#painting the fever flush is my favorite thing

[sicklymadscientist]

💕Please don’t re-blog to non-kink blogs, thanks!💕

All the recent An/gel Du/st love on snzblr makes me so happy and I had to contribute. This comes from imaginings with @ghostlychill and is basically the prequel moment to their beautiful art here.

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Oh my loveliest nonny writer. I'm in great need of some protective Sam vibes, with a sick or hurt reader who hides it to not make a fuss, she's afraid the others think she's too weak to be in the team, cause she's new. But Sam noticing her being hurt or sick and goes all in full blown protective mode. And takes cares of her 🥹😪 and makes sure that she can trust him. 💔

"my loveliest nonny writer" 🥹🥹 i'm swear my heart is ready to explode. you guys are just all so sweet. i hope you enjoy and thank you so much 💛

Pairing - Sam Wilson x Reader Sam Wilson Masterlist | Anon's 1K Celebration

i'll take care of you.

Sam Wilson is the epitome of caretaker. He is Caretaker with a capital C. He notices something off with you the moment he walks into the conference room, far before anyone else does.

Your head is tipped into your hand, eyes slightly glassy, flushed pallor.

"You look like hell."

You barely move - another sign that you're not feeling good. Your eyes dart over to him as he stands over you, "Thanks."

"Go get some rest. I'll catch you up on anything you miss," Sam offers, concern painting his face.

You wave him off, or at least, you try to wave him off, "I'm fine. It's just allergies."

He presses a hand to your forehead, his lips pursing in distaste, "Allergies don't give you a fever. Go back to bed. I'll check on you when the meeting's over."

You softly grunt in objection, "No."

You know you're being stubborn, but the whole reason you dragged yourself out of bed this morning was to prove a point. You wanted to prove you could handle whatever this team threw at you - even if that was just a little virus.

The point was getting a little murky with the fever, but it was a point nonetheless. You shake your head, making yourself a little dizzy.

"Listen, you're not helping anyone by being here like this. Help us by helping yourself," Sam softly explains like he can see exactly what's going on without you even having to tell him. "And if anyone gives you shit for it, I'll kick their ass. Promise."

"Sam..." you grumble.

"Go or I'll carry you out of here."

Your glare is softened by how miserable you look. "You're really bossy, you know?"

It doesn't stop there. Not with Sam Wilson as your Caretaker.

He was right, even if you don't want to admit it. Because after he sent you away, the second your head hits the pillow, you're out like a light. You're not sure how long you've slept until you're suddenly awoken by Sam's presence.

"Knock, knock," Sam announces himself, entering your room armed with the sick survival kits of sick survival kits.

You sleepily groan, "Aren't you supposed to do that before you walk into a room? How did you even get in here?

"The door," Sam cheekily replies.

"It was locked."

"I may or may not have a key."

"We'll talk about this when I can see straight."

Sam crouches down to the edge of your bed. He presses a hand to your forehead again. "You're still burning up. You might have the flu."

You halfheartedly push him away. "The flu is contagious, Sam. Go away."

"Just let me take care of you."

"You don't have to."

"I want to." He tenderly strokes the hair out of your face. "This would be a lot more romantic if you weren't all sweaty."

"I hate you."

"And in spite of how mean you're being, I brought you a few things." He reaches for his bag, unpacking item by item. "Tissues. Cooling rags. Plenty of fluids, Gatorade, ginger ale, and some tea. But most importantly, my mom's world famous chicken soup. Perfect for when you're feeling sick."

"You take such good care of me," you hum, reaching out and gently stroking his cheek. "My favorite nurse."

"I think you're delirious," Sam chuckles. His heart fluttering at your sweet caress. He reaches over you, pulling your thick cover over you, tucking you in. He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head, "I'll always take care of you."

Anon's 1K Celebration Sam Wilson Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064

[lawrencespen1777]

drabble where the whumpee has a panic attack because the pneumonia makes breathing So Difficult ??

Long time coming, my patient Anon. I hope you enjoy.

Lawrence

C found W sitting straight up in bed. They were sweaty and pale with the dazed look of someone who hasn’t left their room in a week.

“Why are you up? I told you if you ever want that fever gone you’re going to have to rest. Sucks to suck.” When W didn’t respond, they laid their hand on their shoulder. “Hey. You okay?”

W, wide eyed, turned to them. Tears spilled down their flushed cheeks and onto the sweat soaked T-shirt closeting their heaving chest. “I can’t breathe,” they croaked. “My lungs are burning.”

“Okay. Okay don’t panic. Did you take your inhaler?”

W nodded and wiped away a stray tear with shaky hands. “I can’t breathe,” they whispered again.

“You can. You can do this. It’s just the fever making you panic. This feels worse than it is. Do you believe me?”

W nodded.

“You’ve got to calm down or you’re never going to catch your breath.” They placed their palm against W’s chest and felt underneath the crackling of the pneumonia coupled with a racing heart. “I’m here. Try breathing through your nose and out your mouth.”

“I’m freaking out.”

“Alright, then what’s five things you can see?”

W nodded again and searched the room. “You…the lamp…” A cough pushed its way through the quiet. W winced. “The bird painting…my shoes…O’Malley.” The large, orange cat flicked his tail in recognition of his name, but otherwise continued to doze at the foot of the bed.

“Good. And four things you can touch?”

“Um…the blanket…your hand…the inhaler…my pillow.”

“Very good, W.” C, with their hand still pressed against W’s chest, could feel the muscles loosening and the strained breaths becoming less and less desperate. “What about three things you can hear?”

W closed their eyes and in the silence C heard their gasps turn to quick breaths, then to deep ones. “O’Malley’s purring…the TV in the living room, and…I can hear you bouncing your leg again.”

C hadn’t noticed their own nervous tick until now. Maybe they should do their own panic exercise. “Two things you can smell.”

W laid back against their pillow and pulled a few more deep breaths through their nose. “Coffee,” they sighed. “And the Apple Pie candle you bought last week.”

C pushed the strands of wet hair away from W’s glazed eyes. They handed them the warm glass they had brought into the room a few minutes ago. W brought it to their lips, hands weak, but steady. They sipped and smiled.

“What can you taste?”

“Chamomile, my favorite.”

C took back the cup and placed it on the nightstand beside them. Then they picked up W’s hand and held it in theirs. W squeezed, sighing contentedly as their heavy eyes finally closed. “How’s your breathing?” C asked softly.

“Much better. Thank you, C.”

C kissed W’s fingers. “Feel better. I’ll come check on you in a bit, okay?”

But W, finally at ease, had already slipped back into sleep

[gfguren]

itachi | angst | cw: cursing, mentions of death

-the memory of itachi haunts you-

You want to say you've forgotten him, left the memory of him behind just as he left you all those years ago, but that would make you a liar, you suppose. Despite how hard you try to forget, with each day that passes and every wound your heart mends, you're still never able to forget the specter that is Itachi.

He's always beside you, trapped in the loneliest corners of your mind, dark eyes lingering, fingers tracing your skin, a smile you haven't seen in years haunting you like a chill you just can't seem to shake.

You miss him.

Still.

And the cold weather doesn't help, a fever striking you mid January, leaving you high on cold medicine and with way too much time to think, to regret, to yearn.

The illusions torment you. The ghost, with its gentle brown eyes and honey laugh, lies its phantom hands on either side of your flushed cheeks and then over your forehead, a scorching hundred and two degrees.

"You're sick." Its voice is so far away, a deep, distant echo that you wish you could forget. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He smiles and the butterflies burst to life, if only for the moment before reality sinks in once more and you're plummeting back down, down, down to planet earth, to the place where you're wiping the tears from your eyes and forcing down the feverish mirage. "Don't do this to me."

As if he doesn't hear you, he - the memory - continues, "Stay here, I'll warm up your favorite soup."

And you wait, like a fool you wait. But he doesn't return, just as he never has before; and you know he never will again.

Kicking off the blanket with all the strength left in your feeble body, you force yourself out of bed, driven only by the ire and hatred for your kryptonite, for those memories that perpetually linger and your predisposition to cling to them so pathetically. The hallway has never felt so long before, your hand grasping at the white paint with petty desperation as you all but drag yourself to the kitchen.

Old countertops hold you steady as you rummage through your cupboards, a layer of dust laid thick over the wooden shelves. Maybe you'd ate out a few too many times recently, and maybe you didn't have the drive or the time to clean them, or maybe, just maybe the thought of thrift store China and coffee mugs in matching pairs made you too afraid to open them, afraid to face the little things he left behind, afraid to fall back into that god forsaken abyss you'd fought so so hard to escape from, afraid to relive the memory of Itachi.

Warm breath fans past the nape of your neck and you shudder, goosebumps pricking your spine. You sigh as a warm presence wraps its arms around your waist, sunshine that lulls you into a false sense of security. Exactly how you remember him.

"I told you to wait." The illusion reaches past you for the pot on the highest shelf. "Go sit down, I said I'd take care of you, didn't I?"

You shake your head, hand slipping through his to grab it first, afraid to fall into the memory again. He huffs, mumbling something about you being stubborn before leaning against the marbled counter. Your hand lingers a little too long over the cream of chicken and you hear him hum disapprovingly.

"Eat something light, you'll only make yourself feel worse."

"Whatever you say, darling," you roll your eyes, a small laugh slipping past your chapped lips before you freeze, remembering you're talking to a ghost -- no, worse. A memory, a mirage, a being that only responds in the ways you remember him.

"Oh?" His eyes light up as he takes a step towards you. "You finally acknowledged me?" You hold your tongue, emptying a can of flavorless broth into the pot and placing it on the burner. "My love," he whispers. "Don't ignore me."

You focus every bit of attention on the stove, needlessly stirring the soup to avoid meeting his desperate gaze. Still, his eyes burn a hole in your center where an unmistakable emptiness lies, aching you to the core and making you want to scream. Tears sting the corners of your eyes and you choke out a desperate, "Please just go away."

He sighs, placing a hand on each of your frigid shoulders. "I'm here because of you, for you. You know that, right?" His voice holds a sadness that's all too familiar. "Just look at me, please."

And you do, with quivering lips and sweaty palms, you face him fully for the first time. "What do you want from me?"

He smiles and your heart reels. "Isn't it the opposite? Isn't there something you want from me? That's why I'm still here after all this time, isn't it?"

"What?" you murmur, incredulous. What you want from him? You've said it a million times before.

To go away.

To leave me alone.

To disappear like you never existed at all.

But looking in those eyes that have always seen right through you, it catches on the precipice of your tongue and you know deep down, it's not the truth at all.

To come home.

To be here with me.

To spend just five more minutes by my side.

"I can't," he whispers, though you're sure you said nothing at all. "I'm sorry."

"Then stop making this hard on me, and just go! Please!"

"Why is it hard, my love? Tell me, I'll make it better."

Your throat is closing up but you manage the broken syllables as best you can. "Because I miss you, is that what you want to hear?" You wipe angrily at the tears burning your eyes. "I miss you so goddamn much and I hate you for leaving me behind. And I know-" you choke on your words, biting back a sob. "I know you'll never come back to me, and that fucking hurts but you know Itachi, you know what hurts even more than that?

"That I don't know what happened to you. That you never told me why you left, hell that you were going to leave me at all! I don't know if you're living a happy life somewhere, or if you've lost your memory and are wandering aimlessly, looking for that empty space in your heart that's waiting here with me or... or..."

You fall to the ground, hands covering your face, red and puffy from crying. "I don't know if you've left this world forever and that, that is what haunts me the most. Can't you just tell me you're okay? I promise I'll let you go, just please, please. I'm begging you."

He leans down, pulls you into his phantom embrace, strokes your hair with such familiar tenderness that a broken sob rips past your throat. "You know I can't." The illusion is crying too, you realize. "But wherever I am, I'll always be watching over you, protecting you-" His hand moves to cradle your tear stained cheek and you let yourself fall into it. "-forever. I promised, remember?"

Your eyes meet his one last time before the memory fizzles away like static and leaves you feeling empty, empty and alone and pathetic; with nothing but a headache brewing behind your heavy eyelids, and a pot of soup boiling away in the background that you have no appetite for anyway.

[words-etched-in-her-skin]

Part 2 of my ‘House Dimitrescu’ series on Ao3. I am currently working on Part 3 (Alcina body worship), and will post that here when I finish 😏

Every candle in Castle Dimitrescu was lit in preparation. Alcina’s large frame silhouetted against the low lighting of the room like the masterpiece that she was. The brim of her hat tipping slightly forward as she gave you a small nod. You look quite delicious tonight, my pet.. she had told you. Her words still swimming freshly through your mind - the look on her face as you stepped out into the hallway in your new outfit - and you swore, for just a moment, that you saw her sinful tongue skating it’s way deliciously across her bottom lip. Suns dissolving to slivers as her pupils dilated - devouring you where you stood.

“Tonight is a very important night for my daughter’s and I.” The smooth tones of Alcina’s voice ricocheted off the high ceilings of the castle as she moved elegantly throughout the room. “It has been such a long time since we’ve…”

Each word becoming more muffled as your thoughts began to wander. You knew you should’ve been listening - waiting for her queue - but all you could think about was the night ahead of you. The fresh memory of her shadow completely enveloping you - cornered in the hallway - warm breath skating across the top half of your body as she leaned in to whisper. The three words that dripped from her tongue in the most delicious of ways, making you wet... Tonight, you’re mine. It wasn’t the first time you had been invited back to her room, but it was the first time she had ever proclaimed it in such a way. Mine.

“Psst… Heyyy… Hey, sweets.. You’re up.”

Your eyes shot up, locking onto Daniela’s as she gave you a wink. Fuck, has Alcina already said my name? You took a look around, everyone in the room was completely still - Alcina’s eyes slightly amused as if she was fully aware of what had you so distracted. Yeah, totally wasn’t completely lost in the gay thought of you or anything. Internally rolling your eyes, you rose from your seat. The faded plush carpet still soft beneath your feet as you made your way down the length of the room. Rows of candlelight illuminating your every step. Alcina’s eyes boring into you - the tiniest smirk painted upon her perfect lips as she turned to face you - finishing her speech as she did. The sweet musk of her pheromones rolling over you in waves as she leaned down, pinning a flower much like her own to the lapel of your vest.

“Welcome home, my pet.” She whispered, making you shudder. “I’ll be back in my chambers in exactly ten minutes. It’d do you well to make quick work of your thank yous. I do not like to be kept waiting.”

You swallowed hard as she pulled away, silken cream accentuating her curves as she made her way back to the corridor - your brain glitching with each delicious sway of her hips. You wasted no time in making your way back through the room, only stopping to say a quick goodnight to the girls - each of them with a knowing look on their face. A fierce blush quickly moving in as Daniela gave you her own version of a thumbs up. Yeah, that thumb definitely isn’t hers. You moved through the long corridors of the castle as swiftly as possible - anticipation rolling over you like a fever dream. Every cell in your body alive - charged - eager to be completely overwhelmed by her presence. You rapped your fingers lightly against the thick wood of her bedroom door, only entering once you heard her answer - knowing there would be severe punishment if you didn’t - the lashes on your backside still fresh from the last time.

“Salutations, my pet.”

There was no amount of warning that would have sufficiently prepared you for the view you walked into. The body sprawled across the length of her bed - eyes glowing timbers as you made your way further into the room. The delicious landscape of her thighs ever so prevalent - damn near shimmering in the moonlight that danced it’s way through her bedroom window. Fuck, she’s a literal work of art.

“Good evening, my lady.” You replied, doing your best to sound composed.

She chuckled, giving you a wry smirk. “You seemed quite distracted during the ceremony, my pet. Care to tell me why?”

“Ah, yes. I’m sorry I missed my queue, my lady. It won’t happen again.”

“That is not what I asked, my pet. Don’t make me ask again.”

You swallowed hard, watching every muscle in her body flex slightly as she slowly shifted herself up from her spot on the bed, rising. The fine lace of her nightgown clinging deliciously to every supple curve. Her large frame - imposing - looming over you as you tried to find the proper words. She knew she was only making it harder for you to think, and she reveled in it. Her eyes growing darker while you fumbled to reply.

“I… well, I’m.. It’s just.. Fuck… you are quite distracting, my lady.”

“Oh, I’m aware, dear.” She chuckled. “Though, I will need you to do a better job at listening from now on. I will not be embarrassed in front of my family again. Next time, I may not be so … understanding. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lady. My apologies.”

“Very good, my pet. Now, as much as I appreciate how nicely that outfit suits you.. I do believe you are a bit overdressed at this point, wouldn’t you agree?”

You gave her a nod - the amount of heat that spilled over you from nothing more than her tone was immediate - unrelenting - a wild fire of anticipation finding its way into every last crevice of your body. The chilled air of the castle becoming more soothing against your flushed skin with every piece of fabric that fell to the floor. Her pupils growing more dilated with each inch of your skin that becomes exposed to her. She was hungry for you - you could see it. It was the way she looked at all of her prey before she completely devoured them. The ways her eyes lingered from one curve to another, taking her time to truly appreciate the landscape of you. Your skin growing more flushed with each gaze that they gifted you. Her hips moving to some unheard melody as she began to close the distance between you - the sheerest of lace allowing you to see just enough of her to make your brain almost completely glitch out. Fuuuck.

“I seem to remember something about a specific kink of yours, my pet.”

“O-oh?”

“Something about being quite the fan of…. The larger things in life?”

“Oh…” Oh, fuck.

“Mhm… and as you may have noticed. There isn’t a single part on me that isn’t .. large.”

Alcina practically purred the last word - the cooled bricks of the castle walls a balm against your overly flushed skin as she continued to push you back. You swallowed, doing your best not give her any indication as to just how fucking wet you were.

“Ah… ahem… yes.. Yes, I may have noticed that.”

She laughed, her voice low and husky - filled with desire. “You are quite fetching when you’re flustered, my pet.”

“Erm.. “

Great, I’ll just be reduced to a chorus of random noises now, thanks.

“What a precious human you are. Maybe even my favorite pet thus far.”

“Mph.. fuck, my lady.”

Another chuckle as she leaned in even further. “And would my delicious pet enjoy it if their Lady.. indulged them in this kink of theirs?”

“.... Y-yes, my lady.”

“Good.” The utter firmness that one single word could muster almost making you short circuit. “Now then, if I were you, my pet. I would turn around and brace yourself against the wall.”

You gulped, this time loud enough for Alcina to hear - causing her to smirk. Her pupils dilated to a point where they threatened to swallow you whole. Nodding, you swiftly turned your body to face the wall, a hand on either side of you for support.

“Well, I do believe this may be my most favorite view of you yet.”

Fuuuck.

She allowed you to settle yourself into position before slowly moving in. “Safeword?”

“Heisenberg.”

The unguarded laugh that cut through the night air immediately made you smirk - the shadow of her silhouette flickering in the candlelight as her head fell back uninhibitedly.

“Oh, you are quite the humorous one, my pet… I do enjoy it.”

“Thank you, my lady.” You replied, blushing.

