#people always hate me upon first glance and it's so exhausting

[50000bears]

I feel like an alien who accidentally crash landed here and is trying to blend in with the humans but I'm comedically bad at it

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

most people

Tony Stark x F!Reader

Prompt: “i can't believe you don't like hugs."

Summary: you come home to the tower to hear that your teammate tony has been awake for days. you take it upon yourself to get to complete some much-needed self-care.

Warnings: fluff.

Word Count: 1,741

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The door sounded with a quiet, welcoming ding as the elevator arrived on your floor, the lights of your suite already on and pleasantly dimmed to accommodate to the tenderness of your eyes this late at night. It was a little before three in the morning, and while your flight had had no major issues and the traffic between the airport and Avengers Tower had been blessedly in your favor, it was still agonizing to be getting home so late.

Home.

It still surprised you how quickly you’d come to think of this place as more than just a place to sleep, more than what had originally felt like a ridiculously over-sized hotel room. It had been only six months since Loki’s attack on New York, and while the renovations to the Tower were not yet finished, your suite had been one of the first floors to be completed. And now it somehow felt far more familiar to you than any of the countless beds you had claimed over the last twenty-seven years.

“Welcome back, Ms. Y/L/N,” the cool, friendly voice of Tony’s personal assistant sounded from the invisible speakers above you. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”

“It was, for a nine-hour flight in a broken seat,” you replied with a sigh, stretching out the lingering kink in your lower back. You set your suitcase down by the elevator doors. “And how many times do I have to tell you; it’s just Y/N.”

“I’m sure only once more,” he replied. “As always.”

You chuckled, a small, tired smile lingering on your lips. “Are the others here?”

“Only Mr. Stark is in residence at the moment,” the A.I. informed you as you made your way further into your suite. You toed off your shoes, shedding your jacket and tossing it onto the nearby sofa. “Shall I inform him of your arrival?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want to wake him.”

There was a slight pause. “Mr. Stark is not asleep, Ms. Y/L/N.”

How an A.I. could have a variation in tone, you weren’t sure, but you stopped halfway to unbuttoning your jeans. “And how long exactly has Tony been awake?”

“…Almost eighty-three hours, ma’am.”

“I think I hate ‘ma’am’ even more than my last name.” you sighed, casting a glance towards the room to your left. The door was ajar, and you swore your bed was calling to you. “Where is he?”

“In the lab.”

“…Okay.”

***

A wall of sound greeted you as you stepped into the lab, and you flinched. It lowered immediately to a more bearable level, and you silently praised whatever part of JARVIS’ programming it was that could pick up on your discomfort like that.

“JARVIS,” Tony said without looking up from his work. “Don’t mess with my music.”

He was at the far end of the lab, moving between a couple of workbenches and the hologram of his latest designs with the disorganized, staccato rhythm you had begun to recognize as being a sign of sleep deprivation. There was a half-empty coffee pot on the bench closest to you, the scent of it gone stale. Tony’s clothes were rumpled, as was his hair, and you frowned when you noticed the shadows under his eyes. They were made darker by the blue light of the hologram between the two of you.

“I think we can do better on these reflector panels, J.,” he continued as though he hadn’t noticed you enter. “If this suit is going to work for stealth, I’m going to need the change to be instantaneous.” He waved a hand, and parts of the suit projected in front of him dropped away. “Scrap ‘em. Take it from the top.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hello to you, too, Stark.” you said snidely despite your concern. “Or am I expected to call you ‘sir’ in here, too?”

“Only if you want me to get all tingly over it,” he retorted teasingly, finally pausing long enough to meet your eye. He gave you a genuine, if distracted and exhausted, smile.

“Most people just say ‘welcome home’.”

Tony returned to one of the benches, eyes fixating on a tablet screen. “Are you implying that I could possibly be ‘most people’?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, sidestepping an abandoned helmet prototype. There was an empty coffee mug sitting inside it. The crockery was stained with dark brown rings. You made you way around to his workbench, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of it beside him. “Tony, when was the last time you got some sleep?”

“You know the answer to that,” he said, pointedly avoiding your eye and focusing his gaze on the work in front of him. “Or did you come all the way down here just for a hug?”

“A hug? Hardly,” you said with a scoff.

Tony met your eye, raising a brow. There was a teasing tilt to his lips, a challenge in his expression. “I don’t accept that.”

“Accept what?”

“I can’t believe that you don’t like hugs.” he said, straightening. He moved to stand in front of you, his hands claiming your knees. You felt a warmth spread up from where he touched you to heat your belly, and you straightened slightly, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “I refuse to accept it. I mean, for a woman completely capable of breaking every bone in my body with her bare hands, you’re downright cuddly.”

As he said the last words he reached up and touched the tip of his finger to your nose tauntingly, and you wrinkled it in response. He chuckled, and you rolled your eyes at him. Something about sleep deprivation always made him lighter, more teasing. While his usual jokes were witty and occasionally flirty, when you found him like this, he was… softer. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a massive dork?”

Tony’s grin widened, and he stepped back, holding up his hands as though you’d just proved his point. “See, anyone else would call me an asshole, but you – sweet, innocent thing that you are – go with ‘dork’.”

“Oh, Stark. Trust me,” you snickered, pushing yourself up off the edge of the table. It closed much of the distance between the two of you, your chest almost meeting his. You made a show of casting your eyes down over him before meeting his eye with a smirk. “If you actually knew me, the last word you’d be using to describe me is ‘innocent’.”

Intrigue flashed in his eyes, a curve to his parted lips sending an unexpected thrill up your spine. He made move to speak, but you pressed a finger to his lips. His smile widened against your skin.

“I’m sure whatever you were about to say would have been rife with innuendo, Tony,” you said. “But honestly, you kind of stink. How long’s it been since you had a shower?”

***

“Y’know, I’m not really sure why I had to stick around for this.” you called out over the sound of rushing water, folding your arms over your chest. You were standing outside the penthouse bathroom, your back against the wall beside the door. Steam billowed out of the open doorway, clinging to your bare arms.

The water shut off, and Tony’s reply came a few moments later, his voice echoing off the tile. “And here I thought you were worried about my wellbeing, sweetheart.”

“You’re not exactly at risk of drowning in the shower, Tony,” you pointed out. You heard his answering chuckle and the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the quiet sounds of shaving cream being sprayed and a razor against skin. “And you survived it. So, can I go to bed now?”

“And miss out on this quality team-bonding time?” he called out. “Shudder to think.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a smile. “‘Team-bonding’? We’re missing a couple of key members here. Unless you’ve got Rogers stashed in your shower caddy.”

“Not exactly the member I’d pick for that,” he replied as he stepped through the doorway, wiping at his jaw with a towel. Another was slung securely around his hips. Rivulets of water marked his bare torso, droplets clinging to his chest. There was a teasing smirk on his lips, and you swallowed. “Now, Romanoff on the other hand—”

“I’m going to stop you there before this conversation devolves into casual misogyny,” you eye-rolled, holding up a hand.

“I’ll have you know I’m an equal opportunity lech.” Tony shot back, amused. “I just didn’t think Thor would fit in the caddy.”

You snorted a laugh.

“Right…” you said. He’d missed a tiny patch of shaving cream on the corner of his jaw, and you reached up to wipe it away with two fingers. Tony’s smile widened as you wiped it on his bare chest. You cleared your throat as you realized the intimacy of your actions. “Well, you’ve managed to navigate the perils of a penthouse bathroom, Iron Man. Congrats.”

“So, what’s your excuse now?”

Confusion creased the skin between your brows. “For what?”

Tony’s smirk twitched, and you recognized the challenge in his eyes. Something in the pit of your stomach fluttered. “For turning down a hug.”

You laughed, shaking your head disbelieving. “God, Stark, you are such a—”

Tony took hold of your arm, surprising you by pulling you toward him and bringing his lips to yours. They were soft and warm, teasing with the taste of spearmint. The clean scent of his body wash enveloped you, his fingers gentle but firm on your arm. The warmth of his body – still bolstered by the heat of the shower – leached into your skin, wrapping you in a ghost of an embrace that made you lean into him. The kiss lasted only a moment before he pulled back again, that expression of taunting flirtation still in place.

You pressed your lips together, your skin tingling. “What was that for?”

He shrugged a shoulder, tightening the towel around his waist. There was an annoying note of nonchalance in his expression, and self-assuredness that told you he knew exactly what kind of effect he’d just had on you. “Call it a thank you.”

“I—” you swallowed, forcing your breath to steady. “Most people just say ‘thank you’.”

He grinned, his teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t we agree that I’m not ‘most people’?”

.

.

.

tags: @trekkingaroundasgard @ccbsrms @lina-mar@lovely-dreamer19@wittyforachange@wefracturedmotivation@january-echoes@glossyloner@capitalnineteen@youclickedthislink@s0ftness@castieltrash1@drakelover78@queenoftheunderdark@fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13@lol-you-thought@sebbystanlover-vk@mikariell95@csigeoblue@abrunettefangirlnerd@babyblues915@aar-journey@moistpotatobear @capsironunderoos @bellamyblakemorley@diesinspanishbcimhispanic@sentimentalalien@agustdowney@akumune@xxboesefrauxx@patheticallysentimental@loki-is-loved

[pandalexoxo]

OKAY BEAR WITH ME Y’ALL. I HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME SO I’M JUST GOING OFF OF SOME TIRED OLD MAN TROPES.

FRANCIS MOSES x READER

also, i haven’t written down any of my rules, but i don’t have any limits! i’ll write whatever requests people send me! whatever your dark mind can think of will be my pleasure to create!

i don’t mind if you’re not 18+, since, if i ever do make smut i’ll just label it as 18+ and TRUST that 18+ ONLY will read. you all have probably seen, but i’ve just written about my thoughts of different fandoms so far so there’s no 18+ posts YET. (maybe i’ll make this account SFW and do another for NSFW? idk, i normally post on other platforms but randomly decided to give tumblr a try lol)

as a NM/trans man myself, i TRY to keep my readers gender neutral by not really describing the characters features. hard on TRY bc i know the last blurb fic i made of dead plate was Rody x Male Reader lol, oopsies! anywhooo, enjoy~!

WARNINGS! doppleganger mention, possible unconsciousness, possible death, possible unfunny dialogue (bc sometimes i’m the only one who finds me hilarious lmfao), you’re kinda a baddie ngl, you and Francis are besties, Francis is a cat lover?! Francis is a tired old man who hates technology. phone mentioned despite the first wireless phone being made 23 years after the story takes place (use your imagination) uhhh, anything else i forget? comment below!

Francis let out a long sigh of relief, taking his cap off with one hand, using the other to dab away at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Upon seeing the exhausted man, you can’t help but smile softly, shaking your head as you get ready to scold him, once again. You cross your arms, looking at him through the window with a playful disappointed glare.

“mhm mhm, what do we have here? you really should be getting more sleep, mr. milkman, your eyes are starting to sport their own eye bags.”

with this comment, Francis shakes his head but is unable to stop the small, yet tired smile on his face. he bends down to place the crate of milk jugs onto the floor before handing over his ID card. you hum, narrowing your eyes when Francis doesn’t give into your whims. you eye his card, glancing at it a few times before slipping it back to him with a chuckle.

Francis’s eyebrow raises in confusion at your reaction but ends up shaking his head, rolling his eyes playfully and sighing softly. he places his cap back on his head and huffs, deeming your reaction as a go ahead inside.

“now… what if i was a doppelganger? you aren’t even going to call my room to check if someone is there? such a reliable doorman we have.”

despite Francis’s playful tone, your grin slips into a frown as you study Francis from behind the glass. this causes him to tense up, suddenly feeling nervous, like he did something wrong. you hum, tilting your head into your palm as you seemingly analyze Francis for a little while before deciding to speak.

“what’s up brother?”

Francis blinks a few times in surprise, his head tilting in confusion at your question. His eyes narrow as he thinks about the question you asked.

“what’s… up… brother…?”

Francis looks up at the ceiling, taking your question to heart. upon seeing nothing on the ceiling, Francis can only shake his head and sigh at your antics.

“are you done with your tomfoolery, (Y/n)? i’m quite exhausted and would like to go up to my room and rest.”

you can only shake your head, clasping your hands together like a disappointed father getting ready to discuss their kids grades at the dinner table. you begin to explain.

“when Francis first walks in here, he always forgets one of three things… his keys, his hat or the crate of milk. you came in here, although exhausted, you seemed put together, unlike Francis, who is clearly going through a midlife crisis. Francis will then ask me about my cat, well, because he’s a cat person, though he insists no one knows. oh, and, Francis’s home phone has been broken for the past few days and is actually at the store, right now. so, Francis being here so soon, isn’t possible. that, and well, Francis never understands my references, but indulges me anyway… anything else i forgot, doppelganger?”

you bat your eyelashes, smirking from behind the window like you just cracked down the traitor in your group. with each statement, Francis’s doppelgänger’s face becomes visibly more and more angry until the doppelganger begins to completely change: black eyes with white pupils, a wide and eerie black mouth, adorned with long and sharp claws on the end of the doppleganger’s elongated limbs.

“you… you’ll regret this… i will get in one day and get my feast, starting with you. i’ll gut you, keep you alive so you can watch your organs fall out of your body and your blood splatter against-! *CLANK! BAM! PLINK!*”

before the doppelganger could finish his fantasy, much to your amusement, the doppleganger’s body tenses upon being struck before crumpling to the floor after becoming unconscious. you look up from the doppleganger’s body to see the real Francis hovering above the, possibly dead, doppelganger. you shrug, knowing that you wouldn’t have to call DDD services to take care of the mess, now you just have to clean up the body.

“mmm… tuesday… tuesday…? did i get that right?”

you hold back a chuckle at Francis’s response to your last question. you can only nod, letting Francis have the win this time. pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing, a loud laugh bubbles up from your throat as the two of you realized what Francis had hit the doppelganger with.

“ngh… i just bought this phone… damnit… his hard head must have broke it, ah, if i bring it back could i get a… refund…?”

[rypnami]

always you

ship: leander prewett x sebastian sallow

word count: 2.0 k

content: aged-up characters, auror sebastian, basically no plot, top!sebastian, sub!leander, semi-pining, risky places (??), i don’t write smut usually so this is probably bad, handjobs, anal sex, fingering, begging

summary: self-indulgent prewlow smut with no plot that’s been in my drafts for way too long. if you know me irl and you see this no you didn’t.

a/n: this is dedicated to aisling. i hate u. i love u. why do u make me do these things. also, for the purposes of this fic, pretend aurors have proper offices instead of just cubicles.

AO3 LINK

Sebastian was exhausted. For weeks, the Auror department had been tracking a notorious dealer of Dark or otherwise cursed artifacts. Sebastian’s team had been put in charge, an opportunity he’d jumped at.

Of course, just when they thought they’d had the guy cornered, it had all gone horribly wrong, and now Sebastian’s partner was in St Mungo’s. The healers assured him they’d be able to re-attach Larson’s foot, but he couldn’t help feeling more than a little guilty. He should have known better. Head Auror Middlebury had offered for him to take the day off today, and recover, but Sebastian had declined.

Now he sat alone in his office, his face in his hands, trying to work out exactly what had gone wrong. Perhaps they should’ve known the man wouldn’t be working alone, like they’d thought, and that he’d put up a fight. Perhaps he just wasn’t ready to lead yet.

Sebastian picked at a spot on his desk with a long sigh. If someone had told him back at school that in the future he’d be one of the people catching Dark wizards, he would never have believed them. He often wondered about what Anne would think of him now, and his career path. Did she even know? He knew she and Ominis were still close, but he was unsure if Ominis was keeping her updated on what he was doing with his life now- or if she even cared. If she did, would she be surprised about the outcome of this raid? Or would she have expected him to fail?

Sebastian rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he really should have taken that day off. He needed to collect himself. Abruptly, he was pulled from his thoughts as someone knocked lightly at his door, then pushed it open. Leander entered the office, looking a bit sheepish as he closed the door behind him.

“Prewett. Do you need something?” Sebastian asked, trying to ignore the way his stupid, traitorous heart fluttered upon seeing him.

“Erm, well…” Leander rubbed the back of his neck, a slight pink flush colouring his freckled cheeks. “I just, uh, I heard about what happened yesterday…”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Ah. Right.” That was embarrassing. Leander didn’t even work as an Auror- his office was 2 floors down, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. If even they were hearing about it, then surely everyone knew.

“Wanted to make sure you’re okay, is all.” Leander offered a little smile.

“I am, but Larson certainly isn’t. He lost his foot, although I’m sure everyone already knows that by now.”

Leander frowned, walking over and leaning against Sebastian’s desk. “I thought they were able to put it back on.”

“Well, yeah, but the point is it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve been smarter.” Sebastian stared back down at his desk, feeling another wave of shame.

“I don’t think you should blame yourself.”

Sebastian glanced up at Leander, thinking. Back at school, they hadn’t been particularly friendly, but once they both started working at the ministry they’d certainly been growing closer. At least once a week now, one of them inevitably found their way into the other’s office. Dare he say, seeing that lanky ginger twat was one of the only things he had to look forward to these days. Despite what he’d thought during school, Leander was actually a very sweet, caring man, albeit a bit awkward and insecure.

“Maybe.” Before he could stop himself, Sebastian reached out to where the other man’s hand rested on his desk, gently brushing his fingers across the backs of Leander’s. He wasn’t sure why he did it- perhaps he just needed a distraction from everything, and he knew Leander would happily provide that. Sebastian wasn’t so oblivious as to not have noticed that the other man had been flirting with him for the past several weeks.

Leander gasped slightly, those plump, full lips parting slightly, and that was all the invitation Sebastian needed. He quickly stood, hands moving to cup Leander’s face as he leaned in to kiss him. He tilted his head up a bit to compensate for their height difference. Leander eagerly reciprocated, parting his lips further to accept the push of Sebastian’s tongue. As their tongues swirled together, Leander wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s waist, pulling them close together.

They kissed like that for several moments, Sebastian shoving his tongue as far as he could in Leander’s mouth before they broke apart. Sebastian smirked as he saw how flustered Leander had become. His face was almost as red as his hair, something that Sebastian privately thought was very cute. To be fair, everything about him was cute, though.

Pushing that annoying thought away, Sebastian reached down and groped Leander through his trousers, earning him a low, shuddering groan. His smirk widened as he squeezed, feeling how excited the other man already was. “That’s all it takes to get you hard, hm?” Sebastian teased. “Good to know…” He undid Leander’s belt buckle and slowly slid his hand down his pants. “Just tell me when to stop,” he murmured.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Leander whimpered, then gasped as Sebastian wrapped his fingers around his stiffening cock. He gave it a few teasing pumps, his own twitching in his trousers and begging for attention. That could wait, though. He removed his hand and began fumbling with the buttons of Leander’s shirt. He pulled it off, blushing as he took in the freckled chest, a light smattering of ginger hair across it. Sebastian found himself wanting to bite, but he held off for now.

Leander whined and tugged at Sebastian’s shirt, so he stilled, allowing him to remove it. He groaned as Leander’s hands glided over the planes of his chest. Why had they waited so long to do this? In the back of his mind, he thought that maybe they should have locked the door, lest anyone walk in, but he couldn’t be bothered to worry anymore- Sebastian’s mind was lost in a haze of lust, desperate for Leander. His cock twitched, leaking in his trousers.

Sebastian grabbed Leander and kissed him again, shoving his tongue back into his mouth with a moan. The room was quiet except for their moans as they kissed and ran their hands all over each other.

“I want you,” Sebastian mumbled against Leander’s mouth, not quite breaking the kiss. “I need you.”

“Yes,” Leander gasped. “Yes, please.”

Sebastian nodded, completely unbuttoning Leander’s trousers and pushing them down along with his underpants, biting back a groan as he took in all of Leander’s length. “You’re a big boy,” he chuckled breathlessly.

Leander whined at the praise, his big brown eyes hooded as he stared at Sebastian.

“Have you ever been fucked before?”

“Y-yes… o-once…”

Sebastian felt an annoying stab of jealousy at that, wondering who, but he tried to ignore it. This meant nothing to him, it was just a casual fucking, but he was also going to pound Leander so hard that he’d forget all about whoever came first.

He bent Leander over his desk, papers scattering, but neither of them cared. Sebastian dropped his own trousers and began pumping his own cock. A few beads of precum dripped from his tip onto the office floor.

He took two fingers and slowly sucked them, taking the time to admire how pretty and round Leander’s ass was. Once his fingers were slick with saliva, he began gently prodding Leander’s hole.

“Shit,” Leander gasped. “Please,”

“Hush,” Sebastian said with a low chuckle, slowly pushing his fingers in. “Can’t have anyone hearing you…” The office did have silencing charms in place, but Sebastian had cast them quite some time ago, and it was very possible they’d worn off by now.

Sebastian kept pushing his fingers in and out, prepping Leander’s hole as the ginger wriggled and moaned.

“Please, Sebby,” Leander begged. “Please, your cock, I want your cock!”

Sebastian felt a pleasant shiver run up his spine at the pet name. Why did that feel so good? If anyone else had called him that, he might have smacked them. Coming from Leander, however, it just felt right. He halfway pulled his fingers out before shoving them back in as deep as he could, which made Leander squeal. “Hush,” Sebastian ordered again.

Sebastian removed his fingers and fumbled around his desk for his wand. He could have used his spit again, but a lubrication charm was faster and more efficient. He pumped his cock again, making sure it was nice and slick before he lined himself up. “Ready?”

Leander nodded, his cheeks flushing even darker as he felt Sebastian’s tip brush up against him. “Y-you’re such a tease.”

Sebastian chuckled. “That I am, sweetheart.” He pushed in, stopping at just the tip. “All right?”

“More,” Leander begged, desperation seeping into his voice. He squirmed beneath Sebastian.

He began slowly thrusting, moaning in time with Leander. “You’re so tight,” Sebastian grunted.

