#the setting of my stories is the SMALLEST part you need to be paying attention to

[eosofspades]

my incredibly controversial fantasy genre take when it comes to writing is that you Do Not Actually Need to use high fantasy language and make up words for stuff, and sometimes it can be better if you don't

like. maybe it's just me but i find it a lot harder to get immersed in a story when the worldbuilding is SO intricate and detailed you need a glossary or have to pour over a thousand years of history in the span of a couple pages. i would MUCH rather read a high fantasy novel where the magic kingdom is just called The Garden or the deserted string of floating islands is just called The Wastelands or magic is just called magic instead of unpronounceable words and terms that have to be memorized.

especially for me, when it comes to writing, my stories are SO grounded in character relationships and dynamics, that trying to dig into the specific lore and structure of the world around just breaks the immersion and takes away from the characters themselves.

i know some writers are gonna insist this is just "being lazy" but i firmly believe that sometimes it is the best writing decision to allow simplicity and ease of understanding in your high fantasy setting, and that it can actually make the character complexities and relationships hit harder, because you're not distracted at all with remembering fantasy terminology.

[saiyanandproud]

Little RP-related vent (not aimed at anyone I follow on this blog, so no worries mutuals, it's fine, you're good).

I try to be as precise as I can when I write. I may not have the best aesthetics, but I keep my writing clean, readable and all. I keep my muse's page up-to-date, with all the information needed. When setting up a thread, I make sure it's clear to my mutual where it's set, when, why and all, and I always do my best to leave my part of the story with an opening the mutual can latch onto to keep the writing going. Whenever there's something I am unsure with, I make sure to politely reach to the other person to make sure I didn't misunderstand anything, or to explain and work out any perplexity.

And then. Then there's people with overcomplicated aesthethics, talking about their muse at lenght, in the smallest, most insignificant detail (which is great, don't get me wrong), but when it's their turn to pay attention to the mutual's muse? They completely go over it. I give them a 'bait' for their reply, with my character asking them something, they leave me with nothing in theirs, no curiosity towards my muse, nothing they can interact on. I prepare a setting, it gets ignored, and when I clarify it they reply "ok lol it's ok I probably wasn't pay attention to what I wrote". Excuse me?! You're writing with another person. You must pay attention to what you write!

I'm all for being proud of one's own muse: it's great, and when the passion comes through, it can easily look inviting and drag other people in, to interact and write together. But seriously, in a RP community, a muse is nothing without interactions to work on it and develop it, to bring out its potential. Just gushing about it with no access to them feels empty to people who are there to write with you. Role-playing is a mutual action. And when all the care, respect and attention I try to pour in it is unreciprocated, it gets easily disappointing and no wonder I feel like dropping a thread on the spot.

Sorry, again, it was just a moment of venting. Maybe it's because I feel particularly inspired to write these days. Anyways, you people here are good, so don't worry, and thanks for all the fun you offer me.

[yeenybeanies]

Smallest Cyber Specialist (pt. 10)

in which price sets pip down for a little chat & check in. poor gal's had one helluva week. now that alex is confirmed back & alive, i'm SCRAMBLING… (don't get me wrong i'm delighted to see my beloved yankee again but) i was already struggling to work his disappearance into the timeline & now it's all just an even bigger mess --w-- oh well. we don't need to pay attention to canon timelines! this is fanfiction! so what i say in my story goes. first • previous • next call of duty | john mactavish/soap, john price, & pip lagomorph/lag (oc) 4,392 words strong language warning thanks for reading!! patreon ✨ ko-fi ✨ ao3

The sound of approaching boots woke Pip from her nap. Her body stiffened, stock still under the cover of her newly finished pelt. It wasn’t perfect—not near as lifelike as she would have made if she’d had access to proper hideling tools—but it would still serve its purpose when needed.

As the boots drew closer, Pip realized that she knew those footsteps. That gait. The hideling sat up abruptly, the pelt draped over her head and shoulders like a hooded cloak. “Soap?”

“The one and only,” the sergeant said. Pip pulled the hare head—her hood—down and shook her head, her hair a little unruly from her nap. Soap came to stand in front of the table, hands on his hips. “Feeling any better?” 

Pip’s face went sour. “Not particularly,” she said flatly. She ran her fingers through her hair to smooth the errant strands. It didn’t help much. “Sorry if I woke you up last night.” 

“You didn’t,” Soap said. He rested his hands on the table and bent down to be closer to her level. “Matter of fact, of all the people I’ve shared a bunk with, you’re the least disruptive.” 

Wonder why. “So then why did you wake up?” she asked. 

Soap reached for her—no, her pelt. He pinched one of the tiny paws between his thumb and forefinger, and gently rubbed the fur. Pip surprised herself with the realization that she barely tensed up at the action. 

“Not sure,” he answered. For a moment, he looked thoughtful. But then his goofy smirk appeared. “Maybe I sensed you were upset through our handler’s bond.” 

That smirk had been a warning. A precursor. Before the words even left his mouth, Pip braced herself, fully expecting him to say something ridiculous. And there it was. She stared at him, face blank, for a long moment. His smirk bloomed into a full-blown grin. 

There was one good thing about humans having multiple names. Pip could pull a lesser-used name for greater emphasis on what she had to say: “MacTavish, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Y’know, our bond!” Soap explained. He dropped the paw he held and nudged Pip’s shoulder with a gentle knuckle. “Like—like the bond between man and dog!” 

Pip grimaced and pushed back against his knuckle. “I hate dogs.”

“Ach—I suppose you would. I don’t like ‘em much either.” Surprising. That there was something they had in common. “Let me try again: like the bond between a horse and its rider.” 

Really, what the fuck was this man going on about? Pip gave Soap a look-over, her brows furrowed. “Are you… are you the horse in this analogy…?” 

“No, but—” Soap started to protest, but he stopped short. There was something about how he pursed his lips in a little pout when he thought… Ugh, none of that, Pip. “Actually, I guess I would be. Me and the rest of your handlers. Considerin’ we carry you around everywhere.” 

“Not by my choice,” Pip grumbled to herself. 

Soap laid his hand down next to her, palm up. “C’mon, Lag. Your mighty steed wants some breakfast, and he’s guessin’ you do too.” 

Why was he like this? “Why are you like this? Talking about yourself in third person, referring to yourself as a ‘steed.’” She wasn’t laughing, but a part of her—a part that she was mentally beating back with a stick—did find it kinda funny. Just a little bit. She wasn’t about to tell Soap that, though. 

Nevertheless, Pip quickly gathered her belongings, donned her backpack under her pelt, and crawled onto Soap’s hand. They were already in the mess hall, so it wasn’t like they had far to go. She gestured vaguely. “Onward then, steed.” 

Much of the morning went by in a relative blur. Pip shared breakfast with Soap, who didn’t seem to take any offense when she fell into relative silence as he rambled on. She did feel a bit bad about it, but she just didn’t have it in her to engage in much banter right now. He'd spent all of her banter points right in the beginning. Gaz came as a saving grace, giving Soap another outlet for his chatty nature so Pip could… could wallow. 

That was the best description she could give herself for what she was doing. She was wallowing in grief. 

Hard fucking week.  

As the sergeants conversed, and more people gradually filed in and out of the mess hall, Pip found herself lost in thought with eyes unfocused. 

She and Bash, at one point, had been nearly joined at the hip. They’d grown codependent of each other early on. She huffed to herself, remembering how one of their instructors had forced them to work separately. It had sucked at the time, of course, but Pip knew that it was better for them in the long run. It was better for her. Gave her room to grow into her role. How would she have been able to do her job had they been allowed to stay together? She likely never would have met Alex, nor Looker…

Fuck.  

Pip sighed, scrubbing a hand through her hair. Her eyes wandered down to the cast on her leg, and the dark signatures scribbled across it. 

She never would have ended up here, with the 141. 

Whether that was a good or a bad thing, she hadn’t yet decided. The situation she found herself in currently was awful, of course, but these four men… they weren’t so bad. 

Gods, though, she missed Bash. She missed Alex. Missed Looker. Her heart ached…

“Oi, Earth to Lag. You in there, lass?” A poke to her shoulder made the hideling flinch, suddenly back in the mess hall. She blinked, looking a little lost. 

“Huh? Wha…?” Looming over her was Captain Price. When had he gotten here? She hadn’t heard his approach. He regarded her with one brow raised, inquisitive. “Captain,” she greeted, nodding her head. “Sorry, sir, did you say something?” 

“I did,” he said. “Asked if you’ve finished with any of that data you nabbed.” 

“Oh.” Pip pulled her backpack closer and set it in her lap. “For the most part, yes, sir. There are a few more files I want to comb through, but I think I’ve gotten just about everything useful that I can from—”

Price held up his hand, silencing her. “We’ll talk in my office. C’mon.” He set that hand down behind her, silently asking to pick her up. Or, more likely, he was letting her know that he was going to pick her up. She hesitated, the inside of her cheek drawn between her teeth, then nodded. Thick fingers slipped around her middle, scooping her, her pelt, and her pack up in one fell swoop. He cupped his other hand under her to support her, and straightened to address the sergeants. “Gentlemen,” he said with a nod, then strode on out of the mess hall with Pip in hand. 

Why did he want to talk in his office? Why couldn’t they go over her findings in the mess hall, with Gaz and Soap? Wouldn’t it have been easier with them present? They were likely going to need to know this stuff later anyway—

“Relax,” Price said, once again yanking Pip from her thoughts. She looked up to see him staring straight ahead, though she suspected he was watching her through his peripherals. “Either you’re shaking more than normal, or that’s your heart I feel buzzing in your chest.” His fingers shifted, his thumb pushing under her pelt to rest against her back.

Sure enough, her heart was pounding. It slammed back against her ribs, against the pad of his thumb. She was letting herself get worked up. “I’m fine, Captain.” 

“You’re a shit liar in person.” 

She pulled a sour face. Price was the second person to tell her that lately. She’d heard it before from Alex and Looker, too. 

Upon entering Price’s office, the captain closed the door behind him, and set Pip down on his desk. He rounded it to take his seat, and opened up his laptop. Pip dug her own laptop from her bag and set it down on her lap, pulling up the important documents she’d compiled in her analysis. 

“So,” she started, “I’ll send you what I’ve found—” 

“Hold off on that,” Price said, cutting her off. He leaned forward, hands folding on the desk. Pip felt a sense of alarm rising in her chest. Her heart quickened again. “Laswell called me this morning.” 

More alarm. It rushed through her like a jolt of electricity. Pip swallowed thickly, but said nothing. Price continued. 

“Calm down, Pip. She was just askin’ about you, how you’re holding up after… well, everything.” 

Pip took a breath, trying to ease her anxiety. “What… did you tell her?” 

“Told her you’re doing fine,” he said. “But I know that’s not quite true. So I want you to tell me how you’re doing.” 

He wanted her to talk to him? About her problems? Her personal woes? Pip found herself immediately resistant to that idea. She scrunched her nose and breathed out sharply. “Captain, I’m f—” 

“Don’t…” Price held up a finger, his eyes narrowing, “...tell me you’re ‘fine.’ Don’t lie to me, Pip.” 

He was using her name. Not her callsign. Not the stupid nickname he’d given her. He was using her name. A shiver crawled down Pip’s spine. He was turning that human-multiple-names thing against her.

“This isn’t necessary, Captain,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “You’re right—I’m not fine. But my problems are my own.” 

“I lead this task force,” he said. “My people’s problems are my problems.” 

Pip wanted to retort that she wasn’t his people. She opened her mouth, intent on saying just that, but she stopped herself and took a breath. Slow in, slow out. Calm down. 

The fact that he did think of her as his people… well, she didn’t want to examine how that made her feel right now. 

“Price, with all due respect… I would prefer it if you didn’t pry into my personal matters. This… turmoil I find myself in won’t affect my work. I promise you that.” 

Price leaned back in his seat, one hand swiping thoughtfully over his mustache and chin. “I’m sure you think that,” he said. Pip felt a spark of indignation rising in her. That sounded awfully patronizing. The man continued, “And I do believe you. To an extent. I’m not worried about your work, though, Pip. Far as I’m concerned, you do damn good work. The shit you did yesterday?” He sucked his teeth and shook his head. “Impressive stuff. I told you as much.”

Hearing the compliments again made her fidget uncomfortably. This conversation was giving her a lot of mixed signals. “So… if you’re not worried about my work suffering, then why are we talking about this? I have intel that you need to see. That’s more important.” 

Price stared at her for a long moment, long enough to make her squirm. That indignation was getting hotter, kindling inside her. “We’re talking about this,” he said finally, “because I’m worried about you. Not your work, but your well-being.” 

What…?

Pip jerked her head back, reacting almost as if she’d been struck. “Wha—you’re— what?” 

The captain rolled his eyes. “Shocking, I know, to learn that the captain cares about his people.” Pip opened her mouth again, ready to refute that statement now, but Price cut her off once more, “And don’t you give me any shit about you ‘not working for me.’ I can see you tossing that argument around in that little head of yours.” 

Pip made an offended noise. Price reached for her, gently pinching her jaw between his thumb and forefinger to make her look at him. 

“Like it or not, while you’re out here, with us, you’re one of mine,” he said. There was a low growl in his voice that stirred something in her core.

It was so easy to feel powerless around humans. Pip swallowed, almost sure that Price could feel the bob in her throat. She didn’t like feeling powerless. So, voice low, she said “Take your hand off of me.” It was an effort to maintain some control of herself and her surroundings. 

And Price did as requested. As he was told. Pip found that a little surprising, if she was being honest with herself, but nevertheless her relief was immediate. She rubbed at her jaw, where his skin had met hers. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, a bit softer. 

“No,” she said quickly. That wasn’t a lie. 

“Good. So here’s how this is gonna go, Pip.” Price retreated from her immediate space and folded his hands again. “You and I are gonna chat about what’s bothering you. Then you can tell me all about that intel, yeah?” He met her scowl with a raised brow. She had a feeling that she was not being given much choice here. So much for having control. 

Even still, she felt compelled to ask: “And if I refuse?” 

The skin and muscle wrinkled around his eyes, a tight, mirthless smile spreading under his mustache. “Then I’m sending you back to Laswell.” 

“What —?” Her jaw dropped. She grabbed her crutch and moved to stand, but Price held up a hand. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. It was warning enough to stay seated. Pip eased back down, lip curled just so. “Sir. You said so yourself: I’m helping. Why would you send me away?”

“I know this might seem unfair—”

“Do not patronize me,” she hissed. She was getting sick of repeating this. “Speak to me like an adult.” 

Price flexed his jaw to the side, none-too-appreciative of her tone. “What I mean to say is: I’m not singling you out. I do this with the others, too. Gaz, Soap, everyone.” 

“Ghost?” 

Ah, shit. She regretted her question as soon as it left her mouth.

Price breathed out a wry chuckle. “Especially Simon. That man needs it more than anyone.” 

Pip looked away, chewing the inside of her lip. Guilt was creeping onto the edge of her conscience. Price seemed to notice. 

“Oh… you’ve gone digging where you shouldn’t, huh?” He didn’t sound surprised or angry so much as disappointed. Remorseful. Pip didn’t need to answer. “Do us all a favor and keep it to yourself.” 

Yeah. Yeah, she would. After finishing most of her work last night, she'd gotten a little too curious for her own good, and poked through some of the "non-existent" documents she'd found under Ghost's file. She’d learned the hard way why those files had been so tightly sealed.

And now she was just going to have to carry on like she didn't know. Great. She wasn't looking forward to seeing him again any time soon.

“Enough about them,” Price continued. “Go on then. Tell me what’s bothering you.” 

“John, I—” woah. Hearing his first name on her tongue seemed to surprise the both of them. Pip shook her head and tried again. “Price, I really… really don’t want to do this.” 

His shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Then don’t. I’ll let Laswell know, and have you on a plane by day’s end.” 

Bastard. She didn’t want that either! She wasn't a quitter! She wouldn't leave this hellhole mission until it was done! The hideling ducked her head and scrubbed her fingers through her hair with a frustrated groan. 

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck—

“Rot in the fucking sun, you—” she grumbled in hidespeak, then steeled herself and switched back to English. “Fine. Laswell told me yesterday that my best friend—a hideling I grew up with and went through training with—went missing weeks ago. His handler was found dead, and he’s presumed dead as well, though his body and belongings were not recovered. I find this distressing for a number of reasons.” 

Price watched her carefully, saying nothing. 

She continued, “His name is—was? fuck—his name is Bash. And he’s the closest thing to family that I had.” Her voice shook. Pip cleared her throat and forced her words around the lump rising there. “So I’m not… taking it well.”

“Understandable,” Price said with a nod. 

“And then—and then I’m still reeling from Looker dying. He—he was my handler, my partner, for four years , Price. And he’s just… he's just gone .” Pip stared down at her hands, watching them shake in her lap. “I didn’t even get to see him before you guys sent his body back…”

“We didn’t know that—” Price started, but it was Pip’s turn to interrupt him with a raised hand. 

“Not your fault. I know. It’s just… Ugh. And then his ex-wife was making a fuss, trying to contact me, and I…” 

“His ex-wife…? Bloody hell, Pip…” That disappointment was back. It stung a little. “Don’t tell me you called her…”

“It was stupid. I know. I didn’t tell her anything about me, or what we’re doing—obviously—but…” Her shoulders shook with a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know why I called her. She’s a jealous, spiteful woman, and the conversation just made me feel worse.” 

“I could’ve told you that would happen,” Price said. 

“Wish you had.” 

“Would have, had you said something.” 

Pip huffed. Yeah. Any of her handlers probably would have done the same. She should have just let Ghost talk her out of it last night. 

“Didn’t know Looker well,” Price said. “When Laswell sent him over, I only had a couple quick conversations with him before he…” He trailed off, and Pip was thankful for it. “He seemed like a decent enough bloke, though. I am sorry we lost him.”

“Yeah… Yeah, he was…” She sniffled, but swallowed down any other threats of crying. Price did not get to see her cry. "Anyway,” she continued, “all of this has just… well, Bash is the third person close to me that I've lost recently. And it’s just… a lot. On top of the stress of being forcibly revealed to all of you.” 

Price reached for her again, but stopped short of touching her. His hand stilled behind her, not yet making contact. “Is this okay?” he asked. After a moment of contemplation, she nodded. His fingers curled around her back, draping over her shoulders. She sighed under the weight and hung her head, eyes closed. Price’s warmth seeped into her through her pelt and jumpsuit.

“You said Bash was the third. Guessing Looker was the second. Who was first?” 

Pip reached up to pull her pelt tighter around herself, but instead found the pad of Price’s index finger. It twitched under her touch, but neither of them pulled away. She sighed, and continued, “Found out about two months ago that my first handler went missing in Urzikstan.” She laughed dryly, her hand idly running over the whorls of Price’s fingerprint. “Took that one hard too, because I thought I’d lost him once before when he got blown up a few years back.” 

The fingers behind her went tense. Pip glanced back at them, then up to Price’s face, brows furrowed. He gave her a similar look. “Alex ? Alex Keller?” Hearing his name, the hideling straightened, her heart in her throat. “Alex was your handler?” 

“Y–yes…? Wait, you knew him?” 

Price sighed and rubbed at his forehead with his free hand, his eyes going distant. “He and I worked together in Urzikstan back in 2019. I led the team with him, Gaz, and Farah. I was there when that factory went up. We all thought he’d died then too. But then the bastard turned up a month later with a shiny new leg.” 

Pip couldn’t help another sniffle. She was starting to choke up again, but she was determined not to cry. Not here. “When he got assigned to take on Al-Quatala, I was forced to part ways with him,” she said. “At the time, our council didn’t allow us to go overseas much—certainly not to active war zones.” 

“And here you are now…” His thumb brushed her arm, offering a small comfort. 

“Yeah,” she said flatly. “Here I am now. Half blown up myself, being forced to talk about my personal problems to one of my four new handlers.” 

Despite it being forced, though, Pip did feel a little bit better, having aired all of her woes out. She’d sooner die than tell Price that, but it was true regardless. 

The hand curled around her, gently lifting her off of the desk and cupping beneath her to bring her closer to Price’s level. “Hey,” he said, feigning offense, “We’re not all that bad. I can see you’re getting used to us. Even coming around to liking us.” 

Pip scoffed and rolled her eyes. The humor was a sudden, but not unwelcome change of pace. Maybe she did still have a few banter points left after all. “Gaz is okay. I guess.” 

Price gave her a knowing, infuriatingly smug look. “So you’ve expressed a liking for Soap, Ghost, and now Gaz. No love for your captain, ey?” 

Her captain? Hah! 

Pip turned her eyes up in thought, counting on her fingers, “Mendoza, Jacobs, and Reed got me this hare, so I guess they’re okay too…” 

That got a balk from Price. He nudged her shoulder with his thumb, much less comforting this time. “That right? You called me John a few minutes ago, and now you say you like rookies more than me?” He almost sounded offended, but the smile under his mustache and the amusement in his eyes betrayed him. 

Pointedly not meeting Price’s eyes, Pip instead peered over his hands, to his desk and the floor below. “Hm. Bet I could make that jump, even with this cast…” 

As was the expected reaction, the captain’s hands cupped around her more, walling her between them. “Don’t. I’ve had Nik set your next vet appointment for next week already; don’t need you limping around on two broken legs until then.” 

Her expression fell to a scow immediately. “Fucking vet,” she spat. “Unbelievable. I’m still mad about that.” 

Price shrugged. “Vets specialize in binding tiny limbs. It’s the best place to patch you up.” 

Yeah, yeah, she understood the reasoning, but she didn’t have to like it. “And after putting me through that humiliation, you still don’t give me anything to drink for the pain.” 

“Bloody hell.” Price tipped his head back in exasperation. He shifted to hold Pip in one hand so he could gesticulate with his other. “You were just in my hidden stash last night.” 

Pip’s blood ran cold. “Uh…” She found herself suddenly tongue-tied, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. “I don’t, uh—”

“And I know Simon’s the one that takes you.” 

Shit. How'd he find out? Not just about last night, but the time before, too! She wasn’t about to rat Ghost out, though. Pip shook her head adamantly. “No. I found it myself.” 

Price chuckled. “Not gettin’ any better at this lying thing, Lag. Your whole body goes tense, and you look like a deer in headlights. Never mind that your story is bullshit. You can barely walk.” He tapped the knee of her cast for emphasis. “Let alone lift a floor panel and unscrew a bottle.” 

“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” she retorted. “With or without this cast. Isn’t it a human saying, ‘if there’s a will, there’s a way’?” 

His smile spread into a grin, thoroughly amused. “Part of me hates that you’re lying right to my face, but a bigger part of me loves that you’re trying to protect Simon. Wholly unnecessary, by the way. But I’m sure he’d appreciate it too.” 

The hideling refused to meet his eyes, her cheeks and ears burning. “Are we done now?” She was pretty eager for another topic change. This conversation had already gone on far longer and taken more turns than she wanted. 

Price lowered his hand back down to the desk and let her off next to her laptop. “Sure. Just one last thing. Look at me, Lag.” Reluctantly, she did. “I’m sorry for your losses. Truly I am. We’re holding out that Alex might still be alive, but you know how this goes.” 

Pip nodded. “Yeah. I do,” she said softly. When he said nothing more, she took that as her cue to start her briefing. 

Finally.  

They’d wasted enough time and energy on her emotional bullshit. 

As she was pulling up and sending over documents, she heard Price shuffling around in one of his desk drawers. She didn't bother looking up until she heard the unmistakable sound of a lighter sparking to life. Her head snapped up, immediately finding a cigar between the captain’s fingers. He rotated it slowly, expertly, to give it a proper light. Just before putting it between his lips, though, he caught Pip staring, and winced. 

“Ah, bollocks—probably shouldn’t smoke around you. Sorry—” 

Before he could snub it out, Pip waved her hands. “Don’t! No, it’s—it’s fine. Go ahead. Don’t mind me.” 

He regarded her curiously, lips pressed together in a frown. “You sure? ‘Cos I can wait until we’re done—”

“Don’t,” she insisted. “I, uh… I like the smell…” Already, she could detect the sweet, almost chocolatey notes of the cigar, and he hadn’t even taken a puff yet. It made her mouth water. 

Hesitantly, but without breaking eye contact, Price placed the cigar between his lips, and drew in a mouthful of smoke. Pip forced herself to look away, not wanting to ogle any more than she already had. When he expelled the smoke into the air between them, Pip felt a shiver race up her spine and across her skin. She breathed in deep as the white wisps curled around her, her lips parted slightly to take in the full flavor. 

It tasted rich, sweet, and very much like John Price. 

Keep it together, Pip, fuck’s sake!  

She cleared her throat, tried to clear her head, and sent the last file over to Price’s computer. “Okay, so—if you’ll check what I sent you, the first packet is all the highlights of what I’ve found. The second one is the specifics I’ve compiled—stuff you’ve asked me to look for, and stuff I thought seemed relevant or helpful…” 

Gods help her. She was a fucking mess.

[stargazer-sims]

Journal Entry #56 (part three)

Journal Entry #56 (part two) // STORY INDEX

Yuri

Victor and I were just getting out of the bath, where we’d been relaxing after playtime more than we’d actually been bathing, when his phone rang. For some reason, he’d brought It into the bathroom with us. I frowned at the intrusion, but Victor reacted like he was anticipating it. He bounded forward and scooped his phone off the counter by the sink.

“It’s probably the optician,” he said excitedly, and then answered the call with a cheerful, “Hello? Victor Okamoto-Nelson speaking.”

It did turn out to be the optician, phoning to say Victor’s new glasses were ready.

"That was quick," I observed, as soon as he'd hung up and told me what it was about.

"Yeah," he said. "I thought I'd be waiting until tomorrow. But, you got your last pair in less than twenty-four hours, didn't you? Maybe they like to under-promise and over-deliver."

"Always a good customer service policy," I said.

"Do you want to come with me to get them?"

I shook my head. "I'd like to, but I'm running low on energy. Still recovering from yesterday." I offered him a smile. "And this morning."

He looked me up and down. "I guess we did get a little more energetic than we intended."

"You're worth it," I said.

"So are you."

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then ran off to his room to get ready to go out.

As for me, I took my time getting ready for the day. There was no need to rush, and it felt good to pay attention to each little aspect of my personal care routine and to appreciate being able to do all of it for myself.

Joy and pleasure can be found in the smallest or simplest things, if only we slow down and pay attention. And those same small things are reasons to be grateful too. Brushing my teeth, moisturizing my face, combing my hair… each task felt wonderful, not just from a physical perspective, but also because I was happy and thankful to finally be well enough to do them on my own.

Please let this last, I thought.

I’m not generally a praying person, but I hoped that if there was some almighty force controlling all our destinies, it would hear what I was thinking and grant me a reprieve from the stress and suffering I’d had to endure recently.

I glanced at myself in the mirror one more time. Satisfied with what I saw, I finally made my way downstairs to wait for Victor to get back. He’d left while I was still in the midst of putting myself together, which was fine with me. I was sure he wouldn't be long, in any case.

I got comfortable on the sofa with the dogs, turned on the TV and settled down to watch anime while I waited.

I thought Victor would only be gone for an hour or so, but when I realized over two hours had passed and he still hadn't returned, I started to worry. He was only going to pick up his glasses. He should've been home, unless...

Don't panic, I told myself. Just text him.

A few deep breaths helped to slow my racing heartbeat. I wiggled my phone out of my back pocket and was about to send Victor a message when I heard the faint sound of keys in the lock of the front door.

The dogs hopped off the sofa, but neither of them barked. They bark at everyone except me, Victor and Yuki. I let out my breath in a huge exhalation.

A few seconds later, Victor came around the corner with his new glasses perched on his nose, a large cloth shopping bag in his hand and a million watt smile on his face.

“Yuri, look!" he exclaimed, holding up the red and grey striped bag. "I bought books!”

I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. He may be a grown man, but in that moment he resembled nothing so much as a little boy proudly showing off his prized possession to his favourite grownup.

When I finally caught my breath, I held my arms out to him and said, “Come here.” Then, I quickly had to add, “No, Victor. Put your books down first.”

He set his shopping bag on the table as if it contained the most precious objects in the universe, and then caught me in a jubilant hug. “Are you proud of me?”

“I’m very proud of you,” I said. “I wish you'd told me you were making a detour, though."

"I didn't mean to not tell you," he said. "But, I got distracted.”

“Oh? Distracted by books?”

“Exactly. I noticed there's an international bookshop across the street from the optician's office, and I was kind of curious about what they had in English, so I went in. I started looking at the books, and then I started reading and lost track of time."

"You were reading in the bookshop?"

"Yeah!" he said. "For more than five minutes, and I didn't even get a headache, and nothing looked weird or distorted at all."

"That's wonderful," I said. "Which books did you get?"

"I got one about the history of the Olympics, and one about samurai, and two action novels. Did you know they made those? Like action movies, but books.

"I had some idea, yes."

"I already read almost two chapters of one of them while I was hanging out in the bookshop. Now, I have to know what happens."

I smiled. "Welcome to the world of reading."

"Thanks," he said.

"Why don't you show me all your books?” I suggested. “Maybe you can read to me and show me how well you can do now that you've got your glasses."

He nodded, and happily agreed. We curled up together with his bag of books, and for the next hour I was content to snuggle with him and listen to the surprisingly interesting history of the Olympic Games.

Remember what I said before about being a little more hopeful with each passing day? That's been more true over the past two days than all the days that came before. This morning, for the first time in a very long time, I dared to let myself believe that the future was something to look forward to instead of something to dread.

[lovingperfectionsblog]

The Run-Aways: Part 2

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Summary: The relationship between two strangers just grows deeper. A story based off of the song ‘Pierre’ by Ryn Weaver.

Warnings: Swearing, the smallest hint at sexual activity, drinking.

Word count: 2531

Authors note: So here if part two. Forgive me but this was more a chapter setting things up. I have an idea of where I want this to go and forgive me :D It is slightly a little all over the place, but it will make sense soon. Hopefully you all enjoy.

The Run-Aways: Part 1

The Run-Aways: Part 3

The Run-Aways: Part 4 (Finale)

______

“ I’m feeling really bad that you’ve slept on the couch for two days in a row now, you’re on holiday too, please let me take the couch tonight” you’d felt so bad as you watched him stretch as he was waking up, placing his up of coffee on the table next to him.

“Not a chance gorgeous, my mother raised me better than that” he shot you a wink as he sat up, the blankets slipping down, his bare torso suddenly distracting you.

“I promise I won’t tell your mom that you slept in the bed you paid for while you’re on holiday while the girl who is bumming off of you slept on the couch” you refused to let this go, feeling awful that he was essentially paying for your vacation at this point.

“I need you to know that I am incredibly stubborn, and you aren’t going to win this one” Pierre shot you a look, a challenge more than anything, daring you to try and fight him on this.

“I’ll get you sleeping in that bed one way or another” Fuck, that came out a lot flirtier than you expected, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t falling incredibly quickly for this man.

Pierre shot you a look, not because he didn’t want to be in that bed, especially if you were going to be in there with him, but instead because he didn’t expect you to potentially feel the same as he was.

Truthfully, how he was feeling confused him. He’d barely known you but you two suddenly fit. He had clicked with you faster than he had ever with any other person, a type of vulnerability blooming between the two of you at speeds he had never experienced before. There was something about you, maybe it was your authenticity, your passion, your zest for life maybe? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there, and he was drawn to it. He could feel himself changing already and lord knows he didn’t want to be a cliche and have a whole eat, pray, love moment on holiday but he could feel it and it was all because of you. Your adoration for life was suddenly forcing him to be here, to be present and he hadn’t given himself the luxury for some time. He wanted to be with you experiencing every single moment because somehow you’d made even sharing a mundane cup of coffee after a pretty shitty nights sleep on possibly the most uncomfortable couch he’d ever slept on something he looked forward to. You were infectious.

So if he got to share a bed with you, lord knows he might not entirely recover from that at all.

“Is there anything particular you wanted to do today or you happy to let me take you somewhere?” Pierre asked after he had recovered from the thoughts of sharing a bed with you.

 “Uhm” you wracked your brain for anything you wanted to do, but the idea of being dragged around by Pierre sounded like the thing you wanted most.

How had this absolute stranger entranced you the way he had. He was so gentle and attentive and in the two days he had known you it was if he had seen you more than anyone else in your entire life ever had. You hated the concept that you might be falling for this stranger. God, were you going to be having one of those life changing cliche movie holidays where you return a completely new person? Or where you ran away with your new lover to somewhere completely new?

The thought of running away with him didn’t seem like the worst.

“Eyes are up here chere” Pierre dragged you out of your thoughts and you realized the entire time you had been staring at his torso. Fuck, how was he so toned?

“Oh, uhm, sorry” you began gathering up your empty cup and readying yourself to head back to your room to get ready in the height of your embarrassment, “yeah, whatever you want today is perfect” you stammered out walking away.

“Okay, wear something comfortable” he chuckled out towards you as he watched you retreat.

_____

“How did you find this place?” you were mesmerized by the day so far.

Pierre had taken you to a smaller coastal town where they were having a market, the most glorious pieces of art were being sold, second-hand books you were sure you were stealing at how little you were paying for them and food you were sure you’d only ever have the luxury of tasting in the afterlife.

“Truthfully, it’s not the first time I’ve been here” Pierre told you between bites of his lunch.

You weren’t sure why you were so shocked but not one had you expect the car guy to be someone who comes to a quaint little coastal town like this.

“Is this like, your go-to holiday destination?” your laughter died down quickly as you noticed the sheepish looking he was sending your way, “oh my god, sorry, really? I just didn’t expect this to be the place where someone like you goes.”