“Are you ready, dear?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She leaned over - dropping down to your height - warm breath spilling over the back of you as she placed a large hand directly next to your own. You could only imagine just how delicious her hips must have been swayed in order to position herself in such a way. The feeling of her immense frame pressing ever so firmly into your backside as she breathed you in.

“And don’t think I can’t smell how wet you are, my pet… I know you’re dripping for me.” She said, dragging the tip of her tongue up the entire length of your neck. “I bet when I spread those tasty little human legs of yours, the juices will be damn near gushing... Won’t they?”

Error 404. Fuuuuuuu-

“Mmph.”

“Let me hear you, pet.”

You knew when Alcina dropped the ‘my’ that she meant business. “Fuck… yes.. they will be, Lady Dimitrescu.”

She chuckled in response. “Such a good pet”

You were certain you were about to burst into literal gay flames at any moment - every inch of your body covered in a deep crimson. Your breath hitching as the girth of one of Alina’s fingers began to trace it’s way up your inner thigh - stopping just shy of where you wanted it most - resting against your core. You whimpered in response, causing her to chuckle.

“What a needy little human. Are you so desperate to feel me?”

“I’m always desperate to feel you, my lady.”

You knew you had disarmed her, if even for a moment. Quiet as her finger slowly spread your lips apart - warm juices instantly coating it. The sheer size of it apparent as she slid it down the front of your core - allowing the tip of it to just barely slip inside. A soft whimper escaping from your mouth.

“Let’s see how many of these you can take, my pet, hm?”

“Y-yes, my lady. Please.”

“Oh, I do love it when you beg for me, dear.”

Before you could even think to respond - brat out, speak in any way - Alcina slid the length of her finger deep inside, immediately filling you. You whimpered again, grinding your hips down into her - desperate for more.

“Ah, ah… patience, my pet.”

“Yes, my lady. Sorry.”

An achingly slow pace, each teasing thrust only making you drip for her even more. The length of her frame looming over you, heat radiating over you in waves as she slowly slid the girth of her finger in and out of you. If just one of her fingers felt this good, you could only imagine how incredible another would feel.

“More... my lady.. please. “

“Such a delicious little pet.”

Low sweet tones, reverberating across your skin. A sharp inhale as the tip of the second finger pressed against you.

“Ready, my pet?”

“Mmph.. yes, my lady.. fuck.”

Slow and deliberate - a multitude of juices guiding her finger in as your core stretched around them - the second one just as thick as the first - causing you to immediately moan out for her. Body shuddering, eyes half lidded - your body a lightning bolt of pure need.

“Comfortable, dear?”

“Y-yes. my lady.. Very.”

Her pheromones overwhelming you as she leaned in, placing a firm bite to your shoulder. The warm sting of it cascading across your body. Her long tongue skating softly over it before she pulled away, kissing down your nape and shoulder blades. Another bite to your other shoulder as she thrust both fingers deep inside of you.

“Mmmph-!”

You were trying everything in your power to muffle your moans - but the steady pace of Alcina’s fingers were doing their best to quickly unravel you.

“Let me hear you, pet.” She said, punctuating her words with a firm thrust.

“Mmph… Fuck..”

Your forehead fell against the cool brick of the castle wall as you moaned - whimpered - screamed out for her. Warm juices dripping down your inner thighs as you bucked your hips down into the thickness of her fingers. You had never felt anything so good in your entire life - and yet, you still wanted more.

“Fuck… I… Alcina… more.. please.. “

“.... As you wish, my pet.”

A third finger, perfectly positioned - the tip of it, immediately shooting a lightning bolt of the most delicious pain straight through your body - pressing against your entrance. Fuck, she feels so good.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes, my lady.”

Even slower than with the second one, Alcina took her time guiding the third finger deep inside of you.

“Comfortable?”

“Mmph.. y-yes…” You tried to answer - the muscles in your body beginning to shake.

“Such a needy human you are… taking so much of me.”

“Mmph.. fuck.. Yes..”

“But you are doing so well, my pet.”

“Erm… fuck..” Fuck.

She took her time allowing your body to adjust to the mere size of her. Every inch of you flushed beyond measure as she started a slow and steady pace. A warm sting as you matched her rhythm - grinding down - taking as much of her as you possibly could. You had never felt so full - so complete - so utterly fulfilled by the simple act of three fingers. You bit your bottom lip, feeling the first tidal wave of pleasure as it started to crash over you. Her fingers becoming more relentless as she took you over the edge. The sheer size of her holding you in place. The amount of bites she gifted you - a trail of burning embers decorating your flushed skin. Her honeyed voice rolling over you, telling you just how fucking perfect you were. Taking her fingers down to the knuckle on each thrust - allowing her to fill you, over and over again. Waves of pleasure crashing again and again. Warm juices dripping down to your knees as her pace proved merciless - until you could barely breathe, barely think - your voice hoarse from screaming out her name. You could feel your body shudder as she finally began to level off - wondering how many orgasms she had just given you - and you hoped she didn’t ask. Alcina leaned down again, placing a soft kiss to your dewy skin - droplets of sweat painted over every inch of you as she slowly slid her fingers out of your throbbing core - causing you to shudder. It was a sound so satisfying that it almost instantly made you wet all over again. FUCK. Your body swiftly falling against the brick - relishing the coolness of it.

“That was absolutely exquisite, my pet. You will have to let me indulge you in that more often.”

“Mmmh.. any.. time.. my lady... “ You responded between breaths.

“... With a strap next time, perhaps. Would you like that?”

You turned - immediately locking your eyes onto hers as you mustered a smirk. “Very much, my lady.”

“Good. Now.. rest up, my pet The hour is late and I still expect to be properly tended to.”

“I would never leave my lady so unsatisfied.” You replied, breath finally steadying.

“I should expect not.”

“Actually… I’ve been thinking, my lady… have you… ever had your body worshiped? Properly?”

With nothing more than the smirk painted across her perfect lips, Alcina undid her nightgown in one fluid motion.

[consumeconstantly]

A rose by any other name would(n’t) smell as sweet

Summary: “Please. Just buy me flowers once. Just once, that’s all I’m asking.” Marinette sits on her the cold metal of an outside chair at her favorite cafe. He never does. Not during her life. (But perhaps in death--)

________________________________________________

Marinette is not a trophy wife, although her husband would certainly like her to be.

She is an independent go-getter who builds a fashion empire from the ground up, takes in kids off the street and cares for them like they’re her own, and an ex-heroine who does just as much as a civilian as she did in a super suit. Some will argue that she does more. Marinette is the kind of woman that others aspire to be; care and love built into a frame made of steel, ambition, and values tempered by years of experience. Mothers point at her and tell their daughters and sons that they should emulate her, then attempt to follow in her footsteps as well.

Almost nobody in Paris hates Marinette. 

But perhaps the man who sits across from her at the painted-black table despises her.

“I don’t want children,” she insists. “Not right now. When we do have kids, I want to devote my all to them right now. I can’t do that when I’m trying to branch out overseas.”

“But you’ll be such a good mother. And you’ve talked about having kids for ages. You mentor enough children as it is-- can’t you just divert some of the time and resources you spend on them and focus on us?”

Marinette stirs her coffee, spoon clinking against porcelain. She adds in one creamer. Then two. And a third, just for good measure. “Having kids and mentoring kids is different. And even when we do have kids, I’m not going to stop mentoring the ones that I’ve taken under my wing.”

“That’s not fair to our kids, though.”

“I don’t understand how it’s not.”

“Love and patience aren’t limitless. Even though you’re trying to help everyone, you can’t do that.”

She set her spoon to the side of the cup. “It’s true that I can’t help everyone. But I want to try. Besides, we have plenty of time before we ever have to worry about kids.”

“We don’t, Marinette. You’re almost thirty five, now.” He gestures to her face, which has gained a few number of wrinkles and sunspots. What can she say? Marinette embraces the process of aging, and stopping herself from laughing just to prevent a few lines seems like more trouble than it’s worth. “Not exactly a spring chicken.”

Calmly, Marinette sips her cream and sugar laden coffee. Despite needing the extra caffeine boost nearly every day, she’s never been able to stomach having the drink straight. “How many times have we had this conversation? I’m starting to feel like a broken record.”

He sighs. “And every time we have this conversation, both of us just get older and older. You know that the longer we wait to have children, the more likely they are to have… difficulties.”

“And if they do, we will love them just the same,” Marinette says, firmly. “Now please, can we stop talking about this? We haven’t had a date in ages.”

“Because you’ve been so busy,” he accuses.

“No, because you keep refusing to meet me. Why don’t we talk about something else?”

“What else is there to talk about? You won’t consider having children, and you won’t stop seeing Jason.” With a scoff, Marinette’s husband pushes back the seat, metal scraping against concrete. “If you want to have a good date, you need to be willing to talk about our issues.”

Marinette rests her head in a hand, closing her eyes as her husband storms off. The migraines have been getting worse, lately. She finishes her cup of coffee, and the server comes over with two slices of cake and a bouquet. 

The server looks at the deserted seat nervously. His cup is left untouched, and the napkin lays rumpled. “Mme? What should I do with these?

She taps her nails on the table top. “Pack the cake in to-go containers please. You can leave the flowers with me.”

With a bowed head, the server nearly throws the bouquet at Marinette and quickly moves away to pack the slices up. Marinette shifts, taking the flowers and staring out at the streets of Paris silently. When they first started dating, the bouquets always had roses and tulips. Over the years, the tulips began to disappear, and the roses started getting replaced with forget-me nots. The silver-white of her ring sings against the blues and violets in her lap.

The small bouquet of flowers in her lap won’t be given today.

#

“Hey, Jace.”

Jason stills on the other side of the line. “Again?”

Marinette stays silent. He’s over to her apartment in five.

“I don’t understand why you’re married to the guy,” gripes Jason, letting himself in with a key Marinette made for him years ago. “He’s a complete and utter ass.”

Jason’s eating the cake Marinette bought for their anniversary. She still buys the cakes year after year, knowing that they’ll never make it through to the dessert round. Even though Marinette can’t bring herself to eat the cake without her husband at her side, Jason has no qualms about it; after three failed anniversaries and countless dates gone awry, Marinette started buying his favorite flavors. 

Marinette fiddles with the silver band on her finger. “I love him, Jason.”

“So?” He tosses the cardboard boxes in her trash, then proceeds to wash the dishes in her sink for her. Marinette doesn’t let herself go that often, but she always has a hard time feeling okay when she and her husband are fighting like this. 

She stares at a photo of her wedding day, the sheer elation in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks and ear-splitting grin. In comparison, her husband is demure. Almost unemotional. “Love makes you do crazy things.”

Ceramic and metal clink together. He places a bowl in the drying rack, then makes his way over to where Marinette sits on the couch. Her eyes are red, but at least she’s not crying anymore.

“That’s a line for romance novels, not for real life. He’s abusing you, Juliet.” Jason tightens his arm around Marinette’s shoulder, providing her support. The only reason they met was because Marinette ended up getting involved with a modern day retelling of Romeo and Juliet as the understudy. When the lead actress suddenly lost her voice, Marinette had to sub in. 

“Juliet…” Marinette muses. “Does that make him my Romeo?”

She pushes away from Jason, moving to stand near a litany of dried bouquets. The latest addition still looks alive. Marinette caresses one of the petals with her thumb, then makes an indent with her fingernail. Forget-me-nots dry quickly. Roses take longer.  

“No.” Jason’s eyes go dark, and for a moment, Marinette sees a flash of Lazarus green before he banishes it away again. “Not him. Never.”

#

“Please,” Marinette cries in the middle of the night, hand chasing an invisible phantom in her dreams. 

Her husband stares at her from his spot on their bed. 

“Don’t leave me--”

His hand lifts, ready to shake her out of the nightmare. 

“Jason.”

Marinette’s arm falls back onto her chest, tears in the corner of her eyes. Her husband throws the covers off himself, dresses, and walks out of their apartment. 

When the door slams behind him, a dried petal falls to the ground.

#

“Hey,” Jason murmurs, hand pressed against Marinette’s forehead. “You’re not running a fever or anything, but you don’t look too hot.”

Marinette waves him off. “I’ll be fine. Just didn’t get enough sleep last night. Paris Fashion Week is coming up, and you know how important that is.”

“Not as important as your health.”

“A little cold never hurt anybody.”

Jason looks Marinette in the eyes. “More people die from the common cold every year than you might expect. Don’t say things like that.”

Her body softens, leaning into Jason’s warmth. “You know me. I’m tough as nails.”

“I know.” His voice lowers. 

#

“You bastard!”

Jason Todd is a person well known for his bouts of anger. Most of the time, his resentment is dry and cynical. Quick to burn, but easy to put out with the right tools. 

Today, his voice is wet with rage, oil-soaked and smoky. 

“Please sir, calm down. This is a hospital.”

He does not calm down, but he does get quieter. His voice switches from explosions to a blizzard. “How could you do this to her? She loves you.”

The man draws into himself. “Does she? Did she ever?”

“This is no time for your self pity. She’s dying, and it’s your fault for not noticing. If she got treatment earlier--”

“Don’t push the blame on me, Jason. Marinette spends more time with you than she does with me.”

“And why is that? Because you never show up when she needs you, because you forget every single important date, because you keep making her cry. She wants nothing more than to spend time with you. She doesn’t love me. Not like she loves you.” Jason’s hands are balled up into fists, and he’s this close to throwing down with the bastard who has the privilege to call himself Marinette’s husband. “You probably didn’t even notice, but she buys flowers for you every single anniversary that the two of you have had together. Every single anniversary for the past ten years. Up in your apartment.”

Jason pushes the other man up against a wall, eyes narrowed and jaw set. “Every single time she’s come home from one of your god awful dates, she cries. She used to ask why you never gave her flowers, or why you weren’t spending time with her. She doesn’t ask for things like that anymore.”

Scoffing, Jason body checks the man and moves towards the door of Marinette’s hospital room. 

Marinette does not get better.

Her husband does not attend her funeral.

#

On the day of their anniversary, a single red rose appears on her gravestone.

@jasonette-july-2k20

[reinerispretty]

reminiscence. (? x f!reader) pt6

THANK U FOR BEING SO PATIENT i am so excited to get back to this story!!

pt1

pt5

pt7

“That’s not how you do it.”

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort.

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.”

It took (Y/N) quite a few days to recover. She shivered in bed the first night, retching violently into the trash bin Jinora had kindly placed at her bedside. She had given her a worried smile, which (Y/N) weakly returned. Falling asleep was difficult because of how cold she felt. When sleep finally did grace her, it was littered with dreams of empty blackness and monsters licking at her heels. She woke up every few hours, sweat beading down her neck and a scream threatening to rip at her throat. She felt like her heart was beating too fast to be contained by her chest. Her first night of illness was undoubtedly the worst. 

Knowing this, Korra had moved a cot into her room the next night. She knew what it was like to be ill and how isolating it felt, so she thought (Y/N) could use the company. Especially when her fever had risen to a temperature near scalding. Korra bundled her in her warmest blankets from the Northern Water Tribe, tucking (Y/N) into the fabric. She looked so small and weak, nothing like the bright, curious girl that Korra had come to know over the past few days. Naga slept protectively at the girls’ feet. (Y/N) slept most of the night and well into the next day. 

But when she awoke, the rest of the household was surprised to find her walking into the dining room, one of Korra’s blankets still wrapped around her shoulders and the color returning to her skin. “Could I have something to eat?” Her voice was hoarse from lack of use. Pema insisted that she go back to bed and rest, that dinner would be brought to her, and although she hadn’t known her very long, (Y/N) knew better than to argue. 

Quickly, she made her way back to her room and crawled back into bed, her stomach eagerly awaiting the arrival of food. 

Korra entered a few minutes later, shocked to find (Y/N) looking so chipper. “Someone’s feeling better. Pema made your favorite.” (Y/N) cocked her head to the side. “Bolin told me. Soup dumplings.” (Y/N) held in her squeal of excitement as Korra handed her the hot bowl and chopsticks. 

“So,” Korra began as she scarfed down her dumplings. “I have a plan. We,” (Y/N) liked how Korra included her in the ‘we.’ “Will take a ship to the South Pole and enter the Spirit World through the portal. Then we’ll ask the spirits if they know anything about you.” 

(Y/N) finished her last dumpling, her mouth burning comfortably from the hot food. “Is that it?” Korra let out a surprised laughed at her boldness. 

“Did you want more action?” (Y/N’s) face flushed. 

“No, I just mean that it seems really easy.” 

“If all goes well, it will be.”

--

(Y/N) was bundled up so tightly for their trip that she could hardly move. Pema hadn’t like the idea of them leaving before she was feeling her best, but (Y/N) insisted that they left as soon as possible. The thought of getting her memories back made her heart race. 

She stood in the courtyard of the Air Temple, Tenzin and his family standing before her. “I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” She said. “I hope one day I can repay you for taking care of me.” 

“You have to come back and play with us!” Ikki begged, jumping up and down as she clapped her hands together. “Please, please, please!” 

“Yeah!” Meelo interjected. “You were too busy throwing up to play with us!” (Y/N) laughed as Tenzin blanched at his children. 

“I’m sorry, Meelo. I promise I’ll come back and play with you guys soon!” She glanced at Tenzin and Pema. “As long as I’m welcome, of course.” 

“You are always welcome here,” Tenzin reassured her, and (Y/N) smiled. Korra walked out of the house then, both her and (Y/N’s) bags slung across her shoulders. 

“Ready to go?” Korra questioned, and (Y/N) nodded. She waved goodbye to the family and walked down the stone steps to the dock, where their ship was pulling up. (Y/N’s) eyes widened at the sight of it. “Ship” was an understatement. It was huge, twice the size of any boat she had seen in her almost three weeks of memory. It was white, with thick blue stripes painted around the edges. 

“Is that yours?” She asked Korra. 

“It’s Varrick’s,” She called back to her. “He’s a super rich guy. Kinda sorta a friend of ours, a guess. I called in a favor.” 

“You’re sure he doesn’t mind?” 

Korra turned around and flashed her a smile. “Varrick tosses money around like it’s leaves. If anything happens to this boat, he’s got ten more.” (Y/N) smiled back at Korra and tried to ignore the statement, “If anything happens.” 

When they reached the dock, one of the most beautiful girls (Y/N) had ever seen stood at it’s edge. She waved at the two of them, her dark hair fluttering behind her in the breeze. Korra dropped their bags on the dock and enveloped the girl in a hug. “Asami!” She cheered. 

Asami squeezed Korra tightly and gave her a kind smile. “It’s good to see you again!” Her green eyes fluttered to (Y/N). “You must be (Y/N). Korra’s told me so much about you.” She extended her hand and (Y/N) shook it firmly. 

“I guess that’s not very much,” (Y/N) joked, eliciting a laugh from Asami. 

“Where are the guys?” Asami asked, and Korra shrugged. 

“Probably running late, as usual.” 

“I want to say thank you to you both,” (Y/N) said suddenly, wringing her fingers together nervously. “I’m sure you both have heard some pretty bad things about me, but I’m so thankful you’re willing to help.” 