“H-harder…!” Leander let out a long, loud moan, bucking his hips again. “Please!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to hush?” Sebastian teased. He snaked his arm around and firmly pressed his hand over Leander’s lips. “Quiet.”

Leander’s eyes rolled with pleasure as Sebastian began to thrust harder. He moaned, slightly muffled by Sebastian’s hand.

Sebastian growled as he pounded harder and harder, fuelled by Leander’s noises. He felt a tension growing in his core as his balls tightened, but he refused to blow his load just yet. He wanted to make this last as long as possible. Sebastian slowed down for a few moments, watching how Leander’s back arched and his fingers gripped the edges of the desk until his knuckles were white.

He sped back up, groaning with each thrust. “Fuck,” he whimpered. “I’m gonna cum… can I…?” Sebastian removed his hand.

“Yes,” Leander gasped. “F-fill me up, Sebby…”

The pet name again- it tipped Sebastian over the edge. He slammed back in one last time, burying himself deep in Leander’s ass as he found his release. Leander squealed as Sebastian’s load filled him- neither cared anymore if anyone overheard.

Sebastian stayed buried as he reached around, gripping Leander’s neglected cock. “Your turn, princess.” He pumped Leander’s cock, leaning down to whisper filthy words in his ear. He didn’t last long before spurting all over Sebastian’s hand with a strangled moan.

The two men panted, staying in that position for a few moments before Sebastian straightened up, gently pulling out. He licked all of Leander’s cum off his fingers, smirking as he noticed the man watching with wide eyes. “You taste good,” Sebastian cooed.

They both set about re-dressing, the room quiet as they tried to make themselves somewhat presentable. Sebastian buttoned his shirt back up, unable to take his eyes off Leander.

Leander’s hair, usually well-groomed and orderly, was a sweaty mess. Before Sebastian could stop himself, he pushed his fingers through it, trying to style it in the way he knew Leander liked.

Why the fuck did he even know how Leander preferred his hair styled?

Leander blushed, another shy smile flickering across his features. Merlin, why was he so adorable?

“See… see you tomorrow?” Leander gently traced his fingers over Sebastian’s wrist.

Sebastian cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Right.”

They both stood together in a strangely comfortable silence, before Leander turned to leave. Sebastian walked him to the door, unsure what exactly the proper thing to do was.

“See you later, Prewett,” Sebastian grinned, giving Leander’s ass a quick squeeze as he walked out.

“Y-yeah,” Leander said, flushed crimson. Sebastian watched him go before sitting back at his desk.

For the first time in a long time, he was glad he’d come to work.

[house-of-slayterr]

Three's a Crowd, but All Are Welcome

For: @myers-meadow

Hannibal let out a long sigh. He'd just had a long session with Chilton, and was about ready to skin someone alive. He was never an easy client, and Hannibal hated the rude. Hannibal walked around his desk, adjusting the paperwork into their proper folders. Until there was a light knock on the door. His head snapped up at the sound, not expecting anyone. He thought perhaps maybe it was Alaina or Beverly. They were always polite enough to knock.

He waltzed over to the door, gently opening it, and was pleasantly surprised by who was behind it.

"Meadow, my dear, what are you doing here so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing my love, are you alright? "

You walked past him into the room. You didn't need to be invited in, you were always welcome. You gentle pulled out a chair, sitting across from him like you had many times. He sat at his desk, trying to drop his Therapist facade, which was always hard for him to break out of. Bu tit was just you, he could be real with you, honest. It was something he adored about you.

"You're doing that thing again..." You started.

"What thing would that be, Love?"

"You're grimacing, and avoiding eye contact. It's unlike you, Hannibal."

"Tell me, who's supposed to be the therapist again?" Hannibal brushed you off.

You bit into the soft flesh of your lip, fidgeting with your hands. Your tell, Hannibal could tell he was making you nervous. He stood from his desk and made his way around to the couch, crouching in front of you, and placing his hand on your own.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. It's nothing I can't handle, I promise."

He made sure to make direct eye contact with you this time. He could see the haze of sleep in your eye. You must have been exhausted after your shift. Paperwork could wait.

"Shall we go home?" He asked, standing and extending his hand to you.

"But your work-"

"Can wait, you came all this way to remind me to take a break, did you not?"

You bit back the smile growing on your lips, you knew how you defected him. He'd hate to admit it, but he would stop the world for you. One look from you could melt this man into a state of absolute bliss. Your eyes held that power. But not just for him, sometimes Will swore when he made eye contact, you could tell an entire story with one glance. It was a powerful thing, something you'd learned to use to your advantage.

Hannibal's hand was on the small of your back, as he guided you out of his office. He was always more cautious when you were out in public, it wasn't hard for you to gain attention. You had the type of looks that could stop traffic. Hannibal never blamed you for this, of course, it couldn't be helped, but the unwanted attention you garnered was sometimes unsafe. He opened the car door for you like a gentleman always should.

You drove in silence at first, watching out the window as the world passed you by. Hannibal was the first to break this silence.

"Difficult day at work?"

"I could again, ask you the same. But I doubt you want to talk it over, same as I."

"You don't have to hide from me, you know that right?"

"Yes, Hannibal. I understand that I can trust you, and I cherish you deeply, but now is not the time for such talk. I do not wish to be psychoanalyzed."

He let out a soft chuckle at that.

"You've been spending too much time with Will, I'm afraid, my dear."

"Is that so?" You finally turned to look at him.

"You even smell like his dogs." Hannibal quipped.

"It's not my fault, they are simply the most adorable creatures on this planet. Well, except for you."

"Adorable is not the word I would use to describe myself."

"Which is why you are not doing the describing. if I left that up to you, you'd paint quite a poor picture of yourself, Dr Lecter."

He loved moments like this, when you insisted upon defending his honour, even from himself. It made him feel worthy. Something Hannibal never diluted himself with, he never thought he'd care for what people thought of him until he met you.

"Perhaps the picture you paint of me is skewed by your rose-coloured glasses my dear, your kindness outweighs your honesty."

You rolled your eyes.

"Always the poet aren't you? You can deny how lovable you are, all you want, but it does not make it any less of a fact. You, Dr Lecter, are wholly intoxicating, and simply divine."

You placed a gentle kiss on his hand that was previously rested on your thigh. It was never a habit he intended to pick up on, but he couldn't help himself. there was something about your body that just made him lose all train of thought. Your heart sped up as you approached the house. You'd moved in with Hanibal only a month ago, he'd finally convinced you it was a good idea. As he escorted you into the house, you were quick to take off your shoes and coat, to be more comfortable. Hannibal paused in the doorframe.

"It's quiet." He pointed out.

You looked to him for confirmation. It was in fact far too quiet in your home. Something was off.

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions." You assured him.

He leads you through the house, into the beautiful kitchen. It was habbit to check there first. He didn't see their small stature anywhere. You were the first to notice it, a few drops of blood on the prisien white floors. Hannibal noticed your silence and followed your line of sight. He would have been more alarmed, but there didn't seem to be much blood there. He stroked the back of your hand, trying to clam you.

"I'm sure they're alright, Love." He reassured you.

You bit at the skin of your lip once more, accidenlty breaking the skin. Hannibal was quick to wipe at the blood with his thumb. He followed the small trail of blood, leading throughout the house. It led to the downstairs bathroom. He gently knocked don't the door.

"Frances, is everything alright?"

The two of you heard some shuffling before their voice came out strained and shaky.

"Yup, everything fantastic!" They called through the door.

You shared a look with your lover. They didn't sound confident in their response. You were first to try the door, it was locked. This spiked your anxiety slightly, but you didn't want to jump to conclusions.

"Frances, dearest, can you please open the door?" You asked.

They froze at the sound of your voice. It was so clearly laced with fear and worry. More shuffling was heard from inside the bathroom.

"No actually, I can not do that." They said frantically.

Hannibal let out a sigh. He had his ways of getting into the bathroom, it was his house after all. He reached for the skeleton key he always had at his hip. It unlocked every door in the house, besides his "room". He was the first to enter the room, attempting to shield you from whatever could be going on. Frances didn't have the best track record with their mental health, so, it was always best to be cautious around them.

The first thing you noticed was just how much blood there was. A lot more than the trail let on, meaning they must have run to get to the bathroom. Hannibal dropped your hand, reluctantly, and instantly ran to their side.

"What happened?"

Tears stung their eyes, and this worried the both of you.

"It was stupid. I didn't mean to!" They said, suddenly bursting into tears.

They were embarrassed. You were quick to grab a towel and hold it to their hand, attempting to dab away the blood. Your hands were soft and gentle. Not wishing to startle them, or cause any more pain.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I was just trying to help. You were both late, and I- I knew you'd be hungry when you got home..."

The mood lightened suddenly. This hadn't been an episode, just an accident.

"You attempted to cook for us?"

They nodded. Hannibal took over cleaning the wound from you, as you left to go get the first aid kit.

"You always keep your knives so sharp." They scolded, putting cutely.

"Dull knives are actually more dangerous, darling."

"More dangerous my ass." They huffed.

Hannibal grabbed their wrist, a silent warning. They locked eyes with him.

"What did I say abotu swearing?"

"That it's not polite."

He continued cleaning the wound, finally able to see how bad it was. You returned to the bathroom, raising your eyebrow at the tense position they were both in. Had something transpired while you were gone? You cleared your throat, gaining both of their attention.

"You really ought to be more Carful, Frances." You lightly scolded.

"Knife sharp, brian stupid." Was their only reply.

It confused Hannibal when they talked like this sometimes. He was used to his Meadow, being so eloquent and well-spoken. She could silence a room, in awe with a rousing speech. The way she spoke effortlessly reflected his own speech pattern. Two halves of a whole.

Frances wasn't dumb by any means, but it seemed they liked to play that way. Never letting anyone know just how smart they were. It was worse around the others, Jack swore they would lose their own head if it wasn't attached. Beverly found it endearing, and Will, Will was just as confused as Hannibal. Their actions didn't reflect their words, they'd even helped him on a few cases. Of course, he would never tell Jack that, since bringing a civilian into FBI matters was typically frowned upon.

"Brain stupid?" You asked, with a chuckle.

"Big, major stupid."

Hannibal rolled his eyes.

"This is quite deep, it's going to need stitches. How are you feeling?"

They turned their attention back to him. Something about the way he looked at them, made their heart melt. Like every thought was just sucked out of their brain.

"Darling? Are you still with us?"

They nodded slowly, but their brain hadn't fully caught up again.

"Hannibal, dearest, you know very well you can not make direct eye contact with them. It makes them all flustered."

"Right, my apologies. Frances, how are you feeling?"

"It doesnt hurt." They muttered.

Hannibal had noticed they didn't seem to flinch or wince once while he was cleaning the wound.

"Not at all?" You were quick to ask.

"Maybe at first, it just sort of caught me off guard. I didn't mean to get blood everywhere."

“We aren’t worried about that, you know I’m good at getting stains out.” Hannibal explained calmly.

You gently grabbed their other hand while Hannibal started the stitches. They may claim it didn’t hurt, but you always worried they were lying to comfort you. You wouldn’t put it passed them. Hannibal usually worked in silence, but your nerves got the better of you.

“So what we’re you going to make?”

“Chicken Francese and potatoes, I saw it in one of those old cooking magazines Han used to get delivered to the house.” They explained.

“I’m sure it would have been lovely.” Hannibal hummed.

You nodded in agreement.

“What kind of potatoes?”

“The Rosemary fondant one’s, extra crispy!”

A smile smile broke on Hannibal’s face, he always found it cute how excited they got about cooking. Even if they weren’t very good at it. He’d have to spend more time in the kitchen with them.

“Would you have based them in rosary and thyme butter?”

They nodded enthusiastically.

“With the little spoon!”

“You do love little spoons.” You admitted.

Before you knew it, they were patched up, and Hannibal was wrapping their wound.

“Alright, so it sounds like we have dinner planned out. I’ll get everything sorted, and pick up where you left off. Meadow, would you mind cleaning up?”

“It would be no problem at all Hannibal!”

They held their arm out to stop you from leaving.

“It’s my mess, I should clean it.”

“Not with your injury.” Hannibal interjected.

“It’s barley a scratch Han, Meadow, why don’t you go pick out the wine to pair with dinner. You’ve always had the best taste?”

They knew flattery would work with you, not so much with the resident cannibal though. He hated watching them overwork themselves, but he let it slide this once. You all set out to complete your tasks, you headed off to the wine cellar. It was vast and intimidating at first, but Hannibal had taught you a lot about wine. A nice white would pair well with tonight’s dish.

As you made you way upstairs, the house smelled Devine. Your heart melted at the sight before you. Hannibal was in the kitchen, showing off the proper way to use a knife, and Frances was on the counter top, swinging their legs back and forth as they watched in awe. It was simple moment like this that made you adore your makeshift little family. You came up behind your boyfriend and snuggled into his neck, wrapping your arms around his middle.

He gently took the wine from your hands and set it on the counter.

“Thank you my Love.”

“He’s letting me help with dinner” Frances announced.

“Yes, but their knife privileges have been revoked” Hannibal clarified.

You let out a joyous chuckle.

“Yes, I think it will be a while until you have unsupervised knife access again.”

They pouted in a joking manner.

“I’m not five, I just make mistakes.”

You ruffled their hair, playfully and they swatted at your hands. Hannibal gently grabbed their wrist to stop the action.

“You’re gonna injure yourself more Beansprout.”

They blushed at the nickname. It was something stupid Jack had said once, and Hannibal picked up on their reaction to it. They liked weird pet names like that, although he preferred more traditional ones for his Darling.

“Awe, you’re making them blush” You cooed.

It was all in good fun, the teasing between the two of you. It was almost constant, and it brought a smile to Hannibal’s face. Sometimes Frances even poked fun at Will or Beverly, which was always fun to watch. And their back and forth banter with Jack, was a little stressful, but Hannibal enjoyed it nonetheless.

“I’m not blushing you imbecile, it’s simply hot in here.” They huffed.

“Wouldn’t happened to be because a certain someone is cooking for you?”

“How he hasn’t skinned you alive yet, is beyond me Dow.”

Hannibal raised a brow at them, pointing the knife at them warningly.

“Yeah yeah, Daddy, I’ll play nice.” They joked.

Hannibal halted in his moments entirely, taken aback by their quip. You smirked, realising what they just started. You gave Frances a high five, lacing your fingers together and helping them down off the counter. You escorted them over to the table, a safe distance away from Hannibal, until his brain began to work again. The two of you could see the cogs turning in his brain, as he came back down to earth.

"Now you know very well-" Hannibal started.

"That that names reserved for the bedroom? Maybe I'm hungry, just not for dinner." they winked, riling him up.

He glared at them from across the counter and continued putting the finishing touches on the meal. You had already set the table, picking out the appropriate dining ware for the evening. You poured three glasses of wine, placing them at the proper spots on the table. Hannibal at the head, you to his right, and Frances to the left. Hannibal set the food down at the table and came to join you. He watched as Frances nearly gulped down their glass of wine, and put his hand on their cup to stop them.

"Are you sure you should be drinking like that?"

"What, afraid it will affect the adhesive properties and quantity of my platelets and I'll bleed out while we sleep tonight?" They sassed. "I know my blood alcohol limits, Dearest, trust me, I'll behave. Didn't I already promise you that much?"

They bat their eyelashes at him, flattery may not work, but those puppy eyes did the trick every single time. Hannibal let out a heavy sigh.

"I do not understand how you can say something like that when just an hour ago you said, and I quote 'Brain, major stupid" Hannibal chuckled.

They threw their head back in laughter, light and joyous sound that rang out like little witch bells.

"Hannibal, my Love, if you still don't expect this from them, then I'm afraid you don't know our dear Frannie." You mused, sipping your own wine.

"So this is how it's going to be, the two of you bullying me all evening?"

"Somebodies gotta check your ego, you know, other than Alana and Belinda. You really do have a thing for quick-witted women, don't you Dr Lecter?" Frances teased.

"I do not have a thing for Dr Bloom." Hannibal corrected.

You raised your brow in amusement as you ate, not believing a word he was saying. You knew you were his, and he was yours, your hearts declared for each other the moment you first locked eyes. But you didn't mind his flings with other women, you understood none of them could be you. The development with Frances caught you off guard at first, you noticed he was different with them than he was with most of the people she courted. It was more of a desire to keep them close, to protect them from the cruelty of this world, he explained that to you when you questioned him. Despite their many suggestive statements, they never really made any true advances on Hannibal, respecting your position as his lover.

Hannibal and you even speculated that sometimes their jokes were to cover up something darker. Some trauma they always refused to acknowledge. It was clear even to Will, that Frances wasn't actually interested in that sort of stuff. In all the time you knew them, they had never actually dated anyone, or even attempted to flirt legitimately. Hannibal even suggested, that perhaps they were asexual, all the signs were there. But it wasn't something he perceived as a flaw, something that needed fixing, so he never feel that need to call them out on it. Despite this, they still wormed their way into your life, spicing things up in the most unusual of ways. They would join in on dinners, and cuddles, and participate in romantic gestures like gift giving, to spontaneous acts of kindness. On the more intimate end, they loved to observe the two of you.

They always said watching romance with other people made them uncomfortable. Public displays of affection would make them cringe at themself. Once, when someone tried to flirt with them, with the actual desire to ask them out, they got so overwhelmed they ran to their car and called Hannibal panicking. But despite this, they enjoyed watching you both during your most intimate moments. Neither of you minded, of course, it was healthy for them to explore this interest. They'd even watch in the bedroom sometimes, Hannibal of course being the one to invite them. He liked showing you off, expressly to them. They could appreciate the aesthetics and the beauty of it all, despite not having the emotions to engage. You were brought out of your thoughts when Frances spoke again, the smugness in their voice gaining your interest.

"Oh really? Explain this then Einstien."

You were intrigued now, what were they up to? They had that look on their face that they got when they were determined to win an argument. It was sort of adorable. They slid their phone across the table to Hannibal, who put down his fork to look at it. Normally phones weren't allowed at the table, but even Hannibal was interested in what point they were trying to make. You couldn't quite see what he was looking at, but the expression in his eyes amused you.

"When did you take these?" Hannibal asked.

There was something slightly dangerous in his tone, but you weren't worried. He was never that way with them, his words more of a warning than an active threat.

"I'm asking the questions here Dr Lecter." They mimicked the tone of Jack Crawford, which nearly made you choke on your wine.

It was weird how accurate they could get their impressions sometimes.

"These don't prove anything?"

"Mmmhm, that's what they all say." They took the phone back from him and zoomed in on the photo.

"The placement of your hand on her right shoulder, is intimate, maybe in a friendly way, but combine that with your confident stance, and the slightly dazed look in your eye, with the intense eye contact. You my dear Doctor were swooning."

They flipped to another picture.

"Her hand on your knee, the wrinkle in your pant leg suggest she was squeezing quite hard. She smiling at you like you're the only person that's ever made her smile. She's leaning in as she speaks, and you aren't leaning away."

They swiped once more.

"And last but not least, the time you kissed her on the hand, and the time she kissed you don't he check. not to mention the way the two of you have been hugging in your goodbyes recently, it's different, more, sensual. She trusts you, Hannibal, she's starting to like you. But she knows she can't have you, veacsue not only is it unprofessional to have relations with a colleague, but she's Meadow's friend, and girl code says you can't that your friend's boyfriend."

You were impressed, to say the least, with their irrefutable evince. Hannibal simple rolled his eyes glaring slightly at them.

"How did you even get these photos, my dear? Don't deflect the question this time."

"Oh, so now I'm the one deflecting. Ok. You know I carry my camera with me everywhere. I save my photos to all my devices in case one of them crashes or gets damaged or stolen." They said as if it was the most obvious thing.

You came to the aid of your man, seeing him all flustered and at a loss for words for once.

"Don't be facetious Beansprout, you know what he means..."

"FreddieLoundsmayhavepaidmetofollowyouaroundafewmonthsback. I said yes 'cause I needed the money."

"What was that?" Hannibal asked, now completely forgetting the food in front of him.

"I said I love you." They lied.

It was your turn to raise a brow at them.

Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest, in a dad-like manner.

"Frances Morningstar, if you don't tell me what you said right now, you're grounded for a month."

"Grounded? You're not my dad! Since when has grounded me ever worked anyways, I just sneak out, you're too busy psychoanalyzing Will to notice anyway."

You chuckled at that statement. It was true, you're man was informally preoccupied with this particular patient. But you found him intriguing as well, so it didn't bother you much.

"Freddie Lounds wanted me to 'dig up dirt on you, so I faked some mildly interesting news so she'd get off your back and stop investigating you. Dating your coworker is a lot less newsworthy than eating your own patients, don't you think?"

He supposed he couldn't be too mad about this. At least you did it to try to protect him, instead of selling him out to his least favourite journalist.

"No... I simply embellished the relationship that was already there. It's not my fault you're the only one who doesn't see it, Han. You know for someone who's supposed to be so perceptive, you're being outdone by the dumbest person in the room. This is coming from someone who had a boyfriend for six months and didn't even know it."

This piqued your interest.

"When did you date someone?"

"High school, freshman year, he was a senior, he wasn't pushy about the must shit, so I didn't really he was pinning after me until he based me to prom. We still won King and Queen though, and then I broke up with him in a letter and moved schools so I'd never have to see him again."

"Language."

"Right, sorry. Forgive me Hannibal, but I don't think your relationship with eh Doctor is a bad thing, Meadow doesn't seem to mind."

He brought his attention back to you for the first time in this conversion. He scanned your eyes for any sign this wasn't true.

"Alana is gorgeous my love, I wouldn't mind having some fun with her myself." You said, tipping your half-filled glass to him.

He took that as a sign to fill your glass.

"Is that so?" He asked, now amused, no longer in denial about France's allegations.

"You know I love corrupting people, my sweet, the innocent doctor needs a little eye-opening, don't you think?" You said in your most sensual tone.

