone. So, you auditioned for the last year's production of Romeo and Juliet. You could blame your family for pushing you to try out.  Or the costume that was way too hot to be wearing on a stage under all those lights. Even after giving it your all during rehearsal, the second you stepped on stage to deliver your first big line, you stammered, looked to the impatient girl playing Juliet, and passed right out.

Through rumors, you heard that Juliet dragged you by the ankles off the stage in a huff. You woke up in the hall with a real nurse waiting calmly by your side and your family scurrying to come and make sure you were alright.

The last year of high school was a bit hellish. But George was playing Romeo then. And every time you noticed him around someone who tried to scare you bad enough to get you to faint, he would shut them down and apologize to you on their behalf.

Funny how it was him standing in front of you now, addressing you by the only name he probably knew you by. You couldn't blame him. Even then, everyone around wanted a piece of George's time. He probably hadn't the time to learn anyone's names who wasn’t begging him too.

   "Fancy seeing you here."  George seemed to smile. You realized that you hadn't said anything or even moved from your stunned position as he moved toward you, pulling his luggage in tow. George sat in the seat at your side, keeping his smile bright and his eyes on you.

   "H-hi." You managed to get out. Oh God, you might have blacked out again from all the recovered embarrassment and sudden attention. George was always nice looking but now, he was downright handsome. And he was looking right at you.

   "Did I ever tell you that during my first musical I had to run off before the first song ended and get sick backstage? I was so bloody nervous... I think I talked myself into the upset, really." George confessed, slumping in his chair. His bright eyes flickered to his lap and you recognized his genuine tone.

   "Worst part was I didn't even make it to the bins." George cringed, looking back to you. You brought a hand to your lips, trying to disguise a giggle. Why was he telling you all this?

   "Well, you seem to have recovered quite well, George." You nodded, acknowledging your acquaintance his status in school, and rise to practical stardom since.

   "I'm still trying, really. Sometimes I get so worked up over an audition I try out just to get over feeling like I'm not good enough, ya know? It doesn't matter the outcome, so long as I make myself audition."

   "Why are you telling me all this?" You laughed a little beside yourself. George had kept his soft gaze on you like a lifelong friend. The attention made your stomach fill with butterflies.

   "Two reasons" The guy held up two fingers, ticking them off accordingly. "I wanted you to know you weren't the only one who was nervous of Juliet. Rudest castmate I ever had to pretended to like. She was vile wasn't she?" 

George chuckled warmly. "And secondly my flight is delayed so I needed a bit of entertainment."

God, he was so naturally charming. It was he'd rehearsed this run in.

   "Now, like then, I'm not one for entertaining." You chuckled. "But you were always kind to me. You never once tapped a photo of a fainting goat to my locker." You pointed to George, suddenly registering the last thing he'd just said to you.

   "Kids are brutal." George softened, tossing you an apologetic grimace. But you'd mentally moved on from the topic.

   "You said your flight was delayed? Mine too." You grinned, sitting up a little straighter like this was good news. It only took a minute to realize you were on the same flight back home.

   "How shall we pass the time?" George pulled a face, keeping his eyes on you.

   "I suppose we could catch up." You playfully shrugged with a roll of your eyes. You didn't miss how George's sparkled.

Somehow, the next couple of hours passed in a flash. Between exchanging conspiracy theories and things you'd been up to since school, (and taking a painfully slow lap around the proximity of the waiting gate) it was time to board your shared flight.

Of course, fate would have it that George was sitting one row up and away from you. He made a show of pouting as you walked past him, because neither of you could deny the fun you'd had killing time together so far. Sitting so close yet so far away would make the seven-hour flight painfully boring.

But it wasn't long after you'd reach maximum elevation, that you spotted George popping his head in the aisle and waving you up to join him. The flight was only half full, due to many rescheduling after the delay. But you were still concerned about etiquette. You'd have to cross over the woman next to you, scramble a few steps forward and probably end up making a fool of yourself in the process.

You tried to stop George from whispering your name like a child. Even when you mouth a curse word his way, he wasn't letting up. That's about the time a flight attendant waltzed by, bringing a passenger some water and winking right at you on the way. Whether it was to shut George up, or make your dreams come true could be determined later. All you could focus on now was excusing yourself past the woman at your side and changing seats as quietly as possible.