“Someone like me?” The question was a loaded one from Pierre, he was more curious to hear what you genuinely thought of than why you thought this wasn’t the type of place he would go.

“Well, and no offence to you, but it seems a little more down to earth than what you seem used to” you tried not to sound offence but even you knew it sounded like you were calling him a snob.

“What I seem used to? And what does it seem like I am used to?” He was so sure he was doing a good job of toning it down, not wanting to be flashing money around potentially scare you off or hint at who he really was.

“Well, like, you clearly have money, not that it’s an issue, but I guess I’m just used to people with money wanting to be in something a bit more luxurious, not, sitting on the edge of a fountain eating street food with a girl you met 2 days ago” you felt relief when he laughed, knowing that you hadn’t offended him in all that you had said.

“Well, to me, this is actually perfect” he gave you a shy smile, taking in all your beauty as you sat staring back at him, “happiest I’ve been in a really long time”. He didn’t want to sound like he was unhappy all the time, because he wasn’t, he loved his life and he was so privileged every single day that he got to live the life that he does, but this was a different kind of happiness, this was more of a ‘this is what his life was meant to be’, a serenity.

“Oh, well, yeah, me too” Pierre couldn’t help the warm feeling he felt in his chest as he watched the blush creep up on your cheeks as you sported a smile that he was sure you couldn’t have helped even if you tried. You felt the same as him right now.

“So, this was all I really had planned for today, but I was wondering if we could maybe get some fresh food and I could make us supper back at the chalet tonight, if you’re willing to trust me?” he had eventually broken the comfortable silence between you two.

“Oh, the car guy can cook too? God, what can’t you do?” you didn’t want to read too deeply into it, but this was definitely romantic right? Was he maybe feeling the same was as you?

“Of course, I know how to cook” he didn’t but after you had gone to bed he had sat combing through recipes so he could make something for you, coupled by a few YouTube videos to make sure he got it all right.

“Well then, it’s getting late, would probably take us a little time to get the groceries and get home so we should probably get going” you began getting up, Pierre instinctively grabbing all your bags to carry for you.

“Yeah, groceries and then home” he smiled down at you as you two walked side by side.

Why did that sentence sound so good when it was referring to you two. ‘Groceries and then home’.

______

“Are you sure there is nothing I can help with?” you tried walking into the kitchen, but Pierre immediately was handing you a glass of wine and pushing you back out.

“No, please, go lounge outside, take in the view and I’ll come get you as soon as the food is ready” he couldn’t have you in the kitchen, he didn’t want you to see the absolute shit show this was slowly becoming, Pierre already running through a list of names of someone he could call to help him manage this all.

“Okay, well, if you’re insistent” you made your way outside, soaking up the last of the days sun.

While you sat outside basking in the sun, Pierre was having a near panic attack over this situation. Okay, step one, someone to call and help. His mom was out of the question because she couldn’t know he was cooking for a girl. A girl who he was staying with and that he met two days ago.

Yuki definitely couldn’t cook. He was pretty sure Charles had no idea how to either and plus, Charles would ask too many questions. Daniel would do nothing but laugh at him and tell absolutely everything to absolutely everyone. Why did he even consider Lando, that would be bloody useless. Lewis? Could he fucking call a 7-time world champ to help him with some cooking? No. No, he couldn’t do that. Carlos was away, God Carlos would have been such a good option, I’m sure between him and Isa they would have been able to help him.

Oh my god. That left him with Max.

Max wasn’t all that bad of an option. He knew Max would have kept it quiet and he wasn’t likely to ask too many questions and like, he might know how to cook something.

Fuck it. Okay, He was calling Max. If that didn’t work out then he was going to call Lewis. Yes, that was going to work perfectly.

“Hey mate, good to hear from the dead”

“Listen, I don’t even have time to get into that, but I need your help”

“Jesus, first you literally disappear and leave everyone a little nervous and now you call asking for help”

“It’s not that bad I promise, can you cook?”

“Can I cook?”

“Yes can you cook, I need help cooking and it’s time sensitive and it is not going well here”

“Why do you need to know how to cook?”

“Why do you need to ask so many questions?”

“No Pierre, I cannot cook, now answer my questions”

“Absolutely not, thanks mate”

Well, max was definitely going to be pissed he just hung up on him, but he didn’t have the time to deal with this. You were already nearly finished with that glass of wine, but he couldn’t keep giving you wine to waste time.

Fuck, he was going to have to call Lewis.

“Hey Pierre, good to see you alive and well”

“Hey Lewis, listen, firstly, I’m safe, sorry for just disappearing on everyone there for a while, uhm, could I ask for your help with something?”

“Yeah man, of course, is everything okay? Got me a little worried here man”

“Oh no, it’s nothing bad, but can you help me cook something?”

“Are you whispering because you’re trying to cook for a girl?”

“Fuck”

“Secrets safe with me man, don’t worry”

“Thank you Lewis, seriously, she’s just, and I can’t”

“And if she’s there with you then you are running out of time so lets get going”

­­­­­_____

How Lewis had managed to help him pull this off is beyond Pierre, he had actually made something really good, and you seemed like you were enjoying it.

“God, you really are a great cook” was this guy actually the whole package? This meal was incredible.

“I was taught by some pretty great people” you didn’t need to know that it was literally while he was busy cooking this exact meal.

“This holiday really has been absolutely perfect” you whispered out.

How had your impulsive actions lead to something this great? You couldn’t believe that it had taken your entire life to do something this brave and look what it had given you.

“Kind of makes you feel like it wouldn’t end” Pierre spoke honestly. Being an F1 driver really was amazing, but this, having watched the sunset with you, over a meal he had cooked and you both sharing a bottle of wine, this was what peace was. This was magic.

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about just never going back home” you laughed out, despite how true that statement was. You’d been thinking about staying constantly.

“Wouldn’t your people back home miss you?” he had hoped this question wasn’t pushing you too far.

“They’re the reason I ran away” your entire demeanour had suddenly changed, a sadness resting over the conversation now.

Pierre sat saying nothing. Not wanting to push you, but not wanting to stop you from potentially opening up to him.

“It’s a dumb story though, not worth getting into right now” and suddenly your smile was back on your face, although it concerned Pierre, a protectiveness overtaking him.

In a surprise display of affection Pierre was now crouching down in front of you, his large hands cradling your face, forcing you too look at him.

“You don’t need to hide it from me, I’m here if you need to talk” he noticed as you leaned into his touch. Your hand now resting on his own.

“I just, I like this version of me, and I don’t want you to know the other” a tear slipped down your cheek the fear of your past creeping into this perfect scenario you had both created here.

“I will adore whatever version of you I get to have” Pierre knew it was a risky thing to say, probably too soon to admit he liked the girl he had met two days ago, but here he was falling anyway.

Suddenly the tension between you two increased ten-fold. It may have been the wine or the fact that here you sat in the most beautiful country with a beautiful man who you were falling for, but you wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to kiss you.

He wanted the same.

But the holiday was going to have to end, and he wasn’t sure he was going to recover if something more had to happen between you two. He couldn’t leave you after that. You were going to consume him entirely.

“I should probably get this all cleaned up” Pierre was suddenly standing up, confusing you entirely. Were you two not just having a beautiful moment together?

Were you wrong about everything?

[littlesniggy]

Savior

Anon: IT‘S OPEN AGAIN! 🎉 im the Anon who asked for the Sakazuki request at the 100 followers event. Would you do a scenario where he takes female readers virginity ? I just can’t imagine him being the best choice for it but maybe you have a different take on it! Love your work so much and thank you!!! 💖

Sakazuki taking reader‘s virginity Anon here! I’d say maybe reader is not in a relationship with him but if you can’t come up with a scenario where this could be the case then can also be in a relationship. It’s up to you! Thank you so much !

Well...this is rather long and I apologize. I couldn't come up with a scenario where he would take reader's virginity without them being in a relationship except for this one. It has a lot of story in the beginning so feel free to skip to the dirty part if it's too long....anyways, I hope you like it and let me know!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, masturbation, superior x subordinate

Parining: Sakazuki x female reader

Word count: 4.1k

He had saved you when you were a child; kidnapped by pirates and to be sold off to god knows where. He, a Vice Admiral at the time, and his men caught the pirates off guard like a sudden storm, the outlaws not having anywhere to run. You watched him from afar, barking orders at his men and not paying you any attention. He scared you more than the pirates did, with his cold eyes and his unapproachable aura.

You joined the marines when you were old enough, wanting to stop piracy and the suffering pirates caused to innocent citizens. Oddly enough, Sakazuki became like a role model to you in his consequent behavior even though you had no interactions whatsoever. It was also no surprise to you when he was promoted to be an admiral. You admired him, wanting to climb the ranks like him and in the process became somewhat ruthless in your pursuit of pirates as well though not to the extend he was.

He came to the base you were stationed at, ordered by Sengoku to help catch the rising numbers of pirates sighted in this area. Apparently, he was not amused about it, thinking all of you had done a terrible job of letting this happen. First thing he did was give an angry speech to everyone, scolding you for the lack of effort in catching the pirates. The Vice Admiral’s got an even bigger scolding; everyone leaving the meeting room smaller than before.

You were called into his office a couple of days later. One of your superiors had recommended you to become Sakazuki’s assistant for the time he was here, not wanting to do it himself. You felt excited to be even thought of, wanting to see the admiral in action. So, you knocked on his door, waiting for him to call you in.

“Hello, Sir. I’m-“

“You’re late, marine.” His voice was harsh and annoyed, his eyes boring into yours, making you swallow. To say he was intimidating would’ve been an understatement – he was terrifying! You were taken back to more than ten years ago when you first saw him. You felt like a small child that did something wrong and was to be scolded by their parent.

“Sit down.” He ordered you, gesturing to the empty chair in front of the desk. You nodded, hurrying over and sitting down, not wanting to let him wait any longer. Your enthusiasm had dropped significantly; you weren’t even able to look him in the face, your hands fidgeting in your lap. You felt his eyes mustering you in irritation and it made you even more uncomfortable.

“I’ve heard you were the right one for the job but when I look at you I’m wondering what kind of marines work here when you’re the best they can offer as an assistant.” His words stabbed you like a knife in the heart. But he was right? The moment you entered the room you felt so nervous, not even a kid would take you seriously. Taking all your courage, you looked up and right at his face, feeling the need to look away immediately but pushing this urge away.

“Don’t you have anything to say, marine?” he got more irritated by your silence and you could understand; you were not making a good impression on him. “I’m sorry I was late, Sir. It won’t happen again.” You finally managed to say, trying to sound more confident than you actually felt. “That’s what to be expected of a marine. I don’t need any half-assed assistant who I can’t even rely on being punctual. Next time this happens you’ll be punished.” He said, meaning every word he said. You swallowed again, nodding at him. “Understood, Sir.”

From then on you spent a lot of time together. You were mostly ordered to run from A to B to collect reports or documents for him and being yelled at when you did the smallest mistakes. The first time you boarded a ship with Sakazuki, however, was the most exciting moment in your life so far. Over the last three weeks you’ve been his assistant for you have gotten used to him and somewhat could anticipate which mood he was in (most of the time not in a good one). Your admiration for him never really wavered; just the respect you had for this man grew even more.

“Y/n, is everything ready for departure?” he asked, standing at the bow of the marine ship, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Yes, Sir. Everything is set and we will leave any moment.” You informed him. Akainu simply nodded, turning around and walking towards a Vice Admiral, talking to him. While he was gone you were following your own train of thought. You never told him that he was the one who saved you and you doubted he actually remembered. You wouldn’t even know how to address it, never finding the right moment. You also doubted he actually cared enough to listen to what you had to tell him so you made the decision to not mention it at all. At least at the moment.

“The admiral wants the reports from today. Bring them to him.” Your Vice Admiral told you, handing you the reports his subordinates had written over the day. You nodded, making your way over to Sakazuki’s office. Cold wind blew inside the small room when you entered, closing the door behind you.

“Do you have the reports, Y/n?” he asked, not looking up from his desk. “Yes, Sir. They’re all here.” You replied, handing them over to your boss. He nodded, not acknowledging your presence any further. You were about to leave when his deep voice caught you off guard. “Have I told you to leave?” he asked, still not looking up. You were confused, stopping in your tracks. “No, Sir.”

“I want you to take a look at this an tell me if you find anything suspicious.” He said, holding a piece of paper up. You nodded, still confused but took it and sat on the other chair, starting to read. You felt his eyes on you, watching you while you read and it made you feel nervous. It was hard for you to concentrate, your eyes looking up at him from time to time, needing to find where you had left before and taking unnecessarily long. Of course, he noticed.

“Is there a reason why you stop reading all the time?” he wanted to know, a scowl on his face. “N-no, Sir. It’s just difficult to concentrate.” You mumbled, pressing your lips shut after realizing you said it out loud. The admiral raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?” he insisted. You shook your head, trying to let the topic drop. “It’s nothing, Sir.”

“I want to know why my assistant is getting distracted when I gave her an order. It must be something very important when it takes up your mind this much.” He narrowed his eyes and you knew you had to tell him something believable. But coming up with a lie was rather difficult with his intense stare so your only option was the truth. “I-it’s just a little distracting when you….look at me like this. It makes me feel nervous.” You admitted.

Sakazuki was silent for a moment, making the whole situation even more unnerving for you. Then he huffed, leaning back in his chair. You looked up at him again, his stare now even more intense than before and with a blush you lowered your gaze again. “If I make you nervous I suggest you get used to it.” He just said. “I guess so, Sir.” You mumbled, trying so hard to focus on the sheet in front of you.

Out of the corner of your eyes you saw him get up from his chair and walk around the small room, waiting for you to finish reading. You felt his presence behind you, your body tensing unconsciously. You imagined his eyes wandering over you back up to your neck, creating small goosebumps on your skin. You wondered what he was thinking about. Your mind all of a sudden went crazy, the most bizarre scenarios played in your head and you lost your focus completely.

Your face as beet red at the thought of him possibly considering you attractive, him thinking about seducing you, him thinking about touching you – all those thoughts and you didn’t know if they were actually true. Your mind was playing tricks on you; the time you’ve spent together apparently had you develop feelings towards this man behind you and you caught yourself more often than not imagining being intimate with him.

There was this one time where you accidentally saw him shirtless in his office, after he had spilled something on his shirt (he denied it of course) and was changing into a new one. That night you had your first wet dream about him but you tried to play it down, telling yourself it was just the close proximity you two were sharing that naturally made you feel sexually attracted to him. But it never stopped. Soon, you actively fanaticized about him and you felt ashamed about it.

“Are you done, Y/n?” he brought you back to reality and you slowly shook your head no. “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t seem to be able to concentrate. I think I might be too tired.” You said, hoping he believed you. You didn’t dare to turn around and look at him but you put the paper down on the desk in front of you, showing him that you were being honest. Akainu huffed. You heard footsteps coming closer to you until you saw his shoes next to your chair.

You looked up at him unsettled, anticipating his scolding.

“You seem awfully tense around me the for the past week. Is there something you need to tell me? If not, I suggest you get over it and take your job seriously. I don’t need someone who gets distracted so easily.” You couldn’t possibly tell him that you were thinking about him being naked and between your legs!

“I just wanted to say how thankful I am for getting this opportunity serving under you, Sir.” God! This sounded wrong! What if he thinks I want to have sex with him? Well, technically I do but he mustn’t know!

Sakazuki didn’t know what was going on in your head but just nodded. You were sure he didn’t believe you but also knew you wouldn’t tell him. So, he left it at that. “If you can’t do a better job tomorrow, I will replace you.”

You were ordered to stay on the ship today for whatever reason. The admiral was probably still not pleased with your performance yesterday that he wanted to punish you for it since he kind of knew how much you wanted to fight. Besides you there were a handful of other marines still on the ship but it was quiet over all. You had the order to organize the various reports in his office.

When you couldn’t find one you were sure you had seen yesterday you looked for it in his entire office. When you still couldn’t find it you thought that he might’ve taken it with him last night to his room. You were not allowed to enter his room but maybe this was an exception? Plus, he wasn’t here yet and it probably wouldn’t take long. But when it was gone, he would know that someone was in his office. But maybe he wouldn’t be too mad…

Before you knew it you had opened his door (surprisingly it wasn’t locked) and stepped inside his room. It was dark and you needed to turn on the lamp. The dim light barely illuminated the room but you could see enough to find your way around. On the nightstand you saw them – the five missing reports. You hurried over and picked them up, you were almost out the door when a thought hit you. You stopped dead in your tracks and turned around, looking at his neatly made bed. It was huge.

You slowly walked back, stopping in front of it and contemplating with yourself. You should just leave and never come back here! But you really wanted to lay down in his bed – just once – and see how he was sleeping. Without thinking twice you laid down on his big bed on your stomach and pressed your face into his pillow, closing your eyes. It smelled like him; he had this distinct smell of musk and a hint of cologne that made your knees go weak every time you were close to him.

Unconsciously, you let your hand wander down and between your legs, pushing pat the restraints of your uniform pants and panties. You felt your sex getting wet the more you smelled the pillow, your finger starting to rub against your folds, spreading your slick on your cunt. You moaned into the pillow, imagining it being his hand stoking you, his weight pressing down on you and his hot breath tickling your neck.

Your fingers entered your core, moving in and out, imagining his thick dick taking you as he pressed your head into the pillow. Another moan, this time a little louder, when you entered a second finger, spreading them inside of you. You’ve never had sex but you liked to imagine what it would feel like. His dick going deeper and deeper, taking your virginity as he praised you how good you were making him feel.

You turned on your back, pulling down your pants, spreading your legs, and taking the pillow from under your head, pressing it to your face with one hand while the other one entered your core again, thrusting inside of you. Your mind was in a frenzy, now imagining how he would take you like this, his cold eyes looking down at you with this cold gaze. You shivered, your fingers thrusting in and out faster.

“What do you think you’re doing there, Y/n?” You stopped dead in your tracks, your body tensing at the sound of his voice. Why was he back yet? He wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another hour! You were frozen in place, not being able to move, not wanting to pull the pillow aside and look at the man that was standing in the room, watching you fuck yourself on your fingers in his bed.

“I asked you a question.” You could hear his footsteps coming closer and soon after the pillow on your face was being lifted, making you look at your superior. “Are you having fun?” he asked, his harsh eyes staring right at you. He’s gonna kill me! Your mind screamed. A huge lump had formed inside your throat, making it impossible for you to answer. He let the pillow fall next to you on the bed, his eyes not leaving your face.

“If you need to masturbate this badly, why don’t you do it in your own bed, Y/n?” You couldn’t reply, shock was written all over your face. His gaze now wandered down your body to where your fingers were still buried in your went cunt. You didn’t know what he was thinking, his face this unreadable mask. He didn’t sound mad but he didn’t sound pleased either. But maybe this was a good sign.

“Don’t you have to say anything to your defense? Nothing like ‘Oh, my bed is broken so I used yours, Sir’?” Your face turned red and you slowly pulled your fingers out, his eyes following the motion. “I…..” you started but didn’t know what to say. “I should throw you out just like this, making everybody see what you’ve been doing in here.” He mused.

“P-please, don’t do this.” You found your voice, horrified at the possibility of him going through with this thought. “And why shouldn’t I?”

“I-it was a mistake, Sir! I was just….I wasn’t thinking!” Akainu huffed and amusement, his eyes finding yours again. “Is that so. What made you think it was acceptable to masturbate in your superior’s bed? Does it give you some kind of kick?” You shook your head and were about to pull your pants up but his next words stopped you.

“Were you thinking about me while you fucked yourself on your fingers?” mortified, you looked at him. “Were you thinking about how it was me fucking you?” you didn’t know what to say, too horrified to answer. “What makes you think you could handle me, Y/n?” still, no answer.

Sakazuki tilted his head to the side, watching you in slight amusement. “Take the rest of your clothes off.” His order caught you off guard. “S-Sir?”

“Did you hear me stutter? I said, take the rest of your clothes off.” His tone was harsher, leaving no room to argue.

With shaky hands you sat up and unbuttoned your uniform blouse, revealing your bra which followed soon after. You weren’t sure what he wanted to do; maybe he would throw you out like this, completely naked and humiliated. But you weren’t prepared for what came next. The admiral unbuttoned his shirt as well, revealing his muscular chest and more of his tattoo. Your eyes grew wide in disbelief. What was going on.

“I take it if I fuck you now you’ll become more focused on your tasks again, right?” he asked while opening his pants, pulling out his still soft member. You were afraid of your eyes popping out at the sight, inching away from him by instinct. He kneeled down on the mattress, towering over you.

Your heart was hammering in your chest when he positioned himself between your legs, pulling you closer to him. His hand started stroking himself. You watched in amazement as his dick turned harder and harder until it laid heavy in his hand. “Let’s get it done and over with, shall we?” he made it sound like a transaction at a crowded supermarket where he just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

“W-wait! I…You…you shouldn’t…” but he pressed a hand over your mouth, shutting you up. “What I should and shouldn’t do is none of your concern.” He positioned himself at your wet entrance, sliding his dick over your folds, making you mewl in response. He took his hand away and put it right next to your head, kneeling over you completely. When he was about to enter you, you inched away, looking at him scared.

“P-please….be gentle….” You pressed out, realizing that his dick was way bigger than you had imagined. It would hurt, you were sure of it. Akainu pulled you closer again; you could feel his thick mushroom head at your entrance again. “Please…! I….I’ve never had….I’ve never done it before…” you stuttered, averting your eyes. The admiral’s eyes narrowed in response, looking your body up and down again.

He didn’t answer, you only felt his weight press against your entrance, his dick slowly but surely sliding inside your body. Your whole body tensed up, pain filling your core as he pushed further and further. You grabbed his arm next to your head with you hand, clawing at his skin in discomfort. “S-Sir! Please…give me some time!” you pleaded, eyes tightly shut.

You could hear his slightly uneven breathing and felt his big member slowly fill your up. The stretch was more than uncomfortable and your body tried to move away from him with every new inch he added. You felt a hand come up to your breasts, playing with them and squeezing them. You opened your eyes a little, looking up at his stern face. You looked down, seeing your hips raised to meet his dick, ass hanging in the air. You saw his dick not even buried half inside of you and it made your heart skip a beat in fear. This was never going to fit completely!

He pulled out a little before moving back in. “Ungh!” you gasped, your grip on his arm tightening at the feeling. He repeated the movement, each time pushing in a little further. His hand moved down from your breast and between your legs, finding your clit and circling it lazily with his thumb. You legs twitched at the feeling and you wanted to close your legs but he wouldn’t let you; his hips were in your way so you had to let him do.

“S-sir…..this feels kind of good…” you panted, trying to concentrate on his thumb on your clit. “Just because it’s your first time. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be this kind.” His words made your stomach tingle inside. So, he at least cared a little about you. Your legs slowly wrapped around his hips as good as possible and you pulled him a little closer, looking him in the eyes while you did it.

Sakazuki grinned a little, starting to pick up his pace. His thrusts became deeper and deeper, filling you out more and more. His thumb pressed down in your clit, adding a little bit of heat, making you moan out in pleasure. “S-sir!” you panted, grabbing at his wrist. “You want me to stop playing with you clit?” he asked, about to pull his hand away. “N-no! Please, keep doing this!” you begged, looking at him desperately. “Then let go of my wrist.” He replied.

You let your hand lay next to your head while the other one was still grabbing the arm right next to your head. Akainu’s thrusts became harder, the fabric of his pants scratching at the back of your thighs and his heavy balls slapping against your ass. He was filling you out all the way, your cunt pressed flush against his pelvis.

Your moans got louder, the uncomfortable feeling already pushed to the back of your head thanks to his thumb on your clit, adding heat from time to time. You saw your tits wiggle at his thrusts, you back arched when he hit a special sweet spot inside of you. The admiral groaned above you, slamming his dick inside of you without mercy.

He put his hand that was next to your head on your hip and hold you in place, panting heavily while he fucked you without any hesitation. Since you needed a new source of support to grab on you reached over your head to head of the bed, grabbing the the mattress and clawing your fingers into it.

Sakazuki closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him with every thrust, ready to milk him. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to make you cum, being it your first time but he was honestly more fixated on his own at the moment. His hips snapped back and forth, your moans filling his room your writhing body underneath his – it all was really appealing to the older male. He wouldn’t say it out loud but when he found you lying here on his bed with your legs spread he would’ve loved to take you at once but his self-control was stronger than his instincts.

“I…I think I’m gonna…I’m gonna cum, Sir!” you moaned, raising your hips more to meet his thrusts, your legs pressing him closer to you to feel him even deeper. He watched you trow your head back, your small body tensed underneath him before your muscles spasmed around his dick, clenching and unclenching as you came with a loud moan, your back arching, you tits bouncing a little.

The admiral huffed and groaned deeply, joining you in your orgasm soon after. Before he came he pulled out though, mind not clouded enough that he might forget it. His slick semen was covering your stomach, his hand stroking himself eagerly to let every drop of his seed come down on your body.

You were panting heavily, watching thick ribbons of cum cover your stomach. You reach out, collecting some of it on your finger and licking it up, tasting him on your tongue. It was salty and bitter, nothing like you expected but it was somewhat good nonetheless. You bit your lip at his stare, feeling so shameless and dirty to just taste his cum like some whore but you simply couldn’t help.

“Are you gonna be able to focus on your tasks from now on, Y/n?” he asked while he pulled out, inspecting the mess you two have made. Blushing you nodded shyly, pulling your legs to your body and closing them. “Good. We wouldn’t want this small incident to repeat itself, now would we?” you blushed even deeper at his smirk, knowing this probably wasn’t the last time. After all, this mission would take at least another month.

[shootthemessenger]

her eyes and words are so icy, oh, but she burns [w.v.]

wilhemina venable x fem!reader

requested: the, usually ruthless, wilhemina has a soft spot for the reader [anonymous]

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, two brief instances of smut

The first time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Long before the apocalypse brought about the end of times, Wilhemina worked with two numb-skulls which she had spent a lot of her time complaining about while you spent your work days cleaning the messes politicians left behind in their wake of lies and manipulation.

You fumbled into the apartment that one night; hair messy and unkept from the pure frustration of the day, cheeks flushed in anger and slight embarrassment in yourself, and nearly falling over in your uncomfortable shoes.

Before even taking the chance to look at you, Wilhemina began to tease just as she did most days. “My, my, my; what do we have here?” She asked, face curling up into a wicked smile. That was, until she looked up from her book to meet the glassy look in your eyes rather than your usual smile. “Mina,” you whispered, your voice broken and low as if you didn’t know what else to do.

Without a second thought, she used her cane to push herself off the couch and shuffled quickly towards your side with her hand already reaching to cup your face in her gentle palm.

You practically collapsed into her arms as your work bag hit the floor with a hollow ‘thud’. Your hand clutched tightly at the thin purple dress that hung from her waist.

She wrapped her free hand around the back of your head and soothed the frizzied hair. “It’s okay, sweet girl.” She began to sway with you tucked tightly between her arms, holding you close to the hallow in her neck where she could feel your heavy breathing.

Her heart ached as she met your gaze once again, watching you wither underneath her and blink back the tears which persisted at pooling in your eyes.

She took your face between her hands and pressed her lips to yours softly before guiding you to sit on the couch she had been keeping warm as she waited for you to return home.

“Relax, kitten.” She lowered herself onto the floor in front of you, despite the discomfort in her spine, and began to unfasten the heels from your feet.

You watched her curiously as she kissed the base of your ankle with soft lips.

Then she moved up your calf, feeling the muscle flex underneath her gentle kiss and glanced up just in time to see your eyes flutter closed and head fall back against the couch.

When she reached your thighs she admired the way they instinctively parted for her, allowing her access to even the most intimate part of you despite sex being absent from her mind in that moment.

She looked up to meet you, admiring the soft features of your face under the light seeping in from the kitchen. “You’re so deliciously beautiful.” She mumbled against your skin before nipping playfully.

And as you blushed and giggled she thought, briefly but definitely there, what it would be like to have you like this every day for the rest of her life.

The second time Wilhemina thought about marrying you:

Wilhemina had officially moved into your apartment some months after that night and began to make the space something you could both share.

This way, you’d have everything you needed for your baking hobby without worrying about the availability of ingredients or appliances at her apartment. And she’d have all of her books without having to remember to bring the ones she was working through to your apartment.

But neither of your minds were focused on baking or books in that moment as Wilhemina’s hand tightened around the locks of your hair that she had fisted roughly.

Moans poured from deep within her heaving chest as she fell apart underneath you, mumbling your name between desperate gasps for air.

She did her best to praise you through shuttering breaths and twitching limbs. A single, strangled ‘such a good girl’ fell from her parted lips.

You looked up at her from your place between her thighs, watching as her eyes fell open and glistened with something soft. Her lips broke out in a smile and she beckoned you to kiss her by guiding you with the, newly-gentle, hand in your hair.

She shuddered as you kissed your way up her abdomen, deliberately paying more attention to the skin around her sensitive nipples.

When you finally leveled your faces, she held yours between her two hands and let her lips tangle with yours in a frenzy of appreciative passion. “So good for me, kitten.” She let her hand fall between your legs before you grabbed her wrist.

“No baby, tonight was all about you, Ms. Venable.” Your tongue poked out between your teeth teasingly as you addressed her so formally and she glanced down your body as you moved to cuddle into her side.

She nearly wanted to cry. Sex with you didn’t make her feel dirty like it had with others. In fact, she felt empowered, freed by the vulnerability of it all.

It felt so nice for someone she trusted to have control over her body.

She could have savored that feeling for the rest of her life and she imagined that’s what it would have felt like to be married to you.

The time Wilhemina didn’t get to marry you:

With all such time to panic and little time to prepare, Wilhemina found quickly that she had been fatally unprepared.

It had been such a long time since she had cared for someone in the way she had you and it caused her to forget to take into account how she was going to keep you safe once the apocalypse actually did render the world unbearable.

So when she had lost you in the balze of explosion and fiery heat, it hardened her; forced her into a cold, dark spiral that she only continued to sink into with each passing day.

She banned everything that had once brought her joy with you; sex, love, she even frowned upon the friendships the survivors were beginning to take up couped inside the outpost.

And then there was that one night, just as dinner come to its conclusion and the survivors shuffled off to their respective rooms.

“Only a matter of time.” She listens to Mariam mumble beside her as they watched the survivors disperse. She let a crooked smile twitch against her lips, “In due time, they’ll enjoy their sweet apples tomorrow night and we’ll enjoy shelter from the nuclear storm around us before anyone even knows what happened.”

She watched the shorter woman shuffle into the direction of her room and dismissed the remaining few with her cane.

She began her short journey down the corridor, listening closely for sun commotion from any particular room just as she did every night.

All was still and silent, she presumed that most were bubbling with excitement for the only bit of fun they were getting to have since the world had withered away.

When she reached her bedroom, the tension inside was uneasy. She figured it was only her nerves at the risk she was about to take with the lives of the survivors.

Her cane echoed through the still room as she eased herself into the chair at the foot of her bed. Despite her confidence around the outpost, her back was beginning to ache and her feet were an even worse story.

Without warning, Wilhemina felt the cold end of a blade pressing against her throat, an arm hooked around her neck. She froze under the pressure, letting the smallest gasp escape from her parted lips.

“Don’t. Move.” The voice behind her ear was sharp and demanding, even without the knife pressed into her skin she probably would have obeyed. “You make a sound and I will slit your throat before anyone even has the chance to hear you, do you understand me?”

Wilhemina ghosted a nod, feeling the blade press further into her delicate flesh.

“Now you’re going to stand up and turn around. Slowly.” The force behind the blade loosened and Wilhemina shook slightly as she pushed herself to her feet.

“Turn.” The voice instructed and Wilhemina could feel the presence of the knife at her back. She slowly moved around, facing the source of the voice.

A black cloak covered the figure in front of her. Everything was covered but a set of eyes which were wide with shock. Wilhemina furrowed her eyebrows at the sudden weakness of the presence.

She didn’t dare move, though, closely watching the knife pressed into her torso. But the stranger did not move the knife into her skin, instead they reached up and began to unwrap the cloth around their face.

Slowly, you revealed yourself to the older woman as the pieces of your face began to click together with the memories in her head.

“Y/n...” Her voice was nearly too quiet to be a whisper but still you nodded, not daring to move towards or away from her. Her eyes softened as she examined your face, looking for anything to indicate she was dreaming or hallucinating even.

But as her palm pressed against your cheek she gasp softly as the feeling of your flesh which fit just as perfectly into her hand as it always had.

“Oh, kitten.” She exclaimed, pulling you into her tightly as you nearly collapsed against her body. “Wilhemina.” You mumbled into her shoulder, holding her back just as tightly.

The time Wilhemina decided to marry you:

Wilhemina watched over the edge of her book as your head nestled against her thighs. One hand played with the delicate skin of your ear as the other held her book just above your head.

She watched the fire bathe you in a warm glow and fought the smile twitching at her tired lips. “Darling,” she hummed for your attention and set her book onto the bed.

Your head shifted in her lap until you were looking up at her, “Mina.” You answered, toying with the lace on her nightgown. She watched your fingers move around the fabric then let her eyes flicker to your face which looked up at her expectantly.

“I want to marry you.” She couldn’t stop herself from blurting it out, the thought pushing at the edge of her brain and rolling itself off the tip of her tongue.

Your face broke out in shock and she tensed, god fucking dammit. And then your eyes relaxed, a smile found its way onto your face. “I want to marry you too.” You assured her, sitting with your arm anchored over her lap.

She chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to yours lips. “I can’t wait.”