You rubbed your foot on his pant leg under the table, attempting to get him riled up. The wine was already starting to kick in, and you were having a good time.

"I suppose I would be a bad friend if I allowed her to remain so naive."

Frances rolled their eyes as you flirted in the odd way that you did. You could be discussing an active murder and be hornier than a herd of rabbits. Frances grabbed the wine bottle while you were both distracted and poured themself some more wine.

"I do good work don't I?" They mused, knowing neither of you was listening anymore.

Poor Alana Bloom would have no idea what hit her if the two of you were on her scent. Frances silently debated if they'd be getting a new housemate, or if the poor doctor would wind up a meal. This should be fun.

AN: Lol Meadow I literally love you, thanks for the idea, this was so much fun to write! Evil meadow for the win!

[no-not-without-you-blog]

Whumptember 28th: Panic Attack

Summary: An interview goes wrong.

Warnings: Just language

Prompt by @comfortcap Divider by @firefly-graphics

You hated press tours. It was hours upon hours each day of sitting in a windowless room, stuck in the same seat, and answering the same tired and boring questions. Plus, the mental and emotional toll that having to always be “on” was exhausting. 

You were on hour five of day three of the press tour for your new movie with Chris. This was now your third movie with Chris and people on the internet were starting to wonder if there was something going on between the two of you. Unbeknownst to them, you two had been in a relationship for just over a year and a half. You had become fast friends during your first movie and during the filming of the second, your relationship had blossomed. Long hours spent together both on and off of set allowed the feelings to deepen. Chris had been notoriously single for a few years before you began dating and you had been in a relationship when you filmed your first movie. By the time the second movie came around, you had been single for 6 months and you were ready to find the one. You just hadn’t realized that the one would be Chris. He had proposed to you 3 months ago and you hated not wearing your ring but knew that it needed to come off if you wanted to try to keep this as private as possible. You were, however, wearing it on a long chain around your neck, tucked under your blouse.

You were sitting in a rather uncomfortable chair next to Chris while the interviewer was asking him something about his workout regimen and you took a deep breath, trying to stay focused. You were mindlessly fiddling around with the chain around your neck when you pulled it fully out from under your blouse and held your ring in your hand while running it left and right on the chain. It was simply something for you to fidget with while you tried to focus on the interview. 

The interviewer glanced over at you and then back to Chris while Chris was giving his answer. She then looked back over and almost did a double take when she spotted the rather large and very beautiful ring on your chain. It couldn’t be mistaken as anything other than an engagement ring.

The interviewer stopped Chris mid sentence and turned to face you. “I’m sorry Chris. Y/N, is that an engagement ring?” You had been zoned out slightly and shook your head while you came back to reality. You looked at the interviewer, who looked at you like she had just won the lottery. “I’m sorry, I missed that. What was the question?”

The interviewer just smiled a knowing smile. “Is that an engagement ring around your neck? Because it certainly looks like it.” The color drained from your face as you realized that you had pulled the chain out and your head quickly spun to look at Chris. He looked shocked and concerned and he looked over to Megan, his manager, who quickly stepped in and ended the interview.

Meghan ushered you and Chris out of the room and up to your suite. You quickly sat on the couch and put your head in your hands. “Shit. Fuck. Fuck-Fuck-Fuck!” You exclaimed. Chris went to sit in front of you and ran his hands up and down your arms. “Baby, look at me.” As you looked up, he could see that you had tears in your eyes and your breathing was fast and shallow. You were on the verge of a panic attack and he needed to get you to calm down. He quickly moved over to the couch and scoop you up into his arms. He pulled you as close as he could and wrapped his arms all the way around you, squeezing you tightly but not enough to hurt you. Just enough to add some much needed pressure to your body. “Baby, feel my chest moving. Just breathe with me.” He took deep, exaggerated breaths and watched you attempt to copy him.

After a few minutes, your breathing was back to normal but you were still crying. “Chris, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even thinking and I just outed myself like that. I don’t think it will take much for people to put it all together. It’s gonna come out Chris. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He wiped the tears from your face. “Hey, I don’t care about that one fuckin bit. I care about you. I don’t care if anyone knows. Hell, I don’t care if everyone knows. I just want you and I want you to be happy. I know we’ve been keeping everything under the radar, but it’s not the end of the world if it comes out. The fact that we made it this far is something.”

You gave him a soft smile. 

“Besides, think of it like this, if it comes out now, we will be able to go to the premiere together. It would be nice to be able to hold your hand on that carpet. You know how I get.”

Your smile got a bit wider as you imagined the two of you being able to walk that carpet openly. It hadn’t been as fun to attend the premieres when you had to monitor how close you were standing to each other or worrying that you were paying each other too much attention. Plus, Chris got such bad anxiety that not being able to hold your hand to recenter himself was a hassle. 

“I guess being on your arm wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” You said with a slight smile. “Especially if you're going to wear one of those tank tops.” You teased him.

“You know what, I take it back. Having you poke fun at me the whole time, you can walk by yourself.” He playfully retorted.

You both laughed and you finally felt yourself at ease with the whole situation. 

“Yeah, Yeah, yeah. You love me.” You sassed at him.

He kissed your lips deeply. “Yeah, I do.”

Taglist:

@annasrefuge @chrisevansdaughter 

[awlumii]

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the absence in bed beside you and the note on your desk, addressed to you in a neat but clipped hand you would have recognised anywhere. 

It read, Good morning, feather. 

I’m deeply sorry for not being here to wake with you in person; in all honesty, there’s no place I’d rather be than by your side right now, especially considering the importance of the day. In fact, I had made plans on how to celebrate with you, and I hate that I won’t be able to spend the time with you that you deserve. 

However, an urgent matter has come up within the Matra, and I cannot allow the situation to escalate. I will try my best to make it back to you before the end of the day, and see you as soon as possible. In the meantime, I wish you the happiest birthday, and that you enjoy yourself greatly. 

Once again, apologies for not being here in person. I promise to return the moment my work allows me to. 

Love, Cyno.

You suppressed a pang of disappointment as you set down the note. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t been hoping to spend the day with him. 

Cyno was a busy guy, you reminded yourself, and tracking down criminals was far more important than one person’s birthday. You shouldn’t let it get you down. You knew this.

Still, it didn’t stop it from hurting a little.

You shook your head to break yourself out of your thoughts. Stop moping around. Don’t let this one thing dampen the whole day. It’s your birthday; have some fun.

This goal in mind, you pulled on your favourite clothes and stepped out into the city, where stall vendors had already set up shop and the streets were bustling with people.

You drew out a sigh, preparing yourself for the activities of the day ahead. Remember: enjoy yourself.

And so, for the most part, you did just that;  met up with some friends in the morning, treated yourself to a hearty lunch at Lambad’s Tavern, and by courtesy of Nilou enjoyed a free performance in the Grand Bazaar, all while ignoring the subtle sting in your chest whenever you wondered what Cyno would have ordered or thought of the show. 

There was still a chance he’d show up in time, you told yourself in the back of your mind; Cyno was efficient on his worst days, so considering he was making an active effort to clear this situation up as soon as possible only meant he would be back even sooner, right?

As the day progressed, however, your hope began to dwindle, replaced with the heavy understanding that perhaps he wouldn’t make it after all. The more you tried to ignore it, the weightier it became. 

It was sunset when you returned home, exhausted by your day. The stone-paved streets of Sumeru City glowed like golden threads when cast in the deep orange of the sky, and heat shimmered on the horizon, a lingering promise of the day’s warmth. But you knew night would soon follow, bringing with it a cool breeze from the desert that chilled the sun-scorched earth. 

With a yawn, you flopped back onto your bed, letting the impact of the fall bounce you up and down on the mattress. You scoured over the gifts and cards you’d received over the course of the day, but somehow your eyes always found their way back to the note no matter how many times you tried to pull them away. What was he doing right now? you couldn’t help but wonder. When would he be back?

The only answer to your questions was silence, however, and the darkness slowly creeping into the sky outside. Not much of the day left, now, you noticed. I guess he couldn’t make it after all.

A sigh escaped your lips, a frown edging its way onto your features. Now that all your excitement had faded, you realised how alone you felt. The pang of disappointment from the morning was still nestled inside you, and had yet to leave. 

I know it’s petty, but… I wish he could have been here. Just for today. 

You glanced to the door in the hopes of it suddenly swinging open to reveal the figure of your partner as if summoned by your wishes, despite all the odds. 

(The door remained stubbornly closed.)

At some point, you gave up hoping. There were only so many times the door could stay closed before you started to realise that maybe it wouldn’t open at all. Come to think of it, it had been futile awaiting his return from the beginning; Cyno’s missions usually took days, if not a week or two, so you’d been a fool to think he could finish one in a mere day. 

Forcing yourself to accept this, you cooked yourself dinner and sat down with a book by your bedside in an attempt to keep your attention anywhere but the empty space beside you. It worked, for a while, but never forever.

It was late, now. You didn’t know what you were still awake for. 

And then it came. 

The click of a key turning in a lock, so quiet you’d have missed it if not for the silence in the rest of the house, and the soft creak of wood as the door was pushed open. No way.

It took all your effort not to leap out to the doorway and tackle him where he stood.

Cyno’s eyes widened when you appeared in the hallway, fatigue pressing down on your eyelids and a yawn stretching from your mouth. He blinked. “You’re… still awake.”

You shrugged, hoping you came across as nonchalant. “I was waiting for you. I could hardly fall asleep on my birthday without having seen you once, no?”

Cyno glanced away, shame heavy in his eyes. “I’m sorry for leaving you like I did in the morning,” he said, and you could hear the guilt layered on his words. “Truly. Neither should I have kept you waiting so long, especially on your birthday. I don’t expect a simple apology to cut it, but—“ 

A pair of arms around his waist cut him off. You tightened the grip on his torso and buried your face in his chest, basking in the warmth and comfort of your partner. “It’s okay,” you whispered, throat closing up. For some reason, you were shaking. “You made it. That’s all that matters.” 

After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the embrace and pulled you in close, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry.” A pause, and then, “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” When at last he pulled away from the embrace, Cyno grazed a thumb over your cheekbone, expression softened in the subtlest of smiles; the smile that turned the sharp points of his eyes to sunsets, and made his face glow with warmth. 

Archons, you’d missed him.

“You know, I’d had plans to take you to the Spring Market on Treasure Street and take you out to lunch,” he explained, a twinge of bittersweetness in his voice. “But all the stalls are closed, now.”

“Cyno, it’s alright. Seriously. At the end of the day, your job is more important than some birthday. I wasn’t even expecting you to make it back in time, so that’s a gift enough in itself.”

He pursed his lips, still unconvinced, but decided not to linger on the topic. “Regardless… is there any way I can make my absence up to you?”

“Just… stay with me for a bit, I guess,” you suggested, internally wincing at how desperate you sounded. If Cyno noticed, however, he said nothing. Instead, he only

drew you closer and said, 

“Done.”

A tension you didn’t realise had built up inside you suddenly flushed away, leaving your limbs limp with relief. You didn’t know how long you stood there for, swathed in the blanket of his presence, the sting in your chest slowly easing away in place of contentment. He swayed you gently from side to side, and you knew that he was letting himself be yours, and only yours. 

“Maybe we could go on a walk, or something like that?” you suggested absentmindedly. Cyno hummed in consideration.

“If that’s what you’d like. It’s quite cold outside now, though.”

You cleared your throat, a sudden sense of mischief bubbling inside you. “In that case, can I wear your cloak?” 

Cyno sighed in mock-exasperation, but yielded when he saw the hopeful spark in your eyes. “Very well.”

——————

At night, Sumeru City was quiet, no longer a bustling capital but a ghost town. With curtains drawn and windows closed in every house you passed by, it almost felt like you were the only ones there entirely. The only two people in the whole world. Lamps glowed like fireflies by the pavements, lining the twisting streets with beads of gold. A chorus of crickets rose from bushes lining the streets and a light breeze stirred the palm trees, but otherwise, all was silent. Even the soft tap of your shoes against cool stone seemed muted.

The air was sharp, and your breath came in plumes of steam as you walked. Hugging Cyno’s cloak closer around your shoulders, you released a deep, satisfied sigh. The dark fabric was soft and covered your silhouette seamlessly, hugging your sides snugly. It smelled faintly of athel wood and saffron. Your hand hung by your side, brushing against Cyno’s every now and again. The two of you walked in silence. There was little need for words.

A tug on your sleeve drew your attention to Cyno, who had stopped by the entrance to the Akademiya. “There’s something I want to show you.“

“Sure,” you smiled. “Lead the way.” He nodded, and began steering you towards the Divine Tree. Up the spiralling passageways you walked, tracing your fingers along the deep grooves in the gnarled bark and the adornments of moss which embellished its surface like lavish green rugs. 

Without warning, Cyno paused mid-step. You frowned, glancing around the pathway carved into the tree’s side.

“Are we here?” you asked, puzzled.

“No,” he said. “But I would like you to close your eyes from hereon out, until we reach the destination.”

“You’re sure I won’t fall off the tree by accident?”

“I’ll hold your hand,” he explained bluntly. (Suddenly, you became incredibly thankful for the darkness, because it hid the red you felt blooming over your face.) 

Compliantly, you closed your eyes. True to his word, Cyno’s hand found yours and closed around it securely. His calloused thumb traced over the curve of your knuckles with a feather-light touch. 

He began to walk again, and you followed blindly, keeping close to his side. You’d been joking about falling off the tree, of course, but it was still a possibility you weren’t keen on entertaining. It was difficult to keep track of your progress now that you couldn’t see the route; all you knew was that you must be high up by now. Maybe you’d even reached the Sanctuary of Surasthana. 

After what was a forever spend in darkness, Cyno brought you to a halt. You tapped around with your shoe, and decided you must still be on tree bark. A lock of hair brushed your neck as he leaned in and murmured into your ear, “Open your eyes.”

When you did, you felt your breath snatched away by the sight before you.

You were stood atop one of the branches of the Divine Tree, higher than even the Sanctuary. The canopy stretched above you, jewelled with leaves, and in the gaps between were patches of night sky filled with stars. Laid beneath you was all of Sumeru City— no, more. From here, you could see the maw of the Chasm, and the forest that stretched towards it. Far, far away, the distant peaks of Dragonspine were a dark smudge on the horizon. The city lights glimmering below you turned the streets into runways paved with stars. 

“Your jaw will fall off if you keep gawping like that,” Cyno said, but there was a smile in his voice that told of an inward happiness towards your reaction. 

“You… wha… how did you find this place?” you managed eventually. 

“In my Akademiya days, I used to come here when the atmosphere grew too overbearing,” he explained, settling down in a cross-legged position. He gestured beside him in a silent invitation to sit. You lowered yourself to his side and let your legs dangle over the edge of the tree branch. A beat of silence passed. You noticed that Cyno was fiddling with his hands, an uncharacteristic bashfulness casting his cheeks in scarlet. 

“I’m still sorry for not making your birthday earlier. I, uh, know this isn’t much by way of a gift, nor a suitable repayment of the time I owe you, but I’ve been hoping to share this location with you for some time now. I… thought you might like it.”

“I love it,” you breathed, still in awe of the landscape that stretched before you. It was like the whole world was painted on a canvas for you to see. “This has got to be the best view in Sumeru.”

At this comment, Cyno smiled warmly at you, giving your hand a light squeeze, and your heart gave a leaping flutter. “I’m glad you enjoy it.”

You glanced away, heat pressing down on your own cheeks in a furious wave. Searching for somewhere else to look, your gaze wandered up to the stars, and then the moon, which hung like a silver coin in the sky.

“I wonder what time it is,” you mused to yourself. Cyno directed his attention from you to the night sky, silent in thought.

“Almost midnight,” he declared after a moment. He turned back to you, tilted his head. “Which means I still have time to do this.” 

Without any further warning, Cyno dipped forwards and pressed his lips to yours. An arm came up to circle your waist, drawing you closer as you melted into the kiss. His mouth moved slowly against your own, savouring your taste as you savoured his, the contact firm yet so tender that you swore you could feel the love he held for you rolling off him in waves. He sighed over your skin and a trail of goosebumps erupted on your neck, hairs standing on end as a shiver ran down the length of your spine. The rush of blood was loud in your ears. You wrapped your arms around him tighter, craning back when he leaned further forwards, inviting him to deepen the kiss; and that he did, now tugging against your lips with a barely withheld hunger. His hair spilled over your shoulders, the ends caressing your collarbone. Torsos all but pressed together, you could feel the thump of his own heart through his chest, pounding fast and hard.

When at last you both pulled away, it was by a mere fraction. Cyno’s breaths were hot against your cheek, his face so close that you could count each individual eyelash framing the rubies of his eyes. He swallowed, and then his face broke into a smile.

“Happy birthday, Cinna.”

——————

I think that’s the most detailed (and intense) kiss scene I’ve ever written… well, only the best for you, I suppose. Happy birthday!

(Also, I finished editing this at, like, quarter past one, so I really hope it was worth it…)

-🎻 anon

i don't even.. have the words to describe the immense joy i felt reading this, holy fuck. thank you so so so much; you really didn't have to go out of your way like this but you just.. dude, i wish i could explain how your writing makes me feel things i just?? aaaaAAAA??? THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺💗💕💗💕💗

[taintedbloom]

Venom // Archie & Kira

Archie adjusted the strap of his weapons bag over his shoulder as he entered the house, sighing with immense exhaustion from the evening's busy activities and in desperate need of a hot shower after an hours long surveillance run. The same old routine when Kaia picked up a late night shift at work which left their four year old son Theodore in the hands of his aunt. He personally never held a qualm with Kira who treated his son as if he were her own child, but she was rather foolish to think she was slick in concealing a distaste for the man her sister married. Unfortunate, really, Archie put forth so much effort maintaining a polite front only for all attempts to be a shameful waste.

He caught sight of Kira seated on the living room couch with the television switched on, unmistakable brunette locks wrapped in a messy bun that reminded Archie of the similar hairstyle Kaia sported when exercising or the particularly stressful days with Teddy. Her head slightly turned hearing his footsteps, but she didn't bother sparing him a single glance or even a proper greeting. He understood her frustration, one hundred percent her reasons were valid, yet his relationship with Kaia wasn't new. The marriage may have settled in its infancy and despite that, Kira didn't behave this frigid towards him during the dating period. He couldn't exactly prove and point an accusatory finger, but his gut told him the newfound passive aggressiveness began with Teddy's birth. "Kira." The man acknowledged her presence.

"Archibald." Kira finally reverted her gaze from the screen long enough to watch her brother-in-law make a full beeline for the stairs, barely placing his foot on the first step when it appeared the less than enthusiastic response spilled from her lips gave him a moment of hesitation. Her gaze flickered to the bag he carried, knowing precisely what was contained within it and far from appreciating the fact he stored it in the house where a toddler could stumble upon it. Paranoid the assassin could be so careless? Maybe. Overprotective when the situation concerned family? Absolutely.

The contemplation Archie grappled with soon passed and he slowly turned around, placing down the bag beside his feet. "If I may be blunt, which I always am, you've displayed a rather foul attitude towards me as of late and I cannot for the life I hold figure out the reason why." He pushed off from the banister and folded his arms across his chest, taking a few steps forward, "Pray tell, love, have I done something to offend you? I do possess a knack for pissing off the wrong people, but with you, it's as if I've done nothing right."

Kira expected him to vanish upstairs without a trace, hole himself in his office or whatever he did after returning home from what he deemed a career, but no, he decided the best route was addressing the painfully obvious elephant in the room. "Weird, I thought you'd be familiar with an older sibling's cold shoulder." She hated bringing Grayson into this, but it was no less true. "We really don't have to discuss this, Archie, you're just seeing something that isn't there."

"Do not gaslight me, Kira." Archie ignored the mention of his brother, shockingly holding the clever quip the woman would know Grayson better than him these days, that was a can of worms he'd rather keep concealed for another time. "I am not the one who barely shares a glance when we're in the same room together or rebukes any opportunity I present at conversation. I mean," He breathed a sardonic scoff, "You act as if you would rather pass a hernia than share the same air as me."

"You really want honesty? Since, you know, I've displayed what you've coined a rather foul attitude." Kira leaned her elbow along the couch's armrest as the male hummed his confirmation for the truth. "I consider myself a pretty patient person. Kind, generous, all traits easily taken advantage of and I'm aware of the fact. I tend to look for the good in others even when they don't really deserve the second chance. Take you, for example," She gestured towards him, "I was hesitant about you, but I trusted my sister more and I've always...respected her decision. Even turned the other cheek when I found out what you do as a job for her." Kira sighed. "I'm happy for Kaia, I am, but I'm fully realizing that you still don't understand the damage you've caused in your wake since meeting us."

Archie awaited her response and like every Morris, Kira did not disappoint. Her assessment of herself was rather accurate especially when kindness and a bleeding heart were indeed weaknesses he has exploited more than he would ever admit to in his lifetime. Kira played the well-mannered older sister supportive of her sibling's choice of a life partner rather well, but the scales tipped unfavorably once the dark truth unraveled.

Meeting Kaia was no mistake, her brother-in-law's death wasn't a burglary gone wrong as the authorities suspected, soon after did he notice Kira's behavior warp. If she tolerated him before, she was barely managing it now. "You underestimate how much I can comprehend what I did. I understand how wrong it was, I'm just incapable of shame over it. I've even told Kaia the same thing." He spoke candidly as his head canted to the side, slight amusement sparking, "This isn't really about your husband, is it? No." Archibald's tone lowered an octave before he stepped in front of the television screen, eliminating one of Kira's excuses to avoid his gaze or the topic. "It's about Teddy."