George had the whole row to himself, scooting toward the window seat and greeting you cheerfully as you plopped next to him.

You and George picked up where you left off, trading jokes and even a few somber stories. When he suggested watching a film on the in-flight entertainment screen, you made quick work of searching his name. You squealed out loud when you found a movie he was in and made sure to tease him endlessly about your lucky score. During scenes George showed up in, he hid his face in his hands at your side. And after a beat of teasing him a little more, you couldn't help but point out his honest and impressive talent.

About four hours in, your eyes drooped and you fell asleep before you could stop your forehead from landing on George's shoulder. You woke up to find him watching out the window, but the blue of the sky was nothing compared to his eyes, especially when he turned and looked at you then.

   "Sorry." You mumbled, stretching away from him to the tune of the pilot announcing the flight's landing in a few short minutes.

Neither of you spoke as the flight landed, even though you tried too. What was the proper way to part ways, after such spontaneous fun? The trouble was you didn't want to part ways, not at all.

When you stood to leave the aircraft, George kept his pace in time with yours as you stretched into the airport. Maybe it was because it was three in the morning, and he was too tired to be in any kind of hurry. Whatever it was, you relished the last bit of time you were lucky enough to share with the handsome man.

He even lingered near you while you waited at the luggage carousel, staying silent all the while. You scrolled through your phone searching for a text from your ride who promised to fetch you some time ago. But instead, you found a string of texts from the person apologizing for canceling the last minute.

Oh, no. What were you going to do? After a quick google of the cab services in the area, you found all of them to be closed at such an hour. Your panic must have shown on your face as you googled an uber.

   "What's that face for? Gonna pass out on me again?" George piped up. He was standing in front of you and seemed to have found your luggage (and his own) from the carousel and brought it over for you. But before you could thank him you shot him a look and went on to explain yourself.

   "My ride's bailed. Perfect time to find out, huh?" You sighed nervously, looking back at your phone.

George clicked his tongue as you waited for uber to download.

   "How far are you? I can give you a lift." George softened, locking eyes with you and reading your expression again.  

   "I've paid to keep my car here, since I wasn't sure when and how often I'd be home. I can give you a lift to yours if you'd like."

   "George. That's too much to ask." You decided, starting to make an uber account.

   "I'm serious!" George laughed a little. The sweet sound caused you to look up to him once more. 

   "Don't you have a red carpet to go get ready for, Mr. Mackay?" You shyly wondered, considering his offer.

   "At long last, no. Thank God. Come on, y/n." George spoke your name, grabbing onto the handle of your suitcase. That's what sealed the deal. He'd recognized you all the way back at the last airport and spent hours delighting you in conversation. But he'd only just said your name for the first time since school. Maybe even the first time ever.

You had no choice but to float behind George, struggling to hide how smitten you'd become. Or maybe you'd always been.

George was still kind and cheery, even at four in the morning. In his car, he asked if you were warm and took a beat to enter your address in his GPS before taking off onto the eerily empty roadway. You were alone for the first time ever, but it felt natural. The silence in the car felt much like the shared, sleepy silence you shared during the last bit of your flight.

When your familiar neighborhood came into view, your heart sank. You still weren't ready for goodbye.

   "Thanks for the lift." Peering to George as he parked his car outside your flat. He insisted on carrying your bags up the steps, hardly giving you time to decline him. George opened the passenger door for you and reached for your bags as you stood on the pavement.

   "You've been far too kind. Thanks, George." You sighed, digging for your keys. He kept a groggy smile pointed your way as he followed behind up the steps.

   "I guess now you know where to find me." You joked, jamming your key into the door, taking a big chance at slyly asking for a next time with George. He was standing beside you, searching your face as you glanced toward him. He waited a beat too long to respond and your nerves took over, fearing you hadn't made yourself clear enough.

   "I seem to be having a hard time saying goodbye to you." You spoke, looking right at him with one hand on your door handle, ready to run behind it and hide in case he laughed in your face.

"What if... you didn't have to say goodbye?" George softly and slowly reasoned, casting a daring glance at your flat door. And with a couple of snickers and nervous nods, George made a joke about having already packed an overnight bag, and followed you inside.