The time Wilhemina actually married you, in her own twisted way:

It was becoming impossible for Wilhemina to decide how she was going to marry you when there were no churches or priests or even courts for that matter. You had assured her that eventually the two of you would settle on something but there was no rush for now.

Wilhemina didn’t know what had come over her that same night - watching you drown in the soft satin sheets of her bed, wearing nothing more than your own naked skin - forced a hunger to bubble inside her chest.

She had only been detached from your lips long enough to unzip her dress and let it pool at her ankles but, still, she was aching to touch you again.

She lunged forward, capturing your lips between her own. It wasn’t soft like usual, it was hungry and needy; a chaotic frenzy of clashing teeth and bumping tongues.

She breathed against your face, inhaling sharply as her nails dug into the skin on your hips and pinned you against the matress.

There was something about the way you whimpered and squirmed underneath her that only fueled her on even more. She was feeling a want in her stomach that was unlike any other time she had taken you.

Sure, she had used sex with you as an outlet for her anger after a particularly bad day at work on many occasions and had gotten just as worked up. But this was different; there were no punishments or teasing. There wasn’t even talking between the two of you; no praising or filthy compliments falling from her lips.

She was only focusing on one thing; ruining you. Forcing you to fall apart over and over again underneath her, at her complete will.

When she finally did pause, with her head settled between your thighs and dangerously close to your heat, she took a second to meet your desperate eyes.

With the fire across the room reflecting in your eyes and bathing you in a soft orange glow, she couldn’t help the moan that fell from her lips. It startled even herself.

Without spending much time thinking about it, she reached down and pulled one of the thick rings off her finger, using her mouth to suck a bruise onto the inside of your thigh.

Blindly, as she moved to your other thigh, she found your left hand and slipped the ring onto your ring finger. “I do.” She announced, a wicked smile on her lips before she leaned forward and delved between your folds with her tongue.

Taglist: @mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl , @sapphicpaulsxn , @its-soph-xx , @fand0m-obsess3d-g33k , @paulsonix , @madamevirgo , @saucy-sapphic , @kikaykimkim , @billiedeansbottom , @d14n4ol

[benichi]

Tips & Tricks for Story of Seasons - Pioneers of Olive Town

Here are some tips and tricks to make your farming life more easy! Basically the Makers play a very big role in this game (similar to My Time at Portia if you’re familiar with the game). You won’t be able to progress without using them, unlike previous SoS entires where they had a more optional role.

• Be! Organized!👏

This is something I learned the hard way in My Time at Portia where I would just randomly cram everything into Boxes without much though... which lead to a lot of unnesessary searching and organizing later on. So right from the start, make several Boxes and categorize what you will put in them (1 Box for Flowers,1 for Foraging etc.). Obviously this can and will change over time as you start getting more resources. At the beginning I put Lumber/Stones/Ores etc. into one Box because I had their Makers next to each other, but now that I have access to several kinds of wood and Ores I’ve seperated them.

This also goes for the set up of your Farm. Moving things around in this game is honestly a pain so you should try to plan ahead as much as possible.

When removing a Box everything you stored inside will be dropped to the ground. Be prepared with enough Inventory space and time.

! You can store your tools in the Tool Bag for additional space. This is a useful trick in general.

There are 3 Areas to use. The one you start with which is the smallest, ones to the left which unlocks via a Bridge and is a bit bigger. Plus North by clearing some rubble which is the biggest.

Keep your enemies close and your resources even closer: when unlocking these Areas I’d recommend to use Money rather than resources. Usually you’ll need your resources to build stuff and progress (Lumber and Ingots are holy) especially later on when it takes longer to process the Products you’ll do good to hold on to them. I’ll add more on how to make money down below.

Back to organizing. Personally I think that putting your Makers into Area 2 (once unlocked) is a good idea because you’ll be running though there often so you can just pop in and check on your Makers, replenish if needed etc. The rest is up to personal preference I’d say. I don’t like growing crops too much so I’ve put them on the first Area while my Animals are on the third. 

Use the terrain to your advantage. Basically keep a balance between zones you actively use and just letting nature grow/items spawn. Especially at the beginning when you need a lot of materials I’d recommend to let nature run wild to get a lot of resources. As you progress and don’t need as much of the (lower grade) resources anymore (or you have enough money to simply buy them) you can start putting down paths and decorations so that you don’t have to clean up the area each day. 

For example: you’ll need a lot of iron initially so I wouldn’t put down a path in front of the second mine because some rocks spawn there. But once you got the third mine unlocked and can basically get all your resources from there there’s nothing wrong with setting up a path in that spot, which will prevent the rocks from spawning.

! Pay attention to what spawns where. Higher level materials have less area they’re available on. So if you put down your Barn and Coop in that zone you’ll be blocking their space to grow = less resources. Initially I’d recommend sticking to one part of your area (near the beginning) and leaving the rest open for nature to grow so that you can gather Lumber etc. For example: once I unlocked Area 3 I put my Barn and Coop near the beginning so that they won’t interfere with the Tree growth.

You can see the subtle difference between the Trees below. Basically when it comes to lumber and ores the highest ranking materials are always on the left side of each Area. The only exception to this is the highest ranking Wood (Mirage) by the Hydroculture Plant.

! Survey your Areas regularly. New Crops, Animals etc. will pop up from time to time, so be sure to have a look around. When there is a new crop/flower just ship it, the seeds will be available next day.

Prioritize your Hammer and Axe. As you can see these are the most important ones. For the first half I’d say the Axe is more important, but once you get to Area 3 (and need Gold) you should switch your focus to the Hammer. Below you can see that only my Axe/Hammer are golden. The Watering can is Silver while the Sickle and Bucket are Iron. The Hoe I hadn’t upgraded at this point at all.

! You will unlock the small sprinklers early. While certainly helpful I wouldn’t resort to using just them, as the use of your watering can will raise your Fieldwork skill. Again I’d say that balance between using both is important as seen above.

Always have your Makers running. Though in this case you should also pay special attention Lumber and Ore you will need everything at some point, trust me. You’ll unlock different Makers by raising your skills.

The setup that got my through a lot of the story. Not pretty but efficient.

! To maximize the use of your time put in resources that take a long time over night (so they will be ready next morning) and those with a shorter time during the day so you can replenish when needed. Of course this can be thrown out the window when you need a lot of something that takes longer to process.

Ship one keep one. A lot of items will become available in their respective Store once shipped. From what I can tell this doesn’t apply to processed goods (for example you can buy Durable Log but no the processed version which is Durable Lumber). There are some exceptions though, Dye can be shipped and will then become available for purchase at the Flower Shop. If you want to test out whether something will become available once shipped simply save the night before and put the item into the shipment box. If you wake up and get a Message that says “____ Shop has expanded it’s product lineup!” it worked, otherwise you can reload and keep the Item. On the other hand it’s also a good idea to keep at least one of each item, or at least those that don’t show up as commonly (like Olive Crystals from Puddles etc.)

! Don’t ship/gift all of the foragable Flowers though. I know it’s tempting, especially at the beginning. But you will be needing 3 each of Moondrop, Pink Cat, Magic Red and Magic Blue Flowers for the Honey Maker.

Sprites and the Sprite Shop. As you’re working on your farm you will see these smalls Sprites pop up from time to time. Eventually you'll be able to travel to the Earth Sprite Village, which gives you access to more resources. At the beginning there are only 3 Earth Sprites you can get items from. but once you’ve gathered 100 small Spirits you’ll unlock an option to add additional Spirits (Field, Journey, Care, Fishing and Food). The (Field) Sprite/s is/are especially great because he/they can give you access to resources you may not be able to acuire just yet. Same goes for the Shop, the items at the bottom of the menu change daily so be sure to keep and eye on them. You don’t have to collect resources from the respective Sprites each day though, the items do stack over time.

Mining = $ $ $ . You will be hitting up those mines for Ores anyways, might as well make the most of it. The Mine gives you access to raw Material (raw Diamond in particular) which can be turned into pure Jewels with the Jewel Maker (unlocks at Mining Skill Lv. 6) and make for great money.

Town Hall Requests. We’ve already established that Lumber and Ingots are basically holy. Each time you get a request there will be 3 choices on how you can fulfill them. Obviously use the one which uses the resources you can produce fastest and don’t need for building Makers/upgrading tools etc.

Title Rewards. While at the Town Hall it’s a good idea to check the Mailbox right to the Request Board. This is where you can accept rewards after raising you skill levels. They range from coins that can be sold for money to seeds, resources and even Makers. Be sure to drop by often.

This should help you get a gist of what’s important. I hope you found this guide helpful! If there are questions feels free to ask :)

[sidespart]

The Fall of King Romulus Part 2

Summary: Twin Princes Remus and Romulus are cursed at birth with Honesty and Obedience. When Romulus, who cannot disobey any order, is told to kill his brother the next time he lays eyes on him, he changes his name to Roman and runs away. Roman joins up with a misfit group of adventures and plans to never return to his homeland. But the fae have other plans for him...

Warnings (for whole fic not necessarily individual chapters): Violence, mind whammying/memory altering, curse of obedience related consent issues, references to sex, references to war related injuries/PTSD, references to child abuse/neglect (YMMV on that one but just in case), antagonstic-but-not-exactly villian!Janus, Extremly-moraly-dubious-but-not-exacty-unsympathetic-Remus

Pairings: Mostly Platonic LAMP and all the found family feels. Could be read as pre-slash. 

Prologue     Chapter 1  

“Young Sir! Come look at this! A beautiful gift for your sweetheart, no?”

Logan bit back a curse as Roman, once again, slipped form his side and almost skipped towards the merchants stall.

They had finally left the forest earlier that morning. Barley a quarter- mile beyond the tree line the path merged with the great eastern road, already heaving with traders wagons heading to Steveange for the monthly market. Roman had gone to work immediately, finding an exhausted looking couple and charming them into exchanging a ride in the back of their cart for a selection of songs to soothe their gaggle of bored children.

Even Logan, no lover of music, could admit that Romans voices was objectively pleasing. Even the wailing baby settled down under the effects of his lullaby.

The closer they got to the city gates the more densely packed the road became, to the point where their pace might have been improved by walking. But the rest was welcome and the sun was still high in the sky by the time they had finally made it to the city square. They might even have made it to their target in good time, had Patton not insisted that they stay to help the family unload every box and crate from their cart before moving on.

Patton stood nearly seven foot tall, with shoulders to match and the patience of a Raspanzean monk. Moving him when he had decided not to move was difficult at the best of times.  Currently, with a good deed in need of doing and no less than three small children clambering all over him, it was going to be impossible.

Logan looked at Virgil for support.

Virgil was already manhandling the smallest sack of produce down from the cart, under close supervision of a surly looking nine year old.

Logan looked back at Patton. Patton had somehow acquired a fourth child, and was swinging the small boy gently back and forth with one giant arm.

Logan sighed.  

Eventually they agreed that Patton and Virgil would stay to help the family, and then set about finding the four of them somewhere to sleep. Logan and Roman would head down the main street, complete their mission and return with, hopefully, enough coin to let them settle here for at least a weeks rest.

Which Logan would have no problem with. Except that the monthly market seemed far larger than when Logan had visited the city as a young apprentice. The city square was packed with stalls filled with meat, produce, spices and enough live animals to generate a stink so strong even Patton and his twice broken nose winced. The main road meanwhile was filled with more temporary looking stalls offering books, jewellery and potions of every colour alongside the usual clothing and home wear. These continued the whole length of the road from the square to the city temple and even spilled over into the side streets and thoroughfares of the city proper.

All of which apparently meant Roman couldn’t walk for more than two minutes without stopping to gawk at whatever gaudy display was on offer or chat with the seller.

“Roman!” he caught up with the wayward bard at a jewellers stall, where a heavy set man with salt and pepper hair was holding up an extremely impractical looking necklace for him to inspect

“Oh there you are specs” Roman grinned at him, “have you seen Master Galvenets wares? Look how shiny!”

“Is this your sweetheart?” The jeweller – presumably Master Galvenet – grinned at Logan with far too many teeth and reached below the makeshift counter top, “Then may I suggest this one instead – to match his  eyes?”

The necklace he presented was even bigger than the last. With blue glass masquerading as the sapphires surrounded by enough ostentatious filigree to decorate a dukes bed chamber. Logan stared,  momentarily struck dumb by his own disdain.

Roman nudged him, waggling his eyebrows and giving him a lecherous grin “What do you think sweetie? It does match your eyes.”

Logan blanched. Turning quickly to the seller her snapped out “We are NOT together. And also - we’re, extremely poor. And not interested.”

He grabbed Roman’s wrist and proceeded to drag the giggling bard with him back towards the main street. “Can you try to focus?” Logan glared at him, “remember this package is time sensitive.” Superstitiously, Logan patted his pocket, feeling the shape of the vial they had been entrusted to transport to Steveange still safely stored inside.

Roman failed to look chastened. “Logan, it’s a herb. And we we’re asked to deliver it within a week – it’s only been five days! Your forest short cut worked, alright, the worlds not going to end if we stop to appreciate some fine wares on our way.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You consider Master Galvenet’s works, ‘fine wares’?”

Now Roman had the grace to look a little sheepish “They had a charm of their own.”

Logan hmphed. “They were very clearly fake.”

“Oh?” Roman linked their arms together, tugging him back into the steady stream of south bound shoppers, “How could you tell?”

Logan told him.

The ensuring lecture took them the rest of the way down main street, and into the rabbit warren of alleyways that branched out behind the city’s temple.

Even here, there were traders. Many had their wares spread out on blankets on the ground instead of stalls, but they seemed less inclined to call over whilst the two of them walked together deep in discussion and so, mercifully, there was less opportunities for Roman to get distracted.

“A festival?” Roman suggested. Logan shrugged, it was possible, something was certainly occurring to draw such an enormous throng.

Eventually, Logan had to admit that his boyhood memories were not enough to navigate every twist and turn of the city streets and Roman stepped away from him to ask a couple for directions. Logan took the chance to study him, but whatever fit of irrationality had led to him wandering back through half the forest the previous night seemed to have past. Even the scratches on his hands and arms had healed almost completely overnight, helped along by a generous slathering of healing salve from Virgil.

(Logan had, at the time, pointed out that the healer was using up rather a lot of their  dwindling supply for an extremely minor injury. Virgil had hissed at him)

Roman was often contradictory. He would spend a day whining about his need for beauty sleep but then stay up till the early hours to fulfil every song request from whatever crowd they managed to gather. He fussed with his makeup and performance clothing as much as a lady at court, but kept his hair cropped unfashionably short and made no effort to seek out high class patrons who could have kept him in silks and finery. He was talented enough with a lute to spend the social season entertaining upper class lords, and talented enough with a sword to spend the rest of his time as a body guard or becomes some towns local hero. Instead he travelled with them.

“You know, I’m fairly sure there were some gentlemen painting miniatures on the main road, if you want to keep staring at me that is.”

Logan flushed, caught. “Don’t be insufferable.”

“You don’t pay me enough for that” Roman grinned cheekily.

This was an old joke. Virgil had originally found Roman, and hired him as a body guard and escort for a three day trip through a bandit ridden mountain pass. Three weeks and many diversions later, they had emerged on the other side of the mountain. Roman had become as much a part of the group as any of the others and had stayed to travel with them as a friend rather than a hire.

Logan was glad of it. Most of the time.

“Did you get the directions?”

“I did, I had to ask three people before I found someone who recognised the address – the city’s full of tourists!”

 *

 The woman who opened the door looked like the word crone ha been invented especially for her. Her grey hair stuck out from a shoddily tied scarf and her face looked like at any moment it might collapse under the weight of her own frown. She scowled at the pair of them, looking like she already learned everything there was to know about them from one glance and found it all spectacularly unimpressive.

“What do you want?” She snapped.

Logan resisted the urge to smooth down his waistcoat like he was presenting to a lecturer and stepped forward.

“Good afternoon. We have been sent by Madam Valarie to –“

This, if anything, seemed to make the scowl deepen.

“My sister? What does that witch want?”

“To deliver you …this”

With a flourish Logan produced the vial and held it aloft. The thin shaft of light spilling from the doorway made the red herb glow a burning orange in the dim of the alley.

“And you think I’m dramatic.”

“Shush.”

Needlessly dramatic or not, he had the woman’s attention. She reached towards the vial with trembling hands but Logan drew back before she could make contact.

“Your sister paid us half, with the promise of the second half on delivery.” Reaching into a different pocket  he produced an envelope and held it out. “She told us to give you this – it should validate our story.”

The woman muttered something decidedly uncomplimentary under her breath but accepted the envelope. Without speaking further she turned and retreated into the hovel, leaving the door open behind her

The two men exchanged a glance, and then Roman deftly stepped around Logan to walk in first, one hand on his sword.

He needn’t have bothered, the short hallway opened up to small kitchen, where every conceivable surface was covered with books, scrolls and bric-a-brac. Three of the four walks were taken up with shelving where kitchen ingredients and appliances sat shoulder to shoulder with  ornaments, candles and what looked like half a taxidermy ostrich.  

If the old woman had hired muscle ready to take to leap out and take the herb by force, they would have had a hard time finding space to stand.

“My sister claims this was picked under the glow of a full moon.”

Logan nodded, “that is what we were given to understand.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “For this to be worth the price it needs to be used within ten days of the moon’s glow, my sisters village is two weeks ride away on the eastern road.”

“We came through the forest.” Logan explained, “Also, I sealed the herb in a pre-sterilised sample jar – the lack of air exposure should help it retain its freshness far beyond its normal time frame!”

The was a silence. The woman was now looking at Logan not with suspicion, but with the exasperation of a teacher whose student has just said something rather stupid.

Logan crossed his arms.

“If you look at the specimen carefully you will notice no discoloration or other signs of degradation – this method can be used to prolong the lifespan of most vegetation and-“

She interrupted him by laughing, an awful crows call of a noise, and held up a hand for silence.

“You are obviously quite uneducated.” she told him cheerfully “And you are bothering Mittens.”

“I beg your pardon I- wait what?”

“YOWCH!”

Logan spun round, as much as he could in the cramped space, only to find Roman desperately trying to relinquish a scrambling ball of fur back onto one of the high shelves. The cat had already dug its claws deep enough into the bards wrist to draw blood, and was currently clinging on for dear life as Roman waved his hand around like Patton trying to kill a spider.

“My apologies Master Mittens” Roman told the cat a few moments later, after Logan and the crone had  finally convinced it to release him “I thought you were a hat.”

“Why must you touch things.” Logan hissed and was surprised by a much gentler laugh from their hostess.

“Aw now,  Mittens is not the most dangerous thing you could have touched in my kitchen. Here. Drink.”

Logan blinked as she shoved hot cup into his hands. Its contents was extremely dark and disturbingly viscous. A few drops glopped over the side, singeing his finger. He held it as far from his body as he possibly could.

“And for you?” She held up a second cup towards Roman who smiled politely but shook his head ‘no’

“No thank you, Madam.”

“We’re both fine.” Logan said firmly, putting the cup down on one of the first patches of exposed surface he could find. “If you wouldn’t mind completing our transaction we will take our leave of this…place.”

She looked at him for one long moment and then turned back to Roman.

“Your friend says you passed through the Serpents Forrest”

Logan frowned - “That’s not what the locals called it.”

“Well that’s who lives there.” The crone snapped without turning around, “One of the darker fae. I’m not surprised he” – she jerked her chin back towards Logan – “ got through alright, since the gods look after fools.”

“Excuse me!”

“But how did you manage?”

Roman juts shrugged, eyes sparkling with mirth at Logan’s outraged expression. “We saw no one Madam, but if we had done - I carry iron.”

That rusted hunk of junk Logan thought, but the crone was nodding approvingly

“A clever boy” she patted Roman cheek, “I thought so when I heard your accent – you’re from beyond the mountains.”

Logan frowned. He was not gifted when it came to interpreting expressions, but he thought Romans smile had suddenly become very fixed.

“So are you.” Roman replied softly.

There was a moments quiet whilst the two looked at each other and Logan tried not to roll his eyes out of his own head. All they needed to do was a simple swap of coin for produce and instead Roman had manged to find the only other grown adult in Steveange who still believed in fairies.

Whatever northerner to northerner communication was happening seemed to pass, and the crone reached past Roman to pull a small burlap sack from the shelf. Mittens took the opportunity to skitter across her arm and settle himself on her shoulder.

“Here you are then.” She tipped the sack out on top of an open tome, producing three cloves of garlic and a hefty pile of coins Logan couldn’t help but stare. That was more money than Logan had seen in one place since he had started traveling.

The crone picked out three gold pieces and a fistful of silver and handed them to Logan. He counted quickly and handed her the vial. Transaction complete, Logan headed immediately to the door, but turned back when he realised Roman wasn’t with him

He was still trapped between the crone and the shelving. “Will you come and see me before you leave the city?” she asked “It would be nice to share my tea with someone who would appreciate it.”

Logan thought to the gelatinous mess in the tea cup and gagged but Roman just smiled

“If time allows my lady.” He brought her withered hand to his lips and deposited a courtly kiss before sidestepping her and heading after Logan.

The city alley smelt almost like fresh air after the over mixture of incense, garlic and cat that her permeated the crones kitchen, and Logan breathed it in gratefully before setting off. Roman falling into sept beside him.

Logan glanced at him, uncertain.

He knew Roman was from the Northern Kingdom. He guessed from his speech patterns that he either grew up upper class or was truly committed to his larger than life bard persona. He had mentioned a brother once, off hand, and during an argument compared Logan to a tutor he’d disliked who had made him study maps until he could recount every river on the continent by heart.

That was all he knew.

Logan was curious by nature, a trait which tended to get him in trouble. He would have liked to pepper Roman with a hundred questions about life beyond the mountains, but Patton had told him once he should only ask a question about a sensitive subject if he was prepared to answer one himself.

None of them like to talk about where they came from, but that was fine. They were going forward together.

It was obvious though, that meeting his countryman had shaken Roman. He walked silently, even when they turned into a wider street and found the market still in full swing, shoppers crowding around each stall, he made no comment, only stepped closer to Logan.

If he was Patton, he might have known what to say to sooth whatever emotion was clouding Romans features. If he was Virgil, he might have made a joke or pointed out an interesting stall  to distract him

As it was..

“So do all Northerners believe in fairy stories or is it just you two?”

“What?”

“The dark fae of the forest? She can’t have been serious.”

Roman straighten up, fixing him with a mock glare “Logan! You’re honestly going to keep pretending you don’t believe in magic? You travel with an elf!”

“Half-elf. And there’s nothing mystical about him.”

“He makes potions Logan!”

“He mixes herbs into useful medicines, it’s no different than any human herbalist.”

“He chants when he does it. And his eyes do that thing.” Roman wiggled his fingers in front of his face, apparently to illustrate ‘that thing’.

“Which I’m sure helps him know how long each concoction needs to stew before adding the next ingredient. You cannot decided a race is magical just because they’ve failed to invent clocks.”

“Urgh!” Roman threw up his hands, “Sometimes you sound like you’re from Arkaze’yed.”

Arkaze’yd was on the western coast. The most industrially advanced of the great cities, they had recently converted the city temple into an extension of the university.

Logan preened. “Thank you for the compliment.”

Roman pulled a face. “You are such a - ooh! Jam tarts!”

He darted away again, but this time Logan couldn’t fault him. A boy was hastily unpacking a crate of what looked like fresh jam tarts onto his masters stall and the scent was delicious

They had to wait for three families ahead of them before they could finally have their turn. Roman picked out four of the tarts and chatted happily with the seller whilst Logan carefully counted out the money.

“I had herd the monthly market of Steveange was something to behold but this! Are you going to go all night?”

“Most likely.” The trader told them happily, “The towns packed for the coronation.”

“Coronation?”

“Princess Stephanie is to become queen,” the man gushed, one hand over his heart in what Logan considered to be an alarming display of emotional royalism. “The guests have been arriving all week.”

Logan nodded absently. That explained the hubbub. The rich went traveling and the poor went to see them. A coronation was a good enough excuse for a festival. If you liked that sort of thing.

“They say,” the trader whispered leaning forward, apparently unbothered by Logan’s total lack of interest in royal gossip, “That even the mad Prince is coming - Remus of Notaleveale!”

“Is that so.” said Logan, monotonously “Here’s your coin.” He turned to Roman to claim his pastry and – stared.

All the colour had drained from Romans face. He gaze was fixed on the trader, his eyes so wide he looked quite wild.

“Roman?” Logan asked, as gently as he could. He realised that Romans hands were shaking the second before the bag of pastries fell from his grip.

“Roman- ROMAN hey-“

Other customers were starting to push between them, Logan bent down quickly to rescue the bag form the floor and reached out to grab his friends hand.

But when he looked up, Roman had gone.

Part three

[alto-march-of-death]

I’m so excited to get this posted!! This is my first collab and there’s some big names on there so I was super nervous but!! I love the way it turned out!

Summary: Akaashi plans a fun surprise for Valentine’s Day! Tsukishima makes a cameo but he’s only there to help the story move forward. Hope you like scavenger hunts as much as I do!

Pairing: Akaashi Keiji x female parts reader

WC: 2.2k

Warnings: just a touch a soft sex; Akaashi calls you “love”; mentions of alcohol and a little bit of drinking

Collab can be found here!

Why you and Akaashi had decided to set the bed up where the sun shone right in your face as it rose was truly beyond you. What were the two of you thinking? Surely if you shuffled some things around, the bed would be in a better place. Maybe the sun wouldn’t wake you up the moment it peaked over the horizon.

You turned to tell Akaashi as much, but stopped short when you noticed he wasn’t there. You gave his empty spot a pat, just to ensure he wasn’t actually there, and felt something vaguely paper-like.

You pull yourself up into a sitting position, grabbing for the paper. After rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you took a minute to read over it.

Good morning, love. I’m sure the sun woke you up bright and early like it always does. We should really look into moving the bed. You smile at that before continuing to read; he was always one step ahead of you. I’m sure you’re wondering where I am. Not to worry, it’s all a part of my master plan. Do you remember the place we first met? Not our first date, but the very first place we met. Go there. They’ll tell you what to do from there.

You hum in thought. The very first place would have to be… What was it? It had been so long since the two of you had first met.

Vaguely, a memory comes to you. You were working the late shift at the library when someone came up to ask for some help. You remember thinking he was very pretty, extremely handsome, and soft-spoken. That first night he talked to you hadn’t been the last either. He continued to come see you during your late shifts too. It was when you told him your last night working at the library was coming up, that he finally asked you on a date.

To the library, then. Once you had gotten dressed, you made your way there, feeling giddy and excited from this little scavenger hunt.

Your old boss greeted you when you came in, handing you another letter without much fuss. She did comment that if you didn’t “snag that boy” for yourself, she would happily do so for herself. You were fairly sure she was being serious about it too.

You opened the next letter, not even having to think much about where to go next once you finished reading.

Hello again, love. If you’re reading this, it means you remember all those late nights I visited you at the library. For your next location, go to the place we had our first date. Give them my name when you get there. Your order is already put in and you just have to pick it up.

With the two letters in hand, you made your way to the coffee shop. There were a bunch of couples out and about, flowers and chocolates in hand, as they wandered around in each other’s company. Seeing it made your heart warm. While you wished Akaashi were here with you, this whole elaborate plan he had was just as good.

You entered the coffee shop then, heading to the pick-up counter. They asked for your name - though you of course gave Akaashi’s - and they handed over your usual order of an iced coffee and lemon loaf, along with your third letter.

This one went rather quick, I’m sure. Now that your hand is frozen from your coffee, but your appetite is curbed, your next destination is the place I fell in love with the way you laugh. You toss your head back, your mouth stretches into the biggest grin… It’s truly beautiful. I realized this after we got chased by those ducks.

Thankfully, the last line clued you in on the location. The park where the two of you liked to walk wasn’t too far and was, unfortunately, the place where you had been chased by ducks. He had taken your hand, pulling you along until they were no longer interested in running after you. You’d laughed, half out of breath and he had smiled softly at you, apparently falling in love with the loud cackle you’d let out.

As you approached the park, you noticed an older man with a teddy bear sitting on a bench. He saw you approaching and gave a small wave. “You’re the one Akaashi left these for?” You nod, taking the bear and envelope. “One lucky lady you are to have a guy like that.”

The older man walked on, leaving you to read over your letter.

Hello, love. Me again. You’re about halfway through, I’d say. Or at least close to it. Do you remember our first Christmas together? You know when we went to the museum because they had that historically accurate display about the wise men? It was snowing, and I fell in love with the way the flakes caught in your hair.

You rub a strand of hair between your fingers, finding that your heart beats just the smallest fraction faster knowing it’s something he fell in love with.

Pushing that thought aside so you could get to your next destination, you began to make your way to the museum. It wasn’t too busy today, though there were a few people making their way through the exhibits.

At the front desk, you notice a somewhat familiar face. Tsukishima Kei, one of Akaashi’s friends made back in high school, was manning the desk. He gave you a small wave, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hey there, stranger.” You lean your elbows on the desk and he gives you a droll stare. “What are you doing here?”

Tsukishima pulls an envelope from under the desk. “I got asked to come here to help the staff for a couple of weeks. They needed the support. Lucky for Akaashi, I am available to give you this. So here’s your letter. Go and be in love or whatever.” If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he didn’t really care about helping his friend. But you do know him, and know that, despite his words, he was having just as much fun with this as you and Akaashi were.

You opened the envelope, giving it a read. Your cheeks flush reading it, but the words inside make your feet move without much thought.

My love, this is the final one. I fell in love with the taste of your lips for the umpteenth time on the first night in our new apartment. It was the same night that I fell in love with how you loved me on that ugly, raggedy couch. I can’t wait for you to come home.

The words of the letter itself played in your mind on a loop the entire walk back home. Your scavenger hunt adventure had taken you the majority of the day, which was fine with you. It made you happy knowing he had put so much thought and plan into this, especially since it was for you.

By the time you arrived in front of your door, your nose was cold, and you were hungry again, but another envelope on the door made you pause.

That last one was the final clue for your hunt. This is the last letter. I suppose I could have worded that a little better, but it’s okay. I fell in love with you the first moment I saw you; I just didn’t know it yet. Come into our home like the way you came into my heart; slowly but with conviction. I’ll be waiting.

Akaashi turns when he hears the key in the doorknob. You were home, right on time. Your shoes were slipped off, placed exactly where you always left them, and the things from your scavenger hunt were placed on the table near the door.

Akaashi waits patiently by the dinner table, albeit a little fidgety. He pulls at his fingers, nervous to hear your thoughts on his hunt. “Hello, love. I have dinner for you.”

You smile upon seeing him, and he does the same. His eyes take in your cold-induced flush, wind blown hair, and tired but guileless expression. He begins to worry. Did you hate it? Did you think it was a waste of time?

“Akaashi, I had such a great time today! That was so fun.” He visibly relaxes, tension receding from his body. “You made dinner too? And there’s wine? You went all out, huh?”

He gives you a kiss on the cheek and pulls your chair out, gesturing for you to sit. “It’s your favorite too. I don’t think it’ll be as good since you didn’t make it, but I tried my best.”

“I’m sure it tastes wonderful. Although,” you say, taking a sip from your wineglass, “I can just wash it down with this if it doesn’t.”

He takes his own seat, asking you about your day. Obviously he knows what you did, considering he planned it, but he wants to know what you thought of it.

You tell him, including all of the comments from the people you encountered, and all of the different couples you saw. Your story is finished before the food and wine are gone, but the two of you continue to talk.

It’s when you’re talking that he realizes his eyes haven’t left your lips in a while. He stands suddenly, startling you. In seconds, he’s pulled you up, hands going up to hold your cheeks between them.

They’re warm beneath his palms, whether from the alcohol or the surprise, he wasn’t entirely sure. What he did know was that he wanted you, and wanted you now. His lips find yours, a bit sloppy and messy. You find that you don’t particularly mind that as he moves his hands to your waist, guiding you back towards the bedroom.

Akaashi trips, too busy focusing on you to really pay attention to where his feet are landing as he steps. Your lower back gets hit by the doorknob as you make it to the bedroom.

“Sorry,” he mumbles against your lips. “Thought the door was open.”

You shake your head, reaching behind you to open it. “It’s okay, come on.”

Akaashi lets you take his wrist and pull him to the bed. It’s slow going and kisses pressed into warm skin as the two of you shed your clothes, tossing them aside.

He gives your shoulder a gentle push, laying you back against the bed. His fingers trace lightly over your breast, raising goosebumps wherever they roam. You let out a sigh, back arching for something, anything more.

Akaashi gives you a soft smile, places a kiss where your collarbones meet, and then continues placing the gentlest of kisses down your chest.

He uses one of his knees to spread your legs enough for him to rub his fingers between your slick folds. A breathy moan echoes through the room, letting him know he’s okay to continue.

Akaashi kisses you as he rubs your clit, small circles against the bud that have you lifting your hips from the bed. If he could cum just from the way you moan into his mouth, he definitely would have just now.

Once you can no longer handle the feeling of not having him inside you, you bring one of your hands up, caressing his cheek. “Please, ‘Kaashi?”

Who was he to tell you no? He adjusts his position, rubbing the head of his cock against your folds. You gasp in pleasure once he finally enters you, and he bites his lip to keep the groan he lets out under control.

Once he bottoms out, he brushes some hair from your face, smiling down at you. “Let me know when you’re ready, love.”

You give yourself time to adjust, then give him a nod. He begins moving his hips, thrusting into you softly. One of his hands finds yours, threading your fingers with his own. He leans down onto his other elbow, placing kisses against your jaw, your neck, any place he can.