“Mako has a bit of a flair for the dramatics,” Asami said as she waved a hand into the air. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re a completely different person.” Korra nodded in agreement, flashing her white teeth at (Y/N). 

Mako and Bolin joined them only a few moments later and the five of them boarded the massive ship. Varrick had sent along an entire crew to accompany them, which everyone was very thankful for. As much as Team Avatar trusted their abilities, none of them were very keen on the idea of steering a ship for a whole week. 

They departed from the bay outside of Republic City and (Y/N) watched from one of the enclosed decks as the skyscraper buildings faded into nothingness. A nervous pit fit itself in the bottom of her stomach. This was really happening. She would get her memories back. 

The majority of her was absolutely ecstatic. She hated not knowing anything about herself and couldn’t wait for her life to get back to normal--whatever that meant before she lost her memory. But a small, miniscule part of her enjoyed what was happening right now. If it hadn’t been for losing her memory, she would not have become friends with Korra. (Y/N) feared that once she got her memories back, there would be some things she didn’t want to remember. 

Asami appeared at her side, offering (Y/N) yet another kind smile. “How do you like the ship?” 

“It’s huge,” (Y/N) said. “I can barely feel the water underneath us. I was worried that since I was sick, I wouldn’t feel well, but I feel fine.” 

“Korra mentioned that you hadn’t been feeling well. I’m glad you’re okay now.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes trailed to the middle of the room, where Korra, Mako, and Bolin talked to each other. “Have you known them long?” 

“Only a few months,” Asami said. “But they’ve become my best friends.” (Y/N) felt a tug at her heart. She wondered if before everything, if she had had a group like this. “Are you feeling hungry?” 

“A little,” (Y/N) admitted. 

“How about we make something in the kitchens? Just you and me.” (Y/N) nodded excitedly and followed Asami down two flights of stairs, where the kitchen took up the entire floor. The staff was scarce, considering that dinner would not be happening for a long while, so they both rifled through the pantries trying to find ingredients. “We could make a pizza!” 

(Y/N) poked her head around the pantry door and stared quizzically at Asami. “Do you know how to make a pizza?” The dark haired girl shrugged, gathering ingredients into her arms. 

“It can’t be that hard.” 

It turned out it was that hard, but they had found a cookbook with their desired recipe and managed to at least get the dough started. Asami slapped it against the counter as (Y/N) giggled. “That’s not how you do it.” 

Asami furrowed her brows at her. “Oh yeah? Then show me how you knead dough.” (Y/N) rolled up her sleeves and began pressing into the dough with the heel of her palm, at first gently, but then with some effort. 

“It’s like raising a baby,” (Y/N) said. “You have to be soft, but firm.” Asami laughed at her comparison. 

“How do you know so much about making dough?” (Y/N) paused for a moment before turning back to her work, kneading into the dough harder. 

“I’m not sure,” She admitted. “I guess there are some things left in there.” 

Bolin stood in the entryway to the kitchens, not yet noticed by the two girls. He watched as (Y/N) taught Asami how to make pizza dough. It brought him back to a memory he reflected on often during the years of her absence. 

Years ago, after (Y/N) and Bolin had taken each other out on many dates, there was the night that he decided to ask her to be his girlfriend. He was incredibly nervous, his palms were a sweaty, clammy mess, but (Y/N) had stared at him kindly. 

“I want to show you something,” She said as they walked down the streets of Republic City, their hands intertwined. If she noticed how slippery his hands were, she didn’t acknowledge it. Like he did in all things, Bolin followed (Y/N) with no questions asked. 

She led him to Kwong’s Cuisine, which had closed for the night hours ago. She pulled a silver key from her pocket and led him to the backdoor. She unlocked the heavy metal door and pushed it open with her shoulder, her fingers still interlocked with Bolin’s. 

“Are you sure we should be in here?” He asked the darkness. (Y/N) flipped a switch and bright, white lights illuminated the silver fixtures of the kitchens. 

“I’m the owner’s daughter,” (Y/N) said with a teasing scoff. “What are they going to do, fire me?” She pulled open the fridges and began gathering her ingredients. Bolin had never seen her move like this before. (Y/N) always seemed so confident, but here, she seemed liked she owned the place. He guessed in a way, she did. “I’d like to make you brownies,” She said to him, pulling out a metal stool with her foot and gesturing toward it. “Sit.” 

Bolin obeyed and watched with fascinated eyes as she mixed the batter together from scratch. “Are you doing this all off the top of your head?” He asked. She nodded. 

“Mom always made me cook when I still lived with her,” She said, offering him the spoon so he could get a taste of the batter. He took his finger and swiped it into the chocolatey mixture before licking it. 

“These are going to be the best brownies I’ve ever had! You should be a chef!” (Y/N) laughed. 

“Maybe one day,” She said. She put the brownies in the oven and set the timer. As they waited, they talked about their days and the events of Bolin’s latest pro-bending match. When the timer buzzed, (Y/N) hopped up from her seat and pulled the brownies out. 

“I’m too excited to wait,” Bolin said, grabbing a knife and slicing into the gooey brownies. 

“Bo, be careful you’re gonna-” 

“Ow, ow, ow,” Bolin complained as he held the scorching hot brownie, but he tossed it into his mouth. He tried his best to chew. “It burns but it’s so yummy,” He mumbled as he tried to breathe hot air out of his mouth. 

“Your girlfriend makes pretty good brownies, huh?” She asked, and Bolin nearly choked on his hot piece of brownie. He doubled over as he coughed and tried to swallow it down. “Oh my goodness, are you okay?” 

“Girlfriend?” Bolin asked once he had righted himself. (Y/N’s) face flushed. Had she calculated everything wrong?

“Yeah, girlfriend. I thought that girlfriend is okay.” Bolin nodded, his hands wrapping around the small of her back to pull her close. 

“Girlfriend’s okay!” He said. “As long as boyfriend’s okay, too.” (Y/N) smiled brightly up at him. 

“Boyfriend’s okay,” She said as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Bolin leaned down to kiss her and she could taste the hot brownies on his tongue. 

“Bolin!” Asami called to him, breaking his flashback. “You want a piece of pizza? I think (Y/N) should be a chef, because it’s amazing!” 

Bolin stepped into the room, giving (Y/N) a tight smile. She smiled back at him as she chewed on her piece of pizza. “What kind is it?” 

“Pineapple and pepperoni,” She said, and Bolin twisted his face in disgust. “No, no! You have to give it a chance first, please?” He conceded and took a bite of pizza. It did taste amazing. 

“Not bad,” He said with a teasing smile, and both Asami and (Y/N) rolled their eyes. 

Once the three had finished devouring the pizza, (Y/N) moved to leave the room with Asami, but Bolin called out her name. She turned to him, her eyes staring up at his quizzically. “I just wanted to say,” He cleared his throat. “That, even though I know that you know that things didn’t necessarily end well for us, I don’t, uh, have hard feelings.” He could feel his face redden. “It was a long time ago, and I know I can’t tell you anything yet, but I’m sure you had a reason for doing certain things, so I don’t blame you.” 

(Y/N’s) eyes shined so brightly in the kitchen light that Bolin was sure tears would spill over any moment. “Thank you,” She said quietly, an uncertain smile making its way across her features. “I, um, want to apologize for whatever it was I did. You seem very kind and great and whatever happened between us, I’m certain you didn’t deserve it.” Bolin nodded, his own eyes prickling at the backs. “Could we start over? Just be friends?” 

Bolin nodded perhaps a bit too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

(Y/N) smiled up at Bolin and felt that maybe she had been wrong. Maybe things would be okay. 

When she left the kitchens, she wondered if everyone had been planning to gather down there, because she ran into Mako as she was walking away. “Sorry,” She said, refusing to meet his eyes. She would never admit it, but Mako intimidated her. His dislike for her was always apparent and (Y/N) hated it. 

“Bolin told me what he said to you,” Mako said as she began to walk past. She turned back to look at him. 

“So?” 

“He’s forgiving, but I’m not. What you did, it was cruel. You were cruel.” 

“As if you don’t spend every waking moment reminding me,” (Y/N) said with a sigh. Mako narrowed his eyes at her. 

“If you do anything--” 

“You’ll do what, Mako?” She snapped. She had enough of him thinking that he could talk to her whatever way he pleased. “Hurt me?” 

He blinked in surprise, as if the suggestion was ridiculous. “Just stay away from him, alright?” 

“How about you stay away from me? The ship’s big enough.” With that, she stormed up the stairs and joined the rest of her friends. (Y/N) hated Mako. Absolutely hated him. The flush of her cheeks and her racing heart proved that.

---

Tag List!

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[hufflautia]

In Sickness and in Health

Requested by @milk-leaves!​  

Warnings: A very brief and non-explicit sexual implication

Summary: Slytherin catches the flu. Luckily, her husband is there to help. However, her stubborn nature and insistent claim that “she can’t be sick because she’s never been sick in her entire life” makes it a little difficult for Hufflepuff to assist her. Marriage isn’t always easy, but with the proper amount of love and patience, everything works out in the end. 

Slytherin grabs the garbage can just in time to vomit into the basket. When she finishes, she wipes her mouth with a grimace and rests her forehead against the bed. 

“Honey?” 

She looks up and sees Hufflepuff standing by the door, his forehead puckered as he takes in her appearance. Her hair unruly, she’s slumped on the floor of their bedroom, looking tired and pale. 

Usually, Slytherin would be happy to see her husband. However, all she feels is irritation in the wake of his presence, and she leans against the side of the mattress once more. 

“What are you doing here,” she croaks, eyeing him as he approaches her and kneels down. “I thought you had to go to the Ministry today.” 

“It was a minor emergency, so I left early.” He regards her carefully. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

Hufflepuff frowns. “But you threw up.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been doing that a lot today,” she murmurs weakly. Noticing his eyes widen, she snorts. “I’m not pregnant if that’s what you’re thinking. I got my period today.”  

He gives her a sympathetic look. “I imagine it’s been a very fun day for you.” 

“The best I’ve ever had, actually.” 

Leaning in ever so slightly, that’s when Hufflepuff sees it—the faint flush on her face, the way she folds her arm around herself, the tinge of hoarseness in her voice.  

He reaches out and touches Slytherin’s forehead. Her skin feels hot and cold at the same time. She bats away his hand in annoyance. “What are you doing,” she snaps, scowling at him. Her anger immediately falters when she notices how his eyebrows rise, a look of surprise mixed with hurt spreading onto his face. 

“You have a fever,” he confirms quietly. 

Slytherin resists a frown. “But I never get sick.” 

“Well, it happens to the best of us.” He gets up. “Wait here, I’ll get some medicine.” 

“I don’t need it,” she calls after him but he’s already in the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets. He returns with a bottle and a small cup. Taking a seat before pouring red liquid into the cup, he ignores her when she says his name in a tone of indignation, insisting that she isn’t sick.

Hufflepuff hands it to her. “Drink,” he says firmly. When she juts her chin out and pouts, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Honey, I know you don’t want to, but it’ll make you feel better.”

She still doesn’t move. This time, he returns her unyielding stare with one of his own. His tone is hard and demanding as he warns, “I’m not gonna repeat myself.” 

Slytherin grudgingly brings the cup to her lips. If she didn't feel like complete shit right now, she would keep pushing his patience for fun. She’d even be a little turned on by his authoritative voice. Probably both. 

She immediately makes a face as the medicine slides down her throat. “This tastes like ass,” she grumbles, pressing the back of her hand against her mouth and setting the cup down. 

He chuckles. “Medicine tends to taste that way.” He stands and offers his hand. “Come. I’m sure a warm shower sounds perfect right now.”  

A faint smile twitches at the corner of her mouth. “How’d you know,” she asks, taking his hand. A wave of nausea sweeps over her when she gets up, and he quickly plants his hands on either side of her. 

“I’m your husband,” he pulls her closer, “I know these things.” 

Slytherin wraps her arms around him. “Will you carry me to the bathroom,” she mumbles into his sweater. 

He presses a kiss to the top of her head before picking her up bridal-style with care. 

“Do you even have to ask?” 

A couple of hours pass. Feeling drowsy from the medicine, Slytherin took a long nap before waking up to the smell of homemade soup. Hufflepuff cooked something for her while she was sleeping. To her dismay, he also gave her another cup of NyQuil, but she drank it without any resistance. Afterwards, her headache subsided and was diminished to a dull pain, which is nothing compared to before. 

Now, she is laying in bed, feeling comfortable and content as she snuggles with her husband while he reads her favorite book out loud. She’ll probably never openly admit it but she loves when they cuddle. Listening to the smooth drawl of his voice, she catches a few words while dozing in and out of sleep. Her lips curve into a smile. He’s getting to her favorite part where he speaks in a ridiculous voice when reading the dialogue of an ancient wizard. 

Hufflepuff had read the book to her before when they were dating. He used the same wise and raspy voice as he uses now. At that moment, as she attempted to hold in her laughter, she knew he was the one. Funnily enough, he ended up proposing to her a month later. 

Feeling the familiar tug in her heart that can only be classified as complete adoration, Slytherin musters enough strength to pull herself out of the cozy arms of sleep. She shifts around so that she can properly see his face and says his name tenderly. 

“What is it,” he asks, putting the book down. “Is your headache still bothering you?” 

“A little, but...I’m sorry for being mean to you before. I was angry at you for no reason, but it might’ve been because of my period, and you already know how bad my PMS gets sometimes, but I still feel terrible about being so rude because you’re so great and sweet and you were only trying to help but I was being so difficult and I think I’m just not really used to people taking care of me, so I was trying to handle this flu on my own but I still shouldn’t have acted that way—and I literally hit your fucking hand and I hate myself for it because you don’t deserve it at all, you deserve so much more than whatever I have to offer...” Words continue to spill from her mouth as she rambles on and on, not bothering to pause for a breath of air. 

Hufflepuff says her name and she finally stops, staring back at him with a contorted expression as if she were trying to back tears. He cups her cheek, to which she leans into his warm touch. “Please don’t worry about that anymore, honey, it’s okay. Honestly. I’ve been with you long enough to know that there’s no one else I would rather be with but you. Even with your stubbornness, I love you all the same. Maybe even a little more.” He gives her a reassuring smile as she looks back at him with watery eyes. “Just focus on resting for now, okay?”

She nods and tries to smile back, getting a little choked up in the process. His words are laced with so much endearment that she realizes just how lucky she is to have someone like him to spend the rest of her life with. She puts her hand over his. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, “for loving me as you do.”  

His gaze is so unimaginably soft that, for a split second, Slytherin wonders how it’s even possible. He leans in, and she happily closes the distance. 

One might think that as time passes for a married couple, the love begins to stale. This is not true in their case, for the flutter in her stomach intensifies as they kiss. She can only focus on how soft he feels against her lips, how he invades all her senses in the best way possible. Her fingers grip the front of his shirt while his hand rests against the curve of her neck when they finally pull apart. Their noses brush against each other as they lock eyes. 

“I love you,” she breathes. 

“I know,” he murmurs. “And I love you.” 

“Good. Because we’re stuck with each other forever.” 

“I’d be sad if we weren’t,” he replies with a grin, retrieving the book. “Shall I continue reading?” 

She beams at him before laying her cheek against his chest. “Yes please.” 

Hufflepuff flips to the page he left off from. While he reads, he traces patterns around her stomach, as if he's painting a beautiful masterpiece over her skin. 

A couple of chapters in, Slytherin momentarily closes her eyes as his melodious voice washes over her. 

The sound of his steady heartbeat lulls her to sleep. 

FIN.

~

Check out my masterlist! | Kind comments and reblogs are most appreciated :) 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

Hello everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. It took me a while to come up with an idea for this (also, to the person who requested this, I hope you are satisfied :D). My friend had the idea of “a vacation gone horribly wrong”. It was a fantastic idea - I even made a google doc for it and everything, but I did not write out a sufficient amount of general details for it because nothing solid came to mind. Then, when I was trying to go to sleep, I came up with this idea and I am very happy with how it came out!! 

I modeled Hufflepuff after Steve Rogers to some extent. He has that gentle giant type of vibe. He is kind and loving, but he’ll be stern if he needs to. I have to admit, the thought of making a series about slytherpuff married life has crossed my mind while writing this one-shot. I am still contemplating it. If I do create the series, it won’t be restricted to this couple specifically, but I will consider writing more stories about them because I really do adore their dynamic! Anyways, if I were to write that series, it would be different stories with different couples. It might not even be classified as a series but more as a collection of slytherpuff married life stories. Also, there would probably be at least one nsfw story included in that collection, but I will not be writing any smut until after my birthday, which is in April. *HI THIS IS JESSICA FROM THE NEXT DAY, aka the day that i’m gonna post this and im just going over the fic. while i was sleeping, i just thought of ANOTHER marriage fic so i think im going to make a married life collection of storiessss :D :D :D!!! however, im still wondering about whether i should write it, because the story idea is a little eh. if anyone has any other marriage life ideas, please feel free to let me know! before, i was a little hesitant on making a collection because it was hard for me to think of ideas for this fic when the request came in. hopefully, that will change in the future. also why do i keep coming up with good ideas for stories in my sleep lmao* 

Writing this story was fun. I stayed up until 2 am for four straight days while writing. Lmao how odd is it to see those two sentences right next to each other? In all honestly, I didn’t feel like it was 2 am because I was in the zone. I just kept writing until I told myself to go to bed because the future morning me will regret it--and lemme tell you, she really does. Anyways, I used my own experience with medicine for fevers. I absolutely hate the taste of NyQuil; I remember when my mom would make me drink small cups of it whenever I was sick. Also, when I was writing Sly’s rambling bit, I did not put any periods in the paragraph because I wanted to make it seem like she’s going on and on and isn’t stopping. However, I thought it to be weird and so I put the paragraph into the “translate to english” thing so that I could press the audio icon and hear what it sounds like. I’m happy to report that it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever heard in my entire life because her monotone voice saying all that was very amusing. 