It was a night you wouldn't soon forget.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Requests are open ♡

[twstdreams]

Hi hi I simply love The senerio with Leona in it lions Chase it was cute may I request one with Malleus please ^^

Here you go! I took some liberties with the reader’s personality, so they won’t exactly fit everyone, but I hope it’s an enjoyable read!

Malleus Draconia with a crush on a reader who sees him as an older brother figure:

You noticed the lingering gaze of a Diasomnia student as you strolled towards the dorm. Most students were hesitant to approach the powerful dorm leader, and frankly, at first, your relationship was nowhere near as close as it was now. It was only a combination of ignorance and bravery, and perhaps a little stupidity or poor risk management, that the two of you had such a close relationship.

When you first met, you hadn’t been so oblivious to not notice Malleus’ powerful aura, but given the distinctive student body, he was only one of many surprises. Lilia seemed more approachable at first glance, but there was something more foreboding beneath the surface. Octavinelle students always seemed to say the right words but you couldn’t seem to shake a sinister feeling when you were around them. To be blunt, you weren’t even sure if the Heartslabyul dorm leader was sane. Malleus had potent strength but did not seem to have any outright hatred or madness. 

Admittedly, the first time you had asked Malleus to join you was an impulsive decision slightly spurred by panic. After seeing Sebek getting electrocuted for forgetting to invite Malleus, you sputtered out an offer without much thought. 

“Oh! Um, would you like to come too?” You figured Malleus would decline, but you’d be spared any suffering since you went through the formality of inviting him. At worst, Malleus would chide you for encroaching on his busy schedule. At any rate, nothing could top receiving a flaming ball of fire to the face, so you took your chances.

To your utter surprise, Malleus actually said yes. Your jaw nearly hung open from shock until you remembered that etiquette and basic social interactions deemed that you should respond. And that is how you found yourself walking through the Diasomnia gardens with Malleus after your very first conversation. The memory brings a smile to your face now, but at the time you were pretty nervous.

Currently, you were heading towards the Diasomnia dorm to have tea with Malleus. With your favourite snacks in hand, you walked with a bounce in your step. When you opened the door, you spotted Malleus reading over some papers. He looked like the picture of an ideal responsible student, which off-put some but made him more endearing to you.

In lieu of a greeting, you placed a plate of the treats you had brought for him to eat. His attention shifted to you as he put away the papers in favour of trying the snack. You began to pour tea for the both of you.

“You’re like the ideal big brother to me,” you commented nonchalantly while taking a seat. You were always rather impressed by his skills, safely surpassing yours, but it was the time he set aside for you that warmed your heart.

“A big brother?” Malleus repeated with a tone of disdain.

“Yeah? You know, like, an older sibling that’s a guy,” you fumbled with your words as his reaction filled you with uncertainty. Did fae not have siblings? Did he think you had insulted him? You continued in hopes of fixing this mess, “Siblings have the same parents or at least one parent in common, and, uh, well they’re usually pretty close and they …”

The words died in your throat as Malleus’ icy gaze pierced straight through you. You were on the verge of suppressing a shiver. Sometimes Malleus didn’t quite understand your behaviour or some random human convention, but this was different. 

“I am not human,” he asserted, “Nor do we share any blood.” You chose your next words carefully. Suddenly you had landed in bumpy waters with a tempestuous storm brewing.

Choose to:

A) Clarify what you meant

B) Drop the topic

A) Clarify what you meant

“It’s just,” you inhaled deeply and summoned all the courage you could, “I didn’t mean it literally. The point is to illustrate how close we are. More than casual friends.” 

There’s a beat of silence. You’re doing your best to bravely face the situation but a part of you wants the floor to swallow you whole. Were you wrong? No, you couldn’t be. Malleus wouldn’t spend all this time with you if he didn’t care at least a little. Right?

“But still platonic?” he inquired, and there was an edge to his tone that told you he still wasn’t pleased. 