Akaashi can tell he’s going to finish soon, and if the way your breath has sped up is any indication of your own end, you’re close too. He kisses a spot in front of your ear before whispering, “I love you. Now and always.”

Your hips lift up to meet his, a soft cry tumbling from your lips as you cum. He finds himself unable to stop the stuttering of his own hips as you clench around him, and reaches his peak not soon after.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, he lays down beside you, pulling his softening cock out before doing so. You snuggle close into his side and press your lips to the area right above his heart. “I love you too Akaashi, always and forever.”

He hums in acknowledgment, running his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep. Your soft snores and even breaths bring him comfort, causing his own eyes to droop. The last thought that crosses his mind before falling asleep himself is of the small ring box sitting in the dresser. Not tonight, but soon, he thinks to himself. We’ll have forever.

Thanks for reading! ❤️

[angstysebfan]

The Truth Will Set You Free- Part 2

Pairing: Bucky x Female Reader, Thor x Reader (other Avenger characters)

AU: Modern

Summary: You dated for two years, and thought he was the one for you. One day you came home and found him with someone else. After running away from you, you return home and found yourself in the arms of Thor. When Thor decides to introduce you to his friends at a dinner, you realize that there’s something familiar about the house you were visiting.

Warnings: implied cheating, language

~~

After the initial shock wore off from everyone, Steve announced that he was going to fire up the grill. All the guys grabbed their beers and headed outside to “help”. You looked at Thor with wide eyes, begging him not to leave you.

“Babe, you will be ok with the ladies. I’ll just be outside if you need me,” he said before kissing your head and heading out to join the guys.

You close your eyes, count to 5, and take a deep breath. Suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder and see Peggy standing in front of you with a kind smile. “I know you are nervous, but I promise everything will be ok,” she whispers to you.

You try to smile, but tears threaten. Peggy turns to the rest of the women, “Why don’t you all start the drinks and salad in the kitchen. We will be in shortly,” she says.

Wanda, Sharon, Pepper and Natasha all stand and head into the kitchen, leaving you alone with Peggy. You always liked Peggy. She was always sweet, but was strong too. She was the perfect woman for Steve. You always loved when you and Bucky would double date with them.

Peggy takes your hand and leads you to the couch and gives you a friendly smile. “Y/N, I had always hoped I would see you again, but I must admit I am confused by what is going on here,” she says.

You sigh and look down, “I know. I-I honestly never thought I would see you again. I met Thor a year ago, and all he did was talk about how amazing his friends were, and how important they are to him. I didn’t expect those friends to be the people I never hoped to see again,” you say looking at your fingers.

“But why lie to him now? I mean whatever happened between you and Bucky to make you run away so quickly is in the past and is between you and Bucky,” she says, giving your hand a squeeze.

You look up at her confused, “He didn’t tell you why we broke up?” you ask.

She shakes her head, “He was really upset about it. Closed in on himself, he wouldn’t talk to anyone. Not even Steve! It took awhile, but finally Natasha managed to get through to him,” she said. 

You can’t help but get mad when you hear how Bucky reacted and how Natasha helped him. Before you could stop yourself you sneered, “Yea, I bet she helped.”

Peggy looked at you concerned about what she just heard. She goes to say something but stops. You look and see a somewhat uncomfortable expression on her face. You turn and see what she is looking at to see Bucky standing in the doorway, eyes on you.

Peggy pats your hands and stands, leaving you alone with your ex. You start looking for possible escape routes, while also trying to calm your pounding heart. Bucky seeing you struggle takes a cautious step toward you, “I just want to talk. Is that ok?” he asks quietly.

A part of you wants to scream no and run away, but the other side, the bigger side, wants to hear what he has to say so you can get closure. Maybe then you and Thor could move forward together. 

You look at him for a brief moment and nod, before looking down at your hands. After a moment, you feel the weight of him as he sits on couch. You feel his eyes burning wholes in your head. You fight it as long as possible, but finally break and look into his piercing blue eyes.

“How have you been?” he asks quietly after a few minutes of silence. 

You can’t help the scoff, “I’ve been great. Fantastic even!” you say sarcastically. “How are you and Natasha doing? I’m sure you are both finally happy to be together,” you say.

He looks at you shocked at your outburst. “You don’t know what you are talking about,” he says. “You wouldn’t even let me explain. You left and refused to answer my calls, texts, emails. I never got to explain,” he says in an urgent manor.

“Why should I hear about why I found you naked in OUR bed with her?” you ask.

Bucky rubs his eyes, trying to reign in on his emotions. “Y/N, I really want to explain everything. But I know we don’t have the time today, but do you think we could meet up tomorrow? I just want a few moments to explain everything,” he pleads.

You can’t believe he is playing the victim. “Why would I want to hear about how it was always Natasha. I mean did you ever even love me? Or was just a place holder until Natasha and Bruce broke up?” you yelled, standing up.

“Y/N, that’s not true. You know I loved you. I still love you! I never stopped!” Bucky yelled back, desperate for you to just listen.

“I don’t believe you! You cheated on me! You cheated on me with her!” you screamed.

Bucky looked like he wanted to cry. You wanted to hit him, smack him, kiss him. Your emotions were all over the place, but before you could even continue your yelling match you heard the voice of the one person you hoped wouldn’t find out the truth.

“What?” Thor gasped, making you turn around quickly.

“Thor! I--” you tried to explain, but Thor continued.

“You were the one that broke Bucky’s heart?” he asked you, before looking at Bucky. “You are the one that destroyed her and made her not trust anyone?” he asks. 

You walk up to him, “Thor, please let me explain. I was going to tell you everything when we left,” you pleaded.

Thor walks toward the front door and turns back to now the whole group, who was standing in the living room and hallway. “You all knew? You all pretended that you didn’t know her. I’m the stupid one,” he says before turning on his heels and leaving.

You quickly ran after him, calling his name to stop. Thor ignored you and got into his car, pulling away quickly. You stood on the lawn watching his car speed away from you and out of sight. Your heart shattering into a million pieces. Thor left you, and while you understand why he is upset, you can’t help but feel truly abandoned.

Bucky steps outside and walks slowly up to you. You look up at him with tears in your eyes, and see that he also is fighting tears. “Give him some time. He will forgive you,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment in disbelief, “Well I guess we have time to discuss everything now. I want everything out in the open. I want to move on from you Barnes. Thor is my future, and if I want even the smallest chance of getting him back, I need closure from you,” you say.

Bucky wiped the tears from his face, feeling that no matter what he says, he will never get you back. You had moved on from him, and it does nothing by break his heart all over again.

~~

Part 1 / Part 3

So incase anyone was paying close attention, I switched out Sharon for Peggy, because duh! Sharon is still there, but not with Steve. If you are confused by Bucky’s reaction, you will find out in the next part, when they get down to the nitty gritty of that day. Feedback is appreciated!

Please forgive me if you asked for a tag and I did not add you. I got a lot of people asking, and I think I got everyone, but if you did request, and were not added, please let me know.

Permanent Taglist:  @hailmary-yramliah @tuiccim @comedictragedy @cap-n-stuff @thefridgeismybestie @swiftmind @aleaisntcreative @lookiamtrying @pinknerdpanda @morganclaire4 @iamvalentinaconstanza @verygraphicink @im-squished @joannie95 @peace-love-hobbitness @connie326 @amandamdiehl @harrysthiccthighss @its-izzys @roserose26 @rebekahdawkins @elegantobservationstudentsblog @broco8 @shinykoalacat @white-wolf1940

Story Taglist: @jessyballet @vicmc624 @kaleeelizabeth58 @iheartsebandchris @collette04 @mela-noche @supernaturalwintersoldier @winteralpine @katiaw2 @devotedlycrookeddonut @baeconandpancakes 

[watchmegetobsessed]

Serendipity - Part I. (Harry Styles)

a/n: i am BEYOND excited to share this story with you guys! i’ve been working on it for over a month now if not more and what started as just a oneshot, slowly grew into this massive fic. i really hope you’ll love the story of Harry and Lis bc im obsessed with them haha. please feel free to share your thoughts and reactions about the chapter and the fic itself!

pairing: Harry x OC (Annalise Lloyd)

word count: 8k

SERIES MASTERPOST  ⚫️ my masterlist  ⚫️  come and talk to me about Serendipity!  ⚫️ consider buying me a coffee!

Serendipity (n.) Finding something good without looking for it.

There are people who plot out their New Year’s Eve plan even months before the last day of the year, making sure they will be celebrating the upcoming year at the best party possible. And then there are the folks who just ignore it until the very last moment and end up spending at a random place with even more random people.

Harry Styles desperately wanted to be the first kind, but unfortunately often found himself falling into the second case scenario. With his busy schedule and endless ocean of his upcoming projects, he never really had time to think about the last party of the day and usually ended up just tagging along some of his friends wherever they headed to. This year was no different, having to work up until even the last few days of the year, Harry had little to no thought about where he would be when the clock strikes midnight.

Just about a day before it, one of his old high school friends, Griff hits him up with a text if he would want to join them for the celebration at the pub he opened not that long ago. Harry didn’t think twice to accept the invitation, finally checking one more thing off his list, so he won’t just stay at home, and pathetically fall asleep at ten.

It’s nothing big or fancy, Griff assures him in the morning when he rings his friend up to ask when he should arrive and what he should bring.

“Nothing, ey? Just come and ‘ave a good time with us,” Griff tells him, though he already knows Harry won’t show up empty handed.

 December 31st

A little before seven Harry opts for a quick shower before he dives deep in his wardrobe to find something to wear. He is torn between wearing a fancy outfit or something cozier, but eventually stands up for the latter, putting on a pair of light washed jeans, a simple white button up and a seaweed green knitted jumper under his coat. He doesn’t pay much attention to his hair, his curls falling around his head in a messy, warm brown halo. It’s been raining all day, it wouldn’t have had any use to try to tame them.

Slowly but surely, Harry feels the buzz in himself, excited to see his old friends and maybe meet some new people while having drinks and just relaxing. He grabs a bottle of fancy whiskey from his bar and heads out around eight.

Griff is one of the few people Harry stayed in touch with after his career launched so abruptly, the two of them often met up whenever Harry was around, having a pint together, just chatting up. Griff bought an old pub a few years prior and completely renewed it, opened at the beginning of the year, Harry was there at the opening party, he had way too much to drink, but he surely had a great time.

“There he is! My favorite arrogant son of a bitch!” Harry immediately hears as soon as he steps into the pub that’s already quite filled.

The tall lad makes his way through the groups of guests until he can envelop his old friend in a warm, brotherly hug as Harry chuckles at the name he just called him. Griff always loved that line from Harry’s song and never missed a chance to call him that. He doesn’t mind though, keeps that playful side of their friendship he always adored so much.

“Good to see you, mate,” Harry smirks at him. “Here, this is for yeh.” He holds out the pricey drink and Griff shakes his head at him.

“Told ya not to bring anything!” he sighs but accepts the gift anyway, knowing well Harry would just sneak into the back anyway and leave the liquor on his desk. “We ‘ave a nice evening ahead of us. Got food, drinks, everything’s on me, take what yeh want,” Griff assures him as the two of them walk further inside.

Harry sees a few familiar faces, high school friends, kids from around the neighborhood that are now grown adults, just like him, but there are quite a lot of guests he doesn’t know.

“C’mon, yeh need t’ ‘ave a welcome drink with me,” Griff grins as he pulls Harry to the bar and fills up two shot glasses generously. Harry doesn’t even bother to ask him what it is, he just takes the glass willingly and after they clink in the middle they both send it down.

Harry grimaces as the hard liquor burns down his throat, Griff never played around with the soft drinks, he knows what hits the best and fastest and Harry figures it’s one of those drinks that would have him crawling on the floor after two more shots.

It doesn’t take Harry long to mix and mingle, get into conversations and meet new people, just enjoying the welcoming and warm atmosphere of the party. He is pleased to see that people treat him just like any other guest, rather than a famous person and he is beyond thankful for that.

Near the bar, Griff has set up a quite rich buffet table filled with all kinds of snacks and food. It’s way past ten when Harry shuffles over there feeling his stomach growling. He grabs a paper plate and his eyes roam everything that’s set on the table. Humming to himself he decides to opt for the delicious looking fries, his mouth drools just at the sight of them, so he puts a generous amount to his plate before his eyes spot the bowl of peas. That’s exactly what he needs to go with the fries.

He goes a little overboard, but he couldn’t care less. Once he is satisfied with his meal he puts back the spoon that was sat in the bowl of peas, right when someone reaches for it. Glancing up his gaze meets a pair of warm brown eyes and a shy, but playful smile. Harry can’t stop himself from smiling instantly as the woman takes the spoon and fills her plate with peas. He looks down and sees that her plate is filled with the exact same things: fries and peas.

“Excellent choice,” he smirks teasingly and her eyes snap down to her plate before she sees the similarity on Harry’s plate. She lets out an airy chuckle before she tugs her chestnut colored, wavy locks behind her ears with her now free hand.

“Mother always told me to balance the junk out with something healthy,” she admits, the corners of her mouth curling up as she blinks a little shy under Harry’s burning gaze.

He always knew he had an eye for pretty things and he never dared to deny himself from admiring them once he laid his eyes on something he found breathtaking. She was by far the prettiest thing he has seen in quite some time, so he doesn’t shy away from taking in her figure in front of him. Delicious looking curves dressed in a pair of tight jeans and a sheer shirt with a top underneath it, the front tugged into the waist of the jeans. Her hair looks effortless, but he can tell she probably spent some time forming the natural looking waves before coming here. The thin eyeliner makes her eyes appear more cat-like and her long lashes dance around with each look she pays him.

“You want to—um, sit?” she stammers nodding towards an empty table near the buffet, a soft blush tainting her soft skin. Harry absolutely adores the hint of innocence in her features.

“’fcourse,” he nods and follows her.

The two of them move over to the table and sit down with their meal, Harry sneaking a fry into his mouth right away.

“’M Harry, by the way,” he says, realizing he hasn’t even introduced himself just yet. Some people tend to look at him weird whenever he does it, as if it should be common knowledge to know who he is, but he never takes it for granted. Luckily, she doesn’t find it funny or weird that he introduced himself.

“Annalise. But everyone just calls me Lis,” she explains and holds out a hand for him, which at first looks a little odd and he can tell she regrets the motion, but he appreciates it, even finds it cute. So before she can pull her hand back he takes it and gives it a soft shake. “So what brings you here tonight?” she asks as both of them digs into their food.

“Griff invited me, saved me last minute, didn’t have any plans.”

“How do you know him?”

Harry finds it amusing that she didn’t bring up that a famous person like him would probably have tons of invitations to fancy parties. He hates when people assume that his social life is blossoming at all times, packed with parties and events to attend every day.

“We went to high school together. Stayed in touch through the years.”

Lis nods with a small smile before her eyes return to the plate in front of her.

“How ‘bout you?”

“Oh, um… Well, Griff and I had a blind date like ages ago, but we both figured out pretty quickly we are never gonna be more than just friends. But that we are perfect for. Have been meeting up every once in a while. I was kind of in the same shoe like you, wasn’t planning on coming out tonight, but… I was forced to,” she admits with a nervous chuckle.

“Y’ don’t like to go out?”

“I—uh, don’t really have the time,” she answers, clearly a bit nervous at the topic so Harry decides to just drop it.

The two of them sit there, just talking and eating and with each passing moment Harry finds himself more and more enchanted by the woman sitting on his right. The way she rambles sometimes, how her nose scrunches whenever she is laughing hard, how she likes to keep tugging her hair behind her ears all the time, are the smallest things but they easily catch Harry’s attention.

Besides, she is not just the looks, also an amazing company. Easy to talk about anything, even the riskier things too. She doesn’t shy away from giving her honest and raw opinion, but also doesn’t attack if someone thinks differently. Instead, she is open to other point of views, seeking opportunities to learn and grow. It’s a mindset Harry values highly and feels like it’s hard to find it. But on this evening in his mate’s pub, he found a gem, it feels like.

The plates soon get swapped to beers and Lis is getting giddier with each gulp, which he finds amusing, especially because she lets her thoughts slip without thinking about them and it allows Harry to look into that pretty head of hers easier.

He doesn’t fail to notice how his heart flutters every time she touches his arm or hand whenever she is deep in a story. The warm touch of her soft hand is sending him into trembling and he is glad they are sitting because he surely would be having a hard time keeping himself up on his feet. She is just the kind of person that wraps others around her fingers without even trying or noticing.

Though it’s only been over an hour since he first laid his eyes on her, he feels like he has known her for ages. The connection built up fast and smoothly, sweeping Harry right off his feet. He’s got it bad for her and he already knows he wants to see her again once this night ends.

“Oh, it’s almost midnight!” Annalise gasps snapping out of her thoughts, a hand snapping to Harry’s upper arm. The crowd is starting to buzz, getting ready for the count down.

“C’mon, let’s get some champagne,” Harry tells her and helps her up from her seat.

They head to the bar and each of them grabs a flute filled with the sparkly alcohol. They stand a little to the side, but still mingled in the crowd of guests. Harry can feel his hands getting sweaty as he thinks about the countdown. Every fiber in his body is aching to kiss her, even though he knows it’s quite crazy knowing the fact they have known each other for only two hours. But he just can’t help it, she has a spell on him with just one look, making him act like a teenager in love.

Annalise peeks up at Harry with a lazy smile, the drinks have made her a little lightheaded, but she is nowhere near being drunk. Her thoughts are absolutely clear and they all focus on the man standing close to her.

Harry watches her bite into her bottom lip and he wonders if she is thinking about the same thing. If she’d be mad if he kissed her when the clock strikes midnight or slap him right across his face. He notices as she draws a deep breath, eyes looking around before they return to him.

“Get yo’ drinks, lads!” Griff shouts from somewhere behind the bar and those who haven’t picked up a glass quickly work on the problem.

Then the countdown begins.

“Ten!... Nine!... Eight!...”

Annalise glances up at Harry and her cheeks blush when she catches him already looking at her. She wishes she had her beer so she could hide in her glass from his burning eyes.

“Seven!... Six!...”

Harry turns so his whole body is facing her and takes just one tiny step towards her. When she doesn’t back away from him, he takes it as a sign that she might want the same thing as him.

“Five!... Four!...”

She looks straight up at him with a sheepish smile and pushes herself against him right when his free hand finds its way to her waist. She sucks in a sharp breath, but doesn’t move while Harry is aching to taste her plump, soft lips.

“Three!... Two!... One!... Happy New Year!”

The crowd cheers as one, guests are clapping and screaming, welcoming the new year with high hopes and full of planes for the new chapter that just started.

Harry and Annalise lock eyes and while everything around them is a full chaos, he feels like a bubble of silence and tranquility is surrounding them. Harry sucks in his breath, lips parted as he doesn’t break his gaze with hers. There’s a moment of hesitation, but the voice in the back of his mind tells him that he can’t let this moment go to waste.

Fuck it! He tells himself before he leans down and his lips meet hers in a soft, warm and breathtaking kiss.

He is a man who believes in magic, in things he can’t explain rationally, he is a man who doesn’t try to pull reality into everything when something odd happens. When his lips meet hers, he is swept right off his feet with just that tiny touch. It’s not a demanding kiss, very restricted and shy, but it still makes his insides tremble for her, almost falling to his knees right in front of her.

There’s a moment of hesitation from her side, when their lips are just touching in a little awkward way, but it fades into nothing before Harry could wrap his head around it, her lips parting as she lets him deepen the kiss, a soft moan slipping out of her throat that brings a knot to his stomach.

The moment is so vivid, raw and intoxicating, he wishes he could bottle it up and open it to have a taste of her anytime later, keep her in his pocket just to have her lips glued to his like this whenever he needs to be grounded or taken away from the world. His fingers dig into her waist, pulling her close to his body, hoping to just merge into her, become one with the woman in his arms.

She softly glides her hands up his arms, through his shoulders before they stop at the back of his neck, digging into his soft curls, while never breaking the kiss. Their lips stay melted together, tongues and teeth clashing, they are a hot mess in the first minutes of the new year.

The cheering slowly dies down and the usual buzzing of conversations and laughter replaces it, but the two of them are still busy with each other and it takes quite some time to pull themselves out of the bubble they created.

“Happy New Year, Lis,” Harry smiles down, lips swollen, eyes glistening from the joy that’s filling up his veins. She glances up at him shyly from under her lashes.

“Happy New Year, Harry,” she whispers, biting into her bottom lip, coming off the high this little make out session gave her.  

One hour passes by, then another and the party is starting to slowly die down. People are flaking out the door, the crowd is getting smaller with each door opening.

Harry and Annalise remain in the corner of the place after their kiss, a barrier that’s been noticeably present before has come down as Harry has his arm swung over the back of her chair and she lets herself lean against his side. There’s something so calming and tranquil in just being so close to each other, sharing thoughts and stories while his fingers graze on her shoulder gently and her head always falls to his shoulder when she laughs on something. He loves her laugh, it could easily light up any place and Harry can’t help but feel sorry for the people who don’t see her shine. So many guests didn’t get the chance to get to know her, but on the other hand, he is a bit selfish, he wants her all to himself. No one else should have the honor of making her laugh or bringing a smile to her perfect lips. He wants her all to himself, even if it makes him sound like a mad man.

After she leaves to the restroom, she comes back with her phone in her hands and a tired smile playing on her lips.

“I, uhh—called an Uber. I really should get going,” she tells him and he wants to make her stay. He wants this evening to last forever, but he can’t ask her to stay longer than she wants, so he just slowly nods.

“I’ll walk you out,” he offers, but it’s more like a fact.

The two of them find their coats on the packed rack, Annalise says goodbye to the handful of people she knows, hugging Griff before they head outside to wait for her car to arrive.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” Harry mumbles, shoving his hands into his coat’s pockets, feeling like a nervous teenage boy talking to his crush. She glances up at him with a smile, but there’s something clouding her eyes he can’t really put his finger on.

“Me too,” she assures him, a pair of headlights turning the corner and they both look in the approaching car’s direction before facing each other. “It was really great meeting you, Harry. Take care of yourself in the new year,” she tells her, but he doesn’t like the weight of her words. It sounds like a proper goodbye, like she is bracing herself to never meet him again, but he can’t let that happen.

“Can I—Uh, can I have your number? I would love to take you out sometime.”

The car stops next to them and she nods in the driver’s way to let him know she’s the one he is supposed to pick up. Taking a step to the backseat, she looks back at Harry.

“I’m really sorry, Harry, but we can’t.”

Devastation washes over him, her words are like a punch into his stomach each. Why is she rejecting him? Did she not enjoy the evening? Did he say something stupid? She seemed to be having a great time, so why can’t he see her again?

“What? Are you sure? Because I really loved tonight and would love to see you again.”

Annalise opens the car door and shoots him an apologetic look. He has never felt this helpless in his life, than at that moment, looking at the woman of his dreams escape from his reach.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t get into… whatever it is you want from me. I really am sorry, I wish it was different.”

“But I just want to see you again. I thought… You didn’t feel like it was something special?” he breathes out, feeling the world crashing down on him with each passing moment.

“I did, but I can’t do this. I’m sorry. Take care, Harry,” she sighs, clearly not happy about her own actions and he doesn’t understand why she is fleeing away like this.

He stands there, completely frozen as she gets into the car and shuts the door open. Their eyes meet through the window one last time before the car starts moving and she falls out of his view. He stares after her until the very last moment, when the car disappears at the end of the street, leaving him in pieces from the major rejection he just suffered.

He stays out there until his nose and cheeks turn red and his ears are freezing off, part of him wishing that if he just waits she’s gonna magically reappear and tell him it was just a joke. He can’t believe he met such a wonderful creature and had to let her go like she didn’t flip his whole world upside down under just a couple of hours. Does she know how much of an effect she had on him?

She probably doesn’t, he thinks to herself, because then she wouldn’t have left so abruptly and without a trace for him to find her again.

When Harry returns to the pub, he is met with a tipsy Griff, shoving a pint into his hand immediately.

“Ay, saw you hanging with Lis all night!” he teases Harry, but the mentioning of her name just makes his heart ache. However, knowing that Griff is friends with her, he is ready to use him as a way to get to her.

“Yeah, hey, you have her number?” he asks, trying his best to look as innocent as possible, but Griff sees right through him, even with all the alcohol in his body.

“Sorry, mate. F’she didn’t give it to ya, I won’t go against her.”

“I’m begging you, Griff. I need to see her again!” he sighs in despair, ready to do anything he can to get to her.

“Y’not the first bloke to fall for her magic. I know what it feels like, but I can’t do anything, sorry.” He shrugs his shoulders, giving an apologetic look to his friend before he joins another conversation.

Harry could scream from the frustration, the urge to punch something or someone is growing with each passing moment, but he has to realize there’s nothing he can do at this point other than accept the fact that he met this wonderful woman, had the best night with her and then was forced to watch her walk out of his life before she could even become part of it properly.

Harry starts to realize that what he thought about heartbreaks is nothing compared to the feeling Annalise left in his heavy heart.

There has to be a solid reason for what she did. Or did not do.

Endless theories about Annalise flood his mind through the days following that night when he was forced to watch her leave on such a bitter and painful note. Harry couldn’t stop himself from making up the most ridiculous cases just to give himself a possible peace of mind, but neither of them brought him enough comfort to forget about her.

His best shot was that she had a boyfriend, or even worse, a husband. This was the only version that sounded somewhat real and believable, though he just knew she is not the type of woman to cheat on a significant other.

How would you know? You spent just one evening with her, she could be a serial killer for all you know! Harry’s rational side was always quick to shut him down when his thought swirled around the idea of knowing her well enough to assume anything about her.

As the days dragged by him in a painful pace, he slowly had to realize it’s going to be a question in his life he’ll never get an answer to, so he just has to learn to live with the thought of the woman that got away.

The end of January rolls around faster than he could comprehend, February comes and he finds himself spending his days mostly in the studio, cooking up new music. Studio sessions are his favorite. That’s his element, he feels safe and comfortable, surrounded by people he trusts and enjoys creating his art fully. In the new year, he has also been eager to pick up a new hobby so he has been trying himself out in knitting and painting recently, finding both of them just a tad bit too hard for him just yet, but they were enough to get his mind off of the one woman who was constantly occupying his thoughts following New Year’s Eve.

Sitting in an armchair in the studio, he and his bandmates are listening back to some recordings they did today and he is trying to find that one thing that keeps throwing him off whenever he hears the song.

“I think it’s great,” Mitch states once the recording ends, and Harry agrees, it is great, but not the best.

“Maybe we could tone down the keyboard a little through the bridge, give more space for the guitar,” he contemplates, but really, he is just shooting in the dark, not sure what it is that keeps him on edge about the song.

“Why don’t we have a break?” Sarah suggests with a warm smile, seeing how everyone is keen on leaving for a little, except Harry, who is still fixated on mastering the song. But he agrees to have the break, however while everyone gets ready to leave and grab something to eat from the diner that’s around the corner, Harry stays where he is, eyes glued to his notebook.

“You’re not coming?” Charlotte asks him and he just shakes his head.

“No, not that hungry.” He looks up and shoots them a short smile and though they all can tell he could use the time out, they know him enough already that he won’t leave before he finds what’s not right.

“Alright. We’ll be back in an hour,” Mitch informs him and he dismisses them all with a nod.

He stays right there, going through the lyrics a few more times, making tiny changes in hopes that it’ll fix it all, but he can feel himself growing frustrated. Doesn’t matter how hard he is trying, he realizes his brain needs a break. Letting out a defeated huff he leans back, looking around in the empty studio. He doesn’t feel particularly hungry, but he could use something to snack on. So grabbing his coat he locks up the studio and heads out to the nearby Tesco they usually run out during sessions.

He is still humming the melody to himself when he walks in, a pair of sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose, his famous curls hidden under a green beanie. He doesn’t bother to get a cart or basket, just strolls inside and roams down the aisles, trying to decide what he desires.

He settles on some kind of canned tea and a protein bar, but before he heads towards the cash registers, he wanders down the aisle where they keep cereals, looking around aimlessly. It’s the middle of the day on a weekday, most people are at work at this hour, so just a few other customers are lingering around, filling their carts. At first, he doesn’t pay any attention to the figure a little further down the aisle, his eyes are glued to the shelves, but then he just mindlessly glances to his left, his brain not even processing what, or who he is seeing at first. Then he takes a double take and his stomach drops to the tiled floor when he recognizes the woman, deep in her thoughts to decide which cereal to buy.

Annalise is standing just a few meters away from him, looking just as beautiful as he remembered, wearing a pair of simple jeans, light blue sneakers and a white jacket, her hair is in a loose ponytail on the top of her head.

“Lis?” he calls out, as if he thinks she is just a ghost. Taking a few steps closer he watches as her eyes fall from the products on the shelves to him, then they widen and her lips part in shock.

“Harry? Wha-what are you doing here?” she asks and Harry is quick to read the panic out of her tone as she looks around cautiously.

“I’m… shopping?” he answers with a soft chuckle, holding up the items in his hands.

“Haven’t seen you around here.”

“The studio we use is nearby, I drop by sometimes. But today is clearly my lucky day.” Even though her reaction is giving him doubts, he can’t hide his joy upon seeing her again, fate clearly playing on his side this time.

“Uh, yeah?” she lets out an anxious chuckle, her eyes often wandering off him, as if she is waiting for someone to show up and it just fuels Harry’s rich theories about her.

“So, are you here with your boyfriend?” he boldly asks, deciding to just go for it. Annalise’s eyes widen once again, but not in a way that makes him think he just busted her, it’s more of a confused one.

“Boyfriend? What are you talking about?”

“Well, you basically ran away from me that night, I figured you had someone and that’s why you didn’t want to give me your number.” He tries his best not to sound petty or bitter, though that’s exactly what he’s been feeling ever since she left that night.

“Harry, that’s… not the case.”

“Okay, so does this mean you’ll give me your number this time?” he tries and he is so busy with her presence, he doesn’t even notice when a smaller frame runs past him down the aisle.

“Mommy! I want this!”

At first, he doesn’t even register that the little boy is talking to Annalise, he dismisses his presence, eyes still fixated on her, but then her gaze leaves him and turns down to the boy, holding up a bar of chocolate.

“Honey, that’s too big. Choose something smaller, alright?”

It takes Harry a few moments to put one and one together. This kid just ran up to her, called her mommy and most likely not on accident since she answered him, very much talking to him like his mother. Though Harry can’t see his own face, he knows it fell, shock completely taking over him as his thoughts finally add up. Annalise looks back at him in panic, completely puzzled about what to do or say.

“Benji, go get another one, a smaller one while I talk to my friend here,” Annalise softly tells the boy.

He turns to Harry, eyes meeting his as he cocks his head to the side, examining the shocked adult standing in front of him.

“Who’s this?” he blurts out.

“Just a friend, alright? Go get your chocolate,” she urges. Benji gives Harry another look before nodding and running off, leaving them alone once again in the cereal aisle. “Harry, I-I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to know.”

“Are you married?” is his first question, taking her by surprise.

“What?”

“The father. Is he your husband?” he urges, eager to clear the picture. Annalise shakes her head.

“No, we were never even married.”

He feels relief washing over him. At least at this point he doesn’t feel like a homewrecker. If he found out she wasn’t only a mother but also married, and that she cheated on the dude with him, that would have crushed him. But it’s one less thing to worry about on a long list.

“Okay, it’s fine. You are not married, it’s all good,” he breathes out and it brings her a smile through this absurd situation.

“You thought I was married?”

“Or at least had a boyfriend, yeah,” he nods, hands on his hips as he licks his lips. He surely had a mini panic attack, but he can feel the life coming back into his body.

“Do I come off like the kind to cheat that easily?” she asks with raised eyebrows, but she didn’t take it as an offense, she more like finds it funny rather than hurtful.

“No, not at all! I was just trying to figure out why you rejected me and this was my best shot!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I just… I didn’t know how to tell and I didn’t really think you would want to see me again after that night.”

“I think I made it clear that I wanted to when I asked for your number.”

“Well, yes, but I thought you just wanted a hookup and that’s just not what I can do.”

“Because of…” he gestures towards the boy that jolted down the aisle just a few minutes ago.

“Because of Benji, yeah.”

“Alright, it’s understandable, but I did not just want a hookup, and that’s still not what I want,” he clears, his words certainly surprising her. This is definitely not what she was expecting when she came down to get groceries today.

“Harry…” she breathes out, already feeling guilty that she is about to turn him down once again. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m a single mother with a six year-old and you are… you.”

“I don’t see your point,” he truthfully answers.

“I’m not some model you chatted up at some award show, who is living her best life, traveling the world just like you. My days consist of work, doing laundry, cleaning the house, cooking, doing first grade homework, going to football practice and watching cartoons. We are polar opposites.”

“No, just our lifestyles, but that doesn’t mean we can’t get closer.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Harry is about to answer right when Benji emerges again, proudly holding up a bar of KitKat in his hand this time.

“This one! This one!” he declares, stopping next to Annalise.

“Okay, put it in,” she nods and the little boy throws the chocolate into the cart with a beaming smile. Her eyes flicker back to Harry, who is now staring down at Benji, who is seemingly not that interested in him at the moment, his attention is more focused on the cereals on the shelves.

She is aware she can’t really push this conversation, but she also doesn’t want Benji to hear it.

“Benji, can you get me three apples? I’ll go get paper towels in the next aisle, alright?”

“Three?” he asks holding up three fingers to make sure he heard her right.

“Yes.”

Benji nods and runs off once again, while Annalise grabs a random box of cereal off the shelf and starts pushing her cart, Harry walking along with him.