Kira made her peace about her husband years prior, accepting that his death was a result of the choice he made and her daughter lost her father because of these decisions. Their marriage was crumbling, she was unhappy, but nothing excused Archie's brutal attack and overwhelming obsessions. When he blocked the screen, it provided the woman a perfect view of a specific glint in his eye that toed the line between mischievous and dangerous. Even for a moment, Kira's sound rationale faltered even though she knew he wouldn't dare harm her. "Partly." She pushed herself to a standing position and placed her hands on her hips, "You're so quick to articulate how he is going to be just like you someday. Know what that's code for, Archie? You want your son to desperately follow in your footsteps, continue your legacy, no matter how coated in blood it is."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, love, but it sounds as if you're telling me how to raise my son." Archie lifted his eyes upward towards the ceiling, almost boring a hole through where Teddy was sleeping soundly in his room. His gaze finally settled on the dark-haired woman. "Do I tell you how to raise Cora? Or does this concern stem from an abundance of jealousy over the fact your daughter would rather spend her time with her uncle than her own mother? Trust me, Kira, she has quite the curiosity." He was no longer presenting a cordial approach, with genuine Devereaux flair, the arrogance seeped from the man's pores. Oh, but Archibald would hear an earful about this when Kaia arrived home. "Scares you, doesn't it? How more and more like me she's becoming?"

"And there's the manipulation you pretend to hide so well." The Morris women were feisty, strong-willed, stubborn, and she wasn't an exception. She mostly played the mediating voice of reason holding her sister back from doing something reckless, but hell hath no fury like a scorned Kira when someone attempted to crawl under her skin utilizing her daughter as a weapon. "I know you have difficulty connecting very common humanity dots, so allow me to spell it out for you as civilly as I can in the likely off-chance you have this whole thing twisted." Kira placed her palms together and touched her fingers to her lips with a brief pause. "If you take away Teddy's choice on how he dictates his life, he will hate you forever. He may have your hair and your looks, but that temper I'm already seeing is all Morris. As for my daughter," She closed the distance, head held high with confidence her mother would've almost been proud of. "I'm not the violent sister, but I would rather smother you in your sleep than watch Cora become a killer who possesses the emotional range of a damn teaspoon."

If there is one lesson in his years spent wrapped around Kaia's finger and engrossed by a family he has chosen to insert himself into, you never interrupt when Kaia or her sister steamrolled through a ranting tirade lest you guarantee suffering the temperamental consequences. Archibald distinctly hit a nerve with Kira, striking where he knew her weaknesses lie, because it was a talent he was extraordinary at. It wasn't intentional when he walked through the door and purposefully picked a fight with his sister-in-law, but like his wife, she found the proper channel summoning a rise out of him. "Your words hold truth, Kira, however it's best if you practice what you preach. Plainly isn't my prerogative to vanquish my son's choice nor is it yours to take Cora's away. And yet..." Archie sarcastically waved a hand between them. If his niece garnered interest and asked for lessons in the future, he couldn't deny her wishes. "At least I'm not hypocritical."

Kira's gaze searched his expression for a flicker of the silent pause, sensing the fight and exhaustion overtaking her. He can't be reasoned with and nothing changed his mind or perspective, no matter how hard she pushed. "Archie sees only what he wants to see. I guess we're right back where we started." She nodded once and took a step back in resignation. This really wasn't worth the calories she spent arguing with him. "You know what? Can't say I didn't make the effort." Kira began fiddling with the blanket she was using and adjusting the couch's cushions before locating her purse. "I should head home, Arch, it's getting late. I'd hate to impose more than I already have."

"Kira, you really don't-" Archie interrupted his own statement before throwing up an arm of defeat, turning around himself and approaching the stairs for the second time that evening. They forever stood at an impasse neither could agreeably cross. Differing views about their children, about the course of their lives, about who was in the moral right and wrong. "As you've said, I'm accustomed to a sibling throwing me the cold shoulder."

"Archie," The man turned to glance over his shoulder, peering at the elder Morris with tiredness overcoming his normally stoic features as she continued, "I hope you found what you were looking for." The reason behind her behavior, perfectly plain in black and white for Archie's consumption. True, yes, her problem originated from losing her husband and watching her sister marry the person responsible before having his child. It could involve what Archie deeply desired Teddy to grow up as or finding the bonding with his niece fulfilled the dream regardless, but the real stone cold fact? All roads led to him. His darkness, his selfish intentions, despite caring about his family. Becoming a husband and father changed nothing.

Kira left him with the tough pill to swallow as she exited the living room, her own justifiable intentions clear. Force the mirror in front of Archie's face until he saw the gospel truth. There was poison in his blood and it's spreading, slowly spreading, infecting nearly everyone living near his merciless orbit. And nothing made him or Kira feel more powerless.

[morningstarfall]

Chocolate Frogs and Scarves (5/6)

Rating: General

Warnings: Mentions of period typical homophobia and hate crimes.

Part 5 of 6

Previous | Next

Ominis calmly washed his hands as Blaine leaned against the side of the bathroom. Fear rooted him to the spot and he could feel the tremor of his hands as he adjusted his tie. He wanted nothing more than to bolt from the bathroom and ignore the reality of being discovered by someone else, yet there was nothing to do. He and Garreth had been found out. There was no getting around that. The only thing he could do now was simply pray that Ominis would be reasonable and willing to keep quiet.

“Ominis-I-“

He faltered and tripped over his words. His mouth felt dry and his voice was raspy. Panic ran through him in waves.

“You don’t have to be so terrified,” Ominis replied, “I don’t think of you any differently.”

His voice sounded as if he were speaking to a wounded animal. Blaine supposed he did give that impression with how nervous he was.

He tried to explain, thought about lying to cover up what Ominis had just overheard, but he doubted it would work. Ominis always struck him as a rather intuitive person. Perhaps it was his sharp hearing or naturally attuned nature, but he always seemed to know what everyone around him felt. He could pick out a person from a crowd and determine whether they were being genuine or not. It was an uncanny ability that either developed from his natural affinity for magic or perhaps his upbringing rife with trauma.

In any case, lies would do nothing. Ominis would sense them easily and wouldn’t accept them. Besides, after everything they both had been through fifth year, Blaine supposed he owed him the truth. He had placed Ominis’ life in too much danger with Sebastian in the past to try and fool him now.

His shoulders sagged and he slowly slid himself down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He placed his head in his hands and felt his eyes burn.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered at last.

He wanted to believe Ominis was a friend enough to keep his secret, but he wasn’t sure. Blaine had never been able to read too much into his friends to determine if his identity was safe enough to reveal. The only one he had trusted on naturally besides Imelda was Poppy and that was only because she had guessed it herself. She had noticed his proximity to Garreth and learned about his sexuality. He had no idea how Ominis would react.

Once upon a time, he had threatened to have Blaine expelled through his connections with the Headmaster. Would he feel the same way now?

“Breathe, Blaine,” Ominis leaned against the basin, “Your relationship is not my secret to tell. You can trust me.”

Blaine peered at him as he rubbed the back of his neck. He felt so exhausted. It was barely morning and already today had been so full of heart ache that he wished the day would end. He’d give anything to forget everything.

“How much did you hear?” A quiet question was all he could muster. Blaine figured it was easier to resign himself to his fate.

Ominis tilted his head the way he did when he was addressing someone. His eyesight didn’t quite land on Blaine, but he was very close.

“Not much,” he admitted, “I wasn’t intentionally trying to overhear. I was in the Undercroft finishing up an arithmancy assignment and had to use the restroom. I thought about letting the two of you know I was in here, but I figured it did no good to frighten you both.”

Blaine supposed it was his fault. Between the nerves of talking to Garreth and trying to figure out what to say, he hadn’t give the bathroom more than a first glance. The times he had usually been inside during the weekends, it tended to be empty with most of the castle in Hogsmeade. A bathroom by the classrooms was not an ideal spot for people to frequent outside of class time.

Somewhere the dripping of water echoed in the bathroom as both gathered their thoughts. Blaine stared down at his hands. Finally, he sighed and let his head thunk against the wall.

What else was there to do but tell the truth? Hadn’t the lies he surrounded himself with been the ones that broke him? Why not give honesty a chance?

“Ask. I know you must be dying to,” he said.

“It’s not my place to pry, but I do consider the both of us friends. Salazar knows we’ve been through enough to earn that title. I will listen to anything you want to share,” Ominis responded.

Blaine bit his lip.

Finally, he bared his soul. The secrets had been weighing on him for so long that there was some relief at speaking them out loud. Ominis listened to the entire story without any judgement or reaction. When Blaine was done, he simply tapped the basin in thought.

“I noticed the two of you were close, but it never occurred to me how close. Does Imelda know? She is a housemate of mine. I’d hate to see her heartbroken by being used.”

“I would never involve her in something like this without her permission. She knows about everything and agreed to help me. Poppy does too. Everyone else is in the dark,” Blaine clarified. With Ominis, there were now three people in the world who knew the truth.

Ominis approached him quietly. When he was standing over him, he reached out a hand. Blaine took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.

“You are a friend of mine. That’s not a title I give away freely. You don’t have anything to fear from me. I will take your secret to the grave if I must. We both know it wouldn’t be the first,” Ominis vowed.

Blaine grimaced. The large secret he carried since fifth year was something he desperately wanted to forget. There were times when he could still hear those awful words and see a flash of green.

Collectively, himself, Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne had vowed to keep it a secret. No one would ever know what took place besides them that day in the cavern. Each of them tried their best to never remember it.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He squeezed Ominis’ hand.

Ominis took a step back and stuck his wand in his robes. He turned his head in the direction of the door.

“You both sounded pained. Is there really nothing you can do? I understand wanting to keep it a secret, but can’t the two of you be together? This distance you both are trying to build is hurting you both. Everyone around the school can sense your pain even if they don’t know why. There are so many rumors of fights between the two of you simply because you both are intent on keeping each other at a distance,” Ominis shook his head, “Isn’t there anything more that can be done?”

“I wish there was,” Blaine closed his eyes, “But you heard Garreth. He’s too terrified to let anyone find out. It’s a risk he won’t take no matter how careful we could be. I also can’t take being kept a secret. There is no happy ending for us. Society won’t allow it.”

His voice hitched.

There was nothing worse in the universe than two people who loved each other being torn apart by forces outside of their control. A story like theirs would never give either one closure. Blaine and Garreth hadn’t ended things because they had fallen out of love and decided to move on. No, they had ended things because they loved each other too much and that would paint a target on their backs because they existed in a reality where society thought it was wrong.

“There is no other option,” Blaine continued after a brief moment of silence, “All we can do now is move on.”

It was the truth.

Although Garreth’s family was not a pureblood supremacist family and likely wouldn’t force him into an arranged marriage, he would have to marry eventually. He couldn’t remain an eternal bachelor and not raise suspicion. The Weasleys were still a pureblood family even if they weren’t in the Sacred 28 or wealthy. It was expected that their family members would settle down and have children. Garreth wouldn’t be able to escape that. One day, he’d have to marry a girl and have children of his own. He would no longer be free to be with him.

Blaine too would have to marry eventually. He’d be expected to have his own family someday even if his name wasn’t important enough to pass down. When that happened, he would also have his own responsibilities. His wife would be owed respect and he refused to be like the men who stepped out on their marriage. When he settled down, he would have to give up whatever situation was between him and Garreth. From there, all he could hope for was a wife he could bring himself to love if not be in love with and children that would make him feel less lonely in a platonic arrangement.

So, even if they could somehow balance a secret relationship for years, it would eventually have to end. Reality would hit them both at some point prying them apart. It was much better to get it over with now than live with a cruel fate towering over them.

“I’m sorry,” Ominis whispered, “For what’s it worth. Neither of you deserve this. No one does.”

Blaine bit the inside of his cheek.

No one did deserve this, but he had been given a bad hand by fate. He could still remember being a young child years ago wishing that his feelings for boys would go away. That he could be like the others around him who only liked women. He would have given anything to be “normal” because normal was safe. Being like the others meant his life wasn’t in danger.

Britain as a whole criminalized homosexuality. Were Blaine discovered, he could be arrested by the muggle authorities. Every moment that he lived was an active risk to his life.

“Does your family know? I know Garreth said no one on his side knew.”

“Yes,” Blaine nodded, “My mother knows. She found out a few years ago. She took it in stride. She’s a muggle actress in a tiny London theater. She’s known one or two others like me before and already had her time to process it. She’s more terrified for my safety than anything.”

Ominis made a sound.

“I understand why you both are so afraid. The Ministry doesn’t criminalize your identity the way the muggles do, but it’s not exactly accepted either. It’s much worse for purebloods too. Pureblood supremacists believe in having children and carrying on the bloodline. A pureblood is expected to marry very young and have as many children as possible. This would be done with or without your consent. If there were even whispers or rumors that a pureblood wizard wasn’t interested in women, their family would either disown them for not continuing the bloodline or marry them against their will. Some families even resort to using the Unbreakable Vow in marriage pacts to ensure neither spouse can flee. The Weasleys don’t do that to my knowledge, I’ve never heard of them enforcing a forced marriage, but I don’t blame Garreth for feeling terrified. He’s grown up in our world. He knows pureblood circles and knows what he has to fear.”

The Unbreakable Vow. A spell so powerful it would kill the swearers if they did not fulfill their promise. To think of that being used in a forced marriage made him shudder.

“Up until some decades ago ago, the muggle government still allowed executions for homosexuality. They hadn’t executed someone in much before that, but it was still technically legal. Even now it’s a crime punishable with arrest. My mother knew an actor from Scotland who was arrested for it. The worst part wasn’t the arrest itself. The worst part was being outed by the press. When he was released, some men ambushed him and…”

He didn’t continue. Ominis understood.

“I know I can trust you, Merlin knows we’ve been through worse, but I hope you can understand why it’s so terrifying for me,” he finished finally.

“Of course.”

Each of them digested what the other had said. Blaine stared down at his hands unsure of what to do.

Finally, Ominis sighed.

“I’ve never been in love, so perhaps I am the last person to give advice. However, I think that it would destroy me not being able to be with who I cared for. The two of you sound broken without the other. I know the danger you both are in and the fear that you both have, but can you survive this too? Can you survive being apart?”

His wand lit up red at the end as he began to navigate the bathroom.

“Don’t feel compelled to answer me. It’s just something you should ask yourself. It seems like it’s already killing you both to fight your feelings for each other. Ask yourself which scenario is easier to live with. One where you’re together but looking over your shoulder or one where you’re apart but missing the other. Both sound terribly unjust, but no one ever claimed life was easy.”

With those last words, he left. Blaine stared in his wake and bit the inside of his cheek. Finally alone, the composure he had broke. He buried his head in his hands and wept harder than he ever had in his life.

—————————

Which future could he live with?

The question kept repeating itself over and over again in his mind. He was only half paying attention while Professor Garlick pointed out the uses of gillyweed and how to harvest it. Poppy had to nudge him a few times to get him to write down notes or pay attention to his plants.

Somewhere near the back of the room, Garreth sat with Adelaide Oakes and Natty. He looked worse for wear himself and kept taking glances at him. It had been a week since their encounter in the bathroom and neither had known what to do with each other.

They both missed each other, but it was hard to understand where they stood. Blaine still sat with Imelda or other friends in between classes even if his gaze drifted over to Garreth every so often. His friends were beginning to worry. Poppy, Imelda, and Ominis knew why they were both so down and did their best to engage with them and distract them. Sebastian and Natty were clueless (although he suspected Natty wasn’t as clueless as she feigned but he didn’t feel like opening that can of worms yet), but they knew enough to try and help.

Worse still, Professor Weasley seemed incredibly worried for them both. Blaine had noticed the Weasley family owl had dropped by more often during breakfast in the Great Hall. It always carried some letters from Garreth.

At one point in the week, it had even landed on his eggs. He had shooed it off with a hand and taken the letter from it. It was written in Mrs. Weasley’s hand. He read it only half paying attention.

Mrs. Weasley wished him well and confessed she was worried for them both. Even far from Hogwarts she knew something had happened between the two of them. The letter strongly implied Professor Weasley had been keeping her up to date. She reiterated how much she cared for Blaine and hoped he’d mend things with Garreth. A bond like theirs, she wrote, shouldn’t be given up for anything.

He wrote her back a series of platitudes urging her not to worry then promptly tried to put the letter out of his mind. The more he thought about the confusing mess that was his life, the more he thought he would go insane.

“Blaine, dear, do stay after class,” Professor Garlick called out. Some of his classmates were starting to shuffle out. Blaine grimaced as he stared at his pot of Dittany. It had wilted and turned an ugly shade of brown. In all of the turmoil he had been in, he had forgotten to water it.

“Can I help you, Professor?” Blaine could tell his voice sounded tired, hollow. Professor Garlick faltered at it but he had no strength to fake seeming well. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours and the dark circles under his eyes didn’t lie.

“I wanted to ask if you were alright, dear. You seem so out of it. Usually you love Herbology and are the first to volunteer for tasks. I’m beginning to worry.”

Blaine looked down at his dead plant.

“I’m feeling a little under the weather, that’s all. I’m sorry for worrying you,” he turned to leave.

Professor Garlick hesitated.

“Your Professors are worried too. Teachers talk and we’ve noticed you’re doing poorly. Professor Ronen even mentioned your marks had suffered in his class. We’re all rather concerned. I’ve even thought about sending a letter home to your mother, but I don’t want to intrude.”

Blaine picked at the dead Dittany leaves. They crumbled under his touch and littered the floor. He didn’t care enough to pick them up.

His marks had suffered, of course. Professor Sharp had taken away some house points when he had brewed a potion that had turned an ugly shade of brown and reeked of rotten eggs. Professor Ronen had given him a poor grade for failing a written assignment he had only half tried to complete. Professor Shah had even scolded him for breaking a telescope he had been trying to adjust with Samantha Dale although she hadn’t given him detention. Perhaps she was too worried for him to make things worse.

“I’m sorry, professor. I’ll try harder,” he responded.

“I’ve noticed you’re drifting apart from your other half. Is everything alright there?”

“Garreth and I are both busy,” he shrugged, “Nothing more.”

“I actually meant Miss Reyes although Mr. Weasley also seems to be struggling. He seems so downtrodden. Professor Weasley has tried relentlessly to get him to speak with her, but he always avoids her. We’re just concerned for you. As your educators, we have a responsibility for your safety. With everything that happened a few years ago, I understand you might want to speak to someone. Professor Fig-“

Blaine audibly winced.

He tried really hard not to think about Professor Fig. The memory existed in a terrible hole in his heart. It ached like a wound and was too agonizing to remember. He much preferred pretending like it never happened.

Fig had once been a mentor to his own father. Blaine had felt like the memory of his father lived on in Fig and had taken a liking to him quickly. Losing him had been incredibly difficult.

Professor Garlick cut herself off and apologetically changed topics.

“In any case, please just know that you have people who care. Anyone of your professors would open their doors for you if you needed to speak to someone. I am always in the Greenhouse if you need me and anything you tell me can be kept private as long as you or anyone else is not in active danger,” she extended her hands. Blaine handed her the pot and watched as she made it disappear. Reaching over, she handed him a new pot with some seeds.

He stared down at them and rolled them over his palm. Somewhere in the Greenhouse, he could hear Garreth’s voice. He was using the tone he usually used when he was trying to fake a happy interaction. Blaine knew him well enough to know it was all a front.

He glanced in the direction of the voice and offered a weak smile to Professor Garlick.

“Thank you, Professor, but I doubt it’s something you can help me with.”

Professor Garlick followed his line of sight. Garreth was animatedly talking to Samantha and Poppy. Her eyes softened and she looked at Blaine with a look he couldn’t quite decipher.

“I think you would be rather surprised, dear. Perhaps I could understand you more than you think.”

She patted him lightly on the shoulder and allowed him to leave. Blaine didn’t quite know what to make of her words.

————————— Imelda was waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks when he arrived. She slid him a butterbeer once he sat down. The upper floor was empty again giving them a good chance to speak uninterrupted.

“You look like an Inferi,” she commented, “Merlin, have you slept at all?”

Blaine made a sound at the back of his throat.

“How charming. Do I at least make a handsome Inferi?” He stared down at his drink and couldn’t keep his tone light enough to joke. Sighing, he shook his head, “I slept some hours last night. Poppy all but force fed me a sleeping potion and threatened to drag me to the infirmary if I didn’t get some rest. It didn’t help much.”

Imelda worked her teeth over her bottom lip. There was a frown on her face that gave away how concerned she was. Blaine was used to those looks. Lately, it had seemed everyone had taken notice of how poorly he was doing.

Even Professor Binns, in all his ghostly and detached form, had noticed. When Blaine had dozed off sometime during his lecture, he hadn’t interrupted him. Binns had a habit of purposefully floating through the students that slept in his class to wake them up from time to time. He had done it to Blaine on quite a few occasions, yet he had let Blaine sleep last class. When he had woken up, the ghost had glanced at him then moved on not acknowledging him. It felt awful to cause so much worry, but Blaine felt rather awful in general too.

“I should have spiked your butterbeer with one too. You look like you desperately need some rest. Can’t you just fake a cold and stay in bed? I don’t think any of our professors would mind,” Imelda stared.

Blaine waved her concern away.

“I’m fine.”

It was a very poor lie, but that was all she would get from him.

She shook her head. “How are things with you-know-who?”

Blaine took a sip of his butterbeer. It tasted bland to him. Lately, every food tasted bland.

“The same. He’s not exactly avoiding me anymore, but he’s not being open with me either. We only speak in front of other people and he keeps trying to fake seeming okay-“

“Like you?” Imelda drily commented. He ignored her.

“-Asides from that, nothing has changed. What about you? Did you ever manage to explain away the Slytherin party?”

Distantly, he could remember that disaster. Imelda’s friends had been pestering her for so long wondering what exactly had happened. She had been fielding questions left and right and trying to downplay that night. Thus far, it seemed like she hadn’t succeeded much.

Slytherin house had witnessed just how well the most popular couple in school knew each other and they weren’t impressed. Plenty of rumors followed them both and had only grown worse with time. Now that Garreth knew about the ruse, there was little point in faking. He and Imelda hadn’t truly been seen in public since the party. Some were beginning to speculate they had broken up.