There is no telling what fic I will post next. Last week, I was all over the place and working on several fics, moving from one to another when I got bored of the story. Also, my mental state is not the best at the moment. I’ve been feeling self-conscious about my writing recently, and I’m probably gonna go through another episode of that because this is gonna be the first fic that marks the end of tag lists and so this is probably gonna be an underrated fic because fewer ppl will see it. I came to realize that it’s not me who’s writing bad fics; even though I tag people, there’s a noticeable lack of interaction, so it’s likely that some of my followers just aren’t active anymore. There was a fanfic writer who I really like because their loki fics are amazing. A few weeks ago, I found their other blog that I was not aware of beforehand and they made a post 3 weeks ago saying that they would no longer be writing fics because there were barely any people interacting with them. She seemed really upset, saying stuff like “I guess my fics just aren’t good enough”, “no one can save me anymore” (I know that sounds very ominous but she was insinuating “no nice comments will make me change my mind”), and “I feel like deleting my blog because there’s a sense of failure in just leaving them there”. This made me really sad, and a part of me was afraid that one day, I would adopt a similar mindset. However, I know that there’s a group of people who will always be there to read my stories, so I’m gonna try to hold onto that idea and continue writing to make you happy and myself happy as well. Also I just realized that I always include one part in my author’s note that’s just sad for some reason :’)

ANYWAYS, I remember making a post a longgggg time ago that said “I promise that I will finish the slytherpuff series if it’s the last thing I do”. That has changed; I plan to post all the chapters leading up to their requited love at last (aka the part in which they actually get into a relationship together). After that, there’s still a bunch of chapters but they’re just fluffy bits, i.e. rainy day, they bake together, oop it’s one of their birthdays, etc. In other words, they aren’t essential to the plot. I could turn them into one-shots and stuff, but some of the chapters relate to the characters’ lives. In addition, it’s sweet to see their relationship progress. For those chapters regarding fluffy bits of their relationship, I won’t feel incentive to write them right away because their love is already requited and I also have two big series that I would rather work on. However, I’m not gonna start another series yet because I don’t wanna leave you on a cliffhanger in Chapter 3 and suddenly start writing a whole other series. The plan is to post all the chapters for the slytherpuff series leading up to the moment when they start dating (Chapter 7 or 8 will probably be when they actually get together). That way, there’s no rush to complete it because it’s just easy and sweet since they’re already in a relationship and readers aren’t anxiously waiting to see what happens next. After that, I will probably begin writing the other series, which will be different from the original slytherpuff series. You’ll see why. Once in a while, I will go back to the original series and write for that when I feel like it. 

I’m trying my best to finish writing Chapter 4 :( It is gonna be long - I’ve already written about 7 pages and I am thinking of splitting it into two parts. If I do, I might be posting part 1 soon because it’s kind of already done. Then again, I like the idea of just posting it all at once. We’ll see! I’m gonna try to work on that after this. My desire to write is sporadic, but comments and interactions from readers are very impactful in terms of my motivation to write, so be sure to leave feedback if you can! I’ll see you all again the next time I post a fic. Thanks for reading!

Tags: 

@slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @just--another--bean @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw  @arianatorpotterhead @eatacrackerandstop @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @milk-leaves @priii @capt-sparrow @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy   

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 1

Hello everyone,

I am submitting this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy. I chose prompt “1....You can pay your rent in money or in blood.” I was inspired by all the prompts and will probably use them throughout the series. Basically I use the prompts as guide-lines.

This is the first time I have written and shared a fic online-- or ever really! It’s also the first time I’ve written anything modern so please let me know what you think! I hope I’m posting this correctly--I created the title art--LOL I’ve never done this before. I’m aiming to update the series each Tuesday. So here we go... 

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 2770

Part One: Faced with Foolishness

         “Well, you know Tessa, she’s being Tessa,” Antha murmured into her phone as she watched her twin sister cozy up to her flavor of the month; Tessa flipped her box braids off her shoulder, the beaded ends flirtatiously tinkling against every surface they met. As if watching a photo negative version of herself, Antha mourned her nonexistent reputation. Had she not spent years hiding in her books she may have been able to rival her uninhibited doppelganger in white hot-pants.

        “Why do you let her do this to you? It never goes as planned, and next thing you know I’ll be cleaning you two up and feeding you McDonald’s at two thirty in the morning!” She didn’t need facetime to picture Doug wincing through the phone, pushing his Buddy Holly styled Ray-Bans up the bridge of his nose.

        “So what you’re saying is how could I let Tessa do this to you?” She laughed, rolling her Havana twists through her fingers to fight off the June humidity. Talking to her best friend helped her forget just how long she had been holding it in line to the bathroom.

         “Ant, look I don’t like that bar—you want me to come get you?”

         “And leave her? I can’t do that—listen, if we don’t call you for a ride home by midnight just come get us. I’m exhausted and I don’t think she will party that long. Besides, you-know-who just showed up.” She watched as Franco the Flake appeared, wasting no time to linger over her sister—Tessa’s flavor of the month, forgotten within an instant. Antha’s eyes rolled like marbles as she turned away to better hear her friend on the phone; some fraternity boys nearby began fist-pumping into the air as the bartender served up a line of shots for them.

         “Ugh, the Flake… well I can hear things are getting started on your end—I’ll keep my phone on me, just don’t drive. Leave her car and I’ll get you two—there’s maniacs out there especially on Friday night.” He warned.

        “I owe you,” she groaned and hung up. Antha finally arrived in the ladies’ room, only two women away from her sweet release. She watched as the women cornered the mirror like crazed wanton things, bending and zhuzhing, adjusting their “girls” to their perkiest potential through scantily low apparel.

        “Heeeyy…” She quietly greeted the woman that exited the nearest stall. The stranger gave her a haughty elevator eye from head to toe making her feel severely underdressed for a Friday night out. When she threw on a sun dress today, she never anticipated her sister would abduct her after class and have them gallivanting across town. Tessa’s exact words were “Godamnit Ant, tonight we’re gonna have fun if it kills us!” A Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face as she floored the accelerator of her Neon, then cranked up the bass as the radio station started their basement remixes. Fun if it kills us.

        Antha stared at her white sandals, her nail polish was chipped and at least three weeks old. Then she looked to her messenger bag hanging on the back of the door. It was covered in Community College film badges and club stickers, per her friend’s preferences. Antha liked her graffitied messenger bag. Like a billboard, it made her appear she had a life outside of her graduate studies.

        She should have been at home, text books spread on her lap, feet up. She could hear Doug’s old Buick coughing its way up Momma’s drive, then fumbling outside the door, trying to knock with a third of Popov, case of Dogfish Head, and pizza in his arms. Then he would throw everything on the coffee table and announce “I brought Casablanca!” to which she would say “Oh, more white people movies?” and unphased, he would reply “Good god woman, it’s not Birth of a Nation!” Antha smiled, thinking of their weekly ritual of pretending to do research while gossiping long into the night until Zoey and Tessa would drunkenly Uber home. The distinct shamble, like the walking dead, would scrape up the gravel drive signaling their arrival.

        “Hey, you almost done in there?” An annoyed voice yelled over the door, cutting through her reminiscing. Antha could see the reds of the stranger’s eyes between the door crack.

         Instead of lounging on the couch surrounded by good beer and even better friends, Antha found herself being hustled by some Fireball-turned-up twat—all under the guise of having fun. “Yeah, sorry about that.” She replied and flushed. She tightened the belt holding in the billowy fabric of her flowy, mid-thigh, sunflower-printed sundress. It was passed down from her grandmother to her mother and so on. Looking like she walked off the set of a 90’s music video, she admitted that at least she was cooler than the other girls sweating in their skin-tight jeans and heels.

        Some pretty young thing burst through the door past the line and vomited into the trash bin next to Antha while she washed her hands. It was only nine o’clock. That was a bad omen. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she realized she pouted just like Momma in those sorts of situations. She dampened a paper towel for the poor thing and could hear her mother’s words repeating in her head: “When you’re faced with foolishness—you take care of it.” Her mantra: Take care of it. Antha’s mantra: Do what Momma says. Tessa’s mantra: If it ain’t fun don’t do it.

        Antha applied her vanilla lip gloss as she thought on her mother. She made a promise as Momma was lowered in the ground that they would graduate. It was her dying wish that the twins became modern women with college degrees and to have options; to escape the laboring of farming and perhaps even the rinse and repeat of corporate Delaware. That’s all there was in their state: Farming or banking.

        She tucked her shoulder-length braids behind her ears; she truly missed her dreadlocks, but ever since the time Tessa’s boyfriend mistook her for his girlfriend, she cut them off. She was always the one to compromise. Not tonight she decided. Tonight was going to go her way. They would wrap up this foolishness by midnight.

        Antha sighed and knew it was time to face the havoc of the bar when a chatty patron pawed at her sundress asking if it was “vintage”. She replied, “Well it’s old as hell if that’s what you mean,” and hurried out the ladies’ room into the sweltering cacophony of nightlife.

        Fighting across sticky tile and sweaty rednecks she made a beeline for the bartender. “Mar, can I get two?” She bounced on her tip-toes to cut through the crowd huddled around the length of the tacky wooden bar. Maria motioned to the other side because she couldn’t reach through. Antha continued to fight her way through the herd. She could barely hear over the din of the 2016 campaign commercials and sportscasting when Maria slid two cocktails toward her. The southern comfort and coke cocktails reeked with vanilla syrup, Tessa’s favorite. Antha stared into the melting rail drinks and realized she didn’t know what to order herself because she was always the water-boy for her twin.

        “Hey, did you see what’s-his-face is in town?” Maria interrupted her thoughts.

        “Sure did.” She groused and tilted her head in the general direction of where she saw Tessa and Franco last. Through the bodies, for a moment, the crowd parted and the two stared.

        Stepping back from her esteemed role as the older sister, by barely two minutes, Antha admitted to herself that Tessa always looked good. Her off-the-shoulder top exposed a flawless ebony collarbone, shoulder blades, and arms. As if she was the Queen of Sheba incarnate, her tiny wrists were decorated with gold bangles. Her earrings matched the beads in her hair, reflecting light in her hazel eyes. A waterfall of thick box braids fell down her back and over her shoulders, past the tops of her thighs. Her years of dance complimented the country-chic white cut-offs that revealed just a hint of under cheek when she bent across the billiard table.

        “If I were a man, I’d pray for her to bite my head off quick and painless.” Maria laughed, her ponytail frizzing from the heat of her work; her hands rapidly dipping then shining high ball glasses.

        “But that’s not her style.” Antha replied wryly.

        “You’re both good girls. Now you keep her out of as much trouble as you can—I’ll send Kyle ‘round to your table with beers, just let me catch up here!”

        Maria was right: they were good girls. All of Tessa’s shenanigans aside, she never forgot cake for a birthday and with everyone’s break-ups she always had a bottle of Jack stashed with a shoulder to cry on. Tessa was the one that painted Antha’s nails and always lent her the best outfits when the event called for it. On occasion she was even known to deliver soup when her sister ran a fever.

        Tessa was the heart of the operation and Antha couldn’t begrudge her just because she was the head.

        For better or worse, they were sisters.

        Antha reluctantly clutched the chilled drinks and felt a pang of relief in the sweltering bar. She couldn’t see her sister at the billiard table with the onslaught of shuffling patrons, so she decided to move toward her booth. She narrowly missed being covered in appletini as the DJ scratched in one more summer top ten into his rotation. Before she could move forward a voice pinned her in place.

        “Your sister’s the worst, you know that?” A nice-looking guy glared at her. His teeth gleamed pink in the red bar lights. Antha bet he had a handsome smile on account of those white teeth, but he was not smiling now. She squinted through the hazy dance floor and recognized him as the guy Tessa arrived with before Franco appeared.

         “Hey John, don’t fret, Tessa’s just catching up with an old friend—he comes into town every so often, don’t get upset.” She yelled back at his face as kindly as she could manage over the blare of the oncoming band tuning their instruments. For some reason he didn’t seem to believe her and his chest instinctively puffed up.

        “John? I’m José!” He replied. Antha felt embarrassed for both her sister and herself. She grimaced unintentionally, realizing she had said it all with very few words.

        She tried to defend their position with a weak excuse. “José, I’m bad with names and faces—” but he stormed off before she could piecemeal a string of bullshit. There goes another Mr. Last Month.

        This was having fun. Antha doing damage control on last month’s flame, while Tessa stoked a new one. All of the nice memories of her sister evaporated in the heat of the interaction. She grumbled to herself, as she had grown tired of babysitting, not just Tessa but the men-children she dated. When she finally confirmed her party’s booth, she parted the shadowy sea of basic bitches.

        Tessa was giggling like a school girl when her sister dropped the sweaty glasses onto the ratty old table. Franco at her neck like a leech. I hate this guy, Antha thought to herself. He turned his hot gaze on her, “Hi Antha, didn’t see you there.” His drawl was thick like humidity. She thought about giving her drink to Tessa’s date, but now that she could see he was it, she plopped down and selfishly sipped one of the nasty cocktails without offering the second.

        “Oh hey Brian,” she said playfully, “where’s your camera?”

        “Ant, now you know this is Franco, stop playin’!” Tessa tore her eyes away from him for a split second, but after she threw her daggers she was back ogling him like a dog does a bone.

        “Sorry, it’s hard to keep all these blue-eyed, blond, gentlemen straight.” Antha marginally resisted saying yokel under her breath.

        Tessa had a type. Beyond all logic, light eyes were the buckle in her knee, the hitch in her breath; and Franco was at the top of her list. Antha assumed he was the Porsche in her garage amongst a long list of Ford’s, but she honestly didn’t know the whole story. All she knew was that Franco showed his face sparingly and only after dark. He would disappear for weeks at a time, which earned him the endearment The Flake.

        Now, Antha hadn’t dated enough men in her young life to sort them by color and size, but Tessa had. To her credit, her tastes were diverse, she did her research and knew what she liked. No one blamed her either. With that hair and those legs, Tessa could have anyone she wanted. The great appeal of Franco didn’t add up to Antha though. She found him suspicious. She thought his truck was too loud, his jeans too torn, and his eyes much too heavy.

        Franco made idle conversation, inquiring after the twins’ classes as if he cared. His blond, three-quarter parted hair was glossy under the dim lights. When he pulled his tooth pick from the back of his ear and chewed on it, it made him look like an old-fashioned mobster—well until that Delmar twang spilled out of his hillbilly mouth. There was an allure about him; all of his parts matched, but his smile unglued those pieces. A smile that never quite reached his eyes.

        Antha found herself sizing him up, drinking the disgusting cocktail faster than she wanted. I bet he has plastic zip ties and rope in his truck bed, she thought. She didn’t truly know why the image popped into her mind, it was just a feeling she got when his eyes were on her; made her feel like a snack, as if he would eat her alive right where she sat. No more Unsolved Mysteries for me this week, she insisted to herself.

        “Mmmm-hmmm.” Was the best response she could offer when he spoke to her directly. Tessa continued chatted about her business management courses as he deeply stared at her. Antha figured there was no real room for her in the conversation so she took out her world cultures text and flipped to her last page. She liked hanging out, however her final thesis was demanding all of her energy. The page fell open to vampires in the section of Egyptian mythology. She thought how ironic as her eyes shot up at the man sitting across from her.

        “So, there’s this bonfire by Slaughter Bay, I thought you ladies could come with.” Franco suggested lazily like it was too exclusive to be excited about. “You can shotgun babe and we can put Antha and her friends in back.” He eyed the textbooks growing damp on the table. Antha finished the first SoCo and started the second just to cope with him. “You could call up the girls.”

        “Zoey… Zoey... Zoey!” Tessa dramatically said into her drink and then laughed. Antha couldn’t help but smirk as Tessa explained to him her girlfriend was like Candyman and could be summoned via a pint of beer. The joke was partially lost on Franco.

        Before Tessa could agree to go Antha piped up, a little less shy now that her liquid courage had kicked in. “Sounds awfully romantic, but we can’t.” Before she could continue she was interrupted.

        “Hey girl haaayyyy!” Zoey appeared as if out of thin air and snatched one of the beers sent over by the bartender. “You goin’ nowhere without me—not after I Ubered across town!” Her two rando friends hollering and sloshing their drinks.

        “How the hell do you do that?” Antha insisted, amazed that their friend appeared.

        “Uhhhh, never you mind—we can make bonfire plans later—its ten o’clock, I’m here and Bieber is playing! GET UP!” Zoey declared, the glitter from her eyes dusting every surface.

        “Keep an eye on my friends.” Antha told Franco as she abandoned her books to be dragged to the floor. This was the moment she decided she was getting them all out of there; she didn’t like the sound of a bonfire with him and she certainly wasn’t allowing Tessa to go on her own either. She sent a pre-written text message to Doug: “Get here.” Which was their code for its really going down, I need back up.

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @nildespirandum @yespolkadotkitty @latent-thoughts @emeraldrosequartz @villainousshakespeare @hopelessromanticspoonie @caffiend-queen @poetic-fiasco @lokimostly @dianamolloy @marvelgirlonamarvelworld @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0 @cateyes315 @mooncat163 @nuggsmum @plastic-heart @myraiswack @wolfpawn​

[eligr33n]

Like Mocha and cream <3

Dream x George - Coffee shop! au

Part 1?

Authors note: Hi everyone! My name is Green, I’m a small aspiring author of fan fictions from all types, please forgive me if my writing is not very good! I’m frankly new to fanfic writing. Anyway enjoy reading (I hope!).

Words: 1174

Warnings: Small language warning! A lil' spice? Otherwise just fluff between two pinning messes :]]

•

It was 6pm, the most thrilling hour of Dream’s day, but as the door opened, he faintly heard the small golden bell that hung atop ring. Dream looked up from his bench of mismatched coffee cups and assorted clothes and turned his head to look behind him at what indicated a new.. or not so new customer.

George’s deep brown eyes skimmed along the small cafe’s walls, they were painted a delightfully lacking cream, but to compensate the quaint area held windows that sat on the left and front sides of the small shop, he then continued to look at the bar which sat at the left end of the shop it was crafted out of a pure spruce, which thus fit in with the rest of the shop that sat before him. To his right he noticed the wall lined with low rising seats, from edge to edge the cushiony dull black padding was placed upon a wooden base, decorated with dark green and muted blue throw pillows for a backing against the harsh brown brick wall, but with seats comes tables and so happened to be made out of once again a spruce, only two semi-medium tables sat in front of the seats that were bestowed upon such, they were short in width but long in length. Seeing to the other side he saw which was the normal seating arrangements is that three tables lined along the window edge, three seats to each with mis-matched metal chairs; accompanied by cushions - of which were the same colour variant as the throw pillows to his direct left.

Taking it all in George is reminded of how much he liked it, well of how he loved it. Many times had he been there it didn’t stray to make him feel at home, from the warm lighting to the kind atmosphere of the place nothing made him enjoy it more, just like how he enjoyed seeing with the cute blonde barista- but that doesn’t matter.

“Uh..hey? I’ll take th-“ George queried as he looked down at the menu not even looking to the barista yet, he needed to know if they raised the price on extra caramel - last time they did and it almost broke the bank for him

“The mocha? with two shots of caramel and extra whip cream plus chocolate drizzle on top?” The unknown tender piped in

“Oh yeah that’s the one! Wait Dream?”

“Yes dumbass, obviously it’s me everyone’s favorite, and cutest barista boy there is” Dream replied as he bashfully grinned ear to ear, finding his ‘friend’s’ ignorance to what was happening in front of him quite funny, placing his elbows atop the counter he locks eyes with George

George brings his arms to the counter alongside Dream mimicking his position “Stalker.”

“What? Me? A stalker? Say’s the one who comes here to see me everyday!” Dream leaning further into the counter, places the back of his hand to his head lightly lolling it backwards “This is utter slander I say! Slander!” He proclaims with a smile to his lips, returning his hands back to their original state, but not moving any the less backwards

“You work here Clay-“ George chimes, “You can’t deny the truth, obviously you can’t get enough of me and my coffee order”

“And what if that was why? But also you live twenty minutes away Gogy, that’s pretty far if you ask me~” Dream is slowly becoming closer, the counter top was not long enough for him to be a considerably safe distance from George’s face if he continued

“First off, not my point.” He huffs, slightly flushed from his remark, “Second how in prime’s name do you know that”

“Um.. I dunno man maybe because you took me back to your apartment once?”