“It’s nice that you want to prove that you are fine with whatever baggage I come with, but I’m not stupid, Harry. I know I’m not the jackpot and I’m not naïve, I’m not trying to make myself believe that I’m easy to date when I’m clearly not.”

“You act like you are the only single parent out in the dating field. I genuinely don’t think that it’s that big of a deal.”

“Yeah, that’s what you are saying now. But then we would get more involved, you’d grow frustrated that I can’t just go after you whenever you feel like it, or that I would have to cancel on plans because Benji is sick or has homework to do that he needs help with. Or that my Friday night consists of playing board games, then watching whatever cartoon Benji is keen on seeing and I’m in bed by ten while you probably spend these nights out with your friends, hopping from one bar to the other. And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t, that’s exactly what you should be doing at your age… at our age. But for me, it’s just different.”

She is not talking just out of theories. She has tried to date, several times, but it was always kind of doomed from the beginning. Men in their mid-twenties don’t want to be a stand-in dad, though it’s completely not what she expects. But as time went by, they all grew tired of having to deal with a kid in the relationship and they all ended up leaving and she can’t even blame them. It’s not what they want in life at this point, but she can’t be what they wanted her to be so slowly but surely she gave up on finding a man before she turns thirty and her peers start to get into the whole idea of having a family that’s already been her reality since she was eighteen.

And the situation is even more complicated with Harry. An international rockstar is definitely not the right person for her and vice versa. She can only imagine what some lowlifes would think when they found out he is dating a single mother. People can be cruel for no damn reason and she is definitely not in the right mindset to be humiliated just because she is a mother.

The two of them move down to the next aisle so she can grab the paper towels along with some dish soap. Harry is keen on making her understand that he is still very much interested and he has nothing against her being a mother. It was just a little shocking to find out this way, instead of hearing about it from her.

“I think you have an unreasonable picture in your head of what my life is like,” he explains. “Yes, I do travel a lot and I go to parties, but it’s not what I do most in life. And I’m not expecting you to turn your whole life around for me.”

“Yeah, but dating me is kind of me asking you to turn your whole life around for us,” she simply says and he is stunned at her words, having nothing to bring up against them. “Look,” she sighs. “I appreciate the effort and everything, but I want to save you the time, just like I originally wanted to. I know that it seems reasonable now, but once you get involved, it’s a whole different world, I’m telling you. And while I would love to give you the chance to prove me wrong, I still have to think about Benji. I can’t just drag someone into his life and then have them leave when they figure out it’s not what they want after all. He needs stability around him and it’s enough that he can’t get that from his father.”

Harry has a million questions roaming in his head that he is dying to ask. Mostly about the father, because if he is not in the picture, he can’t imagine what kind of scumbag he is for leaving someone like her. But he keeps them all to himself, especially when Benji appears again with the three apples, putting them into the cart with a proud smile. The boy turns to Harry this time, finally acknowledging his presence.

“Who are you?” he asks. Harry looks down at him and pushes everything else into the back of his mind as he hunches down a bit, holding out his hand for the boy, a friendly smile playing on his lips.

“I’m Harry, your mum’s friend. Nice to meet you.”

The boy doesn’t hesitate to take his right held out, his small hand almost getting lost in Harry’s big palm as they shake hands like two adults. Harry is stunned by how confident he is, unlike most kids his age.

“I’m Benjamin Lloyd,” the boy introduces himself smiling and Harry can see the resemblance now clearer than anything. His smile is certainly his mother’s and the shape of his eyes along with his chin are the exact same as Annalise’s, leaving only a few traits that must have been inherited from his father.

Benjamin lets go of Harry’s hand and turns back to his mother completely unbothered by the man he just met.

“Mum, are we staying on the playground a little?” he asks as they all move down the aisle, heading to the cash register.

“Uh, yeah, we can stay for a little, but you need to do homework when we get home. Mrs. Conrad sent me all the work you missed today so we have to catch up on everything. You got away with faking sickness this morning, but you are doing the work you missed.”

Benji doesn’t fuss about having to do work, he knew this would happen when he faked to have a tummy ache, he nods understanding the importance of doing his homework and Harry is amazed by how great his behavior is. Most kids his age would have thrown a tantrum over what Annalise just said, but not Benji. He is like a small adult, Harry thinks.

“I honestly don’t see why you still have to push me away completely. Did you not enjoy talking with me?” Harry continues as they stand in line, Annalise putting everything to the belt from the cart while Benji is busy playing around the poles that separate the lines.

“Of course I did!” she sighs.

“So then why can’t we just continue? See where it goes?”

“Because that’s just not how things work for me,” she says with a soft, sad chuckle.

“What, you can’t have friends?” Harry asks innocently as Annalise finishes packing, puts a divider on the belt so Harry can put his items behind hers.

“Oh, so you just want to be friends?” she asks raising her eyebrows, seeing through him easily. Harry opens his mouth, but then closes, a cheeky smile stretching across her face that makes her chuckle.

“For now, yeah?” he tries to sound convincing, but it’s more of a joke.

The cashier starts to scan her items so she pushes the cart over to the end and starts packing everything back, Benji still climbing on the poles, completely oblivious to the conversation happening around him, or he just chooses not to listen.

“You are unbelievable,” she shakes her head at the man in the line. The cashier finishes up with her items and she taps her card on the terminal, pushing the cart away a little.

Harry is scared that she’ll flee the moment she gets the receipt and leaves before she could go after her, but for his biggest surprise, she just pushes the cart a little away from the cash register and starts packing her items into totebags. Benji runs up to her and she gives him his KitKat without a word, the boy happily tearing the packaging open, snacking on the chocolate.

Harry is quick to finish with his items, catching up with Annalise as the three of them head out of the supermarket.

“Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, I haven’t felt like this with anyone in a long time, Lis. I loved talking to you, I feel like we had a connection, and I think you felt it too. I would hate to waste whatever we had so I’m offering you my friendship. I want to hang out, spend time with you, just as two adults enjoying each other’s company. Nothing more, if that’s what you really want for now. And we can see where it heads later. How does that sound?”

They reach her car and Benji runs to the backseat, tearing the door open while Annalise opens the trunk and she is surprised to see Harry help her pack her bags into the car, but she doesn’t protest.

“I really don’t know…” she sighs.

“Come on! Just friends. Give it a try! I have a great feeling about it and I promise to be very careful. I understand that you need boundaries because of Benji and I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable in any way. But you do have to realize that you need to open up at one point. You can’t use him as an excuse forever.”

“I’m not using him as an excuse!” she points out, but she can feel how that’s not the whole truth.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Lis,” Harry smirks, pulling his phone out of his coat’s pocket and unlocking it he holds it out for her once she has closed the trunk. “I’m just asking for your phone number, not to travel the world with me. You can decide to block me later if you change your mind, it’s nothing serious, alright?”

Annalise’s hesitation is clearer than the light and in any other case, he would take offence at it, but not with her. Harry is keen on proving to her that he meant everything he said and that he is willing to take a chance with her.

Chewing on the inside of her cheeks, she glances back at Benji, who has climbed into his seat in the back of the car. She is fighting with herself, bringing up all pros and contras until she finally caves in. Grabbing the phone from Harry’s hand she types her number in and gives herself a ring so she can save his number as well. She hands the device back and Harry’s smile is so wide, she almost wants to punch him in the face, but she can also feel the excitement running through her veins.

“Great. You won’t regret it, Lis,” Harry beams shoving his phone back into his pocket. His hand reaches for her arm and gives it a gentle squeeze as he doesn’t want to try anything further with her at the moment.

“I better not,” she mumbles shaking her head before turning around to buckle Benji in. When that’s done she pays one last glance at Harry who stands at the car next to hers, watching her get behind the wheel and back out from her spot. He waves at her happily and she just nods in his way before turning around the car and driving away.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?!” Harry rages through the phone, his anger only met with a soft chuckle from Griff on the other end of the call.

“Mate, I told ya, s’not my place! She didn’t tell ya, so I didn’t either.”

“You saw how hooked I was on her! You could have, no, no… you should have told me!”

Harry was quick to run back to the studio and called Griff right away to load everything out on him. He felt betrayed that his friend didn’t let him know this small little detail even after seeing him all crushed after she left without a trace to find her. He gets his reasoning, he does, but it still doesn’t stop him from being so bloody mad at his mate.

“Sorry! I really am sorry! But I know how protective she is over Benji. I was not gonna betray her like tha’.”

Harry takes a deep breath, paying up and down the hallway in the studio, trying his best to calm his nerves. It’s an unfortunate situation as a whole, he sees that clearly, but the frustration how it had to go down at the end is getting the best out of him for sure. He is not mad at one specific person, because everyone was doing what they thought to be the best, but everything added up to be such a shitty outcome, or at least on Harry’s side.

Pinching the bridge of his nose he huffs again, putting aside his burning emotions.

“Okay, okay. Sorry to snap at you like that, it was just… a lot.”

“I get it, don’ worry about it,” Griff assures him, glasses clinking behind him somewhere, he is probably working at the pub as they are speaking. “She gave ya her number now, right?”

“Yeah, she didn’t want to, but I talked her ears off,” Harry chuckles lowly. He could still feel the excitement that rushed through him when she finally gave in.

“M’happy for ya, mate. But please be bloody careful. She doesn’t need any shit right now, has enough on her plate.”

“I know. I’m just trying to be her friend first, that’s all.”

“Alright. Swing by the pub sometime soon, if ya want.”

“Sure thing. Bye Griff,” Harry smiles before ending the call.

Walking back into the recording room, all eyes snap up to him and he stops in his track.

“What?”

“The hell was that about?” Sarah questions, asking in the name of everyone in the room. They all just heard his rage outside and now are dying to know what it was about.

“I uhh—I found her,” he simply says and watches all his bandmates gawk back at him with wide eyes.

“What? Did you like, hire a private investigator or something?” Charlotte asks, making Harry chuckle as he shakes his head no.

“No, I ran into her at Tesco. Well, her and her… son.”

His last word washes out the whole room, everyone stops breathing for a moment as they stare back at Harry who has that ‘yeah, you heard me right’ look on his face.

“A son?” Mitch asks snapping out of his shock. “Like a proper kid?”

“How do you not have a proper kid?” Harry asks him with a look.

“I don’t know! I’m just… surprised. How old is the kid?”

“Like six or seven. She said something about being a first grader.”

“Didn’t you say she is a year younger than you?” Sarah asks, as everyone is doing the silent math in their head.

“She is, with one year. Or that’s what she told me.”

“That makes her, what, like eighteen when she had the kid? And what about the father?” Charlotte trails, still trying hard to put the picture together.

“She didn’t say much, but from what I understood, he is not really in the picture. So at least she is not married or something,” Harry adds, still open about the relief he is feeling about that information.

“This shit is twisted,” Sarah huffs. “So what’s gonna happen now? Did you ask for her number again?”

“Ask?” Harry chuckles bitterly. “I begged, Sarah. I was ready to be on my knees in the middle of a bloody Tesco.”

A round of laughter runs through the room and the mood finally eases a little after the shock that just set in. It wasn’t the fact that Annalise had a son that sent everyone over the edge, but rather that she didn’t say a single word about it and how it all surfaced.

“And did she give it to you?” Mitch prompts and Harry nods, a shy smile stretching on his lips as the two girls start clapping and cheering.

They all saw his long face after New Year’s Eve, it couldn’t be missed how he was moping around for weeks. He told them all about this girl he met, who completely blew his mind just before breaking his heart. Now that she was found and gave him just a small crumble of information about her to him that makes him able to contact her, the change is visible. That little sparkle in his eyes is back and that’s all his friends wanted to see.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Sarah asks as Harry walks over to one of the armchairs and makes himself comfortable.

“Now… I’ll try not to scare her off. Hopefully she won’t push me away and at least let me be her friend.”

“Friend? Is that what you want to be?”

“Of course not,” he sighs, his head dropping to the back of the armchair. “But this is all I can do for now.”

They all just nod, tasting his words and letting everything that just happened sink in. Harry is doing the same, he has a lot to think about and figure out, but there’s one thing he is one hundred percent sure about: he will not give up on Annalise.

NEXT PART

-

TAGLIST

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@stylesfics-xx​​ @dontworrysunflower​​ @mariamuses​​ @bookwormandtea​​

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Nine

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 9 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: strong language; use of a derogatory slur/racist language (not said by any main character); mentions of blood and injuries; angst!  

Word Count: 11,200+

A/N: One more chapter after this - I should really stop labeling this as a mini-series considering it’s already over 100,000 total words lmao. Thank you for staying with me this long! I love you guys soooo much!!!

~

Utah Merry Hotel, January 2025, 2:09pm

     “I’m being an ol’ sport, why can’t you?” You whine, stomping your feet as you trudged up the stairs to the hotel roof. “It’s our first serious stakeout in forever! I’m pretty sure Wanda shaved her legs for this.”

Steve shoots a flustered and unsettled look over his shoulder. He’s lugging the rifles and extra equipment on both his shoulders so you know he’s truly baffled because to even attempt a look over… well, that required real effort. He doesn’t answer, however; he continues upward. 

Bucky and Clint are following close behind. They’re tired, huffing every few steps and grunting while doing so. Finally, Bucky whines and throws himself against the wall dramatically. “Remind me why we couldn’t just get Wanda and Sam to lift us up there?”

Steve readjusts one of the rifle straps while he replies, “Buck, I told you not to skip leg day.”

“I skip ‘everything’ day. I’m just now employed as a superhero, thank you very much. The serum should be enough.”

“Are we even close?” Clint asks and passes Bucky on a few steps. Bucky takes that as a challenge though and hoists himself more steps before giving up again. 

You just watch in pure amusement. Makes you really proud that your thighs are stronger than theirs. “Just a few more flights.”

They both groan in unison. Steve has already rounded the next flight, no longer waiting on the three of you. It takes several more minutes until you kick open the roof door Steve had left slightly ajar. It’s cold outside, wind howling with icy droplets whipping through your hair. It’s only fifty stories up but it’s pretty high - you can see the tops of the trees, or branches really. It’s winter in Utah and most of the trees are naked and covered in snow. You hope Bucky and Clint, the dynamic duo no one saw coming, still have good aim in this wind after a year of vacation. 

“Alright. Buck - Clint, set up over there. Y/N, you’re over there.” 

“Aye Aye, Captain.”

You set up where Steve instructed. You’ve got a simple magnifier and some binoculars - you won’t have to do any shooting today, thank the Gods. Clint’s got his arrows and Bucky’s got his sniper. Steve’s waiting for a signal from Sam if need be - he won’t need to shoot today either. 

“Wanda and Sam will let us know when the cars pass the barrier. The tech cannot, under any circumstances, pass through the gate right over there.” Steve points to the giant, black coated metal gate. There’s no one on duty. You made sure to evacuate the area and any staff before. The tech these goons are bringing in is all stolen Stark Tech. And according to Happy, strict instructions are to ‘blow it to Hell’.  

“And if it does?” Bucky asks, grinning mischievously at Steve’s pointed look. 

“What’d I just say?”

Bucky laughs and puts his hands up in surrender. ���Damn, Stevie. Calm thyne tits.” He goes back to fiddling with his rifle. “Blow the tires before they reach the gates but after they pass the barrier. Got it.”

“Peter, you in position?” Steve asks and adjusts his earpiece. 

You can hear Peter over your own mic. “Seatbelts look easy enough to break. I’m in position, I can easily pull them from the trucks.”

“Five minutes then.”

You all settle in. The cold has passed through the leather of your boots and your toes are paying the price. It makes you miss the rain of spring and the sprinkles of fall, when everything is drenched rather than frozen and your toes still have mobility. Your jacket is big enough but it scratches your neck every time you lean down to look through the magnifier. As the minutes tick by, you brave the cold and take it off. You’d rather conduct your part efficiently and without the constant distraction. 

“It’s almost forty degrees out,” Steve mumbles beside you. He’s looking over the roof balcony and into the trees. He’s squints and refuses your offer of binoculars. 

“So I get a sore throat.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Tony put a heater in all our suits. You should have worn yours.”

“My suit is half nano. It’s excessive for a stakeout.”

He huffs but you ignore him, choosing to look through the rejected binoculars instead. He shuffles, and then there’s a warm weight enveloping your shoulders. It’s his sweater, cotton and baby blue, and he lifts the hood to cover your cheeks and ears. Your stomach flip-flops.

“Uh, thank you,” you say and zip it closed.

Steve shrugs lightly, “Don’t mention it.”

So you don’t. He doesn’t look cold besides or he’s just really good at masking it. It’s quiet now; you can’t really hear the quiet mutters of Clint and Bucky enough to join in and to not mention the jacket is eating at you. You opt for a casual conversation instead while you wait. 

“Soooo… how’d your date go last week?”

Steve clears his throat and turns to you, a forced grin on his face. “They, uh, they were sweet.”

“Sweet,” you repeat, nodding at nothing and cursing yourself for creating such an awkward moment. “Going on a second one?”

He sighs and his expression actually turns truthful. “No, don’t see that happening.”

For a second, you’re appalled. Who wouldn’t give Steve a second date? He’s an absolute catch and being a famous superhero wasn’t exactly a dealbreaker for many. Or maybe it was and Steve was blaming his alias once again for no fairytale ending. “Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t want you?”

The words leave your mouth too quickly to reel them back in. Steve’s cheeks turn pinker, both from your words and the chill, and he ducks his head low as he answers. “It’s my fault, really. They were sweet but I wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Mm, on your phone? Daydreaming? Were they a bore?”

Steve chuckles, “I pulled out my phone, like, once to answer a text but I was a proper gentleman!”

The tension is slowly melting and there’s a soft twinkle in his eye as he laughs. It’s been so long since he’s looked at you this way: on his own accord and not on order. “Bucky said they were, and I quote,” you lower your voice and look over at Bucky to make sure he’s distracted. “‘Cute as hell’.”

Steve gives Bucky a warm look. “Eh, it’s fine. Wasn’t the one.”

“The one,” you mock in a deep voice. “Who texted you that it was so important to ignore someone cute as hell?”

Steve hesitates and looks over the balcony as if wishing for an interruption. But the trucks aren’t near yet and Sam hasn’t given the signal. “Uh, it was Peter.”

“Oh, don’t tell him that. He’ll feel incredibly guilty if he ruined your chances at getting laid.”

Steve shoves your shoulder a bit harder than he intended and it makes you stumble back. He quickly catches you by the arm and holds you still, a sheepish smile painting his pink face. He mumbles a quick ‘sorry’, and goes back to lean over the railing. “It’s cool, he knew.”

You fake a surprised gasp, “Even worse!”

“He needed me to stop by the compound and I did. Really, it’s okay,” Steve assures and he’s speaking a little quicker. He fidgets with his thumbs and it looks like he wants to wrap up that portion of the conversation. But he looks over at you and sighs deeply, and he rolls his eyes as his upper lip tilts upward. “Ask.”

“What’d he want?” It makes your belly all warm to know he expects this enthusiasm from you.

“Wanted me around. Buck and Wanda were out getting dinner.”

“Yeah, but like, what for?”

He gives you a knowing smile, like you walked right into that trap. “You made dinner but Peter was too nice to say he didn’t enjoy it, so he texted me knowing I would like it. Knowing I had it before. He didn’t want there to be leftovers because then you’d be sad.”

You step back and shake your head like there’s a fly swarming around. It startles you. “You left your date… during dinner… to come to the compound to eat the dinner I made instead?”

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“How not?”

It’s five minutes when Sam calls it in. You groan in frustration and give Steve a look that says the conversation isn’t over. 

There are four armored vehicles and the magnifier illuminates three bodies per car. The targets will be hit starting from the last to keep the explosions out of each driver’s line of sight. 

“Target acquired,” Bucky mumbles and clicks off his safety. He closes one eye and settles comfortably as he awaits Steve’s signal.         

Clint tugs back an arrow, “Same here, Cap.”

“Wanda, you ready?” Steve’s voice is lower when he’s focused. He looks over at you, your hand up with an index finger raised, and waits. Wanda answers that she’s ready and Sam counts it down. The first truck crosses the barrier, then the next, next, and finally the fourth and you drop your hand in a fast swipe. 

“Fire! Go Parker!”

Bucky shoots the back tires of all four vehicles and Clint shoots his arrows to penetrate through the passenger doors. Peter works fast, webs slinging from side to side grabbing one passenger right after the other. Once the trucks are empty, Clint activates the arrows and you all prepare for the explosions. The fourth car catches flame first and Wanda contains the explosion perfectly, balling it up into a weak bundle of light and string. She does the same to the third and second, bundles extinguishing just as quickly as they burst. But the first car swings out of control on manual and the explosion is delayed.

“Clint?”

Clint leans over the balcony and squints, as if it would help. “I don’t know. It’s not going off.” He’s clicking the detonator repeatedly, holding it up for all of you to see. 

“Wanda, the truck! The truck! Sam!” You scream as the truck crashes through the gate and hurls closer to the hotel. The commotion is enough for Bucky to pop out from his cover and the four of you watch in horror as the truck still doesn’t stop. Clint has stopped clicking the button, but it’s no use. The truck finally explodes in an outbreak of debris and electricity. The Stark Tech reacts poorly to the strain, electric gusts of smoke fire left and right and rattle the building. It feels like an earthquake, shaking the already weak foundations and old brick. Wanda catches the bottom to better contain it and tries desperately to smother it. But the shaking doesn’t stop and the corners of the roof are collapsing. 

Steve leaps to grab and pull you away and just as quickly to catch Clint’s leg before he falls over the edge. Clint is thrown back rather harshly but Steve isn’t thinking about the abuse of strength right now - no, not while Bucky slips and hangs on to a rogue pipe. Steve crawls and latches onto his hand before the pipe gives way. He yells as he tugs Bucky up with only one arm, the other having to hold onto undisturbed brick. He won't let Bucky fall. Not again.

Bucky throws his leg up and over solid ground, and you go to help Steve pull him up. Bucky’s heavy and his metal hand pinches your skin bad but he’s safe. Wanda struggles to contain the electricity but she’s succeeding. The rumbling slows until nothing moves anymore. You collapse back in exhaustion.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” Bucky gasps as he rubs his face. 

“Is Wanda okay?” You mumble more to yourself and struggle to pull yourself back up. But the sudden weight of your body proves too much for the edge and in a horrible wave, you’re falling through. You practically file your nails as you try to latch onto falling brick.

“No!” You feel the scratch of someone’s fingers along your forearm and soon they’re digging into your skin, and it hurts but you figure it’s better than splitting your skull open. Pebbles of concrete are falling down onto your face and the smoke from the explosion is clogging your nostrils. You hang for a few seconds, like the person can’t believe they actually caught you. Then they begin pulling you up, lifting you to safety, and you claw the rest of the way only to tumble into Steve’s chest, shaking. 

He pulls you into his arms but they’re restless, roaming over your shoulders and through your knotted hair clumsily. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His voice wavers and he’s on the verge of tears, it seems. His waterline is glossy and his lips are quivering. “Answer me.”

“I’m fine, hey. Steve? I’m good.”

He pulls away and his hands hover you like he doesn’t know what else to do with them. “I’m sorry. I should have kept you close. I-” His voice cracks and he swallows hard. “You sure you’re okay?”

Disregarding his words is difficult, especially when you feel a second meaning to them, but you force yourself to do so. It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen him like this. And each time you have, it was never because of anything good. “Y-yeah. I’m good, Rogers.”

Bucky and Clint look at each other, they look at Steve, to you, and back to each other. Finally, Clint breaks the silence and huffs a light chuckle. “Are we really THAT rusty?”

Present Day, 2025, 11:45pm

    The Montana skies are clear and free of passenger planes, allowing the Quinjet to swift easily on autopilot. You could never drive this thing and the building anxiety of that reality bubbles each time it makes an unsteady bounce. 

Steve’s laying in the makeshift medical wing and though it’s against protocol, he’s on a secure line with Dr. Cho. She takes her time, albeit working as fast as possible too, and her light voice is fairly calm. It settles you to hear her speak this way. 

‘I need you to use this disinfectant, Captain Rogers. Do not pour it on all at once… Good, now dig through gently and make sure the pliers are sanitized.’

Steve digs out the bullets himself and bites down on a clean towel. He’s biting down hard enough that his teeth make a squeaking sound against it. It takes every ounce of your willpower to not do it for him. The Montana skies are beautiful, at least. It’s a good distraction. 

Steve gives a rather painful yell as he finally plucks the second bullet, cursing as a stream of blood drips onto the table. He’s got such tough skin - miracle or serum - that the bullets didn’t pass all the way through. Dr. Cho moves on to how to properly bandage the wound but Steve begins to tune her out. 

Two years mucking through mud and bodies and getting patched up every other day has prepared him for whatever life may throw during this new century. Not much has changed, it seems. 

When the line disconnects, Steve can finally just relax. He focuses on the soft rumble of the engine and your steady breaths. 

     You hold your breath as you settle the Quinjet on the open field, only half of you actually trusting automatic tech. Steve coaches you the whole time too, the little shit, and promises you’ll never be doing that again. 

Steve stumbles and teeters and falls on the porch steps with a low groan. You let him fall because you know you’d only fall with him. He catches himself with the hand he’s been pressing over the bandage while the other still holds on to you. You fight the urge to crash down with him and bite your lip as you look up to the night sky. 

“C’mon, Rogers,” you swallow down the increasing worry, “We’re almost inside.”

Steve huffs a pained laugh and nods. He grabs your arm again and with his remaining strength, pulls himself up,

The inside of the cabin looks comfier than the outside. You help Steve to the couch closest to the unlit fireplace before going out back to turn on the power. There’s a thin layer of ice in the grass so just in case, you scope out the garage and make sure there are snow supplies. Not that you really know what the hell snow supplies actually look like, but there’s a shovel and you figure that’s as much as your brain is going to piece together. 

When you get back inside, Steve’s fumbling with the coffee maker and leaving tiny fingerprints of blood over every surface he touches. You don’t comment on them, just step back and discreetly wipe the counters each time he passes. 

“Figured you’d like a pot,” Steve says. 

It damn near breaks your heart how small his voice sounds. The fact he’s stumbling around the cabin making sure you’ve got your coffee fix while he’s nursing two bullet wounds damn near snaps it in two.

“Thank you,” you respond and go to lead him back to the couch. He moans quietly when he sits and again as you lay him down. “I hope you don’t think I’m sleeping here,” Steve laughs and tries to hide his wince due the uncomfortable rumble. 

You smile and touch your hand to his hot cheek. His body is working overtime fighting off infection and regenerating tissue. His cheeks are a lovely scarlet red and so is the beautiful bulb of his crooked nose. He’s a little shiny, like varnish over light paint strokes, and taking the fever like a champ. “I’ll help you to the bed in a little bit. Let’s get that fever down first.”

Steve sighs, defeated, but nods. He lays his head back on the pillow and once he shuts his eyes, you get to work. The bathroom is stocked with the simple necessities: aloe vera, vapor rub, heating and cold pads, dozens of towels, and painkillers. You pop two painkillers yourself before gathering everything and dropping it on a nearby table in the kitchen. The coffee is about done brewing so you fill up a mug with bottled water and set it in the microwave for two minutes. You dip a chamomile tea bag a few times once the water is heated. There’s no teapot - you’ll apologize to Steve later. 

Once Steve’s happily sipping his tea, you start on the medicine. You wet the small towels and lay them over his forehead and bare chest. You rub aloe vera on the other cuts he obtained from hand-to-hand and finally rub the vapor rub in the dip of his neck and just below his nose. Steve gives you this funny smile as you do so, scrunching his nose and wiggling it back and forth. 

“Vicks,” you say as you show him the small container. “Heal you right up.”

“I bet,” he laughs. “Stuff smells like what I think liquid morphine would taste.” A laugh bursts from your chest, your first real instance of calm during these last few hours. You ignore his protests and smother more across his chest. 

Steve settles deeper into the couch and returns to his tea. He’s got less sweat on his skin now but he’s still red. You go to pour yourself that coffee and return to his side. The nanotech is growing stiffer and scratching your skin but you refuse to get comfortable until Steve’s fever breaks. You’re still covered in Ernesto’s blood, the red now a hellish brown, and you try not to move your face much for risk of feeling the dry pull of it. 

“Steve,” you try, but Steve shakes his head and makes sure to meet your gaze before he speaks. 

“No. The less I know the better.”

It surprises you, makes you feel more guilty, but you understand. Not telling him the full truth would be beneficial in the long run. Still, your hands hug the mug closer to your chest. “Do you think I did something bad?”

His upper lip tugs upward, “Do you think you did something bad?”

You don’t think for long. There’s not much need to. “No.”

He nods, “But you care what I think?”

“Of course I do. You’re not just my Captain anymore - you’re my friend. I care even when I’m asking you if my eggs need more salt.”

“You trust me enough to correct your cooking?” He teases, but it’s a question disguised as another. 

“I trust you enough to tell me if I need more salt. You’re not correcting it.” He laughs and dips deeper into the couch. The bandage is bleeding through, only slightly, so you move to find the first-aid kit. 

“Hey, it’s okay. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

You hum your disagreement. “I’m gonna keep it clean until you’re strong enough to shower.”

“You can always help me shower,” he mumbles into his tea. 

Rolling your eyes, you gently nudge his shoulder as you sit back down with the kit. “If you fall, I can’t catch you, you big lug. We’d have to tell everyone we screwed in there because you falling on top of me, injured, is somehow more embarrassing.”

He allows you to remove the soiled bandage and dab around the healing wounds. He’s bruising around the sides, multiple shades of green and yellow already, and the holes are stitched rather poorly. It makes you feel a little better about your own criss-cross work - even Steve sucks at it. 

“I’m sorry I had to go and get myself shot,” Steve apologizes and sucks in a deep breath when the towel drags a little too roughly. 

“Yeah, what the hell happened there?”

He almost mimics you in the way he shrugs his shoulders and lifts his arms in that ‘well, fuck if I know’ position, pursing his lips and expelling a chuckle. “Had my gun trained on Ernesto. Ernesto had his own on Ramirez. Then Seda came in and Ernesto ordered Ramirez to hand his over to Seda. Played right into Seda’s hands.”

You process the explanation slowly and dab his wound a few more times before unwrapping the clean bandage. “And the damn shield?”

Steve’s embarrassed by that small detail, he’ll admit it, because he truly was blindsided by Seda’s appearance. You were supposed to be holding him down after all. “In my defense! When it’s shrunk down and in your pocket rather than latched onto one’s arm, it’s easily forgettable.”

You clean around the wound softly before placing and taping the new bandage. The conversation settles and you’re both quiet for a long, long minute. He thanks you for cleaning him up by rubbing sweet circles into the knuckles of your right hand. Finally, you can’t take it anymore. It’s like a wave of irrefutable worry and rage, all bunched together with each emotion trying to outweigh the other. That goddamn riptide, sucking you in and keeping your head below water just for the hell of it. Breathing in harshly, you fail to keep yourself from stuttering over your words. “I’m sorry.”

Steve bites back a groan of pain as he leans over to take your cheeks in his palms. The brush of his fingertips lets you know that you’ve already started crying. You don’t much care about the facade anymore. “Doll, listen to me. Listen.”

“I never meant to leave you alone.”

“You never did.”

You bark out a wet laugh, sarcastic. “I should have run faster. I should have killed him all those years ago. I should have never brought you into this.”

“You did what you had to do,” he says, fiercely. He forgets his own strength for a second, only slightly diminished from the healing process, and loosens his tight grip against your cheeks. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

“I wanted to hate you,” you admit. Your bottom lip is trembling and your hands clench together over your thighs. “I wanted to hate you so much. If I did, then you getting hurt or killed on this mission wouldn’t hurt so bad. I hated you for what you did. Because it made me realize that I could never hate you at all.”

“Hey,” he tries, hands now lowering to clutch at your own. “Stop apologizing for having a heart. Stop thinking you’re not worthy of even having one.”

Your face crumbles and Steve realizes for the first time in a long time just how much you’ve been holding in. “Why didn’t you use the stones?”

Steve’s heart clenches at the sound of the crack in your voice. He hasn’t heard that crack since Clint fell to his knees without Natasha by his side. He holds onto you tighter and prepares himself for an admission he never thought he would ever have to give. “Because Peggy told me not to.”

Something confusing happens in the middle of your chest. It clenches with anger but understanding. The answer to your question was always this simple but it looks like it’s tearing Steve apart from the inside-out.

    She’s as beautiful as the day he went into the ice. All he has to do is whisper her name so sweetly, delicately, and she turns her head like she’s answering the prayer. First her knees buckle, eyes watering and blotching her vision, and she collapses on the soft grass of her backyard. Steve’s holding her the very next second, repeating that he’s real, he’s here. 

“Steve,” Peggy gasps, hands shaking as she brings them to his wet cheeks. She grips and pokes and does everything so comically that Steve laughs a wet laugh when she starts smacking him. “What is going on?”

And he tells her. Everything he can remember: the good, the bad, the wretched. He spills everything, and he spills the most delicate information of their time: he’s alive, just frozen; Bucky’s alive, just hurt; the world is saved, just broken. Whether she believes it or not Steve’s not sure, but he’s so goddamn happy to see her again that he chokes every other word. 

“And you? You’re happy?”

His eyebrows come together and he looks at Peggy like she’s speaking another language. She’s got the same red lipstick, same curl in her hair even if it’s longer now, and she’s filling out her dresses more. “Pegs, don’t ask me that.”

She detaches herself slowly from his arms, pausing their dance as she speaks. “Why not? You can’t expect me to accept that you stopped by to see me all willy-nilly after saving the universe.” Her lips twitch into a knowing smile and Steve melts. Her voice is sending him into a spiral, a world he never thought he would see again, and he realizes just how much he loves accents on women  - especially this woman. 