“Alcohol,” Imelda replied, “We all got drunk. We were so drunk we couldn’t answer simple questions and Weasley was so drunk he made a scene. He’s looking out for his friend.”

“And do they believe you?”

“Not a chance. Slytherins aren’t Ravenclaws but they’re still smart. I don’t think anyone is buying it anymore.”

An understatement. Blaine set his mug down.

“Then let’s end it. Make up some excuse. Make me the bad guy in the story, if you want. Tell everyone I broke your heart or cheated-technically I did. There’s no reason for your reputation to be harmed since I dragged you into this mess.”

Imelda pressed her lips together.

“We can definitely end things, but I won’t drag your name. Let it be a mutual break. Have Sweeting spin some story for us that makes it sound less harsh and we stick to it. You definitely don’t need to punish yourself for what happened,” she scolded.

Blaine made a noncommittal noise.

Blaine traced some of the wood patterns on the table while Imelda squirmed in her seat. Finally, she hit her palm against the table. Their drinks rattled from the force.

“How long do the two of you intend to make yourselves miserable? You and Weasley are practically dying from the inside out. Everyone can tell you two are suffering. You’re scaring me,” she waved her hand in front of his face.

Ominis’ words replayed in his head. That damned question he had asked still kept him awake.

Can you survive being apart

No, Blaine didn’t think he could. The pain he was in was constant. It was one thing to have tried to move on because he didn’t know where he stood with Garreth, but it was something else entirely to live with the knowledge that they both felt the same way but couldn’t be together.

Garreth loved him. He had told him that. Those three words had pierced him like a knife in the chest. The only thing worse than not being loved back by the man you loved was being loved back but forbidden to have them.

Not for the first time, he wished he had fallen in love with Imelda, Poppy, Natty, etc. Any one of his female friends would have been fine. He could have been with them had they felt the same and not known heartbreak.

But, no. He had fallen in love with Garreth. Garreth who had made it so easy to fall in love. Garreth who loved him too-

Garreth who was a man and was completely forbidden.

Blaine pinched the bridge of his nose, “Trust me, Imelda, if I could take away this pain I feel, I’d do it.”

He thought about Isidora in those memories he had seen as a fifth year. For the first time in his life, he understood her motivation. Pain was a horrific emotion. He now understood why she had done what she did. If he could remove his own pain, he’d do it. Promise he made to the Keepers be damned.

He stood up and tossed some money at the table not caring how much it was. He didn’t see a point in staying any longer. There was nothing more he could think of saying.

“I’ll see you at the castle. I’m sorry for dragging you into my mess.”

He opted to ignore her calling his name as he shoved his hands in his pocket and walked away.

—————————

A box was thrust under his nose. Blaine blinked up to see the object of his heartache. Garreth held a small package out to him in the Common Room. He feigned a casual smile.

“Package for you. It seems my dad decided to send us both a gift,” he plopped down on the seat next to Blaine without an invitation. Blaine tried to ignore his presence although it was very difficult. He could feel Garreth’s warmth nearby and smell him. His chest ached.

“Mr. Weasley?” He picked at the strings of the package hesitantly.

Garreth nodded.

“He sent me a gift too. Some of my favorite candies from back home and a watch. Got it engraved and everything.”

He yanked on the sleeve of his robes. On his wrist was a leather watch with a lion on the face. It was poised to roar and shifted with every passing minute as if it would strike.

“To my son, Garreth. Love, from your father.” Garreth narrated the engraving.

“It’s nice,” Blaine idly commented. He opened his own package.

Inside was a pack of his favorite sugar quills and some new ink. The package said it was a special ink that would automatically correct spelling errors. He almost set it all aside until he realized there was another smaller box at the bottom.

Giving Garreth a look, he opened it to reveal a watch inside it too. It was identical to Garreth’s watch except his lion faced right while Garreth’s left. He turned it over to see an engraving.

“To my son, Blaine. Love, from the man who sees you as his own,” he read aloud. His fingers shook from the emotion, “I’ll write him a thank you.”

It was hard not to feel very touched by the gift. The Weasleys sometimes struggled with funds. Blaine had noticed it a few times and chosen not to comment on it out of respect for them. The watch looked like it hadn’t been cheap. He would have to buy them something very nice to soothe his guilt.

“Here,” Garreth extended his hand, “Let me.”

He took the watch from Blaine and slipped it on his wrist. A tingle of electricity followed when his fingers brushed across his skin. Almost as if he didn’t want to let go, Garreth let his hands linger on his wrist. Idly, he let his fingers trace patterns on his arm.

It was an intimate touch. Blaine had missed him deeply.

They looked at each other and their eyes met. Blaine could see the yearning and love in Garreth’s eyes. It was another painful stab.

Somewhere in the common room, someone sneezed. The sound reminded them of where they were. Garreth finally pulled away although he seemed hesitant.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. Blaine felt worse at the apology.

“Thanks for bringing it to me,” Blaine ignored him, “They match.”

He placed his wrist close to Garreth’s. Lined up, it looked like the lions were roaring at each other. It seemed Mr. Weasley had bought a matching set.

The Weasleys weren’t being subtle. They were worried for them and wanted to help in their own way mend things. Blaine could easily guess that was why they had sent such a large gift randomly, why they had chosen a set that matched, and why they had sent the box addressed to him to Garreth. It was all a prompt to get the two to speak. Still, he would treasure it forever. They both fell quiet. It had been a long time since they had simply spoken to each other and sat next to each other. They both missed each other. Before they had been anything romantic, they had been each other’s closest friends and that companionship had been very difficult to mourn.

Garreth cleared his throat, “Hey…I uh need some ingredients from Honeydukes for that potion I’ve been working on. The one that boosts your appearance. Would you be willing to accompany me? Just like old times.”

Blaine stared at him.

It was a terrible idea allowing himself to be so close to Garreth. The smart thing would be to say no and put up firm boundaries. He could recover from his heartbreak sooner if he tried to put distance. He knew he should say no.

But how could he? How could he when Garreth was right there? The man he missed more than anything? He couldn’t deny him anything. A part of him longed for him so much that he would take anything he could. Sterling himself for the inevitable mistake he was about to make, he nodded.

“Now?”

“Now.”

—————————

The passage of the one eyed witch had improved dramatically since their fifth year. Blaine had cleared the spiders in it long ago and fixed some broken platforms. It was easy for them to make the journey to Honeydukes.

As they walked, Garreth tried to make light conversation. Blaine humored him if only because he ached to be near him. At times, it did feel like they were back to old times. Laughing and chatting as they snuck around the city and got into mischief had been a pillar of their friendship.

After they had returned from Hogsmeade with some ingredients stuffed into Garreth’s pockets, the pair made the walk back. Garreth offered him a cauldron cake he had also nabbed. It was Blaine’s favorite flavor. He took it with a thank you.

Like they usually did when they took the passage, they both stopped near the entrance back to the castle and ate their sweets there. They tried to keep their conversation light and joked around as they had once. It felt nice to pretend that everything would be alright if only for a moment.

It took them exactly 20 minutes to break.

At some point, amidst the haze of sugar and the pining rooted deep in their hearts, they broke. Blaine wasn’t sure who had leaned in first. All he knew was that one moment they were making making light jokes and the next they were locked in an embrace.

Kissing the person you loved always came so natural. It was easy to get lost in the haze. Everything seemed to fall away when they were together. The two of them clicked well and seemed to have been made for one another.

Blaine had longed for these moments. He had agonized for a month now missing those secret kisses they each stole from each other. It felt dizzying to finally have another moment together after so long. When they finally broke away, both their lips were swollen. They panted as they recovered their breaths. The hand that had previously been curled around Blaine’s neck urging him closer slid to his cheek. Garreth traced the bottom of his lip as he took in the sight of him.

Blaine realized he must have looked wrecked. He knew his mouth was swollen and his clothes were rumpled from where Garreth had kept a firm grip on him. He looked away in embarrassment.

“We should go,” Blaine murmured. He hated to be the one who suggested leaving. Hidden away in their own little corner of the world, it felt freeing to be with him and ignore the outside world.

Still, the passage they were in was not a secret they alone knew. Some other students knew about it and used it to sneak out. The more they spent here, the longer it was a risk.

“We should,” Garreth whispered back.

Still, neither moved. They stayed where they were knowing that leaving would mean going back to reality. A reality where they had to keep their distance and suppress their feelings.

Somewhere in the Hogwarts side of the statue entrance, chatter began. Blaine figured the feast in the Great hall had ended. It was about the time that most students began to retire for the evening. With a sigh full of longing, he pulled away. Out of all the difficult tasks he’d had to do in his lifetime, he was sure leaving was still the most difficult one of all.

“Let’s go,” he commented.

Behind him, he could hear Garreth hesitate. Pausing at the entrance, he turned back. Garreth’s eyes were pained.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Blaine looked down, “I love you too.”

It was a very hard thing to say out loud when they both knew it wouldn’t matter. Love alone could not save them.

—————————

The air had grown chillier a few days later. Poppy buried her hands in her robes as she waited for Blaine to adjust the telescope at the top of the Astronomy tower. He always hated the blasted things. To him, the constellations were always so hard to decipher. He wished Professor Shah had given them an essay over an activity mapping out the stars.

They were alone in the tower. The last few students milling about had left as it grew closer to curfew. He and Poppy had taken that opportunity to talk about everything that had happened. It had been a while since they had, had a chance to simply discuss things.

Poppy sketched out a drawing of Orion as she spoke, “Have the Weasleys written more to you since giving you the gift?”

“A few more letters. Garreth’s siblings even sent some gifts of their own. I think Professor Weasley is still keeping tabs on us. She’s been pulling Garreth aside more and more to keep an eye on him. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s watching us both closely.”

He muttered a curse when he accidentally zoomed too far out and lost sight of Andromeda. Poppy nudged him away as she squinted into the telescope. It took her far less time to zoom in. Once she had found it, she handed it to Blaine to sketch out.

“I know that the two of you are terrified of his family finding out, but a part of me doesn’t get it. I’ve met the Weasleys in passing. They seem like a very loving family. I can’t imagine they’d ever turn him away or force him into a marriage. They aren’t the Gaunts or the Blacks,” she tsked.

Blaine huffed out a humorless laugh.

“You try telling Garreth that. It’s been a revolving argument between us for a long time. He’s scared and fear isn’t exactly rational. I think he’s too close to the issue to see it from far away,” he glanced at the watch Mr. Weasley had given him, “I don’t exactly blame him though. From what Ominis said about pureblood families, there’s not a lot of freedom in them. Garreth grew up in the wizarding world. He knows more than I do about how it works. I’ve always been outside of it.”

Blaine’s father had been a muggleborn who had learned of his magic at 11. He had been an outsider to the magic world and knew very little of it all by the time he graduated. He had become an Auror after graduation, but had spent merely a few years in the force before retiring. In London he had met a muggle actress he had fallen for and had left magic entirely for her. Blaine’s mother had wanted him to leave it in the fear that his dangerous line of work would one day cause his death.

Ironically it was the muggle world that had killed him, but still…

Blaine had been navigating the wizarding world alone. His father had died when he was an infant and he had spent most of his life in the muggle world. He had really only been a member of this world for the past two years. Unlike Garreth that had spent every waking moment of his life in it, he was still new and had a lot to learn.

Perhaps that’s why Garreth was so frightened. He had a lifetime of experience not only in this world but in pureblood circles. Surely he knew of people that had been disowned or forced to marry for varying reasons. Hell, wasn’t Ominis technically one of them? The Gaunts hadn’t burned him from their family tree yet, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before they did…

Hs sighed and handed the parchment back to Poppy.

“It’s not my place to tell the Weasleys anything. Outing Garreth would be a horrific thing to do. At best, I just try to keep my letters vague enough to where they don’t know much about what’s happened. If they ever find out, it’ll be for Garreth to tell them,” he said at last.

Poppy sighed. The sound seemed to echo the deep feelings of frustration and hurt he felt deep within him.

“I wish I knew how to make it better for the both of you. Have the two of you decided to end things or just wait?”

Another question he didn’t have the answer to. They hadn’t ever spoken about the state of their relationship after the bathroom incident. Blaine didn’t know where they stood. Their interactions comprised entirely of either feigning to be back to normal for the people around them or giving in to temptation and stealing some time together before they were eventually forced to pretend their feelings were entirely platonic. Blaine had no clue what it all meant.

The only thing he was grateful for was that Garreth at least didn’t seem to have a flirtation with anyone else now. Since he had ended things a month ago before the whole Imelda plot, he hadn’t been with anyone else. When Blaine had been studying in the library earlier in the week, he had seen a Ravenclaw sixth year get rather close to Garreth. He had thought about looking away feeling a familiar coil of jealousy in his stomach, but Garreth had taken a step back himself. He had made some excuse to evade the ravenclaw and left.

That had at least given Blaine hope that he was done with his rakish reputation. If nothing else happened between them, Blaine was at least grateful he could avoid seeing him with someone else. In his already fragile state, he wasn’t sure he could have taken otherwise.

Poppy placed a hand on his back in a soothing gesture.

“I wish I could help,” she murmured.

Blaine softly smiled at her. She was a great friend. He was fortunate to have good people in his life.

“You are just by being here.”

—————————

In the Common Room, a first year walked up to the table Blaine had taken for himself. He had been wrecking his brain trying to recall facts about the time of the founders for Binn’s class when a student called his name. He looked up and saw one of the new students. Blaine recognized him from the sorting ceremony at the beginning of the year, Albus Dumbledore.

“Can I help you?” Blaine asked.

It was in the afternoon and most students were in the Great Hall. Blaine was surprised to see someone else nearby. He had only skipped dinner because his appetite hadn’t been the same for the past few weeks.

“Professor Weasley asked to speak with you,” Albus handed him a slip from Weasley. Blaine accepted it and scanned it over quickly. Professor Weasley requested his presence immediately. He suppressed his sigh.

“Thank you, Dumbledore,” he nodded.

The first year walked away as he packed his things. He dreaded speaking with Professor Weasley. It was always nerve wracking to think of lying to her.

The hallways were mostly empty as he navigated to the Transfiguration classroom. The classroom was empty when he arrived. The only other person there was Garreth who was doing lines for detention. He always took detention with his aunt who was much stricter with him than his other professors. She always held her nephew to a higher standard and would make him write lines or scrub the entire castle with the house elves until his hands threatened to give out.

“Is Professor Weasley here?” Blaine hesitantly asked.

Garreth looked up with some surprise.

“You just missed her,” he answered finally, “Someone Floo’d in from the Ministry in Black’s office. He ordered her to take the meeting while he went off and shirked his duties. She’ll be back soon enough.”

Blaine sighed.

He dropped down onto a seat and tried to peer over the lines Garreth was writing.

I WILL NOT BLOW UP A CAULDRON IN PROFESSOR SHARP’S CLASSROOM. I WILL NOT BLOW UP A CAULDRON IN PROFESSOR SHARP’S CLASSROOM. I WILL NOT-

He snorted quietly to himself. Next to him, Garreth cracked a tiny smile. It was their first real smile in a very long time.

“What did she call you in for?” Garreth asked, “Did she give you detention too?”

Blaine shook his head.

“She just asked to speak with me. My professors have been doing that a lot lately. Hecat asked me to meet with her yesterday too and tried to talk with me. It’s getting rather maddening,” he admitted.

Garreth set his quill down and stretched his tired hand. The roll of parchment that dropped down to the floor with the same lines illustrated how long his punishment had been. He hissed at the feeling of the muscles in his hand expanding.

“Let me see,” Blaine extended his hand.

With a weary glance at the closed classroom door, Garreth offered up his hand. Blaine worked the muscles the way he always did when Garreth left detention. He hissed when he worked on some particularly sore spots.

“She asked Sharp to reassign my detention to her. He was all too happy to get me off his hands. I would have preferred organizing the store room for this,” he huffed, “She’s been on my case for a long time now. She and my parents have been writing so many letters to the point our owl is starting to refuse to fly. Poor sod isn’t used to the extra exercise.”

Blaine made a sound. He’d received quite a few letters himself. His mother had even reached out to ask if he was alright. Perhaps one of the Weasleys had written to her to express their concern.

He and his mother weren’t too close, but she did love her son. She had asked him to please tell him what was wrong. Blaine had hesitated on how much to tell her. She knew of his identity but not the extent of his relationship. That wasn’t just his secret to tell. Thus far, his letter in response was shoved somewhere in a trunk and forgotten.

“How much do I tell her?” Blaine absentmindedly began to stroke circles into Garreth’s palm.

Garreth glanced at the doorway again checking for his aunt. She still hadn’t returned.

“She knows you broke things off with Imelda. She knows we were fighting over it. Keep things vague. Try not to answer any questions,” he replied.

That was much easier said than done. Professor Weasley was not someone who took half truths and evasions easily. Given the entire situation of the ancient magic years ago, her tolerance for being kept in the dark had much lowered. She wouldn’t accept him evading her for much longer.

Blaine could feel some frustration begin to build. It had been bubbling up for quite a long time now. He wasn’t sure where exactly to direct it, but his current situation seemed an apt target.

He remembered Poppy’s question from a few days ago. Now seemed like a good time as ever.

“What exactly are we? You’re talking to me now, invite me to places, but you still avoid talking to me. I need to know what exactly this is because this limbo isn’t easy,” he huffed out a sigh.

Garreth tensed the way he usually did when Blaine broached the topic of what they were. Another paranoid glance was thrown at the door. Blaine was sick of it and dropped his hand.

“We shouldn’t talk about this now-“

“Yes, now!” Blaine hissed, “I can’t exactly field your aunt’s questions if I don’t even know what I’m trying to hide.”

At Garreth’s hurt expression, he wilted. It wasn’t fair to take it out on him. He knew Garreth was equally as pained as he was. It wasn’t their fault they felt this way. Society was much more to blame.

He sighed, “I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I do need to know. I can’t keep living like this.”

An uneasy breath left Garreth’s lips. When he looked at him, his gaze was hesitant and nervous.

“What do you want this to be? My answer hasn’t changed.”

Blaine knew what he meant. Garreth had always stressed that he couldn’t do a secret relationship. He wanted to wait until years after graduation to start anything. He wanted to be free of his family’s dependency so that if they ever found out, there would be nothing they could do to harm him.

Blaine’s answer hadn’t changed either. Waiting years to be with someone was agony. Already, the last month had been difficult enough. He wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t eating, and his marks were dropping rapidly. If this was what he could look forward to for the next few years, he wasn’t sure he could live like this. Not without getting admitted into the infirmary or failing out of Hogwarts.

What was it that Ominis had asked? Something about which option he could survive? The question made him feel queasy.

“I really can’t do this anymore. We’re both miserable. Is all of this secrecy worth the pain?”

Garreth’s cheek jumped.

“What’s the alternative? You’d risk everyone knowing? Do you realize how dangerous that is? Black could expel us if he wanted to. There’s no law protecting us. Even my aunt wouldn’t be able to stop him from removing a student. No one would hire us if they found out. Your dreams of being an Auror could disappear if the whispers reached the Ministry. Our friends could turn their back on us-“

“Poppy, Imelda, and Ominis know.”

Blaine clenched his jaw. He hadn’t told Garreth about them knowing. He had been trying to avoid causing him panic-

And he really should have kept his mouth shut.

Garreth’s reaction was instant. He jumped to his feet and immediately backed away as if burned.

“You told them?” His voice sounded frantic, “Godric-“

“They figured it out. Ominis overheard us in the bathroom-Garreth, stop!”

Blaine got to his feet too. Garreth es supporting himself on Professor Weasley’s desk. He was shaking terribly. In the midst of his shock, Blaine’s words were ignored.

“How could you tell them? Do you realize what they could do?”

He was breathing harshly. His breath left in pants. Blaine grabbed his arm and pulled him to sit on a nearby chair. He buried his face in his hands.

“I didn’t tell them. Only Imelda. Poppy and Ominis found out on their own. Both of them will keep the secret. Breathe,” he urged.

The room was silent as Garreth tried to gather his bearings. His hands shook as he pressed them to the top of his head. Finally, he closed his eyes. Blaine took the moment to speak now that he was slightly more calm.

“None of our friends would turn their back. You would have nothing to fear. As for the Ministry, if Sirona can live in peace and have plenty of patrons who would take up arms for her, so can we. There is nothing to fear,” he repeated.

They both knew about Sirona. She had discussed her own identity with him his fifth year. She was a witch once unable to say it out loud. After graduating, she had finally stepped into her true identity. The people around her knew it and none seemed to see her differently. Quite the contrary, many of her patrons sang her praises and trusted her. When Rookwood had threatened Blaine all those years ago, it was Sirona that had rallied the patrons. The moment she had pulled out her wand, they had all followed. Even those who hadn’t known what was happening had been willing to fight at her side.

If she could have an entire group of people that supported her and defended her, couldn’t they?

“You don’t get it, Blaine. You weren’t born in the wizarding world. You don’t know the pressure of getting married some day and starting a family. There’s so few wizards left that there is a lot of pressure to continue passing on magic. My parents have always made comments about me marrying someone. How would they react if I told them the truth?”

The Weasleys were not supremacists. They would happily accept their children marrying half-bloods, muggleborns, or perhaps even muggles, but would they accept them not marrying at all? It’s not like Blaine could marry him or have children with him.

Still, he chose to believe in the good of the Weasleys. He knew them to be good people. They were warm and accepting with their children. They had welcomed Blaine into their home and seen him as their own son. Mrs. Weasley had even made a joke that he must be one of them because he was a redhead too. How could those people possibly turn their backs on them?

He recalled what Poppy had said. Even she suspected they would have no problem other than a momentary surprise. More than anything, Blaine suspected it was Garreth’s fear that kept him from seeing the truth. Perhaps on some note he knew it was irrational, but fear was not about logic. It was paralyzing and torturous. It attacked you without a care about whether it was being reasonable or not.