“Shut up you make it sound like we fucked”

“You wish we did” Dream interjects

In a sudden burst of embarrassment George spurts out “Go fuck yourself that’s completely stupid, you’re dumb” His cheeks glow a bright red, taken a back from such a comment

“You’re cute when you’re blushing” Dream cooed, slowly ringing himself further in. Both him and George are leaning against the counter already giving them both a closer distance, but Dream’s slow incline is making the gap close

George pulls back adjusting his hoodie “I am so not, it’s hot is here”

“It’s hot in hereee, oh no george whatever shall we do in this -70 degree heat, my my~”

“I hate you” He pulls on the strings of his sage hoodie, letting go he moves his right hand towards the over the shoulder bag that sat across his chest resting on his right hip

“Love you more my prince” Dream said, as he then moved from leaning on his counter to the black coffee machine, slowly whipping up George’s feverously sweet drink.

They exchanged banter back and forth some flirty some not, discussing the small things though out their day, telling one and other about how their set up’s are going and what they plan on adding. Not a soul in sight were in the shop at the great hour of 7:43pm. Only the few that worked the night shift came though to help strive on with their lasting hours of work.

George stayed, it was like a small tradition. Each night he’d stay with Dream to help out, it had only started a year back after his maybe 3rd month of going to said shop, him and Dream had grown close over their fondness to gaming and such and one day George had found himself with Dream sitting on the top of the bar, it was 8pm and they had realized how time had gone by since his 6 o’clock arrival. Dream then had to tell him that packing up had to begin so George as the so giving guy he is made sure to help do so, and it definitely wasn’t for.. any other reason. And not as if that every moment he spent with his new friend he found himself wanting to run his fingers through said friends hair or that he wanted to hold onto him and not let go or maybe it could’ve been the fact that every time George looked into his eyes he couldn’t help but want the hold Dream’s face cup it in his hand and tilt his head to fit with his, that he would think about the way Dreams head would turn and move in slowly, closing eyes so their lips could meet one and other in a battle of romance and ever growing lust for one and other. George thought of how he would move one hand across his waist and the other to the back of Dream’s neck, how Dream's read would roll back... But George left those thoughts in box, a box left in lock and key, the type of lock and key not even blot cutters could cut, but maybe what could open it was a blonde boy and his charm.

[lluvguts]

dog-ears, or bookmarks? // reddie

pairing: kid! richie tozier / eddie kaspbrak

warnings/genre: purely fluff! lots of (wholesome) pining!

word count: 1894

summary: A reddie library meet cute

Ten year old Eddie Kaspbrak clutched his mother’s sweaty hand as they ascended the stairs in the Derry Public Library. He could smell her floral perfume as they went, rolling off her in stifling waves to mask the stains of sweat on her sheer dress. Eddie counted the steps, each one closer toward the kid’s section of the library and further from that stinky perfume. It reminded him of the mornings Eddie had to stand by his mother’s bedside, holding his nose as the whole room reeked of grandmothers and mildewy furniture, to take his medicine.

His mother stopped mid-climb to fix her eyes on Eddie’s wrinkled nose and shortened breaths.

“Are you alright dear?” She asked.

Eddie nodded and ducked away from her coddling hands, reaching to feel his pulse and ensure he still had his inhaler.

“I’m fine, Mommy,” Eddie whined, wiping his streaming eyes. “Do you have your library card?”

She straightened up and wiped her damp hands along the front of her chest. “Of course I do, Eddie dear. You know the rules, you get to look for one approved book while I sit and read.”

“Yes Mommy,” Eddie murmured as they reached the second floor and took in the rows and rows of bookshelves and children’s painted tables. Eddie could hardly contain his excitement. The library was one of his favorite places to go―it was quiet, orderly, and smelled clean most of the time. It was the only place Eddie could slip into the old pages of a book as his regular self and close them, a new person. A detective, a brave knight, a dragon, anything but the delicate little boy he really was. Eddie didn’t think being so soft was fair at all―even if his mother believed that a boy did not need a magnifying glass, a suit of armor, or the ability to breathe fire to get through life safely.

His mother patted his shoulder. “Now Eddie, I’ll be over here by the coloring tables. When you find a book, bring it to me so I can check it for you.”

Eddie groaned internally as he padded away from her clammy grip. She hardly let him pick out books he liked, her “book checks'' were always: “That one looks a bit scary, Eddie dear,” Or “Heavens, of course not! Don’t you see that ghost on the front? I don’t want to start giving my Eddie nightmares now.”

But maybe this time it would be different. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find a good book to read―or even better: some company.

Eddie realized with a thudding chest as he walked, it was different. He’d headed straight for the kid’s section typically filled with the horror books when a shoe poking out from the two bookcases stopped him. The sneaker was attached to a leg, attached to a skinny boy sprawled out on his back with a book inches from his pale face. Scattered around him were stacks of paperbacks, and Eddie hovered over his lanky frame with a slight grin. The boy was reading the Goosebumps books.

“I haven’t read that one,” Eddie whispered, crouching down between the shelves so his mother wouldn’t see. He pointed at the book in the boy’s hands, and that was when Eddie could see his face. Clunky glasses framed his deep brown eyes, and a mess of blackish brown hair hung just below his eyebrows. When Eddie met his sly glance, magnified behind his glasses, both boys broke out in childish grins.

“The Werewolf of Fever Swamp? It’s a classic,” The boy stated. He staggered upright, adjusting his frames, then stuck out his arm. Eddie blinked at the boy’s hand, fascinated as some of his fingers were decorated in Spiderman Band-Aids and his wrist was covered in Rainbow Loom bracelets.

The dark-haired boy frowned, as if he were truly hurt by Eddie’s hesitation. “You’re supposed to shake my hand.”

“Oh.” Was all Eddie could muster. He slipped his hand into the other boy’s and they shook like esteemed gentlemen. His palms weren’t sweaty and flushed like Eddie’s mother’s, but thin and soft in all the right places. It made a weird feeling buzz around in Eddie’s stomach, like he was about to throw up a swarm of butterflies.

“My name’s Richie.”

Eddie liked the sound of his name. He liked the way Richie said it, being able to see his teeth when he whispered. Richie, Richie, Richie.

“I’m Eddie,” He murmured back, scooting aside one of the piles of Goosebumps books to make room.

“Eddie.” Richie tried the word, as if it were a new piece of candy on his tongue.

Eddie noticed that Richie’s copy of The Werewolf of Fever Swamp had been closed before he could mark his place. With a little burst of pride Eddie turned to his fanny pack―the very one his mother would not let him out of the house without―for the bookmarks he had made. Himself. It was something Eddie enjoyed doing, when his mother was not nagging him on his vitamins or forcing him to sit through reruns of Wheel of Fortune.

Eddie thumbed through the few bookmarks he’d brought, hoping Richie would like the one he’d drawn a Stormtrooper on.

“Here,” He started, handing over the taped up strip of paper. “You didn’t save your spot.”

Richie stared at Eddie’s bookmark with a pink face then shook his head. “Nah, that’s okay, Eds. I don't use bookmarks.” He whispered quickly.

“Then what do you use?” Eddie asked, growing worried that Richie did use bookmarks, just not ones from delicate little strangers at the library. Eddie thought he was tough, tough enough to use the grown up scissors by himself and not get cut. Maybe Richie would see he wasn’t as weak as the kids at the play yard thought he was.

He whispered it like a delicious secret between them. “Just fold the sides here, y’see?” Richie held up the book, and sure enough, a dog-eared corner showed his last page. “I’m gonna keep reading. Do you want me to, uh, read out loud?”

Read out loud? No one had ever offered Eddie to read with them. Most of the time he read his books alone, with the stuffed animals on the tops of the shelves as his only friends. Those butterflies came fluttering back inside Eddie’s body, but this time they nuzzled hot into his lungs so all he did was nod hurriedly, afraid they’d spill out.

Richie grinned again and shuffled over to Eddie’s side, leaning against a bookshelf. He propped the book on his knobby knees and began where he’d left off.

As he read Eddie became transfixed by the soft, boyish timbre of Richie’s voice, no longer listening to the story but to the short catch of breath as he whispered each eerie sentence.

He craned his neck closer toward Richie’s shoulder to see the pages for himself, and was met with the smell of bubblegum coming from Richie’s lips. Eddie’s eyes glanced briefly at them, more interested in their softness―Richie was lost in the story, hardly paying attention to him―and the sweet taste his words left in the air. Richie read the next passage in a fake, trembling-all-over voice, and for effect, flinched backward as if frightened. Richie’s shoulder met Eddie’s chin and for a second, Eddie didn’t think much about his next choice as he let it rest there. Richie didn’t seem to mind either. He flipped the pages with Eddie’s head on his shoulder and they listened together about the ill-fated Tucker family. Eddie’s heart began to falter.

Arrhythmia. His mother’s ghost word appeared in Eddie’s mind, though he didn’t know what it really meant. He thought it was something that happened when your heart got so excited it wouldn’t beat right for you.  

But it wasn’t the story that made Eddie’s heart excited. It was Richie. It was the way his dark eyes glistened behind his glasses. It was his electric blue Hawaiian button up and the white undershirt tucked inside his shorts. It was in his kindness to even be sitting next to Eddie. It was the fact that he was no longer alone at the library.

Richie had stopped reading at the sound of a shrill whisper echoing through the stillness.

“Eddie! It’s time to go back home.”

“That’s my mom,” Eddie said with a sad sigh, shifting away from Richie’s shoulder and looking up at his fixed expression.

“What?”

Richie thrust the book into Eddie’s fingers. “You read it.”

Eddie stared down at the cover as he got off the floor. His heart jumped to its own rhythm again, forgetting to beat a few times when Richie eased back on the stiff carpet and picked up Vampire Breath instead. Eddie didn’t want to leave. He wanted to sit back down with Richie and finish the chapter, the whole book, the piles all around him, all so that stovetop heat would return to his cheeks and he’d melt at Richie’s words all over again. Maybe Eddie didn’t exactly need a knight’s armor for things like this, when he felt like a warm dish of butter. To have a friend.

Eddie decidedly slipped the Stormtrooper bookmark into the front page and bent down to set it on one of the piles. “I don’t think she’ll let me take it. She’ll say it’s too scary or something.”

Richie put Vampire Breath on his chest and thought for a moment.

“Come back next weekend, maybe I can get my mom to meet yours,” Richie murmured back, then winced at Sonia’s panicked call for her son again.

“What for?”

“So you can come to my house...I’ve got all his books in my room.” Richie said with a blush. “Plus comics.”

“But,” Eddie peered over the shelves in worry, thankful he didn’t see his mother’s looming body yet. “Why would you wanna hang out with me?”

Richie didn’t miss a beat, though his cheeks were red. “Cause you’re a cool dude, Eds.”

“Eddie! I said one book, mister.”

Eddie stood over Richie like he had been a while ago, at a loss of what to say. He could still hardly believe that someone would want to spend time with him. The idea that he was cool. Eddie had an inhaler and religiously wore a fanny pack and thought of himself as anything but cool.  

“So you’ll come back then?” Richie asked hopefully, his eyes wide behind the lenses.

“S-Sure, Richie. I’ll be back.”

As he walked away he heard the sound of Richie’s book pages flipping, and the angry eyes of his mother bore down on him.

“What were you doing this whole time?” She demanded in a strained voice. “You kept me waiting, I was worried you’d been kidnapped.”

Eddie felt that familiar constricting in his throat again whenever his mother was nearby. All of the words from the books disappeared. He didn’t live in the pages of R. L. Stine anymore; he was nestled inside the chokehold of delicate and weak and asthmatic.

But maybe next time Eddie could enter the Derry Public Library doors a different boy. One that may still be a bit fragile and small, but had someone else to walk through the aisles with. Had someone else to read with. And he wasn’t alone.

[balladeer-angelo]

92 for Jill x Reader please my gay heart needs it

apparently, I needed it too because I went all the fuck out on this one. like, jesus, summer, your love for women is showing lmao HERE YOU GO, LOVES

Jill x Fem!Reader (NSFW)92. “I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

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Despite how hot-headed she could be, and how quick she was to jump into action out on the field at the drop of a bullet, Jill was almost deceptively patient and methodical when she decided to spend her quiet nights with you. There was a meticulous pace that her fingers followed as they danced across the slope of your neck, your rising chest, the dip of your waist, the hillside of your hip. You'd come to discover that women like her seemed to have a penchant for slow-dancing without music. There was only your breathing, her sighs, the rustling of clothes, the wooden floor creaking beneath your feet as the both of you swayed together; got swept up in each other, drowning willfully as you stayed anchored to each other's bodies.

A song that can't be heard stops playing and another dance begins. She presses you down onto the bed, slips her tongue in your mouth and follows the swell of your breasts with her palms. You mirror her, tugging down her tank top to tease her nipples, now taut and rosy. Jill hums, a disapproving little sound even though her skin reacts to your touch like a scorching wind. Her hands take your wrists and push them into the pillows above your head, telling them to stay put. She was the one in charge of stoking the hearth fire between the two of you tonight.

Those strong hands slipped back down your arms once they determined you were going to behave. They cupped your face with a tenderness you wouldn't expect from someone like her at a first glance. Everything left unspoken she conveys through her bite, teeth passionate little daggers set against your neck and you're reminded who you're burning for. Jill takes great joy in hearing you whimper, in feeling the waves of your body washing against her as her fingertips continue to push all of your buttons.

She pinches your nipples, squeezes your waist, brands your naked skin with her mouth. She sucks at the flesh of your hip bones to paint you with matching bruises, her favorite accessory on you. You buck your hips up in a silent plea. She's so close to where you want her. Your legs are already spreading to accommodate her, giving her all the space she needs, wants. You want to give her everything. Jill feels some indescribable delight at how honest your desperation for her is.

"Look at you. Such a sexy little thing, all spread out like this for me."

Her purrs are like midnight, and she's staining your thighs with pink moonflowers that will bloom until daybreak. Her lips keep getting closer and closer to yours. She keeps leaving open-mouthed kisses on every inch of you except for where you need her most. You're burning. Jill can tell by how heavy your breaths are; and how you're obediently keeping your hands where she left them but your body won't stop squirming.

Deciding to be a little more merciful, she gives your sopping velvet folds a slow, soothing lick, flicking the tip of her tongue across your swelling clit. You jolt and clutch at the pillows, filling the room with the melody of your mewls.

Cute, Jill thinks. Something she can dance to.

Her hands massage the meat of your thighs while she starts to tread a measure to the sound of your breathing. Every time you inhale, she nuzzles her nose against the soft hairs of your pubis, committing your scent to memory. When you exhale, she does the same, breath like a glacial fire on your wet skin. When you bite your lip to stifle your moans, she nudges the hood of your clit back with the tip of her tongue and embellishes it with kisses that demand a response. When you rock your hips upward, she smooths you back down, pins you to the bed with fingers that dwindle between the lines of authoritative and provoking. She knows you want something.

"You know I can't read minds, baby. If you want me to do something, you're gonna have to be a little more verbal."

The stubborn bull within you rears its head and you nearly shove your face to the side to keep your indignant blush a secret, groaning quietly. But you were never very good at keeping secrets from Jill Valentine.

Her voice is almost unnervingly sweet, and it has you thinking about the first time you had eaten a fig when you were younger.

"C'mon, I just wanna hear that pretty voice of yours." Her teeth sink into your inner thigh again, more pressure behind it, threatening to devour you alive.

You yelp and toss a pillow at her head though she just laughs when it hits her, impervious to your little tantrums.

She pushes it away and tries again a little nicer this time, but the persistence in her voice is unwavering to the heat of your glaring pout.

"Just tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. It's as easy as that."

"With you, nothing's ever that easy." You huff. "You're too greedy, always wanting more."

She smiles against your leg, giving it a kiss. "Humor me."

First, you sigh, long and loud so she can hear it, so she can feel your flustered annoyance against her face when it comes billowing out of your nose. Then you inhale, steeling yourself for the inevitable teasing that's sure to follow as soon as you voice your desires.

You look her right in the eyes. Those stupidly pretty, blazing blue eyes.

"I... I want you to touch me."

"How?"

You blink and your heart starts to pound. No matter how many times you've done this song and dance, no matter how carefully she's mapped out every inch of you, she still toyed with you as if this were some new affair.

"You know how." You grunt. She shrugs. The slyest cat in the neighborhood and she knew it.

"Maybe I do. But I wanna hear you say it. Just a few little words and I'll make it ha-"

"I want you to finger me!" You almost shout, your voice subdued by the internal awareness that you had neighbors above and below you.

Her grin makes your face burn even hotter and you swear you're going to ignite right before her eyes.

"Ohh~ Is that right?" She hummed.

You nod and she sits up on her knees between your legs, pushing your thighs to your stomach. Your pussy throbs with need and you can feel your silky cyprine dribbling onto the sheets. She's barely even gotten started and you're already soaking for her.

Jill drags her dull nails across the back of your thighs, trailing inward toward the apex of you, decorating you with soft red threads. You feel a thrum of an unfettered fever beginning to take root in your belly as she inches closer and closer.

"You know..." Her fingertips teasingly flickered over the hairs atop your aching mound. "There is one more thing I'd like from you."

Your head falls back and you release an exasperated groan. "Ugh, god. There it is. I knew it."

Jill giggles, ever so pleased with herself and your reaction. "I want you to beg for it."

"Jill, c'mon, please don't ma-"

“I’m not going to touch you unless you beg.”

To prove to you the vitality and validity of her claim, her hands began a slow crawl away from your hammering flesh and towards the inside of your knees.

She really wasn't going to give it to you easy, was she? On any other night, she might be a little more kind. Spare you all the teasing and embarrassment for something a little more passionate, with laced fingers and tender moments that feel like a slip of the tongue. If you didn't get to feel her touch inside you tonight, you were sure you would crumble like the cinders in a dying fire.

Swallowing the thick, tart pill of your pride, you peer up at her with a flushed face and determination.

"Please..."

"What's that?" She turns her head to show you her right ear. "I can't quite hear you, baby."

You raise the volume just a little, wiggling your hips impatiently. "Please! Jill, I want you to touch me!"

Jill hums to herself as if picking apart your declaration to find that pit of sincerity inside though she’s felt it already in your soft weeping flesh. Her hips rock back and forth just a little to grind herself against you. The fabric of her shorts catches on your bare skin like itchy, taunting thorns.

"Please, babe? I just want to feel you inside me. I wanna come for you. I want to come all over your fingers. I want to taste myself on your lips when you kiss me. I just... I want you, Jill."

Her lips part slightly and she simply stares at you for a second longer than intended, causing the hive in your head to stir with even more cries of humiliation. Maybe it's because of the harsh glow coming from the neon lights perched outside on the opposite building of your apartment, but you thought you could see a dusky pink color blooming across her cheeks.