“I just,” he chokes out, and brushes his index finger down her cheek. “I had to see you again.”

“I get that,” Peggy says and pays no mind that the record player has stopped; she still sways gently with Steve. “But you’ve just mentioned a whole other world you’ve been a part of. You’ve got your best guy back, that Wilson fellow sounds like the life of the party, and this Agent Y/N certainly sounds like she’s been by your side through it all.”

Steve stutters in his step and holds her closer. Her stomach presses against his, and he stops abruptly. He looks down between them and runs his hand from her shoulder, down, to lay across her growing belly. “Pegs.”

She gives him the same wide and proud smile she gave him when he returned with the 107th. She lays her hand over his. “I know.” She laughs and tilts her head lovingly. “I’m happy, too.”

Steve bites his lip to keep from sobbing. He was so stupid for coming to this timeline, for ruining Peggy’s chance at happiness, for interrupting the life he already knew she created for herself. He inputted the wrong year, he suddenly realizes, and steps back arms-length from her. “I’m sorry, I was stupid to come here. I just wanted to see you and then I did, and I… I still love you, Pegs.”

“Oh,” Peggy gasps, bottom lip trembling. “Darling, do not mistake yourself, even for a second, into thinking that I do not love you too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for having a heart.”

He wants to argue, say he’s stupid a million more times, but he finds himself listening to her gentle words. It’s Peggy, Steve thinks. She’s always been right.

“In this world you live in, you have James?” He nods. She continues, “In this world you live in, you just lost two of your most loved friends?” He nods again. He wipes his face from forehead to chin. “In this world you live in, you have met a woman who has the same stubbornness as you; has the same self-sacrificing streak, who has your heart in such shambles that you dare call her one of your best friends?”

Steve thinks of you and how broken your smile was as you waved him goodbye, hand clenching Sam’s as Steve gathered the stones and Mjolnir. He thinks of the times you’d leap onto his back and demand a ride; the times he’s saved your ass in a firefight; how his sleep has definitely improved ever since he started calming you from nightmares - he hasn’t slept so well since before the war. He nods again.

Her eyes go soft. “Steve,��� she starts and Steve knows. He doesn’t want to know. “Don’t abandon the world you’ve built for yourself. Surround yourself with the people you love. Do this for me.”

“There’s so much hate and blood waiting for me when I get back, Pegs. I don’t want to-”

“There is a difference between you not wanting to and you having to.” He drops his head and focuses on the floor. Peggy isn’t done grilling him, however, and he looks back up to grant her the respect. “You must not abandon the world you helped create. I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m saying this because I know you don’t want to.”

“Pegs.”

“I see right through you, Steve. We marched together through mud and blood before. We’ve got two years of fighting side by side under our belts. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you I. I know that face anywhere.”

“I missed you, Pegs,” Steve breathes. She cups his face with her hands and draws their foreheads together.

“The stars weren’t written in our favor. But to know that you’re alive, and that you make it, and that you actually get to live,” she bites back a sob. “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“It isn’t my world to begin with.”

“No, you’re a man out of time. But so is James. You won’t abandon him now, will you?”

He chuckles low and their noses touch. “Stop making me feel guilty for wanting to find you, Peggy.”

She presses a soft kiss to the side of his mouth and finally breaks away. “And you won’t abandon that sweet girl who has put up with your nonsense for the last five years, you say?”

Steve shakes his head and meets Peggy’s gaze. “I’m just tired.”

“They are too, I bet.” He turns to the door and to Peggy, and she figures it’s almost time for him to leave. “You have been the archer and the brave, Steve. I’m absolutely certain you’ve been more. You will be more.”

Steve says his final goodbyes and stops to remember the fine details of Peggy’s face. The fifties are treating her well. Steve expected nothing less. Bright lights flash around him and he’s back to the world he wanted to leave, to hide from, and he sees you - and your mouth parts in shock.

     “And you listened to her?” you ask. 

Steve smiles, although it’s hard for him to remember that conversation. “I came back. I didn’t listen to her when she said to surround myself with people who love me, and who I love in return.”

“No, you made damn sure of that.”

“Hey,” Steve chuckles. “Don’t take smacks at me when you’re down.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, it’s just too easy sometimes.” Laughing about the two years of missed chances and spoiled friendship was not on your bingo card for this week. 

“I don’t know how this is going to play out,” you admit. Steve looks so young with a somber expression: his eyebrow creases gently without wrinkling the rest of his forehead, the side of his mouth tilts downward, and his eyelashes kiss the pink of cheeks. “I decided in the moment. So I’m fuck all out of ideas on how to proceed.”

He nods in understanding. “Guess we just have to look over our shoulders three times instead of two now.”

“Simple like that?” You scrub a hand over your face and curse inwardly when you smudge your lipstick down to your chin. You ignore it. “I know we’re Avengers, but.”

“No buts,” Steve says and moves to sit up. You help him by pushing his shoulders and he accepts your help as you struggle to the bathroom. “You helped the guy and his daughter. I’m sure he’s going to be watching our backs from now on.”

You help Steve strip from his dress pants and shoes and finally remove your suit as well. The graze on your arm is covered in brown, dried blood but the wound isn’t deep. It’ll sting like a sunburn, you know that, but it’s better than being shot through. You watch Steve enter the shower and leave the curtain drawn. His bandage is soaked again but thankfully it’s from the water and not more blood. You grab a spare towel and soak it with water and soap, and rub it across your lips and chin. 

“Let me do that,” Steve calls. You strip bare and bring the towel with you into the shower. Steve takes it and scrubs over your face, gently but more rough as he gets to your eyes. It’s an innocent moment of ‘ouch, scrub softer!’ and ‘surprised I didn’t take all your lashes off’. He helps clean your wound as well and once you’re both clean, he bandages you up and you him. 

The master bedroom is the only room without electricity so you gather some candles. It’s like the two of you won’t admit you’re currently afraid of the dark or what may lie in it. They illuminate the room in a delicate orange and it’s such a peaceful color to briefly see before falling asleep, head tucked into Steve’s chest and his heartbeat thrumming gently with your breath. 

     It’s a wonder what a night’s sleep can do. Steve’s wounds are sealed and his fever is gone, but there’s a signature left behind. A pink and white patch of skin as tender as a newborn’s, a memory. Steve pours your coffee and his tea while you trace your fingers over it.

Two hours after eating a small breakfast and securing the perimeter, a soft ding startles you from the random book you’re reading. Steve’s phone shines with a message from Sam. It simply reads: ‘Clear’. Grabbing the phone and walking out onto the porch, you find Steve sitting on one of the steps he tripped over just yesterday. He’s sketching the sky and the trees, taking his time on the lines of the branches, the strokes of the leaves, and the frost over them. He looks up, studies his surroundings, and looks back down to add a detail he previously missed. He sniffs, rubs his nose, and finally notices you leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hey,” he says, soft. “Any news?”

You hold up his phone and nod. “Sam says we’re clear to fly in.”

Steve looks back to his drawing. You hesitate before speaking, knowing damn well an all clear means get your ass back as soon as possible. “Finish your drawing. I’ll pack whatever we need to.” Steve’s mouth parts but he shuts it just as quickly. Slowly, he nods. 

     There isn’t much to pack since you brought nothing but the clothes on your backs. Everything at the hotel was collected before the wedding and should have flown back with Scott and the others. It feels awkward stealing bottled water and processed foods to hoard on the quinjet, but it’s a necessity. Steve meets you at the quinjet doors, shows you his drawing, and volunteers to take the wheel. 

“You’re not volunteering. You’re ordering.”

Steve rolls his eyes, “No license, no drive.”

“What are you? A cop?”

“Don’t think for one second I won’t actually hand the wheels over and happily crash while screaming ‘I told you so’.” 

Steve steers for the duration of your flight. The next few hours are spent just enjoying each other’s company, speaking of all things and simply catching up. It’s amazing how much you two missed from one another’s lives those two years.

      The landing base is clear and it’s Sam who’s waiting for you as the Quinjet manually lands itself. He shoots you a gap-toothed smile and extends his arms, pulling the two of you in at the same time for a strong hug. He’s talking a mile a minute about how successful the mission was, how Fury is over the moon that it’s finally over, how the DEA is thinking of congratulating everyone one by one. It’s enough to distract Steve, who’s just happy to see his best friend again, but it isn’t enough for you. The large metal doors sealing the storage facility from the rest of the compound are thrown open. Bucky stumbles through and practically sprints over to the three of you. 

“Get back on the jet,” he orders, already pulling you by the arm. You all look at one another like he’s gone mad but that’s impossible. Bucky’s paranoia isn’t something to take lightly; he’s right nine out of ten times. 

“Buck, what-?”

“Rhodes couldn’t hold them. They have warrants, Steve.”

Steve hauls Sam onto the jet as well. “Warrants for who?”

“Get down from the jet without a fight and this will all go smoothly.”

There are about twenty uniformed officers surrounding the jet. They spread out in case anyone decides to run but it seems pointless to even try. Secretary Ross points his gun directly at you, proud and tall and looking just the same as you remember him. Last time you saw him was at Tony’s funeral. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” you bite, and raise your hands in cooperation. Ross shakes his head and his expression contorts into one of disgust. There are red beams coming from each gun but your friends are clean - the beams are only pointed at you.

“Agent Y/N Y/LN, you’re under arrest for multiple charges of drug smuggling, trafficking of illegal goods, the murder of Ernesto Vega and Daniel Seda, aiding and abetting drug-lord Omar Ramirez, and for conspiracy against the United States of America. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a federal court of law...”

You drone out half way through. Ross finishes up the speech but no one is listening. Sam is already yelling over your Miranda Rights and Bucky’s frozen in place. Steve’s fighting his way through to Ross, pushing through the muscle until he’s face to face with him. But Ross isn’t fazed. There’s nothing left to do but exit the jet. 

Immediately there are handcuffs slapped to your wrists. Two men drag you over to the containment car that’s enforced with so much indestructible material it’s almost insulting. You weren’t enhanced - they were doing this for fun.

“You’ve got it all wrong! Y/N! Y/N!”

You don’t fight. Conspiracy… you’re surprised they didn’t just shoot you dead. Steve’s still yelling, begging to be heard, but you try to block him out. It’s not your first time being arrested but it is your first time being charged with something you didn’t do. As funny as that sounds, it’s terrifying. 

“Steve,” you say, and Steve breaks through some more hired muscle so he’s within earshot. “It’s okay.”

His face pulls up in pain, “No, you didn’t do this! They’re not listening!”

One of the officers pushes your head down roughly and tries to shove you in the backseat. You’re still looking at Steve. And those eyes, wounded and vulnerable, haunt him even after the door shuts and the car drives away.

     There’s a privilege attached to the mantle of Captain America. Perhaps he was too blind to see it during the war or just too proud he was finally being heard and respected, but now he sees it for what it really is. It’s a mantle this country has never truly associated with the person but with the purpose. Steve was manufactured to help protect this country under government orders and when he defied that purpose, he disgraced the mantle. Seems like some people idolize the role a little too much. 

But he’s still Captain America. This reality has continued to clear his name from stunts he pulls and laws he breaks. And once Steve is able to walk away without so much as a scratch, he leaves bodies behind.

Sharon. Sam. Bucky. Wanda. And now you. All people who fought his fight and weren’t granted the quick privilege of that perceived pureness and holiness. He was always ready for combat, he was built for it, but he didn’t really want it. 

Did he?

Ripping that star off his chest was one thing. Accepting his new shield cemented his continual legacy as the Star-Spangled Man. He deserved to be in that cell with you. But if he learned anything about how the world works, it’s that cruelty doesn’t just win in the movies. All of his enemies started out friends and if he had to bet, he’d bet the reason they’re labeled as such is partially because of him. 

So he sits and listens to everyone’s ideas and plans, vetoing and dismissing one right after the other, his mind doing jumping jacks. He’s both there and not, drowning in the fact that he made it home and you didn’t. He doesn’t know how to sleep without the sound of your snoring anymore. 

He sits and listens. 

    The cell isn’t one you would expect for someone who has been charged for betraying her country. It’s modestly furnished: a black cot in the far right corner with a mini table beside it, a desk with some paper, and a door that leads to the private bathroom. All in all, the room’s size is that of a child’s bedroom; there’s no actual pens and pencils for risk of violent behavior and there’s a bulb camera that moves when you move. 

You’ve been trapped in worse. 

Countless detectives and investigators have visited already. They all ask the same questions: Why did you do it? Did Captain Rogers know? Who are you, really? 

You give the same answers: I didn’t do it. Of course, every single person knows. Who do you think I am?

Every time they leave more discouraged than the one before them, refusing to compare notes with one another in case they were in possession of gold. They all ignore you when you try to ask for Steve and his wellbeing. Their faces contort, they whisper to their partners, and they shake their heads in disappointment. One even goes as far as to threaten you, warning you to keep Captain Roger’s name out of your wetback mouth or else, until he’s escorted from the cell. Not that it really matters - the manipulated ideals of these people will always blur their search for the truth. And when the truth fails to satisfy such greedy manipulations, they choose to create their own.

There is one agent who peaks your interest. He offers you gum when he settles in the chair near the door. His name badge reads ‘Kavert’; it glares in the bright lights overhead and he makes no other attempt at small talk once he gets comfortable and opens his little notepad. 

That goddamn notepad, you think. Every single person before has prided themselves over it, scribbling little notes about your tone of voice, body movement, and vague answers. You never give much, Natasha had taught you better, so they always end up writing less than two bullet points before giving up. 

But Agent Kavert surprises you by opening up to a blank page, spitting his chewed gum in the middle, and then he shuts it closed. He offers you a real smile, one that doesn’t look practiced or forced. It lets you study him without being so guarded or uncomfortable. He seems young, not really a rookie but it’s obvious he’s spent more time behind a desk than out in the field. His dark hair is short, sprinkled grays near his temples, and his attire screams upper level. His build is lean, his gun is in the holster on his right hip, and a part of you knows he’d put up a hell of a fight if you tried to escape. 

“I was gonna comment on what lovely weather we’re having, but I don’t think you get out much.” 

You’re startled into a real laugh. Satisfaction washes over his face. 

“I think you’re wasting your time, Agent Kavert.”

He grins and moves to proudly pull at his jacket and present his badge. He sets the notebook to the side and leans forward to cup his hands together on his knees. 

You squint at him. There’s nothing interesting about you right now: back against the wall as you sit criss-crossed on the cot, sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, hair brushed but a little greasy. Your last shower was two days ago and you figure they’ll let you have one tonight. 

“Yeah, you’re right. There’s no point in hoping you’ll tell me anything you haven’t shared yet.”

“Nope.”

He hums low in his throat and tilts his head to the left. Now, he squints at you. “I just don’t get it. How did you do it? Not show up on our radar, I mean?”

It doesn’t seem like he’s calling you guilty or innocent. Already he’s one-hundred percent different from the other agents. “I wasn’t exactly hiding.”

He sits up to lean back in the chair, “Different last name, government and Avenger protection, covering your tracks so carefully even the DEA missed you.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

“Yes, but,” he starts. He acts like he’s having a normal conversation on his front porch. “It still doesn’t make sense. How could Nick Fury miss this? Tony Stark? After the whole Obadiah situation, I expected him to-”

“It’s simple, really. Do you want to know or do you want to keep making assumptions?”

He’s watched the other agents leave by this point. Some couldn’t even make you talk. So he shuts up and waves his hand for you to continue. 

“Cool,” you breathe out. “First of all, I’m literally only telling you this because I’ve already been refused a lawyer or some crap like that and I highly doubt this is going to actual court. The publicity would be horrible.” 

He bites his lip but you catch the little smile forming. You continue, “And I have nothing to hide. I’m sure my Captain, my teammates, and Fury himself have given their sides. Am I right?”

Agent Kavert adjusts himself in the seat and nods in response. He doesn’t dare interrupt you now. 

“Good, then I’ll keep it sweet. They knew who I was. I was recruited to be an inside source, a double agent, and this wedding was the perfect chance to corner those men,” you declare, turning your hands palm up and shrugging your shoulders. “There, happy?”

“Double agent.” Agent Kavert chews over the words, rolling them around on his tongue a few more times. He’s squinting harder and you can see his brain working. The next sound to leave his lips is a heavy sigh and a feeling of immense irritation washes over you. It wasn’t enough.  “Are we going to be truthful yet, Agent?”

Chuckling lightly, you rest the back of your skull on the wall. It was wrong to assume he’d be any different from the others. “Of course you don’t believe me. You want more, they all do. I don’t suppose I have anything better to do.”

He claps his hands on his thighs and leans forward again, loud and restless. “Then let’s get started, really: Did you or did you not let Omar Ramirez, Mexican drug-lord involved with Ernesto Vega, your father... imagine that, run away from a crime scene, evade arrest, and possibly leave the country?”

“You expect me to follow all those questions?”

“It’s not the time to be funny.”

“You were enjoying it just a second ago,” you mumble. He raises his eyebrows, still waiting for an answer.  “Then let me put it simply: no, I did not.”

“Did you or did you not assassinate Ernesto Vega?”

“I would have remembered such a brilliant kill if it came from my gun.”

“So that’s a no… Daniel Seda?”

“His gun was pointed at my Captain. Yes.”

“Against orders, then?”

Confusion is written all over your face and you make sure the camera knows it too. There are only so many times you can repeat yourself. “Don’t you have Steve’s report? Scott’s?”

“We have to hear the story from you, Agent.”

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You don’t believe me.”

He shrugs and quickly scans you up and down. Even if he doesn’t have the tangible notepad in his hands, he’s getting away with making mental notes. “The story just isn’t piecing together the way it should be. Why would Daniel Seda murder his greatest ally and friend?”

“Our mics have already transcribed that answer for you, sir. I’m sure of it. And I’ve got sources outside of the DEA and Avengers-”

“Like Maribel Rodrigo? Another smuggler who has operated inside the cartel, HYDRA, Madripoor…”

You cut him off, angry. “Not the full story.” 

Tone of voice: defensive.

“Then that leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, fun.”

Tone of voice: sarcastic.

He speaks with a tinge of astonishment hidden in every syllable. “Why didn’t you do it? Kill Ernesto, I mean.”

“I was disarmed at the time. The Captain and I both were,” you answer, growing more impatient by the second.

He uses his hands to speak now, finger pointing along an invisible timeline detailing the order of events. “So you admit you were going to kill him if you had your weapon.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

Body movement: rigid.

“Or maybe you weren’t. Maybe my boss is right, maybe the FBI is right in thinking that you are a double agent leaning more towards your roots than our boys in blue.” He says this like its scripture; like it’s some holy conspiracy he’s just found evidence for. He wants you to plant words in your mouth and in this discussion so he can pluck the evidence from the ground and water it with fire.

You scoff hard, “I hardly ever wear blue when doing your job for you.”

“Was letting Omar Ramirez escape our job or just yours?”

Telling him the truth would mean losing all credibility, all titles, all trust in your work. You know what you’ve done and you don’t regret it. Ramirez was never the biggest fish and if you spun this right, then he was simply a fish who got his meal and promptly swam away. “You assume I let him go. What evidence tells you that?”

He ignores the question and instead asks another of his. “Why were your relations kept hidden from SHIELD and the FBI?”

“That’s a question for you know who.”

He shakes his head in disappointment. “You’re in a lot of trouble.”

“I bet I am. But this is not some precinct where you can get my team to turn on me so easily. And this is not a situation in which they’re lying for me. I trust that whatever the Captain has said is the answer to all your questions.”

“We’re gonna unravel this case. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

You’re suddenly overcome with a wave of sleepiness. These past two weeks have been exhausting even if you haven’t moved more than five feet from wall to wall. Having to repeat yourself to people who have already written the story for themselves is tiring. “I don’t know why you guys can’t just believe the words of myself and everyone vouching for me. We got you all the evidence. We have given you more names and connections that you’ll ever know what to do with. You don’t need to unravel anything; it’s all there! But because we weren’t able to arrest the one person you wanted, that being Ernesto, you go after me. You have White but I guess he’s not talking. And you’ll believe what you want to believe.”

“I trust my gut.”

“As simple as that, huh?” You sigh deeply and cross your arms over your chest. “You know, there’s a saying the late Agent Carter used to tell all SHIELD agents when they first started out and when they came back from missions. When she retired, it was Fury who then eased our minds.” 

Agent Kavert has a harsh line creasing through the middle of his forehead and he looks deeply interested. 

“There are three sides to every story,” you recite. “Your side, my side, and the truth.” A gentle shrug of the shoulders feels like all you’re allowed to give him. “I’m not lying to you but I’m not telling you the full truth either. Just my side.”

Agent Kavert shuts his eyes and bounces his left leg. He looks conflicted and unable to formulate a response at all. He’s shaking like he’s at war with himself or with the suits on the other side of the door, but no one has come knocking yet. “Let’s say I believe you. Just for a second.”

You nod. 

“Daniel Seda murders Vega at his own daughter’s wedding. We managed to catch Marcus White and because of fault entirely, Omar Ramirez gets away. Because from what I heard, Ramirez was working with you.” He paints the picture rather mundane, but you shoot him a smile that tells him he’s on the right track. “And you and all the other Avengers were blindsided by Ramirez. You gathered all the evidence you were told to gather, worked together and played your cards right, infiltrated one of the most secure estates in the country, and fucked up so badly that you managed to let two of your biggest giants die?”

“I really think you got it spot on.”

He laughs dryly, “But it still doesn’t make sense. Once Vega was gone and Seda survived, where would you have fallen in this tree?”

He wants to retract his question the moment he sees your face fall with such a sincerity he wasn’t ready for. “That’s just it, Agent Kavert. I would have fallen.”

“And the other two? How would business work? Would Daniel Seda have been the head of it now?”

“Your answers are in the evidence we gathered. I know you guys aren’t touching it because you think I’m compromised.”

He stands from the chair and dusts off his jacket. “Your side, my side, and the truth,” he repeats. He goes to open the door but you speak quickly before he can leave. 

“They think I infiltrated SHIELD, the Avengers, and am in bed with HYDRA because they’ve been helping Ernesto’s vision all along.” Agent Kavert stops and turns back to you. “I am a double agent whose identity was kept secret to aid this country and not raise suspicions from your part. I have seen a lot of things, have done things I’m not proud of, but I’ve done it all for a reason.”

Agent Kavert looks almost ashamed. Tone of voice: sincere.

“Me and my Captain saved lives, our own as well, and we stopped three of the most notorious drug-lords who have been at large since the eighties. We got your giants for you. And the truth is, I have discovered: through all my pain and experience... that it’s excellent to have a giant’s strength; but it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.”

Agent Kavert doesn’t know if you’re talking about Ernesto, the U.S Government, yourself, or him. His eyebrows pinch together and he slowly moves to leave the room.

    It’s another week before you’re visited by someone who isn’t bringing you food or extra toilet paper. You’re picking at your cuticles when the vents above your cell begin rattling with the obvious weight of a human being. You sit dumbly on the bed, straining your ears and trying hard not to laugh as each rattle is returned with a muffled curse. The vent on the ceiling right outside your cell drops to the concrete floor. 

Ernesto’s men wouldn’t go through all that trouble to kill you James Bond style. They would have just bribed a guard. So it’s a treat when the door swings open quickly and in comes a staggering Clint, keys in one hand and his phone in the other. The screen is illuminated, showcasing what looks to be blueprints. He’s got a bandaid over his left eyebrow and dust all over his clothes.

Your upper lip twitches into a silly smile. “You’re ridiculous if you thought you wouldn’t be heard in those damn vents.”

Clint makes a noise that sounds like he’s saying ‘maaaf’ and he plops down beside you on the cot. It’s absolutely hilarious he traveled in the vents and that the team approved this when in reality, they could have just sent Scott. “Just had to get past the first line of security. Plus, the blueprints said they were wider... I figure we’ve got a good three minutes before they check the cameras.”

It’s not the first time you sit in a cell with a time crunch. 

     The Raft is nothing special. They have you all separated by rank, meaning you were in the same vicinity as Clint, Sam, and Scott. Wanda was moved to a more secure location and you haven’t seen her since they brought you in. 

There isn’t much to do in a place like this. You tried counting how many strands of hair you had but gave up once you counted two hundred; you tried seeing if the others could hear you when you yelled out to them but the cells were soundproof; you even tried filing your nails against the uneven paint on the wall. It’s like they made life in these cells purposefully horrible - like you didn’t save the world a couple times over, c’mon. 

The camera fidgets over your head where you’re laying down and after a few seconds, it stops. The red light slowly fades and turns a bright yellow. You move to stand on the bed and reach for it, but a voice startles you from doing so. 

“Don’t mess with my magic!”

You topple over the single pillow you were given and fall flat on the bed, scrambling to shield yourself from whoever intruded. “Jesus!”

“Oh, I met him. Strange lad, didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

There’s a moment where you think you must be dreaming. His hair is longer and hits his shoulders and he’s added some blue and yellow to his usual attire. But other than that, he’s alive. Truly, brilliantly, really alive. 

“Loki, what the fuck?”

“Right!” Loki claps his hands and extends them outwards, smiling.  “Ta-da!”

A few beats pass. You blink a few times just in case you’re hallucinating. Barely a week in containment… 

“I’m sorry… I’m still trying to process the fact that you’re still alive!”

He scoffs low and goes to sit at the edge of the bed. “A God never truly dies, darling.”

“Well in Greek mythology-”

“Greek mythology and I have this unsettled beef that’s been going on for about five hundred years. Do not mention Greek mythology to me.”

“Excuse me, right, I should have known that was a sensitive topic.”

Loki swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and expels a laugh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Your restraint is gone and you lunge forward to envelope him in the tightest hug you’ve ever given anyone. He returns it, sighing into your shoulder and holding you close. You pull away just to stare at him, watching his features as they move ever so slightly. It’s really him. 

“I-” Loki tries but stutters. He’s studying you too and he almost looks sad. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Does Thor know?” Loki shakes his head at your question and winces when you smack his shoulder. “Loki, Thor has been grieving you for months!”

“I’m planning on it!” You don’t believe him. He goes to rub his shoulder. “Gods, I forgot you had excellent aim.”

You look back at the camera and find that the yellow light is still glowing, dim. Loki’s magic is blocking footage out or putting footage in, you really don’t know. But it’s allowing you a few moments with the man you thought you’d never see again. “Spontaneous reincarnation aside, what are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

“I’m on this planet for five-FIVE minutes, and the television has all these reports about you and everyone fighting each other?”

“Mm, right, right.”

Loki stares at you, amused. “... Care to explain?”

Your face contorts into a hundred different expressions until you finally settle on one of gentle guilt. “The person we were after was a friend of a friend. I made a judgement call and let him go.”

“You went against orders?”

“I went against the law.”

“Even better.”

With an eyebrow cocked, you give him a judging look. “Loki.”

His eyes crinkle from the intensity of his smile and you’ve missed him, you missed him so much. “That’s what I love about you. Barely starting out as an Avenger and you’re already realizing you can do more good in your own way.”

You groan quietly and rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. “I mainly did it for Steve. Wasn’t like it was a big ‘fuck you’ to one-hundred and seventeen nations for the hell of it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No.”

“Spoken like a true anti-hero.”

“You comparing me to yourself?”

Loki chuckles and runs his fingers through the strands of hair closest to your cheek. “Darling, I’m a God. No one comes close.” He sighs, serious again. “All I’m saying is that it’s refreshing to see the young break the rules.”

“I missed you,” you softly say. You can feel the nudge of his cheek turning upward against your head. 

“Always nice to hear.”

Rolling your eyes, you move to meet his gaze. “So, no reason why you came to visit me specifically?”

Loki takes one cautious look at the camera, to outside your cell, and back to you. “I too do things for your lovely Captain.” His smile grows wider. 

“What?”

He winks and tilts his head over to the giant metal doors that are starting to pry open. “See you in a minute.” 

The alarms begin blazing; there is fog filling the room, and Steve emerges from that fog with a winning smirk.

     You look over at Clint, half selfishly wishing he was Loki on another one of his midnight visits, and quickly do away with the thought. “So how’s life without me?”

“Oh, it’s great! The flowers are in bloom, the kitchen isn’t always a mess, and my bow and arrow aren’t misplaced because you wanted to have some fun with it,” he jokes, stretching far enough that his feet dig into your thigh like he’s trying to make more room for himself.  

“Not like it’s your only bow and arrow.”

He chuckles and sits up. He does a once over of the room and adjusts the frequency on his hearing aid. “They read you your rights at least?”

You wait to respond until he finishes fixing it. You speak and sign the words slowly,  “I don’t think any lawyer in America will want to take this case anyway.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a career killer.”

Trying to refrain from smiling around Clint was nearly impossible. You look to the door quickly, “Two minutes?”

He shoots up straighter as he watches your hands, “Right! So we’re currently tracking down your sister-”

“My sister?”

“Steve thinks she’s our only hope at clearing your name.”

“Why is that? I told her to get as far away as possible.”

Clint sighs and scratches the skin just above the bandaid. “She stayed in Mexico all those years you were gone. By all accounts, Ernesto adored her. Because of that, her influence might clear your name.”

“But she stayed. All the more reason to believe she was involved as well,” you say, shaking your head.

“She’s barely out of her teens. Everything that happened, happened when she was a minor. She has a first hand account of the abuse Ernesto caused you. And Steve thinks that the Julian fellow might even come clean and admit to the arranged marriage. Shows a pattern of abuse by Ernesto to his own children. Could spin it to make it seem like you had no other choice but to follow his orders.”

You follow his hands slowly, some signs difficult to read but you latch onto the gist of his argument. You groan and lean your head back on the wall with a small thump. “They go against Ernesto and they have targets on their backs. Even my other siblings who are still involved with all of this won’t let it go.”

“Y/N… Ernesto’s dead. You know that.”

“His influence isn’t.”

There’s minimal commotion a few doors down. Clint realizes it’s time to leave. “It might never be. But we don’t get to live in the future.” He stands with another small groan and stretches as he prepares to lift himself back into the vent. “We’re living now, and it’s all any of us can do.”

“Clint?” You also stand and have to wave in his peripheral to get his attention. He turns and knows what you’re about to say even without the hand gestures. “They won’t answer me when I ask.”

His lips pull into a perceptive smile, “He’s okay. Doing what he does best - blaming himself.”

“Oh, okay, good.”

He’s had enough practice reading your lips to notice the sarcasm that drips from them. He hurries to lift himself up. “We’ve got about a million tricks up our sleeve. If Jackeline’s word or the evidence isn’t enough, we’ve always got Fury and his blackmail.”

“Yeah, half the guys who interviewed me look like they cheat on their wives, so.”

He genuinely laughs and jumps high, muttering more to himself than to you. “Up we go…”

     The team locates Jackeline just a few days after your run-in with Clint. The building saw a triple rise in security but even then it didn’t prevent undercover agents passing all the checkpoints and sliding notes with your meals. They’d leave the tray, tip their hats, and smile like they knew the cameras wouldn’t suspect a thing. 

The first note is from Bucky, with the simple message of ‘I watched a few episodes of The Crown without you… I’m sorry.’

The second comes on the same day at dinner time, this one from Wanda. ‘I think Peter is trying to flirt with your sister.’

The third isn’t slipped through with any meal, but rather through the tiny opening beneath the door. ‘Surprised we did this the legal way this time! See you soon! - Rhodey’

The final one is actually hand delivered when several guards come in to tell you you’re free to go. They’re mumbling amongst themselves, cursing the system and the privileges Avengers always get, when the smallest of the five turns to you and hands you the note. ‘I owe you one. You owe me one. Who’s counting anymore? - Joaquin’

Jackeline had been able to track down Maribel and the two of them, with such accuracy in their stories and their timelines, constructed your defense perfectly. They showed them phone records, all of the recordings from that week, had proof that you never signed a thing, and made several special deals. Jackeline promised to reveal where bodies were buried, where business was dealt with, who else was involved with Ernesto and Seda. Maribel managed to get a message to them from Ramirez, which basically cleared you from the crime they were trying to stick. Ramirez was a damn good liar, you’ll give him that, and it made you the tiniest bit sad that you’d probably never see him again. 

The tipping point was when Steve turned himself in. There was no evidence that you did anything, never signed anything, never conspired behind your teammates backs. Fury made sure not to keep a paper or electronic trail. But there was evidence that implicated Steve - the contract. No matter how badly the FBI and CIA tried to make it go away, to absolve Steve from it, he didn’t back down. It was like the story they originally wanted toppled in on itself and it was actually Steve who forced you into all of this - playing your connections and forcing your hand. The contract hadn’t been voided, still hasn’t, and they really couldn’t risk another SHIELD fiasco. So it was destroyed to protect the Stars and Stripes, and in return they promised to let you go if you didn’t tell a soul. The image you’d come to despise, that tacky red, white and blue, is starting to grow on you.

‘Let me think about that and get back to you,’ you had joked. You think they let you go sooner because they feared the truth in your joke. 

But there wasn’t anything to think about, ever, still isn’t. Steve pulled another sacrifice play and you wanted to get out as soon as possible to kick his ass. 

You leave the prison with the same clothes you had on when you entered. They smell washed and you’re thankful they allowed you to shower before you left. You ignore the looks guards and prisoners aim at you, each trying to somehow get their hits in without actually pulling their punches. This would be a media disaster either way, didn’t matter the outcome of a supposed trial, and PR was most likely struggling to prepare their defense. 