In the midst of his fear, Garreth couldn’t see past his own panic. Perhaps, Blaine thought, it was less about his family than it was him. Perhaps a part of Garreth knew his family would never reject him, but he was too afraid to face what it meant to openly acknowledge his identity.

It was 1892. Society would never accept him. Maybe that was why he was so desperate to keep it all a secret. His family was merely an excuse for his own doubts.

Blaine had been fortunate. His mother had been in the theater growing up. Art spaces had always been more welcoming of those that didn’t fit in with the rest of society. His mother had known fellow actors that were not heterosexual. Shakespeare had been rumored to take male lovers as well as Da Vinci. The art world he had been raised in had always had its fair share of people like him. That’s what made him accepting his identity much easier.

But Garreth?

Garreth had been raised in a different world. He came from a world where purebloods were forced to marry by the Unbreakable Vow and were tortured with the cruciatus curse for disobedience. The Weasleys might have never entertained the idea of harming their children in any way, but how many purebloods did Garreth know that did? In the end, pureblood circles all ran together even if they weren’t in the Sacred 28.

The Prewetts, the Weasleys, the Gaunts, the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Potters, the Dumbledores, the Longbottoms, etc. All of them had grown up in close proximity and known each other forever. Knowing so many families with such stark different outlooks had certainly showed him what the world was capable of. Garreth feared what he knew his future could be at the hands of others in his circle even if his family was not a threat.

Blaine tried to remain sympathetic.

“It’s alright. Just breathe,” he did some deep breaths to prompt him to calm down, “You don’t have to worry. Our friends would never turn their backs. Our families would never harm us.”

But Garreth wasn’t convinced. He stood up shakily from his chair and ran a hand down his face. His eyes were red and his skin was a deathly white.

For the first time, Blaine realized how utterly terrible he looked. Like himself, he looked like he hadn’t slept in a very long time nor had anything to eat in just as long. He now understood why people were so worried. If Blaine looked half as bad as Garreth did, he knew why his professors were constantly pulling him aside and why the Weasleys kept overworking their poor owl.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Garreth interrupted his train of thoughts, “I do. You know what I feel for you.”

He looked torn. Blaine looked away.

That’s what made everything so hard, wasn’t it? He could survive an unrequited love, but to be loved back by someone he could never have? That was maddening. It would have been much easier if Garreth hadn’t returned his affections. At least then the finality of rejection could prompt him to move on.

“Ominis asked me if I could survive being apart from you,” he took a step forward, “And I didn’t know how to answer his question. Now, I think I know.”

Garreth eyed him wearily as if afraid of the answer.

“I can’t,” Blaine admitted, “I really can’t. This is worse than being apart. If there is nothing that could ever change your mind, then let me go. Tell me you feel nothing for me and let me move on. Set me free.”

His hands shook at his sides and he clenched them into fists. He could feel the tiny pieces his heart had already been reduced to pulverize further.

“I can’t do that,” Garreth whispered.

“Then lie to me. Lie to me and tell me you hate me. Tell me I disgust you. Tell me you never want to see me again because the truth is too painful-“

“Godric, you don’t get it!” Garreth threw his hands up in frustration. He looked like he would break down any minute.

Blaine felt the same way. He felt like he was having an out of body experience. His limbs didn’t feel like his own. When he next spoke, he hardly recognized himself.

“Would it be the end of the world? Would it truly be so terrifying to have your family know?”

“Don’t you think I want them to?” Garreth clenched his hands around the edges of the desk, “Don’t you think I want to tell them the truth? That I’m not sick of living a lie? That being away from you doesn’t kill me too?”

He paused to breathe. His words came in between harsh puffs of air. He was working himself up again. It took him a brief moment to calm himself down long enough to continue. When he did, a tear finally slipped through. He wiped at it harshly.

“I can’t lie to you and say those things because I can’t. I can’t even bring myself to think about telling you that I hate you because it’s not true,” he closed his eyes.

Blaine hissed in pain and found with some surprise that he had made his fingers bleed. He hadn’t even realized he had begun working at his nails again. He put the bleeding digit in his mouth to soothe the sting.

They were at an impasse then. There was nothing more that could be done.

Garreth’s shoulders dropped as if he were a puppet with its strings cut. He sat down on the desk’s surface and put his head in his hands. Even covering his face, Blaine could see he was crying.

“I would do anything to be with you because I love you Blaine Ambrose, but I can’t. It’s too dangerous. My family could disown me if they knew the truth-“

“Do you really believe we would ever be capable of such a monstrous thing, Garreth?”

A quiet whisper at the door made them both freeze. Professor Weasley had returned from her meeting without either of them noticing. She stared at them both with eyes full of concern.

Blaine promptly sat up in panic. Next to him, Garreth just closed his eyes in resignation. It had finally happened.

His worst fear had come to pass.

A/N:

I really debated whether or not to add this last cliffhanger because it seems so similar to the one from last chapter, but I finally decided to keep it. There’s really only 1 or 2 chapters left in this story. It should start wrapping things up soon.

Here are some 3 fun little facts for you:

1) This cliffhanger was actually the idea that started the story! I got this scenario in mind one day when debating about writing a story with two male characters and the rest of the story evolved from there. That’s why I decided to keep it even if it was too similar to last chapter. The story was always meant to include this moment.

2) According to the art book, Professor Garlick is a lesbian. If there were anyone in the world who could understand what Blaine is going through, it would be her.

3) Albus Dumbledore began Hogwarts in 1892. He would be a first year around the time that the rest of the HL cast is in 7th year.

[artdecosupernova-writing]

Fictober '20 Prompt No. 6 — "That was impressive."

Category: Original WIP: Partners Rating: T Timeline: sometime between Partners and Partners II. May or may not be canon. CW: none Word Count: 792 Additional Notes: the timeline is apparently up in the air lmao. I don't have the energy to do the math sometimes whoops

***

"Help me." Reagan dropped a thin packet of sheet music directly on top of Ben's lap, one of the pages bouncing off of his head on the way down. "I've heard a rumor you're pretty good at tickling the ivories."

Ben, fingers halted over the keys of his piano as Reagan's sudden presence quite literally interrupted his songwriting process, didn't respond right away. He blinked from the paper sliding off of his lap. "Uh…one could say that I've dabbled..."

Nodding, Reagan tugged a folded sheet of music from his back pocket and smoothed it out across the reflective black top of the grand instrument. "Great!" He flashed a brilliant smile. "Someone wrote a song for me and I'd like to go over it with you."

"A song?" Ben unstuck himself from his shock enough to pick up the sheets from the floor. "Are you kiddin' me? You've got enough music here to finish your career…! What…who wrote this?"

A pause went by practically unnoticed before Reagan scratched the back of his neck and sighed. "I've got a tour scheduled with Henry and the Monsters."

Ben angled his face up toward Reagan's, a glower burrowing deep in his face. "Excuse me?"

"Don't give me that." Reagan jabbed a finger in Ben's direction. "I came all the way over here—"

"An entire ten minute trip, you poor baby!"

"—I came all the way over here to get your help because I am forever indebted to you and your genius pianist skills, also I miss you so…much." Reagan tapped the rolled-up sheet music on the top of the piano and glanced around at Ben's living room, his demeanor softening and voice falling into a quiet murmur. "It's been five months, Benny."

The weight of that truth settled onto Ben like a wet blanket, and he took a deep breath to quell his frustration. "You were home for a week."

"I was home with a ten-year-old and a four-year-old. And Carolyn and I are having…problems. And in case you haven't noticed, my manager absolutely hates you."

"Yeah, you don't have to remind me, he was my manager too, asshole!"

Reagan turned his partially tired gaze onto Ben, patient. Reasonable. They held eye contact and Ben's irritation began to roll off of him.

"Okay." Ben stuffed the music onto the piano. "You're right. You've got a career to worry about. At least one of us should actually be successful."

Reagan couldn't stifle the small smile creeping across his face. "Should I list all of the ways Benjy Mertz outshines me, or should we mutually understand that he will forever be my superior in the way of talent and move along with our lives?"

"Spare me the patronizing, my stomach can't handle it."

"So I shouldn't mention the three gold records you've earned within the first two years of going solo? Or the millions upon millions of people who have come out to see you on your first tour around the country? Hmm? What've I got to show for my career?"

Ben's scowl returned. "…I'm still trying to cope."

"Yeah. Me too. But…as always, I defer to your expertise. I need you. Please."

Yet another stretch of silence passed between them and Ben eventually cleared his throat.

"Right. Let's go."

They practiced for hours, went through Reagan's entire set until he had it memorized, and after a while exhaustion set in and Reagan found himself humming along as Ben went off on a musical tangent, fingers dancing over the keys among the soothing lullaby spilling out of his head.

He knew he was being stared at, but Ben decided not to acknowledge that, only the soft vibrato of Reagan's harmonizing voice. It had been almost half a decade since their professional split yet in still, pensive moments like this, the pain seeped through, fresh and raw. They'd found themselves often separated by oceans, a reality Reagan had sacrificed his life with his parents to prevent at the tender age of thirteen. Nothing made sense.

"Hey," he whispered once Ben stopped playing. "That was impressive."

Ben could not, for the life of him, meet Reagan's eyes. "You said you and Carolyn are having problems."

Reagan nodded. "It's nothin' too bad. But you and Faye are trying to have a kid and I think…well, it might be draining us all, y'know? We're hurtin' for you."

Speaking of whom, Ben caught sight of Faye's car pulling into the driveway through the living room window. He exhaled, extracting a cigarette from his shirt pocket. "Do me a favor."

"Yeah."

"Shut up about needin' me. You haven't needed me for five years."

Reagan, unusually stricken, frowned at the spot Ben once occupied for several seconds after he got up to greet his wife.

[delicateanchorrebel]

Coffee for One - Short Story

I enter the Starbucks and walk up to the counter.

"Can I take your order?" the employee asks.

I look up from the ground. I am in shock. Behind the register is a girl so beutiful that I almost break into tears. I have never talked to someone so beautiful before. I am so nervous that I begin sweating all over and trembling with fear.

I wipe my sweaty hands off on the front of my t-shirt. "L-Large c-coffee," I croak out in an unintelligible whisper, staring at the floor nervously.

"Sorry, what was that?" the employee asks in response.

What is this girl saying? I just told her what I wanted. Why wasn't she paying attention? Is she saying that I'm not worth listening to? It's fine. I will overlook her rudeness this time.

"Um sorry. Uh s-sorry, I want a large coffee." I manage to squeak out again. I am mentally exhausted by all this disrespect.

"Oh so a grande coffee. Coming right up." the cashier says with a smile.

A grande? What is she talking about? I ordered a large coffee. I knew it this girl thinks she's better than me. Just because she's good-looking she thinks she can look down on me. Well she isn't even that pretty. Sure at first glance she has a pretty face but looking more closely now I can tell that her nose is slightly too long and her eyes are too close together. None of the anime girls I know of have features like her. By looking at her ears I can tell that they are round like a human. Not pointed like a high elf, the epitome of beauty. Disgusting.

Acknowledging her obvious and flagrant flaws, I decide that I will teach her a lesson in humility. I draw upon my resolve and shout in the loudest voice I can muster.

"Your ears are the wrong shape!" I smirk at her.

The employee looks back at me in confusion. "Huh?"

Oh no, I went too far. She must hate me now. I look at the ground as tears begin to well up in my eyes. I knew I would never be worthy to order at Starbucks. I plead with the employee.

"I-I'm so s-sorry!" I bawl out, "I'm human trash. You must hate me now."

"Sir, are you alright?" the employee asks with a concerned expression on her face and a pained look in her eyes.

"I have disrespected you too greatly. I do not deserve to live. Take my life with your own hands."

"S-Sir, it's fine. Please just wait over there for your order," she says, visibly uncomfortable.

I nod glumly and wait in the corner like she asked. Wow, this woman has chosen to spare me. How merciful can she be. She is so kind and beautiful she must have transcended humanity. Indeed, she is not a human but a goddess. I must pay her back for her kindness.

As I wait, I determine what I must do.

"Dennis?" the employee calls out.

Oh that's me. I begin sweating nervously. I take a trembling step forward. Then another. Eventually I make it to where my coffee is waiting.

The employee hands it too me with a forced smile. "Have a nice day."

"Please marry me!" I blurt out. This goddess is so pure and kind I cannot do anything to pay her back but offer my love.

"Sir, I don't know you, and I have a boyfriend." She has a displeased look on her face.

How dare she! I was willing to offer up my love to her and overlook her obviously rude personality and flawed facial features, but she just threw it back in my face. I guess she is too stupid to realise what a great guy I am. If this is the treatment I am going to receive here, I will not stand for it.

"You stupid bitch. How do you not understand how generous I am being. You will regret your decision when your 'boyfriend' who is probably an asshole cheats on you and you die alone. Good day!"

I storm out of the store in a huff. I throw my boiling hot coffee at a passerby.

Why is this whole world against me? I'm just trying to be nice, but everyone always hates me. I think I must just be too smart for them. Yes, that's it. I will now return to my domicile and read mangas about people like me proving how they are better than the evil one dimensional caricatures that populate their fictional worlds. That will prove that I am superior to everyone else.

With a satisfied smile I return home.

THE END Thank God.

[dreamsmpimagnes]

since you do aus: au where theres kingdoms and the reader is a prince/princess has to get into an arranged marriage with another royal figure (with George, Techno, and Will) - ✿

Ah, it's always lovely to receive submissions from you, i hope you’re doing alright, ✿. 

If anyone wants me to do a part two or anything about falling in love (or even hating each other lol) let me know

c!George

He’s the prince of a lovely expansive woodland kingdom that your own kingdom had been at odds with for years

They’re rich and packed full of natural resources, making it a central trading hub

While they may be an economic powerhouse, they were incredibly rocky when it came to wars of any kind

But your’s is, so naturally a trade of sorts was agreed upon to end the squabbles before they got dangerous

His kingdom got protection, a few more pieces of land, and several of your knights and weaponry, and your’s received wealth, resources, and an open trade route with very few tolls

One last part of the agreement was that the person next in line for their respective thrones in each kingdom were to be wedded

You and someone you only heard of by the name of “George”

The trip to his kingdom was a lovely one, the stone brick road was well taken care of and the scenery was beautiful and the kingdom itself was gorgeous as well

While the buildings weren’t very tall in the first place, castle included, they were still overshadowed by the flora that flourished in the surrounding area nonetheless

Mushrooms as tall as houses and flowers the size of people were common place, gigantic dark wood trees too

The closer you looked at everything, you noticed how the man made structures weren’t at all interfering with anything, but rather integrating peacefully (even the bridge to the castle was a long, reinforced root)

It looked like something out of a storybook

Meeting George was odd

Even though he was polite, he came across as uninterested about the whole ordeal, wanting to leave to go back to his personal chambers 

Instead, however, he was told to take you out to the garden so you could introduce yourselves and get to know each other more properly

He sighed and acquiesced anyway, bringing you to a set of double doors made with dark teal wood

He was quiet almost the entire time you two were together, only talking when you asked questions, leaving blocks of awkward silence

You decided that it was going to be an exhausting marriage

c!Technoblade

He's the prince (or king? maybe?) of a small, recently liberated kingdom in the Nether that spans mostly throughout a large crimson forest

Because of it’s wobbly foundations and history of bloodshed, the parliament of his kingdom decided that making ‘friends’ with a kingdom from the Overworld was the best course of action

The best way to do that, of course, was to marry off their new ruler to the next in line for the throne of an already well established place

They said that they’d give you hundreds of thousands of pounds of precious materials, gold and quartz mainly, in exchange for your hand, and your parents agreed

When the various people from your kingdom found out you were marrying Prince Technoblade of the Crimson Kingdom, they treated it as a death sentence for you

Whispers of ”Oh, poor thing has to marry a beast like him” and “A Nether hybrid? How unfortunate” were common place as well as annoying and overbearing pitiful glances

They talked about how he was a physically scarred brute that dwarfed anyone in size, and how he was unafraid to slay a man’s whole family in front of him, that he didn’t have an empathetic bone in his body  

Safe to say, when they came to your kingdom to finish the transaction and exchange resources, you weren’t exactly expecting a handsome, well mannered man with long, braided pink hair and dark hooves to show up with a golden arm cuff with an emerald imposed in the center crafted specifically for you

As he spoke to introduce himself as ‘Technoblade’, you noticed how his voice was deep and very monotoned

First he talked his kingdom and the realm it was situated in 

He described the boiling pits of magma and streams of flowing lava, and the way everything was bathed in a red or yellow glow, offering to take you one day if you wanted (while he emphasized how dangerous the Nether Realm was, you were excited at the offer)

After a few hours of you two fully speaking to one another, telling each other about yourselves, you were confused about the rumors

Everyone said he was awful and scary, but you genuinely only saw a kind, albeit, socially awkward man with some unusually physical features and a thick scar across the bridge of his nose

Surely he couldn’t be as bad as everyone was saying

c!Wilbur

He's the prince of a kingdom that’s run by King Philza

The kingdom itself was a gigantic, sprawling empire that seemed to have calmed down in the past half century or so (ever since Philza became the king), focusing on creating bonds and patching up messes with other nations, kingdoms, and empires it had gone to war with long ago

Since your kingdom had a very intense past with theirs, they seemed very keen on making things better, quickly, in fact

As per the agreement drafted between the two lands, they had to break down a few of their walls (something they were already working on doing) and decrease the size of their military, though their navy could stay the same

For your side of the agreement, you had to marry the eldest prince, a man by the name of Wilbur

As you rode in the carriage to meet your husband to be, you noticed thousands of miles of farmland up to the empire’s capitol city, the city itself being beautiful, crafted from light colored stone and wood with stunning colored glass windows in every single building

The castle itself had depictions of many different ex rulers stained in the same colored glass, each face looming down in a straight expression

While it was all a touch intimidating, the majority of the family waiting in the throne room had sweet, welcoming smiles

King Philza was stern but kind, Queen Kristen was patient and sweet, Tommy, the youngest prince, was hotheaded but still trying to make a positive impression, and Wilbur was a sweetheart

He had a soft smile and kind eyes, and introduced himself as your future betrothed

When you two were told to go off on your own to speak with one another to get properly aquanited, he brought you to a large room with long, intricate floor to ceiling curtains and a huge golden chandelier in the center, a grand piano near one of the open windows

He, first, apologized for his younger brother, Tommy, before he talked about the rest of his family and how he loved to play the guitar and write poetry and sing, all while asking you questions

Before either of you realized, hours had passed, and someone had gotten you for dinner

You were a bit more happy about the arrangement, Wilbur truly seemed lovely

[light-yaers]

Fools in the Darkness: Chapter One

Darkling x Reader

Warnings: Death, violence, drugs (Parem), NSFW and sexual content. This content is explicit and 18+ at some points.

A/N: I caved. I am a wildly stupid individual who has no control over her actions. I know I might come to regret posting this so fast and thus forcing myself into my third ongoing x reader fic, but I also just generally don’t care. I’m still working on No Saints and Sweet Esacpe, just as a slower pace due to my mental health, but this baby here floated out of me like melted butter. I’ll be alternating between uploading this fic and my currently ongoing others! I just had to get this shit out of my system about Shadow and Bone, fr. 

Fic Masterpost

Word Count - 3.4k

Chapter One

Ketterdam covered up your secrets perfectly. It’d only been a matter of weeks since you’d fled there, after travelling the exhausting journey across East Ravka until the Fold had stood before you; brooding, dangerous, a death-wish just to look at, let alone enter it.

Maybe you had to thank him for one thing, General Kirigan, because without him—

You never would have crossed the Fold on your own.

Maybe Ketterdam was made for a person such as yourself. Dark, danger around every corner, full to the brim with power-hungry men and women trapped behind silks. You’d never warmed to anyone yet, but that wasn’t a surprise—it was easy to hate people in the Barrel, but even easier to take their kruge and send them sailing upon the True Sea without another glance.

Kerch was a merchant port, stuffed with expensive clubs and those with no money troubles, armed and ready to open their pockets if they so wished. There were two sides of the docks—Fifth Harbour; the lavishly bright sector for the rich and wealthy—and the Barrel; a breeding ground for crime, killings and losing all of your kruge in one night.

You’d made acquaintances with the Barrel rats from the very beginning, hearing stories about the destruction they caused. You’d much rather not be on the side of the wealth, but the side of fear.

“I found her wandering the harbour, Kaz,” A petite lady in dark clothes spoke to her boss. She’d dragged you from the bustling harbour, flying you through the dark streets of Ketterdam. You tried to hear her footsteps across the cobblestones, but she left no footprints, like a Wraith in the night.

Kaz approached his desk then, stepping into the small lamp light of his office in the Slat. Kaz Brekker was a man that no one wanted to cross. With his clenched jaw and unforgiving stares, the Bastard of the Barrel was cut-throat in every sense of the description.

“She’s a rat, Inej. Not our responsibility—,”

“Do you see the clothes she’s wearing?” Inej cut over Kaz, stepping towards him abruptly. He stayed in place, looking at his Wraith in the eyes, unwaveringly. He regarded her for a moment, taking all of her in, before turning back to you.

His eyes skimmed you up and down, traversing the darkened and muddied fabrics on your body.

“A Kefta,” He whispered it, his eyes widening. “It doesn’t look like the usual Second Army attire,” He added. You perked up, trying to keep your expression as blunt as possible. After your journey, it wasn’t hard not to show anything—you’d been forced to endure a quiet and agonising journey for a month, while trying to stay in the shadows at the same time.

“Because it’s not,” You spoke up, for the first time since entering Brekker’s office. Kaz turned his attention to your face, stepping forward menacingly. His crow-headed cane slammed the wooden floorboards threateningly, but you weren’t scared—

You’d crossed the fucking Fold on your own. Nothing scared you anymore.

“Who are you?” He questioned, trying to keep his voice steady. Men like Kaz tried not to show off what they felt either, but the curiosity in his tone was undeniable. You cleared your throat.

“How much time have you got?”