Her eyes flutter to the floor for a moment as she seems to collect herself. You wished you could read minds at that moment. You go to speak, ask if you said something wrong, but she takes that chance away from you when her fingers return to your glistening folds and you gasp, pleasantly surprised. Jill rubs you at her leisure, falling back into that diligent cadence of hers as she coats two of her digits with your generous silken honeydew.

As she looks down at you she finds herself falling in love all over again with the way you sing and dance for her.

"Well...since you asked so nicely."

[aliceslantern]

Give/Take, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 4

Ienzo has been too busy since the war to be overwhelmed by the past. But with little progress to be made in his work with Kairi, old nightmares start to invade.

Riku is a glorified housesitter. Lonely and faced with no choice but to wait for a way to find his friends, he eagerly accepts when Ienzo asks him to help do repairs around the castle. Before long, the two strike up an unlikely friendship, united by their dark pasts and their attempts to be better people.

But just as they begin to consider something more... Kairi wakes up.

Ienzoku (Ienzo/Riku), post-Melody of Memory, slow burn. Updates Thursdays until it's done.

Chapter summary:  Ienzo tells Riku about what happened after their fight at Castle Oblivion. With nothing else to do, Riku helps with castle repairs, and has a conversation with Aeleus.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

For a while after he ran out of Riku’s room like a coward, Ienzo struggled to breathe. He remained sitting against the wall, curled up, adrenaline shocking him in little waves. He hated this sensation, how it robbed him of his self-control--

Breathe in. Breathe out. Riku hadn’t even gone for his throat, but rather his wrist, and only because Ienzo had touched him while he was dead asleep--

Redheaded demon and a puppet and the dark corner sharp hurt burning--

I am okay. I am okay. I am okay. He traced the soft scarred flesh with one hand, loosened the ascot at his throat. I can breathe. That was a memory. It wasn’t real. A flush of embarrassment came to his face when he thought of the strangled, animal sound he’d made. Pathetic.

Ienzo forced himself to his feet. He pulled back the sleeve of his jacket. There was a red mark where Riku had gripped him, and likely later a bruise; but he wasn’t significantly injured. Both of his hands were trembling uncontrollably. Get it together. Riku hadn’t meant to hurt him-- he’d probably taken that whole interaction to heart--

But the thought of going back to him right now and explaining, patiently, why he’d had that reaction, only made him feel nauseous. He tried to turn his mind back to the work, but he kept getting pulled and pulled into the basement, into an itchy achy helplessness.

Ienzo started walking, and walking, as if he could physically get away from the memory. He was so tense his teeth hurt, and his chest was hot and tight from his shallow breathing. He pulled the ascot from around his throat and undid the top buttons of his shirt, but it didn’t help ease the sensation much.

Breathe.

He found himself in the main library, which had once been beautiful but was now in serious disrepair. The collections were disorganized, the recessed lighting cracked and in need of new bulbs. Heartless had shattered several of the shadowboxes, and some of the paintings on the walls were torn. Ienzo reached up and brushed his fingers along the canvas of one. This portrait had evidently been of his adoptive great-grandmother, but anything resembling a face was ribbons of cloth and oil paint. He moved around a bit shamblingly, his body feeling heavy and strange now that the adrenaline was fading. He sank wearily into his favorite armchair, picked up his abandoned novel, and started to read.

It took hours for his heart to stop pounding.

A few weeks passed, tremulously. Perhaps a month, maybe longer; Ienzo’s concept of time was hazy at best. The winter got deeper, colder; they kept working with Kairi. While the light of her heart sustained her physical form, kept her warm and nourished and prevented atrophy, he still felt a stab of guilt that they were not finishing their examination faster. Sixteen years was a lot of memory, a lot to unpack and try to understand, and of course there was the curveball that she was a princess of heart. They all worked as long and as hard as they physically could, but it was still taking much, much too long.

Riku didn’t drop by as much, and Ienzo realized one day that he hadn’t been here since he’d gotten sick. Was this because of the way he’d acted? He knew he should apologize--

For what? An involuntary reaction?

Ienzo considered how he might feel if the opposite were true, if someone had woken him in the grips of a feverish nightmare. He should be glad he’d had little more than bruises, than a panic attack. He would’ve probably done much worse to his own attacker. (He kept a kitchen knife in his bedside table. It was the only thing that helped him feel safe with the nightmares.) He almost wrote Riku several times, but each time managed to find an excuse not to complete the note. A phone call, an urgent task to be completed. This shouldn’t bother him so much; he wasn’t the one at fault. Neither of them really were.

Finally, one snowy day, Riku came back. “I’m sorry for dropping by,” he said, his usual greeting. Ienzo noted with relief that he at least seemed to have adequate winter clothing. “Any… news?”

Ienzo cleared his throat a little. “Not much, I’m afraid. We’re making as much progress as we can.”

He took a few steps closer to Kairi. Ienzo recognized that glint in his eye; loneliness, and to a degree longing. It was the very same sort of look that his Nobody had preyed on.

He wondered if Riku spoke to his other friends.

“Do you…” Ienzo almost stopped himself. “Do you have a moment? To discuss something?” Even gave him an odd look, but Ienzo just glared at him.

“Uh--sure. Yeah. I’ve got a little time.”

“Excellent. I was wanting some tea anyway. Right then.” There was a kettle in the office; Ienzo switched it on. “What kind of tea would you like?”

“Uh--whatever you’re having, I guess. I don’t care.”

They sat down at Ansem’s old desk. Riku’s hair had gotten still longer, just barely brushing his shoulders, and he kept swatting it out of his eyes. It was more white than silver in this light, Ienzo thought, and looked fresh and fluffy, like it had just been washed. He thought of his own dirty, dry hair. For just a breath, he wondered what that hair might feel like under his fingertips.

What an odd thing to think about. He shook his head to brush away this thought.

“So what’s up?” Riku asked.

“I wanted to… talk about what happened, the last time we saw one another.”

He winced. “I tried to find you--”

“...But I avoided you.” He admitted this to his mug. “Truthfully, I must apolo--”

“I’m sorry,” Riku said at the same time. “I’m so sorry.”

Ienzo furrowed his brows. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You had a fever and I startled you when you were dead asleep.”

“I still hurt you. And--” He squinted. “Something just felt really… off.”

“...Which is what I wanted to talk about, because it’s clear that if we’re to have any functioning rapport…” He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to come up with a tactful way of saying this. You look like my murderer. He took a breath. “At Castle Oblivion, after we fought--”

Riku visibly tensed.

“It was, perhaps, only a few moments later that I--”

He dropped his eyes. “I know. Bad blood. Bad memories.”

“But you weren’t the one who… ultimately made it happen.”

Riku bit his lip. “I figured you might’ve… bled out. I don’t like thinking about it.”

“Of course you don’t,” he said softly. “But you recall… the replica?”

“Of me?” He frowned. “Um, yeah.”

“I’m going to say it very bluntly.” His heart was beating hard. “Axel had him kill me. I’d learned too much about the Organization’s coup.” The memory stabbed him, especially seated right across from him. But between the new hairstyle, and the few years’ of aging, Riku did not look much like the puppet anymore.

“Of course you panicked,” Riku said. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

“It is wholly embarrassing. I…” He cleared his throat. “For some reason that felt… necessary, in order to move on.”

“...Especially with me randomly poking my ugly mug in,” he said, shaking his head.

Not ugly, Ienzo thought, feeling a different flash of nerves. Perhaps that was part of why this was so unsettling.

“I’ll try to avoid cornering you,” he continued. “And, uh, grabbing.”

“It seems what happened was neither of our faults,” Ienzo said. “But I don’t want us to have to walk on eggshells around each other. I do enough of that as it is.”

A nervous smile flickered on his face. “You guys don’t get along?”

“It’s… a bit complicated.” Ienzo didn’t feel much like going into all that .

“Sounds like you could use a friend.”

Ienzo looked up. His expression was genuine, and if Ienzo was understanding correctly, pleading. Ienzo wondered again if Riku actually spent time with anyone. “...Perhaps I could.”

This smile was less hesitant.

“...And you could stop making up excuses to drop by.” He tried to say this kindly. “I imagine… it’s not easy, doing all this work by yourself.”

Riku’s grip on his mug loosened a bit. “To be completely honest…” He chuckled. “I… am bored out of my mind. When I said I was housesitting? I wasn’t being modest. That’s literally what I was asked to do.” Something honest crept into his tone.

Ienzo blinked. “...I see. Why don’t you go home, then? Spend time with your family?”

Evidently, this was the wrong question to ask: what little humor in Riku’s expression fell. “It feels… wrong, to go back without them,” he said softly. “When we were last home a few months ago… I… made a promise to myself that I would bring them home. I can’t… look their parents in the eye. It feels like my fault somehow.”

“I’m sure it isn’t.” He exhaled. “We will do our best to try and help you get back together.”

“I know. I know you’re all working hard, I didn’t mean to imply--”

“I know.” Ienzo smiled. “But let me do this for you. As friends.”

He nodded.

“Moreover… if you’re bored.” He cocked his head. “Aeleus and Dilan have their hands full doing repairs around the castle. How good are you with your hands?”

His eyebrows shot up, and Ienzo saw the almost desperate glimmer in his eye. “Actually pretty good,” he said. “I used to build stuff on the play island all the time.”

“Great. Then perhaps you’d be willing to help? Say, a day or so a week, or whatever would work best with your schedule? I know traveling back and forth must be annoying.”

“I’d hate to… be an inconvenience,” he said slowly.

“You’d be helping us ,” Ienzo said. “And that way, you don’t need to travel goodness-knows-how-far to pester me about Kairi.”

Riku flushed. “Ha… yeah, I guess so. Ah. I’ll check up on things in the castle and come back.”

“Great. So it’s a date.”

There was a long, pronounced silence,  Ienzo wondered if this was the wrong thing to say. His heart was fluttering hard again, the same way it had before, and he swallowed it down. This was… strange, and he wasn’t sure he liked how it felt.

Riku seemed nervous too. “Awesome. So. It’s a date.”

Ienzo cleared his throat. “I won’t hold you up any longer.”

“No, I should… go, so I can come back.” He stood.

“Safe travels,” Ienzo said, hearing the artificiality in his own voice. When Riku was gone, his heart was still pounding, beating hard in an insistent way he didn’t know how to read. He thought, involuntarily, of that hair again, of how it might feel.

Ienzo had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

---

On his way back to the Land of Departure, Riku felt... fuzzy. Nervous, jumpy. This was only amplified by the utter silence of the place. He paced, restlessly, trying to understand what it was he might be feeling. There seemed to be a lot to unpack.

He thought he’d killed Zexion the same way he’d killed Lexeaus. A blow to the spine, some internal damage. Zexion had been a mighty opponent, but not physically that strong. From the moment he’d first struck down Lexeaus, he’d tried not to think of the truth, the brutality, of what he’d done, that he’d essentially just killed a person. Knowing it had led to their direct humanity seemed… both a comfort, and an insult.

Also… the fact that Axel was capable of such brutality… having fought alongside Lea in the war, and seeing the awkward and charming way he acted with Kairi… it made him feel slightly ill.

But you did awful things under the influence of darkness too, the ever-present guilt reminded him. All the Heartless you summoned, and the things Maleficent told you to do with them. You probably killed people and didn’t even realize.

He sat down on his bed and looked out the window. Snow was falling in the Land of Departure. As a Nobody… hadn’t Zexion done the same? And Riku had done this all in the sake of… what… gathering power? Mining his “true potential”? Which was--?

Sitting here overthinking, apparently. The sooner he finished up these loose ends, the sooner he could return and do what Ienzo had asked. Maybe he could even talk to him more about this conundrum, and see if the Somebodies there felt the same way about the things they’d done in the past. Just because both of them had turned over a new leaf didn’t mean the past was forgiven, or forgotten.

He should probably try to get some sleep, too.

After tending to his few chores, Riku lay in bed, trying to switch off. At some point in the past he’d been able to fall asleep practically on command, but now the action seemed something of a labor, and his mind would spin and spin in any direction and on any memory until it was late enough to be considered early. Fighting Heartless, and training himself to physical exhaustion, made it easier , but not easy. He parsed that interaction out in his mind, thinking back to the expression on Ienzo’s face when Riku accidentally grabbed him. Ienzo must have thought of the moment when the puppet… did whatever the puppet did.

(And, Riku thought, if the puppet was a likeness of him, down to his personality at the time, was Riku capable of that kind of violence as well?)

He took a deep breath and let it out, trying to stop thinking about that. Instead, he found himself thinking about the way their conversation had ended. So it’s a date. He didn’t mean-- no, he just meant a place and a time, a date on a calendar. Why would he--

But Ienzo was so eloquent, it couldn’t just be a slip of the tongue. Right? Or perhaps it had? And if so, what did that mean?

The last thing Riku needed was for things to get more complicated. He needed Ienzo and the others to be able to help Kairi help Sora.

Still, the way his heart was beating… was new. And odd. And he thought of that moment during the Mark of Mastery exam, when Shiki had most likely been flirting with him. How he hadn’t felt anything at the time, wasn’t sure if he was supposed to--there was a lot of things going on that were far more important.

But now? When nothing was going on?

There was banter right before he got sick, too. And he’d felt the same jump, the same uncertainty. But he also bantered with Sora and Kairi all the time, and then he sometimes got nervous thinking of witty replies on the fly. But did it make him feel like this? And was this something Riku wanted to feel?

You’re putting way more into this than was there, he thought, shaking his head. What reason would he even have for doing something like that?

He shut his eyes, but the thoughts didn’t stop.

---

Riku was used to the flight between Radiant Garden and Land of Departure by now. He’d started calling it his “commute”, in moments of deeper loneliness. Commuting to see Kairi. He wondered what his life would look like if none of this had happened. He’d be wrapping up his last year of high school, he knew, getting ready for university or the greater world. Riku tried to imagine himself working a job: at a coffee shop, or as a waiter, or bagging groceries. Typing and typing at an office job. Much like when he was fifteen, the notion made him feel vaguely nauseous. But equally, he wasn’t sure of what would become his future now . His eighteenth birthday was some months away. Theoretical adulthood.

Well, he was a Keyblade master now, not that that seemed to mean much of anything. Would he… take on apprentices? Teach them? Would that be satisfying?

Sora and Kairi aren’t even home yet. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Maybe they would help him make sense of this mess. Yes, that was it. He thought of Kairi, her laugh. Riku, you’re such a downer sometimes, you know? And Sora, as long as it’s the three of us, we’ll be okay.

He wondered how pathetic it was to be having imaginary conversations with his best friends.

Riku landed in the outer recesses of Radiant Garden and started the now-familiar walk to the castle. It was always so cold here, so gloomy, now that winter had come over the city. Thankfully he’d actually been able to get a coat. He tugged his collar up a bit higher. He’d experienced a lot over the past two years or so, but he was still, at heart, an islander.

He wasn’t sure where exactly to go or what he had to do, so he went down to the lab. He couldn’t help but smile a little when he saw Kairi, even if she was completely unaware of his presence. He wondered for the millionth time what she was doing in there, what she was experiencing. How they all made numbers about it was beyond him.

“Ah--Riku. Back so soon, I see?” Even asked, his tone brisk and cool as usual.

“Uh--yeah, actually. Ienzo said you guys needed help with the… repairs, so I figured… I have some time--”

“We mustn’t take you from your duties,” Ansem said.

“No, you’re really not.” He forced a laugh. “This is helpful, actually.” He looked around. “So… uh… where is he?”

“He had some questions about some code and thought Cid might be able to help,” Even said.

“...Questions?”

“There are some anomalies in her heart, recently. We’re fairly certain it’s the differences in structure due to her nature as princess of heart, but it’s always good to… seek a second opinion.” Ansem smiled; Even scowled.

Riku frowned. “Is she okay?”

“As far as we can tell, yes,” Even said. “The sleep isn’t physically affecting her in the slightest--other than the obvious.”

He walked over to her and adjusted the blanket draped over her. ��It’s a little cold over here. Can you turn down the AC?”

“We need it to keep the machines--” Even began, but Ansem patted Riku’s shoulder gently.

“I’ll bring in a space heater for her,” he said.

“Thank you.” He watched her breathe for a moment. “So… what should I--”

“I believe Aeleus is painting near the library. Do you know where that is?”

Riku swallowed, suddenly finding his mouth very dry. “Yes. I remember.”

He very nearly left then. He’d only seen Aeleus briefly in passing a few times coming and going, and the man never said much other than to curtly nod at him. While he now knew he hadn’t felled Zexion… well. He was certain he’d finished the job with Lexeaus.

What do you say to someone you’ve killed?

Maybe start with sorry, he imagined Kairi telling him.

Right. It would be… a good idea to not be on tenterhooks here. Especially if he were going to be helping out. If it weren’t for this, he would still be sitting in that castle, bored out of his mind. This was something good, constructive. It was good.

He took a deep breath.

Seeing the deterioration in this castle, Riku felt another stab of guilt. Some of this destruction had been here when he’d arrived, but some of it had come from his own practice trying to get the Heartless to do his bidding. He brushed his fingers across a torn painting, wondering what had happened to the person who made it.

Well. At least he could quite literally undo some of the damage.

He saw Aeleus on a ladder towards the end of the hallway, very carefully trying to paint over a new patch in the ceiling. Riku took a deep breath. He didn’t want to startle Aeleus either. “Hi there,” he called.

He looked over.

“So, uh.” He cleared his throat. “I’m here to… help? If I can?”

“Ienzo told me you were interested in helping do some repairs, yes.”

“Well. Uh. Could I do anything?”

He considered Riku. His expression was nearly impossible to read. “That can of green. If you want to start going over where I whitewashed. You can use the roller. Prime it first.”

“...Thanks.” He went over to the area that Aeleus had gestured to. There had once been wallpaper here, but it had been removed, and the holes and cracks beneath repaired with plaster. Riku poured some of the primer into a pan and got to it. He was glad that his braces couldn’t get stained; he saw that very quickly this could get messy.

For what felt like an eternity, but was maybe only an hour or two, he and Aeleus painted in silence, and the only audible sound was the dipping and rolling of the brush and roller. Riku wasn’t sure if he was imagining the tension in the air or not. He reached up to swat the hair out of his eyes and inadvertently smeared paint on his face. “...Ugh.”

“...You might want to do something about that,” Aeleus said. He took a clean bandanna out of his pocket and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” His hair was at that awkward in-between length that was too short to tie up but too long to feel manageable loose. He could cut it, he knew, and go back to the way he’d looked before, but the spikes reminded him too much of Sora. Riku looked down at the smear of paint on the cloth. Just say sorry. “Listen,” he began. “I just… wanted to say sorry. For everything.”

Aeleus set his brush down on top of the can and turned to face Riku more fully. “What do you have to apologize for?”

He blinked. He didn’t want to have to say it. “...You know. Castle Oblivion. Everything… that happened.”

Aeleus looked into the middle distance for a moment. “You don’t owe me an apology,” he said, in a low voice. “Rather… the other way around. Don’t you think?”

Riku shook his head slowly. “Ienzo said something similar.”

“We… treated you terribly. Tried to use you. Am I supposed to be mad that you fought back?”

“But I…” He couldn’t bring himself to say “killed you.”