You resist the embarrassing urge to run into his arms. He’s standing right outside the gates, leaning back on the passenger side of his rusty old blue pickup, positively glowing underneath the blazing sun. You’re blinded by it, skin thanking the dangerous rays for its first touch in weeks, but it only takes a moment for your eyes to adjust. He still hasn’t shaved and his hair is getting longer, and instead of his usual tucked-in dress shirt, he’s wearing a brown leather jacket over a faded graphic tee that reads AC/DC. It was Tony’s.

You’ve only got the broken burner phone and a hair tie in your possession; it’s what was on you when you were arrested. You drop the burner in a nearby trashcan and head on over to the truck. Steve’s wide smile buckles your knees and it damn near breaks your heart. Even when the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, you still saw each other at least twice a week. Going two weeks without seeing him feels like a lifetime. 

Once you're a few feet away, you stop in front of him. There are no immediate words you know to say, so you simply shrug your shoulders and give him a look that asks ‘What now?’

“Home.”

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer​ @justab-eautifulmess​ @supraveng​ @mycosmicparadise​ @missnighttigress​

[kaepop-trash]

I finished Unintended Consequences two days ago and I still can't get it out of my head. How do you do it? How do you make him playful and funny one moment and sexy the next? I can't get the Epilogue out of my mind!!! This might be too much to ask since you mentioned that you've been working on a few WIPs, but I've been reading your fanfiction for a long time now and I know you sometimes answers asks with small bits of extra plot. I need Daddy Johnny, I can't stop thinking about it.

Please! Ask anything, I love doing these. Finding out someone wants to see more of characters makes me giddy because I focus on characters the most in any story. You can ask about any character from any fic at any point of time in any situation and I will gladly write it. This is maybe on of my favourite things to do, like an excercise in character. If you have more please don't hesitate to ask. But for now, here's daddy Johnny. Enjoy!

__

Her bottom lip puckered and she look at her feet, crossing her arms over her chest. Johnny laughed softly, changing the gear as the traffic light turned green.

"What has gotten into you today?" He was still chuckling to himself.

Her eyes traced the rain covered streets as they passed by slowly. Taking in the sight of her city, her home.

She turned to face him, devilish intention in her eyes. "A lot of things. Unfortunately, none of them were you." She saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. She took pleasure at the sight of the humour dropping away from his eyes.

She looked out through the windshield, her voice turning back to conversational. "I appreciate that you came to the airport. Though I'm not sure I enjoyed how blatantly Isabelle was eyeing you." She frowned, remembering her colleagues shameless giggles and elbow touches.

"I thought Isabella was married?" He said off handedly.

She resisted the urge to smile, noticing his deliberate effort to mispronounce her name.

"All the more reason to dislike it. Isabelle should laugh at her husband's jokes." Her forehead creased together.

She sighed as they stopped at another red light. New York traffic aged a person more than the pollution.

Johnny turned to face her as he turned off the ignition, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "I thought you weren't the jealous type?"

"I am the possesive type, remember?" She pointed a finger at him. "I don't doubt you for a second. But I still don't see why Isabelle needs to stroke my Daddy's arm." She saw his nostrils flare, a sudden fire in his eyes. On her part, she bit back a smile.

There was a moment when he just watched her like a predator sizing their prey up while her breathing hitched with every passing second.

Then a horn blared behind them.

Johnny peeled his eyes from her, looking back at the road. His jaw set tight.

She turned back to the road as well, going back to filling him in on her work trip. "I did manage to squeeze in an amendment in the budget bill. Though I had to corner a senator in a bar for it. How was your week?" She questioned.

_

It took more than two hours, but they finally drove into the garage. Johnny got out and took out her suitcase, still mostly silent.

She tapped her feet on the ground as they waited for the elevator.

"Is there any food? I'm famished." She sighed as her stomach growled.

His eyes widened the smallest bit, "There's some cold pizza on the counter. I think there's an orange in the fridge." He thought over it.

She sighed, her head falling. "I leave for seven days and you've already given up food? Johnny Seo I've told you to at least have a decent dinner." She shook her head.

"I missed you too, (Y/N)." He said it absent-mindedly, practically fluent in her habit of missing what was really bothering her.

She was so deep in love with this man.

"What are you in the mood to eat?" He asked as the elevator dinged open. He lifted her suitcase and placed it inside as the elevator closed them both in.

Without too much of a malicious intent, her lips tugged at the corners.

"Jesus fucking Christ, baby." He huffed, "You need to stop." He warned.

"Why?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "I can say what I want to you. You're my boyfriend." She smiled at the word, still not used to the butterflies it gave her after almost three years.

"Wait till we get home." He sighed.

"But this is more fun." Her lower lip puckered up again, "Look at how impossibly red your cheeks are right now. I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"What should I do to your cheeks when we get back then?" He raised a brow, a flick of a switch for heat to pool in between her legs.

"Kiss them lovingly." She smirked, ignoring the intentional play on words.

His lips tugged on one corner, shaking his head as a chuckle slipped out his lips and looking away to the screen as they rose through the floors.

"Cold pizza is fine." She spoke, earning a distracted hum from him.

_

Johnny stood at the edge of the bed, a smirk on his face as he looked down to lock his gaze on hers. She sat on her knees at the edge of the bed, looking up at him with big, eager eyes. Wearing lingerie he once bought for her, the sight milking every last reserve he had.

The delicate cream-beige silk was thin despite being opaque, teasing his senses as her nipples currently stretched against the fabric.

He knew she wore it on purpose.

"Did you enjoy it? Constantly saying things that almost made the car crash?" He clicked his tongue.

"You aren't crashing any cars at 12 miles an hour." She mumbled.

His fingers grabbed her chin, raising her eyes to meet his. Humour dancing in his eyes, but a deliberate frown on his face.

"Look at me when you speak, princess." His voice impassive. "We're feeling very brave today, are we?" She blinked, batting her lashes in a slow deliberate move that made him groan.

"You always have more self-control than I do." She pouted. "All week I craved you. I just wanted to see some of that in your eyes."

His thumb brushed against her lower lips, pulling on the skin and letting his gaze linger on the plump flesh, before bringing it back to her eyes. "I'm always craving you." He bit the inside of his cheek when her lips parted to wrap around his thumb, flicking small licks against the pad of his thumb.

He clasped her jaw, "Wretched girl." He groaned.

"I missed you so much." She whined against his thump, letting it fall from her now wet lips with a soft 'pop'. "I was even sitting in a conference room before a meeting looking at your pictures. That bitch Isabelle peeked in and then would not stop asking who you were." She frowned.

His eyes danced with amusement. "What did you do then?" He dragged his thumb down her throat, dragging his wet finger down the skin.

"I told her exactly who you were." She sounded indignant.

"And what is that?" His fingers brushed over her breasts with a feather light touch, enjoying the sensation of the soft silk under his knuckles.

"Mine."

His eyes snapped back to hers, his lips parting.

She continued like her words didn't knock the ground from under his feet, "She looked like she didn't even want to believe me." She rolled her eyes.

Johnny raised a brow, "Is that why you grabbed my ass in the middle of the airport?" The smirk that lifted the corner of her lips drove him insane.

"Maybe." She bated her eyelashes. "Isabelle needs to pay more attention to her own husband." She frowned again.

"Can we not talk about Isabelle in our bed?" He snapped.

She gave him a soft nod, looking to the floor. Johnny grazed his lower lip with his teeth till the skin broke.

He lifted her chin to look at him, "Say it again." He demanded.

She scoffed, "You just said–"

"You know what I mean, princess." He narrowed his gaze at her. Her lips tugged. Otherwise patronising nicknames sounded like filthy praises when they came from his lips.

She looked up, unfaltering ease in her eyes. "You're mine."

"Again." He growled, his breathing down to a shallow mess of strong effort.

She sat up on her knees, coming up to make her eyes level to his, "Johnny Seo you belong to me."

He presses his lips to hers. She wrapped an arm around his neck and used the other to grab his sweater, pulling him till he was over her.

He pulled away from the kiss, lips still pressed on hers, "Turn over." He ordered.

She obeyed, lying on her stomach on the mattress, looking back to watch him do quick work of undressing.

"Did you miss me?" She questioned, knowing the answer already.

"Every fucking hour." The words filled her with pride anyway.

"Hmm. You don't seem like it. Telling me off like you are." She hid her smile in the pillow. He dragged a stray finger down her spine, the air in her lungs stuttering on it's way out.

"You've become a little tease do you know that?" His fingers lingered on the curve of her ass. She pressed it further up in the air, enjoying the sound of his soft exhale.

"Learning from the best." Her voice was softer.

When the first smack landed on her ass she gasped from shock. He rubbed the flesh softly, soothing the sting from a second ago.

"Anything else to say?" He questioned. She pictured the raise of a single brow, the challenge in his eyes. She sucked in her breath and parted her lips to speak.

The second smack landed on the other cheek, making a moan leave through her lips instead. She buried her face in the pillow, feeling like she'd go mad with desire.

"That's what I thought." He hummed, "My precious brat needs a little encouragement once in a while, doesn't she?" He kneaded the flesh of her ass. "Speak." He demanded.

"Yes, Daddy." She spoke through her teeth.

The third made her wince, his palm landing in the middle, impossibly close to her increasingly wet hole. She jumped, burying her face further and whining.

"Are we good?" He questioned, stroking her behind again.

"Yes." She lifted her head to gasp out.

Johnny was so good at pushing her till the very brink of desire, but never pain. His touch was stern but never harsh. And he was foremost gentle.

She turned her head to press her cheek into the pillow instead of her face. "I love you."

"I love you too, (Y/N)." His voice was soft. "I'm crazy about you." He huffed.

Two of his fingers stroked down her clothed slit. When he pressed her folds right above her clit she bit down on her lip.

"You're so wet." He growled, pressing a finger through the silk of her underwear into her.

Her leg jerked at the sensation.

"Absolutely soaked." His voice was dangerously low, "Turn over." He took his finger away too quick.

She turned over, lifting her torso on her elbows to look at him.

Her lips parted as she finally realised that he was completely naked. She was certain she could see it everyday and still not get used to how he looked without clothes.

Johnny bit his lip, "Do you know how beautiful you look right now? Flushed and needy for me. In that beautiful lingerie that I'm trying my best not to tear off of you." He groaned, eyes drifting all over her body.

"Johnny." She whined, his breath caught in his throat at the plea, "Come here. Touch me, please." She shivered.

He gave her a gentle smile, one full of love. That one thing, she thought, despite everything else at hand, could move her to tears.

He crawled up to her, eyes meeting hers as he cupped a cheek in his hand. "I don't know what life would have been without you, my love." He whispered.

Her heart picked up so fast that she was sure she saw spots in her vision. Her face turned red and she covered her face in her hands, groaning.

Johnny laughed, kissing her fingers. "That makes you blush?" He chuckled.

Unintended Consequences

[shinygoku]

James for the character ask

Ahh, the ✨Splendid Engine✨ himself!

First impression

...Red Thomas? :v

Impression now

Honestly, James may be one of the more interesting characters if you really get in close and examine him and his dynamics with the other characters. And maybe this is me having drawn the wrong conclusion, but my own reading into him has me find him actually rather misunderstood, in and out of universe. You've heard of The Sad Story of Henry? You better be ready for the Tragic Tale of James!

So, at a basic, surface level look, James is The Vain One. He's the only Red [Standard Gauge] Engine on the Island (somehow??) and won't let anyone forget about it. He obsesses over the condition and colour of his coat. He resents having to pull trucks, which are often dirty and full of contents that would make him dirtier still. He's astonishingly rude to anyone near him who isn't sufficiently clean but he'll also get jealous of someone who has fresher paint than him.

What if I told you that his Shiny Colouration to the NWR livery is but a small part of the larger picture?

Peering closer, and it's more overt in the books than the show, but of the 7 deadly sins, he's arguably less Prideful (than say, Gordon) and instead, more Wrath?

James has one [red] hot temper, it doesn't take much to set him off and he simmers in resentment for a long time afterwards. While he started it, his tiff with Toby resulted in a completely avoidable headlong crash into the Tar Tankers, all because he was too busy fuming to pay attention to his job. What got him so mad in the first place there? The Bootlace Incident.

Poor James! Much like Henry and the Tunnel, the Bootlaces is one thing that continues to hound him even long after the event, and it seems a bit unfair for that card to get played so much, as he was a total noob at the time with Coaches, but when that button is pressed we always see his angry face.

Even without that particular old saw, he is testy about a lot of things. The aforementioned "DIRTY trucks in DIRTY sidings!" comes to mind. He’s (predicted by the Fat Controller himself!) in a bad mood when he suddenly has to pick up Donald’s work after the latter crashed into the signal box. Sometimes he just snaps when the others are talking (to be fair, often Griping) amongst themselves.

Let's rewind all the way back to James' first day on Sodor. He's in his black livery and has wooden brake blocks. Predictably, these don't last and it only takes some trucks shoving him down the hill for them to burn up and him to spill out in a field. Thomas comes by to save him, but that's still one helluva bumpy start to your new home! After that incident, The Fat Controller offers him a new paint colour and allows him to have Red, completely unique (even moreso if you're in a canon where Henry was blue at the time, meaning James isn't just the only one with Red, but the only one to not follow the Blue uniform).

There's still a bit more!

So, he won't shut up about his distinctive paint? He wants to be seen by passengers and have a nice time pulling coaches? He's the smallest of the "Big 3" Tender Engines? He's a one-off deviation from his class with the extended front end, but the difference wasn't significant so none of the others got the same treatment? He’s anxious the whole day after unintentionally wheeshing steam on FC1 (which is sadly not baseless!)?

James, to me, is a character with a pretty huge Inferiority Complex, and his various posturing and claims that he's the best are him trying very hard to believe it.

Unfortunately, he's so obnoxious about the faking it, generally the others ignore what may be lying beneath.

One last bit here! His attitude definitely declined after he buddied up with Gordon and sometimes pulls the Express, so Big G was something of a toxic (but oblivious) influence.

Favourite moment

His overcoming the trucks, complete with a fab remix of his already dope theme! After his disaster of a first day where trucks ran him off the rails, and then his very bumpy few days after being painted with the Coach Break Fluid Pipe and the Steam and being very unfairly punished, he gets to show some of his worth and ability!

He also gets a number of very funny lines in exchanges which are a bit butchered when I put them up here lol, like “Hello, Gordon! Is it tomorrow~? [...] Must have been Instinct!” or (Percy, taking a metaphor literally: The sky’s empty...) “Like your smokebox, Percy!”

Idea for a story

I would Enjoy something where, as is often the case with these asks, someone examines subjects I’ve been rambling about lol. So yeah, a character who isn’t fooled by his dazzling red coat and sees who he is inside, and the possibilities that spring from that would be real neat!

I also have a more silly [albeit Current Events based] idea which is more shallow, but here it is anyway:

In the time(s) of a pandemic (remember Spanish flu? James would), Engines who pull passenger coaches would be given decorative engine size face masks to show a good example to the customers. Some of them feel Rather Silly but regular passenger trains like Thomas on his branch line, and Mr Express Gordon don’t really get to refuse. They just quietly roll their eyes as their lack of ears or a back of their smokeboxes mean the cloth has to be physically taped to the sides of their head and try to maintain their dignity. 😷

Suddenly, James is uncharacteristically eager to pull goods trains, as these engines are much further away from the passengers and visitors to the railway, and thus don’t need to wear them lol

Unpopular opinion

Not sure how unpopular it is, but I really like Angelis’ Liverpool voice coming through much more strongly for James. His read on “Why are you always complaining all the time??” is just excellent, and other Scouse Moments just sound Right to me. Also gotta mention Ringo’s take on James’ sarcastic, very angry HAR HAR in one of the weird Toby episodes, and thanks to ytp splicing that with the word Harbour I think of it a lot haha

Maybe his voice should be more Yorkshire or Lancaster, as that’s where he was made? But (also applies to Thomas) I vibe with Liverpudlian James.

Favourite relationship

It’s actually a bit hard to think of a particular engine, James tends to get grouped with Gordon and Henry (The Big Engines, The Jerk Trio, etc) but as I’ve said, I think him palling up with Gordon was actually pretty bad for James in hindsight. For merch and prolly in the CGI eps, he’s grouped with Thomas and Percy, because Primary Colours I think (though the same colours as Gordon and Henry offered!) but More Marketable. But I dunno, does James really fit in with either group that well?

I think what James needs is less to hang out in the fringe of a clique, and to instead have a real, frank, genuine connection with someone. Then maybe he can make his friendships with the others a bit healthier, too. I just can’t think of any cast members who fill that role at the mo... 🤔

Favourite headcanon

As he is a Mixed Traffic Engine, he’s a Jack of All Tasks (he just prefers some to others!), also under the issues he has, he’s absolutely trying to be a good engine and friend, he just needs some guidance and tons of patience to get there.

[courtlyharlequin]

Amaranthine

Warning(s): female reader, mentions of anxiety, slow burn (I think), 17K word count, self-indulgence, Vivi’s Vil brain rot with no plot,  not proofread

Summary: There was this monster inside your head. It went by the name of Anxiety. To you, it was, and always be, more so of a parasite you couldn’t live with, but you also couldn’t live without. It looked after you in the strangest of times. For the most part, it was a hindrance, cluttering your mind with dark and bitter thoughts, assuming the worst in people you’ve never met before, jumping to conclusions, and crying over the smallest things. It made you extremely aware of yourself and others, for better or for worse. That was Anxiety, the monster in your head. The exact moment in time when it nestled instead into your mind is unknown to this day, festering in the back of your mind. Then there was Vil Schoenheit, your lover, your soulmate, and most importantly, your pillar of support who cheered you on in his own way. He taught you how to tame Anxiety. But alas, a monster will always be a monster.

A/N: It’s my birthdayyyyyy~ so I made a very, very, very self-indulgent fic for myself. While I did write it as a reader insert, it pertains to my mental health, particularly my anxiety, and there may be aspects of it that you may not understand. That is okay. I wanted some feels with Vil on my birthday because I have a case of Malleus syndrome;;;

A/N²: To clear things up, the reader in this fic is female. She is not Yuu (I usually write the reader as Yuu and yes, I’m aware they can be two separate entities). She likes to scrapbook, bake, and wear lolita clothing. She also attends NRC though her dorm is left pretty open-ended. However, it might not make sense if you’re in Pomefiore. This might not work if your birthday is in March either. I’m sorry asdfghjkl;

Disclaimer: Please note that this is not a fanfic that romanticizes mental illnesses. A significant other cannot solve everything. They shouldn’t solve everything. They aren’t meant to fix you; they’re there to bring out the best in you and be by your side when you need them to be. By no means, is it their job to help your completely overcome your mental illnesses. It’s a common trope in fanfiction and gives off mixed signals to me. This self-indulgent fanfic of mine is not meant to give anyone false hope. It is simply a love story that I always wanted to experience. Think of it as my own anxiety story. The only thing real about this is some events like the presentation meltdown though my partner eventually turned into my middle school bully so I just replaced him with Vil because Vil>>>>>>

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Fwip!

You flinched. You looked up. Vil had flicked your forehead. His eyes were filled with worry, brows creased and his lips strung in a frown.

“Fairest, is something on your mind?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

“Hold still for a minute. This lip tint is watery,” he said in a stern tone, tilting your chin upwards

He lined your lips in red and handed you a small mirror.

“Beautiful, my love.”

You stared at your expression. Vil was right. You were beautiful, all dolled up in this getup. You were prettier than usual, that’s for sure. However, the look isn’t for you or your hollow eyes. He snapped his fingers.

“Fairest,” he paused, sitting down on his bed, patting the space next to him, “Come here.”

You obliged.

“Now, talk to me. Don’t deny it. Something is on your mind. You’ve been zoning out all day. If you need a break just say so.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I was just thinking…”

“Thinking?”

“Yes. About the past and whatnot. Trivial things! No matter,” you dismissed, leaning onto his shoulder.

Vil crossed his legs, “How could I help you if you give me such a vague answer?”

Had he truly forgotten your special day, the only day you were willing to break out of your shell and be showered in compliments and praise without feeling like an alien? While you didn’t have a cake to share and you were certain that he wouldn’t want to eat it either, you expected he would remember the date as your lover of seven months now. So far, he only asked you to drop by his room for makeup practice as he just landed a part-time job as a makeup artist. Not that you minded of course. He made you feel beautiful, one of the many reasons you loved him.

“I don’t think it’s something you can help me with. I was thinking about middle school and—”

“Don’t waste your time with those fools.”

“I told you it was trivial.”

You nuzzled against his shoulders.

“It’s been hard lately, you know? I’ve been overthinking again. About silly things. Group projects, you know? Presentations too. Ah, there was this one person who told me to shut up because of a misunderstanding and everyone laughed and I felt— But you mustn’t hurt them!”

You clutched his arm. His posture had stiffened. He gave you a blank expression though his eyes told the whole story.

“I felt a little out of place. Things were going fine until they showed up. It’s not their fault, don’t worry. I was excited to talk to them, but it ended up going downhill. I felt like I was overstepping my boundaries. It was embarrassing,” you continued.

“I know you don’t like it when I say this but it’s not as bad as you think it is. Know that you made progress compared to your pot– first year self,” Vil said, squeeze your hand, “If you want help with your presentations, then I’m here for you— as always.”

Straightforward as always. He never tolerated things he deems piffling, but you were glad he didn’t pity you, not one bit.

“I’m sorry for bothering—”

He placed the tip of his index finger on your nose.

“What do we say instead of apologizing for something we cannot control?”

“T-Thank you.”

“Go on now.”

“...for listening to me.”

“My pleasure, Fairest.”

His finger shifted as he cupped your cheek with one hand, leaning in to kiss your forehead. He must’ve forgotten your birthday, but you mustn’t going to ruin the mood. You watched his back as he gathered his makeup brushes. Vil was a busy man though that was something you were used to as his lover.

[ Two Years Prior, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Are you just going to sit there while everyone picks their partners, little potato?”

You flinched at the sudden comment. Potato? You had a name. Did you do something to be labeled in such a way? Moreover, what was the Vil Schoenheit doing standing in front of your desk? You prayed for the conversation to be brief. Part of you also prayed for him to ask to be partners.

“What are you staring at? Answer.”

You shook your head. This was bad. You were staring at him for too long. While you were dying from embarrassment, you let your gaze linger for a little longer. He was gorgeous. You loved how his blonde hair transitioned into a pale lavender, complimenting his violet eyes, eye makeup, and fair complexion.

Vil snapped his fingers before your field of vision.

“I know you aren’t mute. Answer.”

“Probably…” you said.

“Hah? That won’t do, potato. I’ll be your partner then.”

“Pardon?”

“I said, ‘I’ll be your partner’. Now, move over.  We’re in direct sunlight here and it won’t do any good for our skin if we sit there everyday for so long even if we are indoors.”

You nodded, sliding one seat over. He sat down next to you, arms and legs crossed. He seems mad, concerned with something, something else. His body language didn't match his facial expressions though he wasn’t hard to read. 

“Why me?”

You bit your lip, cringing at your own inquiry.

“You seem responsible enough to be my partner for this project,” he said, propping his head on his elbow, turning to face the blackboard.

What did he mean by that? Sure, you were responsible, but were you worth noting of? You were decent, not the best but not the worse either. Failing a class meant coming the topic of conversation when a teacher asks you to stay after class for a brief checkup or tutoring sessions. Excelling in a class meant being called out on your exemplary work by teachers. Anxiety was not equipped for either circumstances therefore it tried to help you maintain your grades discreetly. But Vil noticed, indicating that you were overachieving. Perhaps you should purposefully miss a few questions on the next quiz. You got a perfect score last time. It wouldn’t hurt. However, you were partnered with Vil, someone who strived for perfection, someone who stood out against a crowd. The phrase goes “...like a sore thumb”, but Vil stood out like a well polished and manicured appendage. He was beautiful, so beautiful that one had to stop for a moment to admire his beauty.

That was Vil, your partner. You could feel heavy stares in your direction. They were directed at Vil, but you couldn’t help feeling nervous. You fiddled with the ends of your hair, fixating your eyes onto your textbook.

You flinched when Vil pushed your back lightly. You shot him a widened stare, opening your mouth to ask him why he touched you. He placed a finger on your lips.

“Bad posture isn’t good for you. Straighten up and pay attention.”

Heat rose to your face as you adjusted your posture. 

[ Library ]

“Mind telling me what this is, potato?” Vil said, throwing a stack of papers onto the table.

Your shoulders tensed. You set your textbook down, avoiding eye contact.

“It’s our project.”

“No. It’s your project.”

“I wrote your name on it too so don’t worry about it. I don’t mind sharing the credit.”

“It’s not about the credit. It’s about the integrity. I dropped by Crewel’s office hours today with a question about this project and he told me that we had already turned it in. Fortunately for you, I’m good at improvising so we’re off the hook. I got our project back so we can work on it together.  Scoot over so we can get started. I’m assuming you also did the slideshow, but I–”

As usual, you complied to his demands, allowing him to sit next to you. He was a bit too close for comfort. Your peers could manage with this proximity so you probably could too if you took deep breaths every now and then. 

“We only have a day left, you know.”

“I know.”

“So why bother?”

Vil clicked his tongue, throwing his French braid over his shoulder as he slid the stool closer to the desk, “I bother because we’re a team.”

He paused, pondering, “I don’t like things being handed to me either.”

“That’s gold especially since this is coming from someone who’s always too busy to even reply to my texts,” you replied.

As soon as those words left your mouth, you bit your tongue. Was that too much? Should you have just listened to him? Kept quite? How will he react? Will he shame you on social media? Spread rumors? Tell Crewel?

“Listen here, potato. I work various part-time jobs and I run a club. I apologize for my poor time management, but I am here now. You, on the other hand, have only sent me one text pertaining to scheduling and this assignment during the three weeks we had to do it. We are both at fault, got that?”

“Yes,” you murmured, pulling out your laptop.

“Wonderful. You won’t have to rewrite everything. Just subtracting here and adding some words there for smoother transitions. It’ll sound better.”

You bit your lip. You were hoping that because you made the entire presentation, Vil would take up the speaking part out of guilt. Unfortunately for you, he was too self-righteous to give in. He can’t be persuaded either. His eyes were glued onto his own laptop, typing the evening away.

You’ll have to make due.

[ Presentation Day, Alchemy Classroom ]

From the brief time you’ve interacted with him, you knew that Vil was meant to be in the spotlight. He shined brightly, you could feel his charisma even from the back from the classroom. His performance was worthy of a standing ovation. You could never compete with him, let alone get through a single presentation. You had made it through all of your slides, but every time Vil spoke, you felt out of place. Your hands were shaking and you were on the brink of tears. Your peers must think you were incompetent. Their intense stares were unbearable. Did they pity you? Or Vil?

“It’s your turn,” Vil whispered.

You refused. His hand twitched as he grabbed your shoulders. This exchange was awkward enough yet your silent plea for help didn’t reach him.

“Go, potato.”

“No.”

He enunciated his words, “It’s. Your. Turn”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“You couldn’t possibly understand,” you cried.

Vil’s expression softened. He reached for you and you braced yourself yet it never came. He huffed and proceeded with the rest of the slides.

Ah… crying in the first semester as a first year in high school? Because of a presentation overwhelming you? Wonderful. You’ll never be able to live that down. Should you transfer to RSA then? No, that won’t do. They had mandatory choir classes or so you heard. Maybe an ordinary high school from your hometown then? But what if the headmaster disapproved?

You meekly walked up to Crewel, “I’m going to the infirmary.”

Your instructor only nodded with reluctance. Dissatisfaction was written across his face, but turning down a frantic student in tears for an unknown reason would be frowned upon. You heard him mutter something about the puppies this year being too sheltered. You gave Vil a second glance before heading out. He brushed you off and continued with the deliverable. 

You were hopeless.

[ Infirmary ]

You pulled the covers closer to your face, hiding behind your hair. He was there. Why?

“(y/n),” he said.

You inched away from him. He finally called you by your name. Not by “potato”. Why were you a potato in the first place? Was it because you were beneath dirt? Were you that ugly to be beneath him?

“Are you just going to stay here forever? Curfew is soon. You should hurry and get to the mirror chamber.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same, potato.”

 You were beneath him. The tears won’t stop falling. You were trembling.

“What did I do this time?” he sighed.

His voice was firm. He must’ve been irritated by today’s stunt.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just leave me alone... please.”

The blanket shrouded your eyes. How pathetic. How could you let him of all people see you in such a miserable state? You’ve only seen his social media profile once or twice. Was he the type to post and gossip about others?

The mattress sank as Vil sat down. You hugged your sides.

“Fine then. Be a stubborn potato.”

“... You honestly did nothing wrong. I’m the problem. I can’t function as a human being. I can’t talk to people. I can’t- Well, I can but it’s...”

“Difficult?”

“Yeah.”

“What is there to be scared of? Follow that trick where you pretend everyone is potato.”

Is that where the potato shtick came from? How reassuring. His tone was unchanging in pitch. Was he trying to comfort or criticize you?

“It's more complicated than just being shy. It’s tiring. I don’t have a clear mind. I worry too much. I spend my days in fear. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

Vil pulled the covers off your small figure. You turned to him in a haze.

“I believe the term is ‘anxiety’, potato,” he said.

“Y-Yeah. Was it obvious? It probably was. Pretty silly now that I think about it, but anyways curfew–”

“Did you think I was stuck in some era where I don’t even acknowledge mental health? And would look down on you because you have anxiety? Please. Give me more credit than that. I’m not close-minded. You’re still a person and you have feelings. So you have anxiety. What of it? Certainly no less of a person.”

Oh how your heart fluttered.

“Get up. You can stay at the Pomefiore dorms tonight. I should get you cleaned up. I can’t stand the sight of those red and puffy eyes…. Cheer up a bit, will you?”

He held out his hand. Was this his way of apologizing? It wasn’t his fault you crumbled in the first place so why? What did he want? Did he want to help you out to boost his reputation?

“Why are you helping me?”

“You clearly need help don’t you?”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yes or no, potato.”

“I can’t burden you more than I have,” you shook your head.

“I talked it over with Crewel. You’re fine.”

“I suppose I’m not excused either.”

You shrugged off the blankets and took Vil’s hand.

“No, you are. He seemed to be under the impression that you were actually ill,” he said, tapping his finger against his cheek.

“Then–”

“Leave it for now. We can discuss this over tea. After we clean you up though.”

“Do you pity me?”

What if you sounded desperate? What if you sounded needy? Was that needy? Would he change his mind? 

You clamped a hand over your mouth. Vil squinted at you as if he was trying to inspect a stain on a fine textile. He proceeded to grab your cheeks, squeezing them. He exercised his authority.

“I. Do. Not. Remember that. I don’t stoop that low. Good grief.”

“Then... what’s the price?” you cried.

“Excuse me?”

“Your time is valuable, isn’t it? You’re clearly busy. Why are you wasting your precious time on me? Shouldn’t you be compensated for the time I’ve wasted?”

“Yes, my time is valuable, but we can talk about compensation another time.”

He let his hand go, leaving you to gasp in sheer terror. So forceful… he scared you. What did he want from you?

“You coming, (y/n)?”

“Yeah.”

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Hold still. After you cleanse your skin with this superfruit cleanser, you have to apply this fir extract to exfoliate. It’ll sting, and it’s even worse when you get it in your eye, so be careful. Try not to move too much, potato.”

Vil dabbed the cotton ball on your face meticulously. You felt like a celebrity with your own hair and makeup team.

“There. All done,” he beamed.

He spun the chair around so you faced the vanity mirror.

“Beautiful. One hundred points for you.”

You gripped the hem of his shirt. He shouldn’t say things like that and expect you not to combust. What’s more was that this attire was incredibly lewd. What if someone came in and got the wrong idea? What if they spread rumors? You were wearing nothing but his shirt after all. It was long enough to reach your knees, but it was his shirt regardless.

“What do you think, potato?”

“It’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“It’s not for me?”

“Well, I think it does,” he said.

You patted your cheeks. Soft. Oh dear, you were soft.

“Ah, ah. Don’t touch,” he scolded, prying your hands away.

Goodness you were hopeless.

“Eh? Stop crying. No! Don’t rub your eyes either. Let me get you some tissues.”

Annoyance was etched into his speech, but his actions betrayed his words. He never left your side; he wiped your tears with his own thumbs. You held his wrists tenderly. His touch was like a thousand butterfly kisses.

“I’m sorry. I just… Annoying… Nobody… I’m not.. You…”

He sighed, “Don’t apologize for your feelings. You’re not that annoying as you think. Instead, why don’t you try saying thank you?”

“Thank you?”

“Yes, something like ‘thank you for listening to me’. That shouldn’t be hard for you now, is it?”

“Thank you… for not being annoyed with me.”

Vil palmed his face, “Not that bad. We’ll work on it. Twenty points for you.”

You sniffled and broke out into a small fit of laughter. He smiled too, standing up straight. He towered over you. He was a giant. You watched his back as he approached his bed, fluffing up the pillows.  His heels clicked and clacked against the flooring. He was still in his school uniform. When was he going to sleep? Didn’t he say he wanted you to stay here? People would really get the wrong idea now. You tugged at his sleeves. Vil turned to you, waiting for you to speak.

“I’ll be going now.”

He grabbed your wrist, “Stay.”

You pulled away from him.

“No, not like that. I’m not going to do anything to you, potato. You really have to stop associating me with other potatoes. I meant stay for some tea. Of course, if you really feel uncomfortable then you’re free to go, but at least let me walk you back.”

“I’ll stay,” you said.

“Wonderful. Give me a moment to fix the bedding. The tea should be ready by then.”

When did he prepare the tea? When you were bathing? When you were changing into his pajamas?

“Vil, if I do stay the night, where will I be sleeping?“

“We have one spare room left over since one student never showed up to the ceremony so you can sleep there.”