“Generally, yes,” you paused as you felt a change in the air, magic threatening to spark, then hastily added, “But! I mean, feelings aren’t linear. They, they’re evolving and changing. So, in the future, who knows?” You closed your eyes and tried to collect yourself. How had the situation turned so awkward and precarious so quickly?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it,” you say to the teacup, but you know Malleus hasn’t moved. You practically felt his glare as all your emotions spilled from your lips, “Even if it’s a bit presumptuous, I …”

You can’t do it. What were you even trying to say? No, you knew, but now you were second-guessing everything. Honestly, at this point, you felt like a complete mess. Maybe you should have just waited until you weren’t a bundle of nerves.

“You what?” He phrased it as a question, but his voice indicated it was a demand. 

“I … Well, I care about you,” you squeaked, face set aflame. You didn’t think your face could get any hotter even if Malleus did decide to set you on fire. This whole thing probably looked so dumb to the fae. You were never going to bring up siblings again.

“Humans are quick to make declarations of love and care,” he remarked but you felt some of the tension lift as his tone mellowed out.

“Yes, I suppose so,” you agreed, careful not to break the fragile peace. Malleus sipped his tea while his eyes bore into your soul. You weren’t sure if it was a signal to continue, so you added, “Though being in love and loving someone are not the same, they are both forms of love.”

“And? What would you categorize your confession as?” he asked casually as if he hadn’t requested for you to bare your heart to him. You gulped, hesitant given you had just narrowly avoided a disaster.

“I don’t know, love is a strong and confusing feeling,” you murmured while choosing to avert your gaze to the teacup before you. Maybe if you stared at the tea long enough, it would reveal the right thing to say.

“I look forward to your conclusion.” Expectant green eyes met your wide ones. This felt like some god awful trick. He continued, “Though I suppose you, who is so similar to a fumbling child, will take some time to decide.”

You gritted your teeth and silently nodded. It felt like some devious trick question with no right answer. What was Malleus expecting? Were you suppose to confess you were madly in love with him like some protagonist out of a fairy tale? Did he expect some reverent answer about his status and how you’d never dream of dating a powerful descendant of the king? Perhaps spout something brutally honest like Silver? Something cunning like Lilia? Dutiful to a fault like Sebek?

You had no clue as dread settled in your heart. Though his current unbristled appearance gave no hint, you knew this was serious. You had no idea your relationship with Malleus was so tumultuous and unstable until now. A simple misstep had landed you in so much trouble, you can still feel waves of his magic linger. You’d always known Malleus was powerful, both in magic and his position, but this was the first time it’d been a threat to you.

The discussion was about types of love, but it was fear that was welling up in your heart.

B) Drop the topic

“Sorry! It was a bad example, forget about it,” you replied, trying to keep any nervous ticks under control. The tension in the room told you Malleus had forgotten nothing. You made feeble attempts of bringing up other topics but all responses were lacklustre. Soon enough, the tea was cool and you excused yourself with Malleus making no actions to stop you.

Your subsequent interactions felt off. Naturally, Malleus was busy with both his studies and duties as dorm leader, but every conversation seemed laced with an unpleasantness you weren’t sure how to handle. A slight contempt that had never been directed to you before. 

The ground beneath you no longer felt steady and each step was filled with trepidation. You tossed and turned at night, unsure what to do and why everything had ended up like this. You swayed between worry and annoyance. Wasn’t he being petty? Or were you inconsiderate? You had missed something but your eyes couldn’t find the unknown piece.

You hesitated to act, but one day Lilia had approached you with a smile baring too many teeth and left you with an ominous warning.

“Be careful,” he whispered with eyes that lit up in amusement as panic wormed its way into your soul.

One day, while passing papers a teacher had asked you to deliver to Malleus, you cautiously asked, “I haven’t done anything to make you angry, right?”

“Of course I’m not angry. I’m not,” he insisted. 

Oh no.

No no no no no.

No!

Dismay practically flowed through your veins as the sentence left his mouth. He was definitely upset and you had no clue how to fix this. 

Was your relationship with Malleus always this fragile? Everyone was always wondering how you’d manage to befriend the dorm leader, but now you knew it wasn’t befriending him that was hard, it was maintaining this relationship. Part of you was upset, you had come to care about Malleus a great deal, but frustration bubbled up too. Why couldn’t he just tell you why he was mad? For all the comments about how you were like a baby or a child, he provided no guidance or clues.

This felt like a losing game and you weren’t sure you wanted to play anymore.