“...Which is part of the reason I am here, and working to be better, instead of continuing to do evil in that Organization’s name.” He seemed to be smiling just the slightest.

“It’s not like any of us knew about the reformation at the time--”

“We needed to be stopped,” Aeleus said shortly. “Neither of us blame you, Riku.”

“Do you think you… still would be with the Organization, if your Nobody had survived?”

Aeleus thought about it. “That depends entirely on whether or not Vexen and Zexion survived as well.”

Riku cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure that “friends” is the right term to use,” he said. “But the three of us… well. Even and I raised Ienzo from when he was a boy. Even with our true bonds severed by the lack of a heart, there was enough of a relationship there for me to… make their wellbeing my priority. If they had survived and turned back to the Organization, I would’ve too. But if they’d have passed on, and I survived, I might have… left. But either way…” He spread his large hands. “We all perished, but we are all human now.”

“What does that… feel like?”

Aeleus’s eyebrows shot up.

“Sorry. I just… I’m curious.”

He thought for another long moment. “It is both so strange and so natural,” he said. “The rush of emotion… feels as if it is so strong. There is a lot of guilt. But I feel more… me, than I thought I would, in those rare moments I considered Xemnas’s fake goal of giving us hearts.”

“More like Lexeaus, you mean?”

“We were Nobodies for just under ten years. I was not much older than Ienzo is now when it happened. As the years passed… my human self seemed soft, weak, and what he felt… unnecessary and boorish. But to have those feelings back… well. I realize that humanity is different than what I thought. There is strength to it that the darkness and the nothing couldn’t provide.”

“I think I understand,” Riku said. My friends are my power! He remembered. “Thanks for that.” He breathed the taste of paint. “Do you still feel the darkness?” He didn’t expect an answer.

Aeleus held his chin up, just a little. “I do,” he admitted, “but I know its price. And I intend to keep it at bay.”

Riku nodded. “Yeah. I know how that is.”

“...I think all of us here do.” He climbed back up the ladder and picked up his brush. “Might I suggest bobby pins? Ienzo finds them useful.”

“...You’re probably right.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“There you go, darling. Breathe. In and out.”

Lux tries to curl in on himself, whining when he’s pulled to sit up and a hand presses against his sternum to keep him upright. He’s pulled into someone’s lap, his back held up against a broad chest, and the familiar smell of the Hunter somehow registers among the suffocating metallic stench of blood. Lux’s weak choking sounds become actual coughs again, blood spilling from his lips.

“Good boy,” The Hunter says approvingly, rubbing his chest, and Lux shudders. He wants Emory back, doesn’t want to be in the Hunter’s lap again, to die with obedient thoughts in his head.

But fingers wind into his hair to keep his head up, and a glass of water is tipped to his lips, and his horror is replaced for a moment by stunned gratitude. The taste of blood washes away if only for a second, and he can swallow again, and breathing becomes a manageable task again.

“Tha-ank you,” The warlock rasps. He tries to tip his head back onto the Hunter’s shoulder, too tired to do anything but flop, but the grip on his curls tightens.

“You’ll choke if you do that,” His old captor explains, and Lux whines. He gets so whiny when he’s pliable under the Hunter’s hands, because it’s so scary, and he just wants Emory, wants to be away from hands that twist and crush and punish.

“Ple-, -ease, heal m-me.” Blood bubbles up in his throat, thick and dense. As soon as he starts to choke on it, he’s dipped forward, his chest pressed against, and with the help of gravity he coughs it up. He’s pulled back up to lean against the Hunter, dizzy and gasping.

“I can’t, little one. The poison affects me too. Damn feds didn’t tell me… but I wasn’t born with magic like you were, I’m not disgusting and wrong like you.” The Hunter’s hand comes up to Lux’s throat in a threat to cut off his air manually if he fails to earn mercy with obedience. Lux’s eyes flutter and his stomach twists at the disgust, the assertion of his wrongness that sounds so true. Even if Lux could be healed, he wouldn’t deserve it.

“They’re killing warlocks, just like I do,” The Hunter continues with a thrill of joy at Lux’s staggered, reedy breaths. “But I can’t let you die, my light. You’re my little warlock, my favorite. I’ll keep you breathing one way or another.”

Lux frowns as he tries to tip his head up to escape the hand around his throat. Why choke him when he can just be left to choke on his own blood? The Hunter is scared of him dying, wants to save him, but he won’t be able to counteract poison with will alone. Lux is still going to die.

“I-I don’t want, want you t’have me,” The warlock whimpers. “I, wanna, hhhh, die alone. Le-eave me alone.”

The Hunter is about to grip tighter and cut off his air, he knows; the hand in his hair has already twisted to make him gasp, and he can feel the Hunter’s muscles coil up in his fury. But more blood bubbles up in his throat, and this time it feels like he’s clogged all the way from his lungs to his tongue, and shudders turn into involuntary, full-body struggling. He can’t breathe. All the maneuvering that might help him breathe a bit longer, the borrowed time, it’s all used up. Lux can feel himself being bent forward to try and let gravity do the work again, can feel hands on his chest and throat, but the blood stays, and air doesn’t come. His lungs burn, his throat aches, he’s scared, so scared… but the darkness swarming around his vision and numbing his body? It’s kind of comforting. The Hunter’s hands are on him, and the big, confident, controlling man can’t do a thing to save his precious little light, to force Lux to stay with him. It feels good to die in an act of rebellion, to know he can’t back out of this and beg and be called good. He’s bad, and he’s proud of it.

~

Emory is heaving air into his stinging lungs by the time that he gets to Cole’s family’s house. The roads were clogged with cars and ambulances and cop cruisers, people trying to drag bleeding, suffocating warlocks to hospitals and police stations and dumpsters and alleys. But Lux said save Cole, not try to save every half-dead warlock you see along the way. So he ran past it all.

He slams through the door, wheezes his way down the hall, clutching at his chest. The door painted blue with white trim, little clouds on it where Lux painted them with Cole on one of Cole’s sad angry days, it’s left ajar.

Emory pushes it open to see a cop sitting on the bed, hand to Cole’s forehead. The black boy freezes and stares; Colten is alive, but clearly was poisoned like all the other warlocks. The cop isn’t dragging the little boy out of bed, just watching over him.

Coleten looks up at Emory, taking a second to focus, and in a little cracking voice, he asks, “Lux?”

The cop looks up sharply. He seems disappointed to see someone other than Lux. At the name on his uniform, Holt, Emory sighs. Just the only cop Lux has ever expressed that he trusted - Grant.

“Lux isn’t here, I’m sorry, Cole,” Emory says gently, walking in. “Grant… how is he breathing?”

The officer holds up a glass vial, half-empty. “The cure. Antidote. Standard for officers to be given it, give a dose to a warlock before bringing them in. Supposed to keep as many alive as possible, if they comply. I stole extras.”

Emory could faint. A cure. “And Cole? Why’d you start with him? How do you even know him?” Emory kneels beside the bed, checking on Colten’s temperature himself. Not nearly as hot as Lux. If the little boy looked any more stable, Emory would grab Grant and drag him out to bring him to Lux.

“Well, Lux gave me this address, described Cole. Months ago. Promised to kill me if I let anything happen to the kid. If something like this happened, I swore to come help Cole first.”

“Sounds like Lux.” Emory smiles at Colten, who looks downright miserable. He wonders if the boy’s mom and dad are here, if they’re alive.

“Is Lux okay?” The boy squeaks, cheeks still flushed from the fever.

“No. I need to borrow Officer Grant here to come make Lux better. You wanna come with, Cole? I’ll carry you, make sure you have an adult nearby. You can sleep on our couch until you feel up for some chicken noodle soup.”

At the boy’s sleepy nod, Emory scoops him up carefully, and Grant tucks the vial into his pocket. “More in the car,” He explains briefly, then leads the way out to his cruiser.

~

“It’s okay, Cole, you sit right here, I’m gonna go check on-“

“Who the hell are you?”

Emory startles and looks over toward the bedroom at Grant’s exclamation. Lux should be in there, only Lux.

“Stay right here, Colten,” Instructs Emory quietly. He stands and walks over to the bedroom, starkly aware that he has no weapon and no magic. Grant has to take care of the situation if there’s any threat.

The Hunter. He’s sitting in the bed, holding Lux, looking up at Grant. “What, you’re here to arrest a dead warlock?” The torturer asks, voice rough with anger. He sees Emory and his grip tightens around Lux’s chest. There’s no movement from Lux, not a flinch, not a breath.

“He’s got the cure,” Emory informs, tipping his head toward the cop beside him. He takes a shuddering breath, furious and hardly containing himself, before he adds, “Let go of Lux so I can hold him. If you want to kill me for it after, you can, but he’s not gonna wake up to you.”

The Hunter’s eyes flick to the vial in Grant’s hand, and he lets Lux flop limply onto the mattress, standing away from the bed. “He’s no fun dead,” The torturer comments, and the genuine worry, the fear, can’t be hidden behind the cruel words. Emory doesn’t care what the mindfucker feels as he brushes past and climbs onto the bed to pull Lux into his lap, sit him up, hold him. Lux isn’t cold, but he’s not breathing. If he was too far gone to be saved, he thinks the Hunter would have slaughtered half the town in retribution, so he has to hope that the man’s willingness to step aside is a good sign.

Grant’s hands are steady as he injects the solution into Lux’s arm. Emory can’t breathe as he waits for any sign of life from his boyfriend.

“I could help if I had my magic,” The Hunter contributes from the sidelines. “Give me that antidote. My magic will recover quickly. I’ll help him take his first breath. Or watch him die, I guess - he’s close.”

“Give it to him,” Emory growls, tucking his cheek against Lux’s. This can’t be the last hug he gives his Curls.

The Hunter flexes his magic as soon as he can, a rush of energy filling the room. Emory holds Lux as tight as he can when the mindfucker sits on the bed to face Lux, placing his hands on the warlock’s chest.

Magic is pressed into Lux, something shifting inside. “Vanishing the blood,” The Hunter explains as he concentrates. “From his lungs. Breathe, little one, breathe for me.”

Emory is too busy listening with his fingertips and forearms and cheek pressed against Lux for a breath, a cough, a heartbeat. Lux jolts, and shudders, and then draws a deep, ragged breath. A raw sob tears out of him as he chokes down air, hands coming up to weakly pull at Emory’s arms around him; he whines, shakes, struggles to breathe, blinded by tears.

“Lux, Lux! Honey, it’s okay, I’ve got you. I can’t let go, I’m so sorry, I need to hold on.” The Hunter is too close, Emory can’t let Lux be yanked away and dragged off to be hurt. “Curls, it’s me, I’m right here, you’re okay. I love you, I love you, it’s okay.”

The panicked sounds dissolve into whimpers in between jagged gasps. Emory can tell when Lux opens his eyes and blinks away the tears to see the Hunter, because his boyfriend jerks and tries to shove himself backward, pulling at Emory’s arms now to pull them tighter around himself.

No more blood drips onto Emory’s arms, and that’s a blessing.

“Welcome back, sweet one,” The mindfucker grins, and Emory’s had it.

“Grant, put your gun to that fucker’s head and make him leave.”

The Hunter laughs, deep and warm; Lux trembles like the sound vibrates straight through him and grates against his bones. “I’ll leave. Let my light recover. I’ll check in on him later.” The man tries to tap a finger to Lux’s temple in a promise to invade his mind later, but Emory knocks the hand away. The mindfucker’s eyes go to Emory in silent annoyance.

“Cole,” Lux chokes out, and Emory notices the boy standing in the doorway, pale as a ghost and looking like he’s staring up at his worst nightmare. The Hunter turns and stands, taking a step toward him in interest; Grant grabs Colten under the arms and hauls him up, holding him away from the Hunter.

“D-don’t, don’t,” Sobs Lux. Emory doesn’t think Lux even knows his magic is crackling against his arms, recovering enough to be used. It doesn’t occur to him to use it.

The Hunter smiles at Cole, who clings to the cop holding him. “Don’t worry, my light. I won’t take him again. Not without you, at least! You are so sweet when you have someone to protect, so obedient.”

“Ple-ease…” Lux’s begging subsides as Emory shushes him gently, rubs his arms and stomach over his sweaty shirt to soothe him. The Hunter steps away from Colten.

“Just go so he can rest.” Grant meets the Hunter’s eyes as he tucks Colten’s face to his shoulder so he doesn’t have to see the man that scares him so badly. “You probably kept him alive long enough so we could save him. He’ll remember that.” It hurts, sometimes, catering to both sides.

“Yes, he will.” The mindfucker looks fondly over to his favorite warlock, then sighs. He turns to leave. “Watch his breathing,” He offers as parting words, then walks out. The front door closes after a few tense moments.

Colten pushes against Grant’s chest until he’s put down, and Lux stiffly pries himself from Emory’s embrace. “C’mere,” He says to the youngest, patting the bed and opening his arms for a hug. Cole climbs up onto the bed and buries himself into his friend, mumbling incoherent words against Lux’s chest. The little boy doesn’t mind the blood staining the shirt, or his friend’s skin; he never has.

“Did you bring Officer Grant and Emory here, Cole?” Lux asks, tone light as he ruffles Colten’s hair. “Did you save me?”

“N-no,” The boy bemoans sadly. “I’m, I’m sick. Emory carried me.”

“You carried Emory?” Lux squeezes Cole’s upper arm gently. “Your muscles, oh, they got so big! How’d you do that?”

“Stop,” Whines Cole, tucking himself closer. Lux rubs his back and stops teasing him, quits poking fun.

“You two should lie down and rest.” Emory guides them to lean over and lie on their sides, pulling the blanket over them. Cole stays huddled up against Lux. “I’m gonna watch over you, okay? And Grant is gonna go help other warlocks.”

“I could use some help,” The cop interrupts. “Save twice as many.”

Emory hesitates, then rubs Lux’s shoulder over the covers. “Okay. Lux, honey? You okay being alone, watching out for Cole?”

“Yeah,” Lux answers, scrunching his shoulder up by his ear. He doesn’t want to be alone, he’s scared and exhausted and hurting, but there are people dying just like he was, and they need Emory more right now. “I’ll protect Cole.”

“I’ll be back soon, okay, Curls? ‘kay, Cole?” Emory pats Colten’s shoulder, frowning at the flinch. Lux knows better than anyone what Cole needs, what will help with that.

“Em, sa-, save my friends,” Lux whispers, guilty for asking. “An-, Anders first. Resistance leaders. Then, hhnnn, Alex, and Kiara and Eli and, nnnh, and then, kids in safehouses.”

“I will.” Emory leans down to press a kiss to Lux’s cheek. He knows how hard that was for Lux to ask, to put the lives of his friends above those of strangers who don’t deserve to die.

Emory will take on that guilt. If he’s too late, if people die before he gets to them, he’ll take that on himself. Lux has suffered enough for one day.

[crimsonrae]

Bear and Birdie

Chapter Four

Summary: AU Howard only ever had Birdie to confide in as a child and Steve only ever had Bucky. So, what happens when more than just a supersoldier serum connects these people? Told in a collection of one-shots and flashbacks, rating subject to change.

Bucky BarnesxOFC

Rating: Mature

1936, Brooklyn, New York

Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck as he watched the snow fall. It had to be one of the heaviest snowfalls he had ever seen and as more and more of the street was buried under the fluffy flakes he felt his stomach harden with dread. He never used to feel this way when it snowed. In fact, winter had been one of his favorite seasons as a kid. Snowball fights, sledding and giant snowmen were things he had looked forward to, but then he met Steve. Tiny Stevie, who loved winter as much as he did, but could not physically tolerate the harsh cold as well as Bucky.

A wheezy wet cough filtered through the apartment, causing Bucky to wince as he listened for the gasping breaths that would soon follow. He swore Steve was allergic to winter. It never failed. The cold would come and the cough would start and then the snow would fall and the fever came…every year like clockwork. This year, however, Bucky had prayed that Steve's inevitable sickness would not come. It was their second year out of the orphanage, but the first year that Steve would no longer be able to go to the nuns for medical help. At eighteen years old, Steve Rogers was officially too old to use the free medical services the church had provided for all its orphans. Though, Bucky had a feeling that many of the nuns would turn a blind eye for his sickly friend if he did show up at the clinic, but Steve was all about following the rules and would not take the services that were needed by the other kids. It made Bucky want to tear his hair out.

Heaving a sigh, he turned from his place at the window to go to his friend's room. Hopefully, he could convince Steve to take the blankets from his bed. One night in the cold wouldn't hurt the brunette. The sight that greeted Bucky when he entered was worse than he had anticipated. It seemed as if the cough and fever had come to welcome Stevie at the same time this year. The smaller man was curled up tight on his bed, his cheeks flushed with more color than Bucky had seen in a week while a slight sheen of perspiration glimmered in the low light of the room.

"Jesus Steve." Bucky murmured quietly as he moved to pull the thin blankets tighter around his friend.

"I'll be fine." Steve muttered weakly, as passive embarrassment fluttered over his face. The hacking cough that suddenly wracked the blonde's small frame belied his words.

Bucky bit back a sigh as he silently cursed his friend's pride. He couldn't help but wonder just how long Stevie had been feeling this ill. Over the short span of their lives, Bucky had come to learn that while Stevie was exceptionally honest about most things, when it came to his health he could hide anything until it became too bad and he had no choice, but to collapse. The brunette quickly left the room to grab the blankets from his bed. Stevie could shove his stupid pride.

"Bucky-"

His name was the only form of protest that Steve could utter when he came back into the room with the extra covers, before he silenced his friend with a glare, "Did you pick up your medicine from the drugstore?"

Bucky wasn't even sure why he asked, Steve never got his prescriptions filled. By the hesitant look in his friend's eyes, he knew that Stevie hadn't done it this time either.

"Stevie…" Bucky sighed, suddenly feeling more tired than he had any right to.

"We don't have the money, Buck." Steve defended quietly, no longer meeting Bucky's gaze, "Eating is a thing, you know?"

Bucky bit back a curse as he realized where the fresh milk and bread in the kitchen had come from…spare money, Steve had told him, "Stevie."

Steve nearly flinched at the harsh growl of his friend's voice, "I'm fine, Bucky."

"No, you're an idiot. Jesus, Stevie that money was for your medicine, not food. We can always find money for food." Bucky lectured not sure if he was more exasperated or angry.

"There just wasn't enough for the medicine, the price was raised again. I figured that what we did have would be better spent on food." Steve sighed as he tried to ignore the cough building up in his chest, "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it is, Stevie. You should have said something about the cost." Bucky muttered, now sure he wanted to shake his friend. Didn't Stevie understand just how terrifying it was when he was sick? Some of what he thinking must have shown on his face as Steve glanced at him sorrowfully.

"I'm not gonna die from this, Buck…promise." Steve said softly as he tried to banish the look of abject worry from his friends face.

Bucky just snorted and shook his head, "Damn straight you won't or I'd have to bring you back to life and kill you, myself."

"Please -" Steve wheezed out, "Like you could take me."