Fjerda, 1 Year Ago

It was a risk to take, that was for sure. But choosing whether to go through the Fold or around it was a no brainer. Evidently, it had paid off so far, as you and your sister travelled through the barren coldness of Fjerda, headed for the Ravkan border.

“How much farther?” Your sister chided. She was older than you by a year, but on this mission, you’d taken charge. You shuffled into your pack, pulling out a tattered map and a compass. You set the point to North, calculating the miles you had left to trudge to safety.

Your sister wasn’t Grisha, no—you were. A Squaller; untrained, unenthusiastic about your power and utterly afraid of the Druskelle. But you’d had no choice in getting you and your sister safely around the Fold. There was no other way to go from where you’d first found asylum in Novyi Zem; going through Fjerda was the safest route to the Ravkan army.

You smiled at the map. “Five miles. Then we’ll be in Ravka,” An exhausted but relief filled scoff fell from your lips. You locked eyes with your sister, before the two of you embraced tightly. “We’ll be safe soon,” You whispered in her ear, enjoying the small warmth you got from her bare cheek pressing against your jaw.

“You’ll be safe soon,” She replied, bringing a hand to rest on the back of your neck. She pulled away then, as the tears began to well in her crystalline eyes. “You put yourself in this danger to keep me safe. I’m the older sister—I should be keeping you safe,”

“It was this, or through the Fold,” You spoke, furrowing your brows at her. “I’d rather take on twenty druskelle than step foot in that heaping mound of darkness,” Laughter trickled from both sisters, floating over the snow-covered trees and giving you hope.

You both continued forward tirelessly, mercilessly, trudging through inches of untouched snow and praying to whichever god out there who was listening. You prayed for your sister’s safety, for a safe life for her in the First Army. You prayed that you could stay with her—

A Squaller you were, yes, but over your dead body would you be taken to the Little Palace. You knew that’s where Grisha were trained for the King, you knew it was different. Your abilities didn’t define you; Saints, you barely even used them.

They were unpredictable. And you were scared of hurting those around you without meaning to. Ever since an incident when you were younger, you’d almost been afraid of your own power. You kept it hidden from those who you didn’t know closely.

Those who knew you were Grisha in Novyi Zem called you zowa—blessed, in Zemeni. It also meant Grisha, so you didn’t know if they were simply calling you what you were, or if they were commenting upon how strong your Squaller abilities were.

You’d never even met another Sqauller. You had nothing to compare yourself off of.

With a mile until you hit the Ravkan border, you stopped abruptly. Plumes of smoke rose high above the skies, coming from somewhere further on before you. You stuck your hand out, halting your sister from walking any further.

You were silent, listening for any signs of breakings twigs, compacted snow, or other indications of druskelle being near.

“Saints, you look like a fentomen,” Your sister scoffed beside you.

“Quiet,” You hit back with.

“What is it?” She spoke again, quieter this time, but not by much.

“Quiet,” You hissed.

You both waited another few minutes, silently standing like statues in the garden of the Grand Palace. You let out shaky breaths as you eventually straightened yourself once more, clutching onto your sister’s forearm for dear life.

“It’s okay. We just need to be wary,” You whispered. She nodded in response.

You both set off once more through countless trees and untouched snow. But you didn’t get far—until two druskelle spotted you. Neither of you could speak Fjerdan, and you were a fucking Grisha. This couldn’t have been any worse, when you were so close to being free.

“Hje marden,” One of them spoke. They were both tall, with broad shoulders and the white hair and blue eyes of Fjerda. Neither had beards—they were in training to being full druskelle. The trainees were always worse than their commanders, you thought. They would do anything to prove themselves to their superiors.

You tried not to shake as they circled you and your sister.

“I’m sorry, we don’t speak Fjerdan,” You said honestly. The druskelle immediately changed. Their hands rested upon their guns, ready to fire if need be. You raised your hands to the sky as your expression dropped. “Please! Please, we are just travellers—uh—we are perjenger—,”

“Perjenger? Travellers? To where?” The second druskelle spat.

You glanced at your sister quickly, knowing that if you answered Ravka, you’d both be shot immediately. Ravka was at war with Fjerda—Grisha were at war with Druskelle.

“Kerch,” You said strongly. “We have to go through Ravka and Shu Han. We can’t cross the Fold,”

For a moment, you thought it had worked. The druskelle looked at each other gruffly, muttering some words in Fjerdan. You clutched onto your sister’s arm tightly, not planning on letting her go now until you’d both crossed the border.

“Wait here,” One of the men said, as he began trudging back through the snow. He disappeared in the white landscape, leaving you with one druskelle.

You stayed quiet, feeling the warmth of your sister next to you. You glanced at her then, traversing your gaze over her side profile. Her nose, which was the same as yours; her eyes, brighter and more beautiful than your own, mimicking your mother; her hair, lighter and softer than yours. She was shorter than you, smaller than you, getting a lot of genetics from your mother, while you took from your father greatly. His height, his broad shoulders, his darker hair.

But she was your only family left, your only love and focus and everything.

And you were less than a mile from getting her to safety. You were less than a mile from being free of this Saint forsaken country, full of killers and fascists and men who only cared about power.

It was one druskelle against a Squaller. One against one. You could do that. You could beat him.

That’s what made you push your sister back, falling into the snow slowly as you brought your hands together. The druskelle yelled as he saw your movements, trying to aim his gun at you between your eyes, but it was too late—

In a flash, you summoned a storm that whipped him off of his feet. It circled him, gliding him backwards through the trees as you kept pushing and pushing, ignoring the raging winds as they whipped your hair from your face and agitated the snow on the trees.

“Come on!” You yelled behind you, as your sister scrambled up from the floor to stand beside you. She held your arm sturdily, watching fearfully as the druskelle struggled against the rapid winds that you wielded.

You thought that was it—you could both run with the time you’d bought—but that’s when the entire druskelle camp rocketed through the tree line. They yelled and boomed as they came to aid their brother, pushing back against the furious winds you were trying desperately to wield.

“Drüsje!” The commander yelled, storming through the group as he set up the largest of their guns—a machine gun, aimed and ready fire. You gasped, and for a second the winds wavered—they wavered long enough for the machine gun round to penetrate the small snow snuffed tornado that you’d created—

Until those bullets trickled over the blanketed ground, moving steadily closer and closer—

Until one landed straight through the heart of your sister.

All you remembered was that time slowed, then, as you saw the bullet exit her shoulder blade. She fell to the floor, unclasping her hands from your forearm and collapsing into a shocked heap on the floor. You remembered the way her blood dyed the snow. You remembered the way her eyes stayed open—

And then you remembered screaming.

It was a blur, as you tensed all of your limbs to the point where they yelled beneath your skin. You mustered all of your strength into this one storm; one that was merciless and unforgiving, circling all the druskelle in the clearing around you. You knew that soon all of the air would fade from within the eye of the storm that whipped devilishly around them.

You knew that soon they’d all begin to run out of oxygen and pass out, or better yet—maybe their hearts would stop. Cease to beat, drained of any energy to fire more rounds of bullets or kill Grisha for no fucking reason.

The storm was the largest you’d ever summoned, engulfing the entire druskelle camp and uprooting trees from their homes in the cold, hard Fjerdan ground. You saw them get sucked into your whirlwind, flying high, high, high until they eventually slipped out of the storms’ gusts; then they fell back down to earth, landing aggressively and dangerously on the ground below and being spat out at any random location.

You didn’t stop the storm, not even when you saw a tree fall atop a druskelle, crushing him where he’d stood moments before. The commander was the last one standing, rising above his suffocating men to look at you, face on, menacingly.

“Drüsje like you deserve to lose that which you love,” He boomed, using his remaining energy to cast you to Hell.

You wasted no time when you adjusted your stance, focusing the brunt force of the storm onto him—you decreased the eye of the storm until it flowed over him, and only him, grunting all of your strength into the circling winds that now surrounded him utterly and completely.

You collapsed at the same time that the commander did, falling into inches of snow and crawling exhaustedly to your sister. She was motionless, cold, her lips turning blue by the second as her blood continued to flow on Fjerdan soil. Dead. Gone.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks without any indication of stopping, but you couldn’t sob. It was impossible when you were already holding your breath, too afraid that if you were to breathe, only screams would pour from your coarse lungs.

The clearing was deserted, now, as druskelle bodies laid motionless on the snow-covered ground, their camp up ahead completely destroyed. Broken branches, twigs, tree trunks were dotted around, acting as just another indication of the destruction that you were truly capable of. Saints, you wanted to know if you were a normal Grisha, a normal Squaller, since those old women on Novyi Zem had looked at you like a weapon from the first day you could summon and control hurricanes and tornados at will.

Your fingers found your sister’s forehead then, swiping the hair off of her face. You cupped her cheek, laying your other hand upon her stomach. “Vaarwell,” You whispered shakily. “I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—,”

“Who’s there?” A voice spoke up from just beyond the clearing. You got up from the floor immediately, feeling a strange sense of power surrounding you. You waited silently, until First Army soldiers made their way to the clearing. A few stopped and checked the pulses of the druskelle upon the floor, before continuing forward until you were finally spotted.

A young man approached you slowly, holding his gun tightly, draped against his shoulder. “Was this... you?” He asked, looking you in the eye. His gaze dropped to the ground by your feet, seeing the blood-stained snow where your sister lay dead, before he looked back up to you.

He was joined by the rest of his crew. They slowly approached you, almost as if they were trapping you within a circle of their bodies. You stepped back once then, keeping your chin high and proud. The young man at the front was trying everything to keep you calm, you could see it in his eyes, but what he didn’t know was that you were seething—

And nothing would stop that.

Without your sister, you’d be taken to the Little Palace. Without knowing she was safe in the First Army, nothing would get you through the rest of your life—

You were dead. Inside and out. Nothing would change that.

Without a word, you brought your hands together, far too quickly for any of the soldiers to raise their weapons in defence. You ignored their begs and pleads as you circled them within in your storm, slowly suffocating the air out of their lungs and seeing the way their eyes bulged uncomfortably in their skulls.

“General!” The young man shouted, clutching at his throat as he tried desperately to suck air into his lungs. His voice echoed throughout the clearing, travelling through the trees slowly, until an eery type of silence settled into the air around you.

That’s when he arrived—his horse just as black at the Kefta on his frame, the stubble on his chin and the irises of his eyes. He dismounted, ignoring the cries from the soldiers within your raging storm as he began to approach you, step by step by step, crunching through the snow broodingly.

You knew who this man was; General Kirigan of the Second Army.

The Darkling.

He got ever closer, walking around the circular storm. The gap was beginning to bridge, and the more it did, the more you faltered. He took one more step, and you lost it.

“Stop!” You yelled. “Don’t come any closer, Darkling,” He stopped on command, keeping his arms by his sides, but the corners of his mouth upturned into a smile. “You find me amusing?” You spat.

“By the looks of this,” He gestured to the druskelle. “You were trying to get to Ravka. We’re here to help, yet you’re trying to suffocate my men,” You ignored his words, but you found your energy waning slightly—or maybe your heart was finally giving in. It didn’t really want to hurt anyone else, didn’t want to cause more damage than was already on your hands. “You’re a Squaller?” Kirigan asked, and that surprised you.

“Isn’t this how all Squaller’s are?” You asked in reply. Kirigin raised a brow at you.

“Not usually,” He said honestly. “You’ve never met another Grisha before?”

“I know what you’re doing,” You furrowed your brows at him. “You’re trying to distract me, to make me let my guard down and go with you willingly. I’d rather die than work for the King at the Little Palace,” Your breaths were getting more laborious the longer you held on to the storm. You were losing energy rapidly.

“Interesting,” The Darkling muttered.

There were a few moments then, where he was simply staring at you. Regarding you, analysing you, or perhaps— waiting for you to lose all of your energy. You were in a somewhat sticky situation, losing a grasp on your power with every passing second and feeling the intense gaze of Kirigan to your left.

“Let go,” He spoke softly. “I can see you’re tired, you don’t truly want to kill these men,”

“You don’t know anything about me,” You forced your eyelids to stay open as a wave of exhaustion flowed through you.

“And you know me?” He chided. You moved your gaze to him then, as your limbs finally lost momentum. Your hands dropped to your sides, your storm dissipating into the cold air at the Fjerdan border. Soldiers sucked in breaths noisily, gaining back their vision.

You stumbled back once, forcing yourself to stay standing despite the immense urge to pass the fuck out. Kirigan stayed still the entire time, a softness on his jaw that you hadn’t been expecting.

“Everyone knows you,” You mumbled. “I never wanted to meet you, though,”

Your heart jolted then, when the General let out a scoff. You forced yourself to move. Step by step through disturbed snow, until you were back where your sister lay on the floor. You collapsed to your knees unwillingly, as your body threatened to blackout at any moment.

You laid a shaky hand on her collarbone, curling your fingers up to her jaw. Kirigan moved slowly in your peripheral, turning towards you but staying at the distance he’d always been.

“Don’t take me to Os Alta,” You muttered. “Please, don’t take me,” You looked up at the General with pleading eyes.

“Why?” Kirigan whispered with furrowed brows, as if he was trying to work out why on earth you didn’t want a life within the royal Ravkan walls, living in luxury, fighting with other Grisha and honing your power.

Your vision began to blur then, as black spots dotted the white snow that surrounded you.

You never answered the General, your body gave up before you could—

And all you saw was black.

Tag list of those who were interested from my earlier post (tell me if you want off/on the list): @notawritergettingtherethough @rbg1993 @mayallyourbaconburn @luminous-99 

[kaorisun]

hello! i noticed you write for sdv. could i request an Elliot x gn reader? if you don't want to write it thats okay! thank you!

Pressures of Success

pairing : elliott x farmer reader

tags : hurt/comfort, gender neutral reader

author’s note : I do write sdv, and I adore Elliott! Thank you for your request, anon! I hope you enjoy! <3

Elliott felt like he truly found his place. He had made amazing connections, found inspiration, and even found someone that he cherished more than anything. He had always been afraid that the move to Pelican Town wasn’t the right choice, but as time went on, he finally felt like he belonged among the people in the small town.

However, after the release of his first novel, things between himself and the farmer changed. Not by any fault of the farmer, rather, he’d began to neglect spending time with them.

It wasn’t exactly something Elliott wanted to do— however he felt an immense amount of pressure. His first novel was successful, and he wanted to live up to the popularity of his first release. He had an audience he wanted to please. Despite that, he hit a wall in creativity, so he shut himself into his cabin, playing piano and writing any ideas that came to mind, obsessively revising and editing any form of a draft he came up with— but no matter what he wrote, he felt that it lacked the passion of his first novel. He had no clue what he was missing and it was driving him up the wall.

He sat hunched over a messy desk, covered in ink smudges, crumpled rough drafts and a stack of papers from his most recent draft. He groaned in frustration, he had been holed up in his cabin for about a week now. It had been raining, plus he was far too focused on writing to even attempt to interrupt his process with anything else aside from basic necessities.

He was about to pick up his pen again until he heard a light knock at the door, a pattern he instantly recognized. He got up, side stepping around any stray papers before opening the door. The farmer looked at him, their eyes immediately lighting up at the sight of him, before quickly frowning upon seeing the condition he was in. Elliott cleared his throat before meeting their eyes.

“What brings you to my abode, (y/n)? I’m quite busy at the moment, so I hope that it’s important.” Elliott stated simply. The farmer stood, glancing to the side. They tightened their grip on their umbrella, their other hand tucked behind their back.

“I just wanted to check in on you. I had an off day today, the animals are alright, and no need to water crops when it rains. I haven’t seen you in a while! I wanted to make sure you were okay.” (y/n) expressed, the concern showing clearly in their face. Elliott gave a soft smile in response.

“I appreciate your concern. I’m all right. Just at a bit of a block in creativity with my second novel. I can handle a bit of writer’s block though.” Elliott assured. The farmer gave a dissatisfied hum before scanning his face a bit closely.

“You should take a break to rest, Elliott. You look exhausted. You need to give your mind some time to rest.” (y/n) stated quietly. Elliott gave a sigh and shook his head.

“I’ll be just fine, (y/n). I do appreciate you coming this way though. If all you wanted to do is check in, then you should be on your way back home. I’ll have to get back to writing as well.” Elliott stated. (y/n) tensed up before looking at him.

“Wait! There is one more thing. This year’s Flower Dance is coming up tomorrow. I wanted to know if you’d be attending this year.” (y/n) asked, an air of nervousness in their tone that Elliott couldn’t quite place. He shook his head simply, before giving an apologetic smile.

“I can’t make it this year. I have deadlines to meet with my publisher, and I’m far too busy. Perhaps you can stop by and tell me how it goes. I hate to have to miss it, but this is more important.” Elliott explained. (y/n) deflated at the response and gave a disappointed look before forcing a smile and nodding.

“Yes of course. I understand how important your writing is to you. I shouldn’t keep you from it any longer. I’ll see you again soon! I’ll tell you how the festival goes!” The farmer chided before waving. Elliott closed his door before walking over to his window, glancing curiously at the farmer as they walked away. He saw them clutch whatever they were holding behind their back to their chest before making haste and heading back into town. Elliott made no attempt to consider what it could’ve been before he returned to his desk to continue his writing.

The Flower Dance soon passed and although Elliott missed out, he looked forward to hearing about it from the farmer. He hadn’t spent time with them in a while and in all honesty, he missed it. The pressure of his work had completely shadowed over his life.

However, no matter how much he waited, they didn’t seem to stop by. He chalked it up to them being busy, but after around a week, he began to feel like the farmer was ignoring him. He even went out a few times to the tavern, but the farmer was nowhere to be seen. It began to worry him.

While trying to distract himself with writing, he heard a knock at the door and excitedly shot up to answer it, hoping that it was finally (y/n). When he opened it, however, he was instead met with Leah as opposed to his hoped guest for that day. Though shocked, he invited her in nonetheless.

“What brings you around, Leah?” He asked curiously. She looked at him before averting her eyes away with a sigh.

“The farmer told me why you weren’t attending the festival, and why you’ve been so scarce. You can’t drown yourself in work like this, Elliott. When you’re having a creative block, the best thing is to get away from it for a while. Recharge, yknow? You miss out on a lot of… opportunities if you over stress like you’re doing.” Leah explained. Elliott gave an exasperated sigh and crossed his arms.

“Leah, I truly understand the concern, but I’m doing just fine. I told (y/n) just as much. And missing out on one Flower Dance doesn’t constitute saying that I missed out on a lot of opportunities, I don’t believe.” Elliott defended. Leah groaned dramatically before placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him directly in the eye.

“Yes, yes it does. Because the day that (y/n) came here, they wanted to give you a bouquet AND ask you to be their partner at the Flower Dance but you missed out because you were drowning in work! They were too nice to force an invitation on you because they recognize your passion for writing, not to mention that it felt like a blow to them since they thought their intentions were pretty clear! I only heard about it because I ended up partnering with them at the dance! I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong, but it should’ve been you, Elliott. They wanted it to be you.” Leah explained. Elliott’s eyes widened in shock, all of the words he usually had were completely gone and he was rendered speechless. The avoidance the farmer showed towards him made sense now. They thought he rejected them. Leah awaited a response before continuing.

“They wanted to confess to you, Elliott. I figured you liked them, so I was surprised when I heard that you didn’t even give it second thought. I figured that you were probably too busy minded to even realize what had happened.” Leah muttered and shook her head. Elliott paused, allowing the words to process before throwing on his jacket. He couldn’t allow the avoidance any longer. He was sure he’d be driven mad if he had to go another day without hearing from them and seeing them.

“Do you know where they are? I have to find them— I have to clear this up.” He insisted. Leah laughed a bit before smiling at him.

“They’re at their farm about to go mining. Run and go get them!” Leah cheered and with that, Elliott ran off.

He dashed through town before heading west towards where he knew (y/n)’s farm was and upon arrival, he looked for them. He saw (y/n) walk out of their cabin, mining tools in tow, and they spotted him, eyes wide before they placed their tools down.

Before they could speak, Elliott ran over and pulled them into a tight embrace. (y/n) tensed up before hugging back hesitantly and laughing a bit awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, (y/n).” Elliott murmured and the other hummed a bit.

“It’s okay? I think? I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for, Elliott.” (y/n) stated quietly.

“No, it isn’t okay, (y/n). That day when you asked me about the Flower Dance— I should’ve allowed you a chance to state your intentions before I shut you down so quickly. I would’ve dropped all of my drafts if it meant spending the day by your side. Most especially if it meant being yours. The deadlines are important— but that doesn’t mean you aren’t. Not having your presence this week made it even more of a drag. Any previous inspiration I had left when you did.” Elliott expressed to a speechless (y/n). They processed before pulling away. They walked back inside and before Elliott could conclude that he’d been rejected, they returned with a beautiful bouquet of flowers in their hands.

“I appreciate your apology, but there’s no need. I should’ve been more forward. But I suppose there’s no moment like the present. Will you accept these?” They asked with a sheepish smile before handing him the bouquet. The beautiful arrangement expressed the depth of their love and emotion perfectly to Elliott, and he accepted the flowers with a warm smile.

“Thank you. I’d be more than happy to have you by my side. I’m very lucky to be with someone as selfless and kind as you. I hope that I’ll be able to make you just as happy as you make me.” Elliott whispered softly. They looked at him with pure adoration, and Elliott couldn’t help but lean in and kiss them, feeling a rush of joy run through him. (y/n) returned the gesture, placing a gentle hand on his cheek before pulling back with an endearing expression.

“I’m so glad we finally got to do that.” (y/n) said with a small laugh. Elliott nodded in agreement and sat with them on their porch, wanted to savor that moment just a little longer. They leaned against him and in that moment, he felt complete. Color rushed back into the busy and drab world lacking any inspiration that he’d been living in for the past few weeks.

He realized, in that moment, what he had been missing from his second novel that made his first novel so successful. It wasn’t inspiration, time, effort, or ideas.