The boy's eyes met briefly before they both broke composure and grinned. Bucky rolled his eyes, but pushed his ever flowing concern to the back of his mind, "You're still an idiot and you're missing the first snowfall."

"You mean that white, fluffy stuff? Seen it." Steve muttered dismissively as he held back a yawn.

Bucky noticed his drowsiness anyway, "Go to sleep, Stevie. You're making me tired."

"Yeah, yeah."

Bucky watched silently as his friend drifted back to sleep. His fingers sluggishly ran through his hair while he listened to Steve's labored breaths. It was going to be a long night. Despite, what Stevie said, he needed the medicine. He always needed the medicine. With practice stealth he left his friend's room and slipped into his dinky quarters to quietly rummage through his dresser drawers. It took him a few minutes to find what he wanted. He paused only briefly before letting his hands wrap around a small cardboard box.

It was a pathetic little thing. The corners had started to wear and the edges were a little crinkled, but it held the last thing Bucky had of his mother and father. Their wedding rings resided inside. He could not bring himself to pull lid off to stare at the shiny circles he knew were there. Instead he grabbed his coat and shoved the box into his pocket. They needed the money.

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"No."

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, unable to make eye contact with portly man before him, "Mr. Parson…"

"No, Bucky." Franklin Parson said soundly as he leaned heavily against the table behind him. His gaze shifted down to the glass showcase of his pawn shop and onto the pitiful little cardboard box that resided on top. He nearly shook his head, he could not believe what the boy was asking of him.

"I need the money." Bucky stated roughly. He shifted again before letting his shoulders slump, "It's the only thing I have with any value."

Frank frowned as Bucky finally met his stare. He hated seeing the desperation in the boy's eyes, but it was the resigned weariness that bothered Frank more. He bit back a sigh as be grumbled to himself, "I'm not buying your parents rings. What do you need the money for anyway?"

Again Bucky looked away, an unhappy scowl painting his face, but Frank waited patiently. He did not get an answer, however. Bucky leaned forward and snatched the box from the counter before heading toward the door. Frank heaved a sigh at the boy's stubbornness, "How sick is he?"

The way Bucky tensed and nearly stumbled was all the answer that Frank needed, though the incredulous look that Bucky shot him was rather entertaining. He raised a mocking brow in response, "This isn't the first time you've been in here to sell something, Bucky. And it's always for Stephen."

Bucky bit his lip, "The price on his medicine was raised. His cough is getting worse and he has a fever."

This time Frank did not bother holding in his sigh before he stood straight to reach for his cash registered. He discharged the cash drawer and removed fifty dollars before pressing Bucky with a hard stare, "You are not selling those rings. You will work here the next few weekends to pay off this loan."

Bucky stared in surprise, his mouth moving soundlessly, "….Mr. Parson…"

"Just nod and say you understand." Frank grumbled tiredly as he waited for the younger man to take the money.

"I understand." Bucky murmured quietly as he slipped the money into his pocket. His smile came out more as a grimace and Frank knew that it was killing the kid's pride to be taking the money, "Thank you."

Frank waved him off in dismissal, "Yeah, yeah. Get out of here and help your friend."

Bucky turned on his heel and made for the door again before he came up short, "Why…why won't you take 'em?"

There was a brief silence as Frank studied the young man before him. He wondered if Bucky knew how much he looked like his father. He found himself leaning back against the table and crossing his arms. Huffing quietly, he smiled, "I wasn't always a pawn shop owner, boyo. I used to work down at Solomon's Jewelers when I was about your age and I remember your father. He worked himself silly to just put a down payment on those rings. He wanted to show your mother he wasn't some schmuck that he could take care of her. It took him almost a year to fully pay for both the rings and I'm not gonna let you throw 'em away. Even if it is for a good reason. When you find yourself a girl, then you can give away one of those rings."

Bucky's smile came a little easier as he nodded, "I'll see you Saturday, Mr. Parson…. Don't tell Stevie."

Frank rolled his eyes, but nodded his head, "Will you just go already, before I change my mind and ask for my money back."

"Yes, sir." Bucky quipped before slipping outside.

"Damn kids." Frank cursed quietly under his breath and rubbed at the back of his neck. He did not know what possessed him to help the kid out, but he suddenly had the feeling he wouldn't regret. He also had the feeling that it would be a long few weekends. He wished that Robert was still alive to see the man his son was becoming.

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If he could reached the handle without putting the bags down... Bucky shifted the weight of the bags in his arm as he approached the front door of his apartment. He didn't want to put the paper bags down, only to pick the crinkling paper up again. It would be too loud and he had no desire to wake Steve. He shifted again, this time hefting his leg up to balance one of the paper sacks on his knee before angling his body caddy corner to the door. He just needed a second to twist the handle. Biting down slightly on his tongue in concentration he shot his hand out and had the door open in a blink before hefting the balanced bag back into his arm. A triumphant grin stole across his face as he made his way into the dingy little apartment and toward the makeshift kitchen. Amusement shined in his eyes as he began to unload the groceries, he should take up a career as a cat burglar.

He chuckled quietly to himself and finished putting the food away before removing the medicine for Stevie. His smiled dimmed slightly as he grasped the cold glass bottle. A bittersweet reminder on how he was able to afford the groceries in the first place. His smile turned rueful as he realized that Frank had probably given him more than enough money for just that reason. Fifty dollars. Bucky had been able to get Stevie's medicine, some much needed food, and paid for the electricity and heating for the next few weeks. The apartment would be comfortable enough for Stevie to recover. He owed old man Parson big time.

"Buck? That you?" Steve's hoarse voice called from his bedroom.

The sound of shifting cloth and squeaking hinges reached Bucky's ears before he had a chance to reply, "Yeah, it's me. Got your medicine."

He made it to the bedroom's threshold before Steve had even made it halfway across the room. A quick glance told Bucky that Steve was already winded and tired. He should be back in bed. The bemused, admittedly slightly suspicious, look in his friend's eyes was hardly surprising, however. He had learned a long time ago that Steve hated being taken care of, he hated feeling incapable, and that little qualm only became worse when he was sick. He would have hell to pay if Stevie ever found out he tried to pawn his parent's wedding rings.

"Where'd you get the money for it?" Steve asked bluntly, knowing better than to beat around the bush with his best friend.

Bucky shrugged and smiled crookedly, "Who said I needed to pay? Susie Wheaton is working at the drugstore now and you know how she's sweet on me."

Steve snorted holding in a cough and rolled his eyes, "She doesn't like you that much."

"I'm wounded." Bucky responded dramatically with a hand clasped to his chest, "You don't think I can charm ole' Sue?"

"I think she hasn't forgiven you for going out with her sister and not her." Steve said dryly. A small smile fluttered over his mouth as Bucky winced at that particular memory, "So how'd you get it, Buck?"

"I managed to get an extra job. It's a temporary deal." Bucky said quietly as he carefully chose his words, "But I'll be working Saturdays for the next few weeks."

Steve sighed heavily, "Bucky…"

"Don't start, Stevie. It's not a big deal. We needed the money and you needed the medicine."

"You shouldn't have to do this just for me." Steve said wearily, a look of self-hatred passing through his eyes.

Bucky silently cursed, "Who said it was just for you? I happen to know of a cute blonde on the floor below us who would be just devastated if something happened to you."

A smile twitched at the corners of Steve's mouth, "Cady's three, I think she'll move on."

"You would leave me to deal with those crocodile tears." Bucky stated sagely as he passed over the bottle of medicine, "Go to bed, you look like hell."

"Love you too." Steve said drolly. Bucky barely made it to the door before hearing a whispered, "Thanks Buck."

"Anytime, Stevie."

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Kingston, New York 1935

The Stark home was eerily quiet as Elena sat stiffly in the great room. Aside from the regular Sunday dinner her family attended here, the last few times she had been inside had been when Howard had come home from school and was throwing some ridiculously lavish party. This place had always been loud and filled with people. Now, her mother resided on the sofa across the room with a handkerchief in hand as she practice her upset face for when the doctor came in with the news of Howard Senior's death. Fergus was pacing about, eyeing the antique furniture. Elena had no doubt he was pricing each item to pawn and cover his gambling debts.

Despite her family's disgusting faults, she could not help but acknowledge to herself that she was now the biggest sinner of the three of them. Her eyes followed her brother's movements as he paused before a particularly nice grandfather clock while out of the corner of her eye she saw her mother gasp and press her hand to her chest in mock despair. She felt the insane urge to laugh…they were all going to hell.

The door to the great room opened and everyone froze, expecting the doctor to come in with the horrible news. Instead, Mika, Howard Senior's manservant entered. He was as impassive as ever as he directed his soulful brown stare on Elena. For one horrifying moment, Elena was sure the man knew what she had done. Her breath caught in her throat as her stomach churned with guilt.

"Mr. Stark is on the phone for you, Miss. Turner."Mika's somber voice resonated through the room.

What – Elena blinked as her mind tried to process his words. Mr. Stark? He was upstairs in bed…dying. How could he possibly be – and suddenly the light bulb went on. Howard, her Howard, was on the phone. She stood quickly, well aware of the eyes of her mother and brother on her as she exited the room and followed Mika to the Stark home office. He paused outside the door and gestured for her to enter. His eyes never left her and Elena felt apprehension crawl through her veins as she gave him a tight-lipped smile and entered the office. He knew, she swore, he knew.

The door clicked shut as her hand wrapped around the phone's receiver and pressed it to her ear, "Howard?"

"Birdie, I'm at the train station. Has he…" The phone line crackled as she heard Howard sigh, "Has he been -"

"Pronounced dead? No." Elena supplied, she fidgeted and glanced at the closed door, "Umm, the doctor is with him now. It's just a matter of when."

There was a moment of still silence and she could just picture her cousin nodding to himself as he tried to figure things out, "Okay…alright…and no one suspects?"

She nibbled her lip as she tried to push away her paranoia, "I don't think so…but, Howard?"

"Yeah?"

"Just…" she hesitated, "Just get here, okay? I feel like I'm going to lose it soon."

"I'll be there in an hour, Birdie." He replied quietly, "Just be you and if something happens…lie. You're the better liar of the two of us anyway."

She rolled her eyes, "You're so comforting."

"Aren't I?"

Elena could practically see the smirk playing on his lips, but despite his stupid remark, she felt a little better. The brat probably knew it too. She huffed a little, "I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, I promise I'll be there."

The phone clicked and the dial tone hit her ears. Elena sighed and rubbed at her face. It was going to be a long day.

Her blue eyes drifted around the room before landing on her uncle's globe. Two bottles of booze resided inside, she knew. Her fingers twitched, she rarely drank before five. A personal rule of hers after being surrounded by so many drunks: her uncle, her mother, her brother, and at times her cousin. She was making an exception today. She knocked the cover of the globe off and pulled out a bottle of whiskey before snatching out the drinking glass. After a pouring of two fingers and a deep gulp later, Elena rested back in the office chair and allowed the warmth from the alcohol to soothe her. That was how Howard found her an hour later as he came striding into the office. He barely raised an eyebrow at the open bottle and simply found a glass for himself. He poured them both a decent amount of liquid before holding up his glass.

"Cheers." He knocked back the glass without even flinching before pouring himself another.

Elena tapped his leg, "Slow down. You can't be drunk for this."

Howard grunted in acknowledgement and slid his glass onto the desk, "Hiding?"

There was beat before Elena realized what he was talking about, "My family is driving me nuts. I'm pretty sure they've put a price tag on everything in the house. Your call gave me the chance to get away."

Howard snorted, "Has your mother completely forgotten that her brother has a son? Me?"

"You're sixteen. She thinks she can overrule you like she does Fergus." She pressed her glass of whiskey to her forehead, "This is insane."

Elena could feel her cousin's eyes boring into her, but she did not want to meet his pitying gaze.

"You didn't have to do it, you know?" His voice was a low, barely a gruff whisper, "I was more than willingly to handle this myself."

"Oh, please." Elena scoffed as she finally met Howard's gaze, "It would have taken years for you to do this by yourself. You're only home from school during the holidays and summer and 'he' always makes sure he has a business meeting to attend so he won't have to see you. It was easier for me to dose him. I'm here every weekend after all."

He could not hold her steely gaze for long. Howard looked away frustrated, he knew she was right. Ever since his father had sent him to boarding school two years prior, the man avoided him like the plague. To be honest, the arrangement had suited Howards just fine. He no longer had to explain the bruises that would mysteriously appear on his face, he no longer had to listen to his mother quietly weeping as her husband took her to task again. But then, he had lived with the thought that when his father had sent him away that his mother had finally taken the chance to leave. He had deluded himself into thinking she was living the high life somewhere on the west coast…far from harm.

His gaze sought out the bookcase across the room. On the second shelf, two books from the left, resided a secret cache that held his father's personal journal. The man wrote down everything in there…and Howard had found it. Seven months ago. That had been when he found out the truth. His mother had never left as he had thought. She tried, but his father…. His stomach churned and he closed his eyes as if to block out the words he had read.

Howard Senior had written down where he had buried her and Howard Junior had dug her up.

Annalisa Stark had rotted away in a shallow grave in some obscure cove off on the property with no one the wiser. He glanced back at Birdie to find her already watching him. She had to drag him away from the sight of his mother's body. She tried to protect him, but not even his cousin –his best friend could make that nightmare disappear. Annalisa Stark was not the only family member his father had killed either. Howard's hand reached for Birdie's. He was avenging his mother, Birdie was avenging her father.

"No one can know." Howard whispered.

Elena gave him a baleful look, "I wasn't planning on making the fact that we've been dousing your father with arsenic the past few months' common knowledge."

He scowled lightly at her as she took a sip from her glass. She sent him a fake smile, "Besides I wouldn't look good in prison stripes."

Howard snorted and took a drink himself.

Howard Stark Senior died three hours later. The doctor diagnosed it as weakened immune system brought on by the pneumonia he suffered almost a year previously. He had been sick quite often after that illness struck him. Never really recovering his old strength. No one suspected that he had been poisoned.

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Slaps

Kihyun's sleep is too light.

This Monsta X realized when one day woke him up, ill the day before angina, that "loudly" drank tea in the evening. To help, the room Ki is the farthest from the kitchen, and the members were drinking it in silence, only occasionally exchanging short phrases, and then, in a whisper. Then the sick man, his cheeks flushed with fever and wrapped in several blankets, plopped down to them in colorful socks for a glass of water and urged them to be silent. Members, of course, obeyed, to not rape rumor main vocalist, but would still could not to believe, that have their Ki so sensitive canard.

However, the guys were wrong, thinking that such a sensitive hearing was Ki only during illness. In ordinary time the guy heard quite a lot. And the way in the living room Minhyuk was talking to someone on the phone, and how Jooheon, playing the console, shouted at an innocent gamepad. Yu accepted that his members were rather loud types, and could only enjoy silence at night when darkness completely enveloped Seoul and the others drooled on their pillows.

But tonight, exhausted by a recent bout of angina, Ki doesn't seem to be able to fall asleep like his classmates. Because someone living in the room across the hall, decided to have impassable night some online games. This someone, whose name was Im Changkyun, clicked his mouse so loudly and swore at the painted characters that it was perfectly audible through the wooden doors of the hostel. It was getting on Kihyun’s nerves.

Not weathering, vocalist rose with crib, in which only-only normally generalship, threw on shoulders knitted cardigan off, after all was chilly (late autumn coupled with turned off heating gave know about itself), and went in occupied makne room.

The door was ajar. He pushed it open and stepped inside, which he immediately regretted as his gaze fell on Changkyun.

Completely naked, Junior sat in a black leather chair and, Oh, gods, was doing something very obscene. Kihyun, who grew up in a very conservative family, was never eager to see a naked man (his body was still enough for him). Yu only wanted to jump out of the room, but luck today was clearly not on his side. Im sensed, that someone is behind his its back, uperevshis mournfully in the back of the head, so sharply has, that and became trigger mechanism for departure nervous system main vocalist in the dustbin of. Ki looked down, and then fainted, he didn't know whether from shock or surprise.

He jumped up from his chair and ran to hyun, picking him up in his arms, carried him to his bed and began to slap lightly on the cheeks.

Gun's cheeks were red with shame. He did not think that the object of his secret sighs, the one for whom he was engaged in self-satisfaction, would catch him in such a business.

***

The rest of the group moved completely into the living room on the sofa. They knew they wouldn't take Kihyun with them because he needed to rest, so they didn't even go into His room.

Sitting on soft sofas, armchairs, pillows, members turned on the film to watch all together. Who was eating fresh pastries brought by the delivery, who was sipping a hot aromatic tea with bergamot.

— Oh...- suddenly exclaimed Minhyuk, jumping up from his pillow, which was buried in the soft pile of the carpet. - Do you hear the slapping from the rooms?- This one hundred percent, Changkuyn running around the room and rejoicing in victory.

— What's the matter with him?- Jooheon asked in a voice as hoarse as if he had just woken up. A chuckle rippled through the living room.

- Not an ass…

***

- ~Hyun, what's wrong with you? - Changkyun hovered over the older man's body, slapping his cheeks to revive him.

Yu raised an eyebrow and frowned, eyes wide and trying to focus. The older man blinked a couple of times and met tonsen's worried gaze as he loomed over him.

His cheeks were terribly red.

At first, Yu didn't feel anything. Just the body has moved away from short-lived loss of consciousness, so it was like made of cotton. Staring into the fathomless brown eyes opposite, Ki didn't notice when he realized that something solid and imposing was pressing against the bottom of his stomach. Im seems to have noticed, but because of the stupor did not move at all.

- Ahem, ahem,- the elder finally broke the silence, feeling himself blushing to the tips of his pink hair. Looking down at the thing and bringing it back, Yu screamed. - A-and-and help, rescue, want to rape, deprive of virginity my ass, I was brought up not such, on the help! Oh, no!- he shrieked, not sparing his beautiful voice.

— Hyung, I'm sorry — through Ki's continued cries heard hyun, before he silenced with a kiss. Quite inept, but enough to throw Yu into an even greater stupor and panic him.

- Comrades! We are living with a maniac-a pervert, makne is monster, I'm scared! - it would be better if Changkyun didn't touch him, otherwise He wouldn't have heard so many flattering phrases in his own direction."

— Fuck, - hissed the younger through her teeth and again covered lips senior their, glaring in them more demanding kiss. Ki was taken aback, but his little mouth still opened, letting him hot and Im’s playful tongue . - If you don't stop yelling, I'll definitely rape you and I won't even look at you as my favorite Hyun,- Changkyun whispered hotly in his ear after the breakup.

All actions of the younger kisses, hot whispers, strong hands, clenching the fragile shoulders — affected Kihyun very interesting. His brain screamed so that it was audible on the moon that Yu was brought up not so, and he should not stand under the rainbow flag, but his body said the opposite, because he could not hide his excitement. And Yu himself now could not understand: what does he really want?

Changyunk kissed his again, on the face of the man he'd been jerking off to lately, and led him to the bathroom that was adjacent to his room to help with the arousal.

And they after all this not guess, that the rest members thought, that they there both engaged in something obscene: played in console together and rode, rejoicing victories, and rest not have called…