It was (y/n). He wasn’t sharing the thing he loved most with the person he loved most. He remembered how easily ideas flowed when he read his drafts to the farmer. Their mere presence alone always managed to spark so many emotions and feelings that turned into the true inspiration and passion for writing he honed before.

So, he began to write and spent every weekend reading what he had to (y/n) who always gave him their full attention. The process proved successful, and with the support and love from his farmer, Elliott released his second novel which was just as, if not more successful than the first.

And of course, the he gave credit where due on the dedication page in the beginning of his second book.

To (y/n) who supported and loved me through the entire making of this book, regardless.

Thank you, my love, for all that you do.

[one-master-to-rule-us-all]

"Loveable" (Leviathan Ver)

(Some Levi hurt/comfort inspired by @beelspillowpet's post. As you may have guessed from the title I'm planning on having this be a series because the replies on that post gave me ideas for the other boys and I am an absolute SUCKER for hurt/comfort. Please note I haven't wrote anything like this before so deeply sorry if anythings off!!...And also I don't know how dialogue spacing works)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Self depreciation, panic attacks

Late at night with the TV screen being the only source of light. You and Levi agreed to watch a newly released anime in your room. He was supposed to come... 15 minutes ago. What was keeping him? Got lost in a game and didn't notice time has passed you guessed. You push yourself from the bed and onto your feet. Guess you'll head over to his room to remind him.

In front of his door, you notice the lack of light slipping through the cracks of the door. Even if he was gaming with the lights off it still felt.. Off. No sounds come from the room, but you swear your ears pick up something faint. You knock, "Levi?". No response, maybe he's wearing his headphones. You grab the handle and give it a twist, it's not locked which comes as a slight surprise to you. You enter the room.

Your first glance is towards his monitor. It's turned off and upon further inspection he isn't anywhere to be seen. A noise turns your attention to his bathtub-bed. You hear it again... Crying.

"Levi..?" you step towards the bathtub and notice movement. He's hiding himself completely under the covers and more sobs and sniffles come from him. "Levi, hey." your voice is filled with concerned as you lean on the rim of the bathtub, "Hey, I'm here, I'm here." he untangles himself from the covers in response. He refuses to meet your gaze but your able to get a look at his face now. Puffy, red eyes with tears still falling from them. His whole body shakes and tremors with every sob and whimper. You take a breath in and calm yourself, "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask in a genuine tone. He finally looks at you now, but only for a second. You conclude that he probably isn't ready for talking in this state.

"Is it okay if I lay next to you?" he pauses. Then gives a nod before moving to allow you room. You carefully climb in the tub, trying not to startle him more with any fast movements. Once your in you speak again, "Are you okay with touch?" he gives another nod and you gently pull him into an embrace, giving his hair gentle strokes. He's still shaking but the sobs have died down to small whimpers.

"Why-Why are..." he starts then stopping. "Why what? What is it?" you encourage lightly. "Why are... You comforting a disgusting otaku like me?" he looks up at you, confusion and pain written across his tear stained face.

"Hey now, you're not disgusting, Levi. I'm here for you because I love you, and if you're hurting I want to be here to help you get through it." he lifts himself from your hold and shakes his head, much to your confusion.

"I am... I am just... Disgusting and revolting and... and-" he collapses right back into you which allows you to wrap your arms around him once more. You think on how to approach this...

"And why is that? What makes you think you are?" he sharply inhales, trying to even his breathing enough to speak.

"Everyone thinks I am. I'm just a worthless shut-in who spends all day in his room with his... Stupid interests and-stupid games, stupid anime..." he trails off, wanting to say more but lacking the energy to continue.

"Hmm.. don't all your brothers spend a lot of time in their rooms doing what they like too?" "Huh?" he faces you again. "Well, Satan spends his time reading in his room," you start and resume petting his hair, "Asmo's doing his routine, Belphie's sleeping, and so on."

"Y-Yeah but I'm... They do other stuff. They go outside and stuff and I'm too pathetic that I can hardly stand going outside.." and he's back to burying his face in you.

"Yes, they do stuff outside their room. Stuff that they also enjoy. And.. You do the stuff you enjoy in your room the most. And that's okay. You don't need to have a bunch of hobbies outside to have worth. And having struggles when outside is okay, too.. Some people have that struggle and that's completely acceptable."

He doesn't give a reaction to that, so you continue on, "You have worth. Any flaws you have will not change that. Even if your brothers don't always get your interests they are still valid. We all have our own interests and hobbies and yours are just as valid as anyone else's."

As you finish speaking he wraps himself around you even tighter. His trembling stopped, save for his shaky breath, "I'm... Not a worthless otaku..?" judging by his tone he sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

"No, you are an otaku but you aren't worthless, or disgusting, or repulsive." despite it being impossible, he tries to hold you even tighter. You give him a small, light-hearted smile, "You're my Lord of Shadows and you so have many good qualities too." his eyes widen at that, and you swear they look near hopeful.

"Your passion, your endless knowledge, your creativity with your cosplays, the way you're able to think quickly during a tight situation in a game, the way you care about me and want to include me in your hobbies-"

"Well of course I want to include you, you're... My Hen..ry after all..." his voice is calmer though he does get flustered at saying the last part, which you softly chuckle at.

"That's right, I'm your Henry. And I'm here to stay and love you through everything." "You... Really mean that?" his citrus eyes hold even more hope to which you smile more at, "Of course."

Before you can process his reaction he's pulling himself up and nuzzling into your neck, "Thank you. Thank you so much." you give his head a gentle kiss, "Of course Levi, how are you feeling now?" "Better- Wait our movie night-!" you softly laugh at that, "We can still do it if you're up for it." he nods, "Yeah, I still want to. Sorry for making you wait.."

You sit up and start getting out of the tub, "It's alright, we got all night since it's the weekend so." you shrug, helping him out of the tub.

The rest of the night went smoothly. Cuddled up together with some in between chatter as the two of you watch the flim. Somewhere near the end of it Levi was already passed out, likely exhausted from dealing with.. troubling emotions. You know that his internalized self hate will still be a thing. That as a whole will take time to completely work through. But you'll be there. You'll be there to support and love him. And that's all he could ask for.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (2)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 3.5k warnings: heavy focus on Bucky’s PTSD/anxiety, hella nervous!bucky, dangerously sweet!y/n  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“What the hell do you mean ‘you’re not going’?”

Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of the bagel Steve picked up on his way to the apartment. He flinched as Steve flung open the curtains, expelling a cloud of dust as the sunlight invaded the living room, illuminating over months of untouched mail on the coffee table and crumbs in the carpet.  

Sam kept his eyes burning on Bucky from the other end of the table. “You can’t back out now, Barnes. She’s expecting you!”

“What’s this about again?” Steve asked as he slid into the chair beside Bucky.  

“Book club. Y/n. Barnes is being a coward again,” Sam explained a little too nonchalantly for Bucky's taste.  

“I’m not being a coward,” Bucky grumbled, avoiding Sam’s eyes and very much proving his friend’s point. “I’ve just— I’ve got better things to do.”

He regretted it the moment it left his lips because both Sam and Steve exchanged a less than subtle, irritatingly familiar glance.  

“Yeah, like what?” Steve scoffed. He extended his arms out to gesture to the empty apartment. “You got tons of plans this week? Think you might see sunlight again or did someone hang garlic in the hallway?”

“Shut up,” Bucky warned, rolling his eyes. It had been a few days since he’d ventured out to the VA for the first time and it was more than he’d done in weeks. It should have been enough for these two, but it never was. They always wanted more out of him. They couldn’t just leave him to rot in his apartment, could they?

“It’s Sunday, you know,” Sam said, devilish smirk rising on his face.  

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I’m well aware.”  

“Come on, man!” Sam groaned, slamming his hand on the table enough to cause a ripple in the coffee mugs. “I saw the way you were looking at her. You can’t tell me seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go...”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed red. They burned hot on his skin and it only seemed to make it worse. He’d never been like this before he was discharged – flustered and easily embarrassed. He supposed before he came home with one less limb and baggage the size of his living room, he didn’t have much to be embarrassed about. He was a flirt, a bit shameless about it, too. He’d had girlfriends and hookups and never thought much about it.  

But now? The vague idea of even presuming to be interested in a woman was borderline laughable. What chance could he possibly have? He was washed up and broken, missing a few pieces, and half off his rocker. There wasn’t a chance in hell you’d go for a guy like him. It was easier to just pretend like he didn’t care, give into the empty void he believed his heart to be, and waste away.  

“Seeing her again isn’t a good enough reason to go,” Bucky said flatly, much to Sam’s annoyance. It was a bold-faced lie, one all three of them were well aware of, but it didn’t mean Bucky needed to give them the satisfaction of admitting it.  

He thought of you in that sunset red sweater, holding a book tight to your chest with that sort of bright starlight look in your eyes as you listened intently to a retired vet go on and on about his personal connection to some corny book. He’d only met you for maybe a span of a few minutes, and still, he could somehow still picture your smile. He wanted to see it again.  

But there was a sharp pain in his left arm; it burned, enough for Bucky to reach across his chest and try to put pressure on it, only to slip through thin air and land against his ribs. The pain remained, like an extension of himself, on an arm that was no longer apart of him. There and not there all at once. He groaned.  

“It’s not a good enough reason, Sam,” Bucky repeated. “I’m not going. She probably won’t even notice.”

Another lie.  

Sam shook his head, the smile quickly leaving his face in favor of one Bucky knew all too well. Disappointment. Frustration. The thing was, it didn’t hurt as much when Bucky was purposeful in creating it.  

“I thought you liked her?” Steve asked cautiously, eyes catching Sam’s for only a moment before he turned back to Bucky. They’d been talking about him. He hated when they did that.  

“I don’t even know her, Steve,” Bucky shot back. He shouldn’t be getting angry with them. They were only trying to help. And yet here he was – pushing away the only two people left in his life that still managed to tolerate him. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, trying to push past it. “She’s nice, okay? She’s pretty. Is that what you want me to say?”

Steve sat back in his chair, exhausted. “I want you to be happy, Buck.”

Bucky scoffed. “Yeah, well, shoulda thought of that before I got myself blown up.”

“Bucky--”

“Let it go, man,” Sam sighed, setting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.  

Bucky felt like he could sink straight into his chair. Why did he always do this?

“I hope you change your mind,” Sam said simply, gathering up his things as he and Steve started to make their way to the door. “It could be good for you.”

Bucky knew what he meant by that, the underlaying message hidden just beneath the surface: she could be good for you.  

Right on cue, the pain started up again in his arm that was both there and not there, and Bucky tried to grit his teeth through it, though Sam could spot the tells almost immediately: his right-hand gripping to the arm rest, the flinch in his jaw, the short tense breaths.  

Sam sighed, pausing in the door frame. “We’ll be back in a few days. Try to clean up the place, will you? It’s a shithole in here.”

“Ma said she’d bake you cobbler if you promise to eat it,” Steve offered, too hopeful for his own good. It had been Bucky’s favorite once; the sort of dessert he talked about on desert nights when the mess hall served day old meatloaf and bland potatoes. He didn’t have much of an appetite these days.  

Bucky forced out a smile for his friend’s sake and nodded.  

A familiar silence swept over the apartment as the door closed behind them. It had been a comfort once; a darkness that swept around his shoulders like a blanket. It kept him isolated and suffocated and still, safe.  

Now, it mocked him.

He stared at the knob on the door, tapping his fingers against the edge of the table. He’d done this about a dozen times before, trying to convince himself to do something more with his days than waste away in an expensive one-bedroom apartment in Brooklyn.  

Steve was right. What the hell else was he going to do today? Stare at the wall for a few hours? Pretend to watch TV and not catch a single word of dialogue? Make a meal he wouldn’t eat?

He thought of you again. How you might scan the room in search of him and a frown might pull at the corner of your lips to not find him amongst the crowd. He wondered if you’d be dressed in yellow or orange or if you’d resemble a cloudless sky as the sun touched over the peaks of the city in soft pinks and purples.

He wanted to know so badly it was killing him.  

“Fuck.”  

He dragged his feet to the bedroom to find something half decent to wear.  

***

It had been a less than ideal start to your day.  

The children’s reading presentation at the library got a little out of hand when the speaker – a local theater student – got caught up in the voices and scared half of the toddlers to tears as he took some interesting liberties with The Cat in the Hat.

Then, a rather unpleasant woman yelled at you for twenty minutes about a man sleeping on the bench outside the near the entrance as if it were a personal affront that this man, a little down on his luck, dared to catch a few minutes of sleep in a public place.  

The internet was shotty all day, leaving a few college students red in the face and with fat tears matching those of the toddlers in the next room over when hours' worth of work had suddenly disappeared in front of their eyes.  

And of course – the teenagers. A band of four boys who hid under the brim of baseball caps with skateboards tucked under their arms, who found it rather amusing to stalk out the adult section and flip through the sorts of novels with bare chested men on the cover until their snickering could be heard from the floor below.  

It warranted a coffee, at least.  

The only solace was that it was Sunday. Your favorite day of the week. It meant a few hours at the VA and catching up with the guys. You hadn’t seen Natasha in a while and you were hoping to see how her new job at the security firm had gone. She was exceptionally qualified and you were almost certain you had her interview answers memorized by the time you’d finished practicing together.  

But there was something different about this Sunday, something that left a few butterflies in your stomach where an easy contentment usually belonged. You were nervous, but there was an excitement, too.  

There’d be a new face in attendance.  

A beautiful face.  

A face that you imagined required a double take were you to see it for the first time on a busy street.  

“You’re smiling again there, darling.”

You looked up to find Mrs. Jefferson keeping a careful eye on you from over the top of her reading glasses. She wore a smile upon her face, one that blended into the laugh lines by her eyes. Her hand trembled with a familiar quiver as she reached up and slid the glasses off her nose. They rested comfortably on a purple beaded chain as they hung around her neck.  

“You always have so much going on inside that head of yours,” she quipped, chuckling to herself. She was a slow mover as she turned to the computer to begin typing in her code. “Have you checked out the books for the VA yet?”

“Already done,” you confirmed, your mind still a little in the clouds. Coffee would definitely need to be a requirement before you stepped foot in the VA.  

“Get a move on then,” Mrs. Jefferson said, gesturing to the door with a trembling hand. “I know you like to get donuts for the kids.”

You still had a few minutes left on shift, but Mrs. Jefferson was always so understanding. She had a son who was in the military once who saw about four tours. Always had a habit of going back, she’d said, like he was testing his luck. You weren’t sure how he’d died, but you knew he didn’t have the chance to go back for a fifth.  

She was a part of a group no one wanted to be in: those who have lost someone to war. Membership cost was steep and there was no going back once it was paid. It was a lonely group, one far too many people occupied. Your own membership card was heavy in your pocket.  

You glanced toward the door. The sun was shining bright on the pavement. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, dear. Tell the boys I said hello.”

“Yes, ma’am!” you called as you gathered your things and the shoulder bag stuffed with books and quickly scurried out the door before another disaster could reel you back inside.  

The sun was warm on your skin and you took a minute to savor it before shoulders started to bump into you, forcing you off balance. You could see your breath in the autumn air, and still, the sun touched your cheeks and left behind a comfort there. Smile on your face, heavy bag draped over your shoulder, you resided to grab coffee and donuts at a café close to the VA before book club started.  

It was one you visited a few times before, right across the street from a painfully busy Starbucks. The quaint coffee shop was often empty inside, save for a few college students with headphones in, typing away at their laptops, and a regular you often saw nursing a black coffee by the front windows, watching the people as they walked by.  

It smelled of coffee beans as you stepped inside. Fresh. Aromatic. You took in a deep breath.  

“Ah, Y/n!” a voice called from the back in a thick Colombian accent. “It’s good to see you again!”

“Hi, Luciana,” you laughed as the woman who owned the shop rounded the corner behind the counter and ran out to give you a hug. She was a tiny woman, short and shout, but her hugs could render even a giant of a man to a puddle.  

“Donuts for your friends down at the VA again?” she asked, releasing you from her embrace, though she still managed to pinch your cheek on the way out.  

“Yes, please!”

“And coffee for yourself?”  

She knew you too well.  

“I could use a bit of a pick-me-up,” you admitted. She knew your order by heart.  

“You should see if that Sam wants to have some good coffee for a change at his next event instead of the bean water he serves our veterans now,” Luciana inquired as she pulled on a pair of gloves and began to stack your box with assorted donuts. She had that smile on her face you recognized well. She asked about Sam a lot.  

“I’ll be sure to get his thoughts,” you replied, trying to stifled a smile.  

“Have him come by,” she offered rather smoothly. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen his pretty face and I could use a little pick-me-up myself.”

She winked at you and set the box of donuts on the counter. Then, your coffee; lid pressed on top, cardboard around the edges to protect from heat. You reached for your wallet but she snuck her hand over the counter and grabbed your wrist.  

“No, no, not today, my dear. My treat.”

You parted your lips to protest but she shook her again.  

“Tell those kids to come visit me every once in a while, okay? I’ve got a discount for ‘em,” she offered, bright smile over painted red lips. She waved you off and you knew there was no arguing with her.  

“That’s very kind of you, Luciana. I’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”  

“So will my business, dear.” There was that wink again.  

You laughed, heading for the door. “I’ll see you next week!”

The bell rang on your way out.  

The VA wasn’t more than a few blocks from Luciana’s, but the bag piled high with books was starting to weigh on your shoulder. It didn’t help that you had to weave expertly between the pedestrians to balance your coffee and the donut box, too; tourists walking about 10 mph too slow and locals stuck in their path with no qualms of shoving you out of their way if you managed to jump in their trajectory.  

As you approached the VA, the crowd began to disperse. There weren’t too many people who frequented this street as there was little more than the VA building itself to occupy the tourists. You were surprised to find a man standing in front of the doors, staring up at the building as if it offended him in some way.  

Dark brown hair tucked under a baseball cap, just barely peeking out at the nape of his neck. Right hand tucked deep into his pocket, rigid in his stance as he stared down the double doors. He was talking to himself, you realized, judging by the soft clouds of chilled air by his mouth.  

James Barnes.

Bucky.

A smile suddenly took over your face, enough that you had to bite down on the edge of your lip in an effort to suppress it. You’d hoped he would come, but Sam had talked about his friend Bucky long before you met him in the empty library of the VA a few days prior. He didn’t say ‘yes’ to much of anything and he seemed to be the sort of soldier that got left behind by the system when he returned home.  

But he was sweet. You could tell that just from the small interaction you’d had. Quiet. A little flustered. Maybe reserved. But he had beautiful eyes; blue, like they could capture even the faintest colors in the sky and the sweep of a current in the Mediterranean. He’d only barely lifted the corner of his lips to a smile that day and it left you wondering how lovely he was when it touched his eyes.  

“Bucky!” you called, moving a little quicker now as you approached, but he didn’t seem to hear you. Still focused on his staring match with the building, it seemed. For a moment, it seemed as though he might be turning to leave and your stomach twisted.  

You were nearly at his side, a little out of breath when you called his name again and it registered this time. Only, it must have startled him because an arm jutted out in your direction, knocking the coffee from your hands. You were too stunned to do much of anything about it as they coffee flung itself to the pavement, the contents spilling to the ground and over your sneakers. You clutched the box of donuts tight to your chest.  

Bucky froze, almost as still as a statue, his eyes focused on the coffee spilled on the sidewalk. His jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitch and slowly, his eyes drew up to meet yours. He stared at you for a moment, mouth falling agape. His ears were burning red.  

Then, he seemed to come back to reality as he blinked a few times, his eyes darting from the shock on your face to the coffee on the sidewalk.  

“Y/n! Shit—fuck! I am—so sorry,” he started to ramble, his hand reaching out, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it. “I didn’t realize you were-- fuck—”

“It’s alright, Bucky,” you tried to ease him, a laugh in your voice. “Don’t worry about it. Probably didn’t need the caffeine anyway.”  

“I should, um,” he looked around desperately, scanning the street for the nearest coffee shop, his hand clenching and releasing at his side in a repetitive squeeze. It was really sort of sweet. “Let me buy you a new one.”

You smiled at him and he softened a bit. “That’s really not necessary.”  

He gritted his teeth as you bent down to pick up the empty cup and shook the excess coffee off your shoes. They were old sneakers anyway and you were looking for a halfway decent excuse to get new ones. Then came a shy ex-soldier barreling in from the sky with a strong aversion to your coffee.  

“I knew this was a bad idea...”  

He was talking to himself, grumbling under his breath, and you realized why he was staring at the building for so long. You took a step closer to him, studying the way his chewed on the inside of his cheek and shoved his right hand into his pocket.  

“Is it?” you asked.

Blue eyes flickered to yours, brows furrowed. He didn’t think you’d heard him. “Sorry?”

You just smiled at him, shaking your head. You’d been working at the VA long enough to recognize the man behind the soldier; one who’d been beaten and bruised and left to waste the second he was dropped back on American soil. Constantly beating himself up, constantly wondering if he was doing the wrong thing and struggling to be the version of himself he was before the war.

“So, James Barnes,” you grinned, “you decide if you’re coming in or not? It’s a little chilly out here. Don’t want you catching a cold.”  

Bucky stared back at you, unsure. But you could see the tension easing off his shoulders. His right hand was hanging back at his side again as his eyes flickered up to the doors again.  

“Come on.” You smiled at him again and you noticed pretty quickly that he softened when you did that. It made your stomach flutter. You took a step forward, hoping he’d follow behind. “There’s shitty coffee inside we can share before book club starts.”  

“I don’t even know what you’re reading,” he admitted, that sweet nervousness taking over again.  

“You don’t need to,” you shrugged and his brow scrunched up again, confused. You glanced back at the doors. “Well, I’m going inside. I hope I see you there.”

With that, you turned and shouldered your way through the doors, donut box clutched tight to your chest. You waited by the entrance until you heard the soft grumble of a graveled voice outside, and then, footsteps as they approached the door.

You smiled.