You sighed, shoulders at ease.

“Did you honestly think I would let you sleep here? No, potato, I need my beauty rest.”

“No, not at all.”

“You are terrible at lying.”

“I’m not dirty minded I promise!”

“Did I say you were?” he smirked.

Vil had a frisky side to him… how unexpected. Nevertheless, you were relieved. You had insomnia already. If you had to sleep next to Vil… you would never see the dawn again.

“Potato, your tea.”

You jumped.

“Careful! It’s hot and these pajamas are made of silk. I dare you to stain them,” Vil scolded.

You nodded. He handed you a tea cup. 

“I was hoping to talk some things over with you, but it’s getting late. You can take this to the spare room down the hall and relax. Self-care time if you will. Here’s a bag for you to put your dirty clothes in. You can drop it off in the morning to the ghosts for laundry. When you get the chance to change, return the top to me. Capeesh?”

“Capeesh...” you mumbled, turning to the door, fumbling with the tea cup.

“(y/n),” he said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Got it.”

“You didn’t let me finish, potato. You can disturb me if you need help with anything else regarding your anxiety. I won’t do things on your behalf, but I’m there to hold your hand. Just not during my beauty sleep, okay?”

“Okay…”

Vil was not lying when he said he wouldn’t treat you any less of a human. Even if there was a monster in your head, Vil treated you like he would anyone.  Perhaps he wasn’t so bad. But how could he say such things with a straight face? It sounded like something out of a fairy tale. 

No, no, (y/n). You mustn’t catch feelings for someone this quickly. If anything, you were in love with the idea of him, his kindness, how he helped you out and cared for you. But was it even kindness?

Even if these feelings weren’t spawned from the idea of loving him, Vil would never return them. He seemed to be the type to be into someone independent. Or at least someone who was not broken. 

Mainly the former, it would seem. He didn’t pack your clothes even though he was the one who demanded that you strip, plunging you into a rose petal and lavender sprig bath. Admittedly, it was relaxing. He said something about lavender having a calming effect earlier. You smelt nice too. 

Maybe for today, you could be comfortable in your own skin. Just this once. You smelt really nice.

[ Four Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Alright, puppies. We have another lab project. The details are in the packet. You are to concoct a potion using the ingredients we learned about this unit. Any potion is fine, but Amortentia is forbidden– as usual. This project will be due in two weeks. You will present your findings to the class in small groups. You can choose your partners. You were good puppies for the last few weeks so I’ll let you choose this time. Do not disappoint me,” Crewel said, cracking his whip.

You watched as the class swarmed into a chaotic mass. Students laughed and embraced one another. You scanned the crowd, looking for someone as unfortunate as you, someone without a partner.

“(y/n). Would you like to be partners?”

Oh. Vil. After all this time, you were baffled by the fact that he continued to interact with you after your meltdown weeks ago. What’s more is that he even followed you back on Magicam. He engaged in conversations with you, asking to check answers with you despite passing tests with flying colors just as you did. You never minded per se. Vil always had something to say. He wasn’t talkative, but he was captivating and civil with a hint of sarcasm. He had a lot to critique. Moreover, you two were from different worlds. Whenever he shared stories about his life, from modeling to troublesome classmates, you felt like a child with a new toy. You were immersed, zoned out of your surroundings, your focus on that one, single thing. In turn, you shared your own anecdotes, anxiety struggles and small victories— to which he celebrated with you through small, almost satirized, cheers and affirmations. 

You were comfortable around him. Anxiety kept you from advancing your acquaintanceship to a friendship, but you were more than happy with sharing homework answers and making small talk. Vil most likely wanted to work with you because, as he said so before, you were reliable. Or was it responsible? Whatever the word was,  you were useful to him. You were noticed in the best way possible. A twisted way to put it, but that’s simply how you felt.

Vil was not what Anxiety said he was and that was more than good enough for you.

“Sure,” you said.

“Wonderful,” he smiled.

You slid over as he took a seat next to you. Away from the sun, just as he liked it. You remembered your first encounter well.

“We’re presenting in small groups this time so you don’t have to worry that much about it,” he paused before continuing, “We can practice. When are you available?”

“Any time, really, I don’t have any clubs.. Or part-time jobs.”

“How does this Friday sound then? I’ll ask my manager to clear my schedule for that day.”

“You don’t have to clear your schedule. I can manage even if you come back late… Just don’t come to me the day before the deadline?”

Were you being too bold with this request?

“Friday then,” Vil said, flipping through the packet, “What type of potion do you want to make?”

“You can choose. I’m not really sure.”

“No, you are sure. You keep staring at that one page. I know you’ve read everything the moment it was handed to you. You certainly weren’t zoning out either.”

If there was anything worth noting about Vil over the short time that you’ve known him, it was that he was observant. Profoundly observant. Perhaps even more than you.

Vil clicked his tongue: “Spit it out, potato. I won’t judge you. I don’t have much of a preference either. We can compromise if we don’t agree.”

“Amortentia,” you winced.

“Now, that we can’t do,” he waved, “Didn’t you hear the professor say?”

“I did, but the structure of this potion is so intricate. I want to try.”

“Aphrodisiacs are prohibited. We can’t do it.”

“I know. I can dream though.”

“Do you have a boy in mind, potato?”

“It’s not like that,” you huffed.

If only he knew. You were head over heels for him– or rather the idea of him, someone who accepted you wholly without ever wanting to tame the monster inside your head. You weren’t sure if you loved Vil for who he was or what he did for you as a classmate. Do mere classmates have afternoon tea in each other’s dorms? Did they engage in small talk frequently?

Vil chuckled, “Whatever helps you sleep at night, potato.”

[ Friday, Library ]

“You’re late, (y/n),” Vil said, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry.”

“I hope you weren’t planning on skipping out.”

“No, sir.”

“Sir? I’m not that old, you potato.”

You weren’t fond of the session already. While you enjoyed talking to Vil, his strict attitude was oftentimes a trigger for Anxiety. Vil made it rage, rattling against the cage that encasing your heart. It didn’t fancy that. Neither did you.

“Come sit,” he walked over to the desk.

His braid swayed back and forth. You followed him in suit, taking a seat. Vil reached for your shoulders and the small of your back. You yelped.

“Posture is the first step to confidence. If you shrink, you’ll portray your nervousness in the most obvious way possible. Feet flat on the ground and shoulders back.”

You felt exposed, flustered, but not to Vil’s touch. You felt vulnerable to a nonexistent crowd. 

Vil stood up and took a seat before you, staring at you intently.

“Now, deep breath. Scan the crowd and focus on a point behind them, away from their eyes, but still in their direction. Remember to look around occasionally so it’s not obvious that you’re staring at the back of the room. You don’t have to make direct eye contact.”

You nodded sheepishly and obeyed. It wasn’t difficult. You could stare into his eyes forever. You hoped it wouldn’t be too awkward if you kept your gaze fixed on his.

“Shall we begin?”

[  Two Weeks Later, Alchemy Classroom ]

“Hold still, potato,” Vil hissed.

He held your jaw steadily as he applied a glossy red lip tint onto your lips. In a classroom. In public. How many people were staring at you two? What did they think? Did they think you were his plaything?

“I don’t see the point in dressing up.”

“Please. Lip tint and a few touch ups isn’t ‘dressing up’. Plus, you’ll feel more confident if you look confident. Own it, my friend.”

Friend? You were his friend? You could feel your cheeks getting rosy. At the same time, you felt a surge of adrenaline. Was it confidence? You were on cloud nine, feeling unstoppable. If he said so, then Vil would be your first friend at Night Raven College outside of your dorm. 

But… what if he didn’t mean it?

No, no. he meant it. There was no need for Vil to lie. For him, lying was pointless. It was a waste of time; he preferred to get straight to the point even if it might be harsh on someone’s feelings. You’d learn to accept that his words come from honest intentions.

Crewel blew his whistle, signaling start time. Students flocked to their not-so-small groups. Vil had volunteered for the both of you to go first despite your protests, saying that it would be best to go first so you would not overthink and compare your presentation to others. 

“I’m Vil Schoenheiit.”

He squeezed your thigh. The gesture was of chaste intentions, you were sure. Your leg was the only place he could touch in hindsight. Or so you assumed. Regardless, it set your insides on fire, but it made his presence known— as if to say “I’m here, don’t worry.”

Your breath hitched: “And I’m (y/n) (l/n).”

[ One Day Later, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Potato, what are you doing here? It’s the weekend.”

You hugged your sides. He was sweating. You’ve never seen Vil in anything but his school uniform, Pomefiore’s dorm uniform, and pajamas. There he was… standing right before you in a stormy gray tank top. While he was wearing pajama bottoms, the look was foreign to you. What should you say? You never knew he worked out.  Were those weights heavy? Is he training for a certain role?

“I have something for you: a small thank you gift for yesterday,” you said, brushing past your thoughts.

“Oh? You don’t have to thank me. I wanted a good grade too so don’t think too highly of me… Simply improving is enough.”

You shook your head, “I insist. I want to do something for you too. I would feel guilty if it were any other way.”

Vil rested his palm on your head. You looked up at him attentively. The height difference between the both of you was immense. Compared to Vil, you were a dwarf.

“What is it that you want to show me?” he sighed.

You jumped with excitement, handing him a small container. He took them.

“What’s this?”

“Open them.”

“Alright, alright. Such a demanding potato…”

You watched him gingerly pop off the lid to reveal your culinary creation. Your eyes wandered back to his violet orbs.

“Potato, what is this?”

Did he honestly not know or did he think you were jesting?

“They’re oatmeal raisin cookies. I made them myself. It’s all organic ingredients, I promise. There’s apples in it too. I know you watch your diet, but I think it would be okay if you ate just one. At least?”

You scratched the back of your neck while Vil stared at them in bewilderment.

“Just one.”

“Yay~”

His furrowed eyebrows softened as he took a bite, “Not bad, potato.”

He placed it back in the container and closed the lid. Your heart sank. Was it just for show? Were they bad?

“Don’t take it personally. They are delicious. I don’t eat too many sweets though. I… also have a meeting with my producers after this. So perhaps later, my dear.”

“Oh alright.”

[ Someday– Your Birthday, Alchemy Classroom ]

You weren’t sure what kind of strings were pulled or if this class had free seating, but Vil gradually sat closer and closer to you. Now, his seat was next to you. He said that it was because he could not stand the other potatoes near his old seat and that he’d much rather sit with a friend who helped him stay on task– which in turn made your heart melt.

Answers weren’t the only things you two shared now. You often brought snacks to share with him. You brought healthy ones like apple crisps and celery sticks for accommodate the diet of your classmate. He only consumed workout smoothies in the morning. He would drink one before he went for a run with no post-workout smoothies to make up for the calories he burnt. For someone who claims to life a healthy lifestyle, Vil was oftentimes too busy to keep up with it. He rose when the sun kissed the tips of the hills. Granted, he could have risen earlier so he could consume his post-workout meal, but his work trails later in the night. Sleep was important to him. Between balancing his beauty sleep and fitness regime, he frequently came to Alchemy with his hair still wet from a morning shower, his eyes caked with concelaer, and an empty stomach.

The first time you offered him something to munch on and regain the calories burnt, he declined. But as these days became more frequent, Vil caved.  

“Potato.”

He slumped against his desk– a rare sight from the Pomefiore student.

“You should stop pushing yourself,” you said, taking out a container.

He shook his head.

“A break would be nice once in a while, Vil.”

He rolled his eyes, slipping off his gloves to take off the lid. God, he was so stubborn. He was going to burn out one day.

“I don’t mind sharing food with you, but you should pace yourself. Take a day off”

He shook his head again. Why though? Did his schedule not allow him to? Vil worked late sometimes, but was it worth it?

“Potato.”

“Hm?”

“Do you have anything aside from these cookies?”

You inhaled sharply, closing the lid and shoving it in your bag. They might have crumbled, but you didn’t want him to know. 

“Unfortunately, no sorry,” you sighed, clutching your bag’s handle.

“Fine then. I’ll just eat one then.”

“No.”

“Why not? “

“It’s not healthy for you.”

Vil lunged for your bag. His stomach growled. You did your best to stifle a giggle. 

“You just said it was alright to take a break,” he said.

“You can’t have them.”

“How come?”

“They’re for me…” you whispered.

“Come again?”

“These are mine.”

He hummed, clearly not buying into your excuse. Perhaps excuse was not the right word because they were for you. They were self-indulgent treats that you made for yourself around this time of year. They were self-indulgent with a miserable origin. 

At this point, he was gripping your wrist. Since when was VIl this forceful? He never crossed any boundaries. He was never nosy. Was he concerned? Or did the madness of hunger consume him?

He was akin to a stray kitten. You were the one to offer him food in the first place. There were two cookies. One wouldn’t hurt.

“Fine. Just one. Please don’t eat the other though. I’d like to eat one on my birthday.”

“Birthday? Potat–”

You put your hand over his mouth on impulse. He was going to throw a fit with you for placing your “breeding ground for bacteria”  on his face, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

“Don’t tell anyone,” you pleaded, “But, yes, today is my birthday.”

Crewel’s footsteps echoed through the room, “Silence, puppies!”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Vil hissed under his breath.

“I’m not big on birthdays. The attention is too much– plus, rarely anyone celebrates with me.”

“You honestly remind me of that one miserable Diasomnia first year from the class next door.”

The conversation was left at that.

[ A Few Hours Later, Courtyard ]

“Potato.”

“Vil?”

Where did he come from? How did he find you? Class had ended a few minutes ago. What’s more is that you only saw him every other day due to the Alchemy schedules. It was the only class you had with him. You never saw him outside of class, aside from rare encounters in the cafeteria. You ate in the library to avoid people so that was partly your fault too.

“Come with me.”

“Pardon?”

“I won’t take no for an answer. You are the birthday girl, after all.”

He struck his signature pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointed, barely touching his cheek. When did he develop this again?

Wait. What did he just say?

[ Pomefiore Dormitory, Vil’s Bedroom ]

“Here. This is an anxiety journal. Think of it as a diary to write your thoughts down in case you don’t have anyone to talk to”

“Vil, I can't take this,” you said, pushing the notebook away.

“I insist.”

“Still…”

“You said you didn’t celebrate. And that others didn’t celebrate either, no?”

“Yes…”

“If you don’t put yourself out there and let people know, then how are others going to celebrate? And then you go mope around and eat cookies all by yourself in the library with the ghosts?”

Was he watching you? You were sure that there was no one there when the ghosts sang you happy birthday.

“I never said I was moping. I don’t care if I’m all alone. I don’t mind at all. I’m perfectly okay with that. I don’t need to be acknowledged or receive any gifts of pity so please just leave it at that…. I appreciate the gesture though.”

He leered. You took a step back. Was he angry? Why? This doesn’t concernto him. Why was he getting angry?

“I care. So take it.”

You caved, taking the journal. It was similar to the Pomefiore dorm leader’s grimoire: leather bound, decorated in gold decals in floral patterns and peacock feathers. It was pretty. You were a fool. A sensitive and broken fool. You were crying over a notebook, a gift put together at the last minute with tender loving care by a classmate you barely knew. It had been a long time since you felt this happy, this acknowledged.

Vil grimaced, “Oh stop crying already. I told you that I was here for you.”

He embraced you. It was awkward, but wholesome. You never hugged him before. He was warm. Perhaps a little bony for it to be of any comfort, but that was most likely due to the position you two were him. His head pats were stiff. It was ill at ease, but endearing.

Vil was your friend. Though not the closest, you treasured his actions. You weren’t sure how he put up with you. Or why even, but all you were concerned in at this moment was that he cared. It would be lovely to not assume the worst in people for once.

[ Present Day, Vil’s Bedroom ]

What would Vil surprise with you this year? He hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

The makeover was nice, but you weren’t big on makeovers. Did you get to keep this dress? It was embellished with lace and frills– fancy. It was white, pink and floral like the Heartslabyul croquet court. You felt pretty albeit out of your own skin. Vil hummed a soft song whilst cleaning his makeup brushes.

Would that be all?  It was your first birthday as a couple. Were you ungrateful if you asked if there was anything else? His schedule was tight. What would he say if you mentioned that today was your birthday? What would he say if you asked if he had forgotten? Would you sound narcissistic? 

Would he say the same thing he said to you when you were second years?

[ One Year Ago, Someday– Your Birthday, Hallway ]

“Vil!”

You were so excited to see him again. You couldn’t stop yourself from running up to him.

“(y/n).”

“I haven’t seen you in forever. How are you? Congratulations. It’s a bit late though. How’s being Pomefiore’s new dorm leader treating you?”

He brushed his hair off his shoulders. Ah... a new hairstyle. He was wearing the barette you made for his birthday. You missed the French braid, but you felt that he was more relaxed when he let his hair down (literally).

“Rook. Guide the baby potatoes back to our dorm. Give us a moment,” Vil said to the person he was walking with.

Rook, you assumed. He was bizarre with his exaggerated features and hat. You were certain that the accessory violated campus dress codes. Needless to say, he was beautiful in his own way– just like any Pomefiore student.

“Oui, Roi du Poison. I shall leave you with ta chérie~” he breathed, prancing away with the first years.

“Ta what now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Vil said, “I am doing well, thank you, (y/n).”

No “potato” this time? Not even once? You hadn’t seen him since your second year started, only keeping up with his life through Magicam and story replies. Sometimes, he messaged you to check up on you or ask to compare answers for Alchemy and Potions. You packed snacks for him though that routine eventually ceased as Vil began taking better care of himself, opting only to run when he had the time.

You missed those days, but his well being was more important than your own selfish feelings. You had grown fond of that nickname since he used it so often. It was a term of endearment. It saddened you that he called others potatoes as well.

“Happy birthday by the way,” Vil said.

“Oh! You remember?”

“There you go again. I don’t have the memory of a goldfish– of course I remember. Though I don’t have a gift for you this time around.”

Did you offend him? Did you sound needy? You weren’t asking for any presents. Did it come off that way?

“I don’t need anything so it’s fine.”

Or rather, you didn't expect anything.

“Good grief. It’s your birthday. Chin up. Have the attention on yourself for one day. It’s your day after all. Anyhow,I would love to chit chat more, but my schedule is tight. I cannot dilly dal–”

You reached for his hand, “W-Would you like to hang out at a café sometime then?”

You cut him off. Was that too abrupt? Rude? Uncalled for? You should have let him leave even if you did miss being around him, being friends with him.

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to. I was just thinking that maybe we could spend some time together and catch up. We haven’t seen each other in person too much. I’m not comfortable with too much attention either so yours is more than enough.”

God, what were you saying? That was cringe-worthy. You prayed that he would decline your impulsive proposal.

“I don’t see why not. Very well then, (y/n). Text me the details so I can adjust my schedule accordingly.”

Wait. He agreed? Was he pitying you? No, no. Stop doubting him. Vil was your friend. He must’ve missed being around you too.

[ One Month Later, Cafe Rosé ]

When he said he was busy, he meant it. A month had passed since your birthday and just now were you able to meet up.

You sat in the café idly. He watched you consume your third plate of strawberry shortcake. You glanced at him then at your growing pile of dishes. He squinted. Should you stop?

“Don’t.”

Did he read your mind?

“No, I’m not a mind reader.”

“But you did it again.”

“Your expressions are easy to read. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel bad if you  enjoy something and I don’t. Someone who makes you feel bad for getting excited about something– something harmless, something you enjoy, is the worst kind of person. Enjoy your cake, birthday girl. Don’t let me, or anyone for that matter, stop you.”

Vil sipped his hand-pressed superfruit smoothie vehemently.

That was oddly inspiring despite having relevance to your self-esteem and cake. Funnily enough, you did feel better about yourself.

“Excuse me? May I get three more slices of this cake? And another teapot, please?” you called out to a server impulsively.

What on earth were you doing? Was that rude? Did she find you demanding?

“Anything else?”

“That’ll be all for now.”

You turned from the waitress, bringing your attention back to Vil. You cocked your head to the side: “What?”

“Consume cake in moderation, you potato.”

There it was. You’ve been waiting all semester to be called a potato. Pomefiore first years have expressed a strong dislike for the nickname. You, on the other hand, treasured it. Time and memories were built into that nickname.

“It’s fine. I’m paying anyway so don’t worry.”

“You are not paying on your birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday though.”

“We’re here for a belated celebration.”

“So an unbirthday?”

“No, no. Don’t bring the Queen of Hearts’s rules and gimmicks into this,” Vil waved his hand.

He set his smoothie down, The ice shifted, echoing throughout the café.

“I want to pay. I wanted to go here in the first place.”

“Think of this as my belated birthday present for you, atonement for not getting you anything or talking as much we’d like.”

“Vil, I don’t require anything from you. You’re busy. You don’t have to talk to me everyday. I think I would combust if you did. My social battery would drain.”

“That’s reassuring.”

The waitress cleared her throat. Vil nodded, sliding his glass to the further end of the table. She placed the cake slices in a neat triangle before setting the teapot down in the center. Then she followed up with the teacups–one for you, one for Vil. He raised an eyebrow at you. Your server gave a polite bow and dismissed herself.

“Eat one slice. Then I’ll let you pay,” you beamed, sliding him the plate.

He glared at the confection, “Alright.”

[ March, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Bonjour, bonjour! What brings you to our humble dorm?”

Rook was his name right?

“Hello, Rook. I was hoping–”

He scared the living daylight out of you. Where did he come from? Why was nobody else around? You spun your heel and scanned the hall. It was empty.

“Echanté, mademoiselle! Let me guess!”

You yelped, falling backwards. Where did he come from? He was behind you a moment ago. His eyes widened as he lunged for you, hooking his arm around your waist, catching you before you made contact with the ground.

“Careful, careful, little fawn,” he chuckled.

Fawn?

He set you straight then pointed at you. His gloved index finger barely touched the bridge of your nose. This man, Rook, was sending your nerves in a downward spiral. 

He smiled at you, resuming like nothing ever happened: “Let me guess– you’re looking for your darling Roi du Poison?”

“Darling… Roi du Poison? Who? Vil?”

“Oui.”

“No, he’s not.. we’re not. We’re just friends. I’m looking for him though bec–”

“Are you here for compensation?”

Rook set Anxiety loose. With a few words, he sent shivers down your spine. Compensation. Would your friendship end the moment you fulfilled his request? It had always been in the back of your mind. The thought of Vil using you to make him feel better about himself shatters you into a million pieces. The thought of owing Vil something for helping you, for being your friend, was heart-wrenching. Was it pity after all this time? Was it so wrong to want to hang out at yet another café? You looked forward to those every month– ever since your unbirthday date. Was your relationship that superficial?

No, it wasn’t a date. You wanted it to be, but it was not a date. You never quite shook off those romantic feelings you felt when you saw a different side to him. Beneath the surface of the poised, strict and sometimes narcissistic prefect, Vil was extremely hard working, passionate, and observant. He was the greatest friend you could ever ask for. You can’t say that he was your best friend, but he was close. If he didn’t feel the same, then that was okay with you. You weren’t even sure if it was love. You’ve had this debate with Anxiety before. It kept telling you that you were in love with the idea of him fixing you. That was not love.

You shook your head. Vil genuinely was your friend. If those feelings were not returned, then you would still be friends.  He told you time and time again that you should never feel sorry for the way you feel. If so, then would it be alright to tell him one day? And feel terrible about it later?

“He’s here, isn’t he?” you asked.

“Oui~”

“Rook, (y/n),” a voice from the end of the half coughed.

Pomefiore’s vice dorm leader crossed his arms and gave you a smug smile. Vil. He was decked out in a trench coat and a black turtleneck. Stylish as always, but his hoarse voice told a different story. You rushed to Vil’s side.

“Vil, are you alright?,” you tugged his sleeves, “Your eyes are so puffy. Have you been crying? You’re burning up too. You should rest. Go back to bed this instant. Our café rendezvous can wait.”

He staggered: “No. I want to go with you. I finally have the time.. to see you… I have to make it count...”

“No, Vil. You have a fever. You need to rest,” you said, sliding his arm over your shoulders, ready to haul him back to his quarters.

Rook hummed a bird’s song.

“Would you mind helping?”

The height difference between you and Vil was awkward. His legs are dragged across the floor in a languid manner. One could imagine how uncomfortable that was.

“Non non, little fawn! My hands are dirty. Roi du Poison wouldn’t allow me to taint his beauty with such bacteria. Désolé!”

“Can you at least get the door then?”

“Will do, milady,” he bowed before complying to your request.

He held the door for you as you dragged Vil to his bed. You gasped as Vil’s limbs tighten around your neck.

“Would you mind getting the sheets too? Pull them out so I can tuck him in?”

Rook hummed in response. You plopped Vil onto the mattress. Your companion’s eyes widened, hands thrown in the air.

“Mademoiselle! Careful! Roi du Poison is fragile like a flower’s first bloom.”

“He’ll be fine don’t worry. Now if you could–”

Where did he go? You blinked for one minute and the vice prefect was gone.  You shook your head in dismay, turning to Vil and tucked him in bed. He looked so peaceful. His eyes were so distraught and dull before. Did he overwork himself to the point of tears? His room was a mess– shreds of fabric and crumpled balls of paper were discarded on the floor. You could hear his breathing as you made way to his desk.

What’s this? A script? And a sewing machine? What was he making? His sketches were stunning. Was this a side project of his? Was he too busy with films to continue with it? But why were his eyes so puffy?

Whatever the case was, it wasn’t your place to pry. Your fingers trailed off over the sketchbook as you made your way to his bathroom. You didn’t know where he kept the medicine or what kind he used, but it was worth a try to look around.

You opened the cabinet and your face fell. At a glance, he didn’t have anything aside from comesetics. There were a few bottles of potions, but you couldn’t make out the labels. It was best not to guess and check. The least you could do was place a wet on his head to cool down the fever. You peered over the bathroom’s door frame.

He wouldn’t mind. He was breathing heavily. You’ll face the consequences later if it violated his beauty regime. Hurriedly, you grabbed a small towel off the shelf, rinsing it in cold water in the sink. You squeezed off the excess and rushed to Vil, cursing at intervals where the water dripped onto whatever expensive material the flooring was made of. Was it expensive? You couldn’t tell. You placed it on his head gingerly. 

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and kissed his cheek.

Holy… what did you just do? You were taking advantage of him when he was out cold. If he was awake what would he say? Why did you do that? Why did that make your heart flutter?

“F-Feel better, Vil. I’ll be going now. Tell me when you wake up,” you sighed, patting your cheeks down.

You were a fool for initiating such an intimate act while someone was sleeping. You were also talking to said someone as if they were listening. It was best to excuse yourself now. Though maybe a little note would be helpful for when he wakes up. Your sleeves dipped. Your eyes went to the source of motion: Vil.

“Fairest… can you stay?”

You were at a loss for words. Vil called you “Fairest”– as if your other nickname didn’t exist. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were red and teary. What to do? What to do? What to do?

Vil tugged at your sleeves and pulled you onto the bed. Your mind went blank. You were on top of him, preventing yourself from crushing him with your weight, hands pinned on each side of his head.

“V-Vil?”

He pulled you onto him, then turned to the side, causing you to face each other. The blankets were ruffled, wrapping you two into a contorted position. The towel slipped off his face. You scrambled out of bed. Vil lunged for you, pulling you back in.

“I said stay,” he pouted.

“I know, I was just getting out of bed to get back in. Wait that doesn’t make sense?”

“It does,” he said, lifting the sheets so you could climb in,

You yelped as he pulled you into his chest, “Vil? What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see you today.”

“I’m here.”

“I wanted to go on another date with you.”

Date? Does he think it was a date too? Every single one? Great Seven, have mercy…

“You should rest. We can hang out here if you want.”

Your hold on his waist tightened. You inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Perhaps to him, this was a fever dream. Stil, all love takes patience– if what you both felt was love, that is.

“Thank you for staying , (y/n).”

“...Do you want to talk about it? Usually you’re the one listening to me, but I’m here for you too. ”

Vil buried his head into your shoulders, “Nothing much. Just overworked. Stress came to me in the form of sickness, unfortunately. How inconvenient.”

He clicked his tongue while you giggled. Even if bedridden, Vil’s mind was as proactive as ever.

“Were you crying?”

“...”

“You don’t have to answer.”

How do you comfort someone? You’ve always been the one comforted, especially from Vil. Were you gaining more from the relationship than Vil did? You wanted him to cheer up though...

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s better to get it off my chest while you’re still here.”

What did he mean by that? You weren’t leaving. Why would you? How could you?

“Do you think I’m more than my appearance?”

He was shaking. Vil was shaking. What could have possibly happened from the last time you saw him? Was he alright?

“Why do you want my opinion? We both know you’re more than a pretty face.”

“Answer the question.”

“Alright, alright. I do think you have a pretty face. You’re gorgeous, very handsome… but you’re also hardworking, diligent, strong-willed, driven, intelligent, observant and more words that I can’t think of to describe how I feel about you. Oh and a great alchemist and friend I might add. Vil, you’re pretty. You’re beautiful. Inside and out.”

Your heart hurt. Calling him your friend didn’t sit right with you. He threw his head back in a fit of laughter.

“Did I ramble too much?”

“No, not at all. I feel much better so thank you.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better then. Whatever happened, I hope you know that it doesn’t define you. If you feel like it does, then remember that I’m your biggest fan.”

Ah, too cheesy. You’ve gotten too comfortable around Vil to think about Anxiety or your verbal filter. When you were with him, words flowed as freely as time.

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

He didn’t say anything much about it. Was that not weird for him? Did you offer the solace he was looking for? He merely pulled away from your embrace. You thanked the heavens that his eyes were closed. If he made eye contact with you while you two were still sharing the same bed, you might as well ascend to the afterlife.

“Why do you ask though?”

“Oh I just had a miserable case of self-doubt is all. My manager kept taking roles that type-casted me as beautiful as the main character. I know I’m worth more than my looks- I want to be more than my looks-  but so far the industry has told me otherwise… but thank you, (y/n).”

He stayed like that for a while, inhaling and exhaling softly. Was he sleeping? How much time had passed?

“Vil. I have a question for you. You don’t have to answer if you’re not up to it. I know you have a lot on your mind right...” you said, breaking the silence.

“Shoot.”

“Will I be able to see you again after I compensate for the time I’ve wasted?”

“You don’t waste time. You don’t have to compensate for anything. I’m glad you’re here with me. If anything, I wasted your time.”

“But you said that we could talk about compensation later. It’s been over a year, Vil,” you whimpered.

“What do you mean by compensation?” he asked firmly, opening his eyes.

You choked on your own words. This was a bad idea. It might even offend him. Would if offend him? You wanted to know.

“Our first presentation. My anxiety attack. The infirmary. You helped me. I asked why then you said there was a price and we could talk about it later. But that conversation never came up. Why is that? Why did you come to the infirmary that night? Why did you take me in? Why am I here? Why do you still talk to me?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from spewing all of the questions you had for these past months. You needed to know. You needed your heart to shatter.

He sighed, “Good grief, (y/n). You remember all of that still? It’s not as bad as you think.”

He was offended.

“Please don’t say that.”

He inhaled sharply. 

“My apologies, potato. I didn’t mean it like that. But to answer your question, I felt guilty especially since I was the one who forced you onto the podium and made you redo the presentation because I couldn’t manage my first major acting role and my academics at the same time. I am sorry that you had to suffer the consequences.”

Vil turned onto his back. He brought his forearm to cover his eyes. Was he embarrassed? Ashamed? Did it hurt his pride? 

“I didn’t think of it like that. I’m sorry that I ruined our project because I couldn’t manage to improvise.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for that.”

“You shouldn’t either. Your feelings are just as valid as mine. Even if you don’t have anxiety, you still can feel anxious and overwhelmed.”

“Touché.”

“And the compensation?”

“You needn’t worry about that. My time is valuable indeed but you’re not a waste of my time at all. You’re worthwhile.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you muttered.

“Hm?”

“What would have been the compensation?”

Vil turned to face you, rustling the sheets, “Are you that curious, Fairest?”

“F-Fairest?”

“Hm, yes it suits you now more than ever. Close your eyes for a moment. This should be quick.”

You obliged, closing your eyes. Vil wouldn’t do something terrible to you would he? He gripped your shoulders and pushed you flat on your back. You felt him shift his leg so he could straddle you. You instinctively cursed yourself in a ball.

“You can relax. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You loosened your muscles, trying hard not to burst into a fit of nervous laughter. You were scared.

“Fairest.”

“Yes?”

“How was your day?”

“Well, it was—mmmphhh!”

Vil had told you to keep your eyes closed, but how could you? Not when he was kissing you. You had waited for this moment. You fantasized about it, daydreaming, pining for him on the daily. You never saw it coming. Did he return your feelings? After all this time? You mewled as he bit your bottom lip. You were hot, feverish just like your beloved prefect. Was he alright? He was flushed, coughing as you pushed him away.

“My time has been compensated,” he smirked.

His expression quickly changed, “Hey! Why are you crying? Did I hurt you? That was too bold wasn’t it… Goodness (y/n)...”

You cupped his cheeks.

“Not at all. I’m just so happy that you feel the same.”

“Feel the same?”

You faltered. Was he toying with you? No, he wouldn’t…

“I-I like you a lot, you know. I don’t know of a time I didn’t. You’re so confident and I adore you for that. I love how you’re always there for me, how you always listen to me, and how you lean on me too. I love how you include me and see me no less than anyone else. I love you so much that my heart hurts,” you paused and moved your hands to clutch your chest, “But if it isn’t love then I suppose that’s fine too. I think I might be in love with the idea of you. It might be a little presumptuous here, spouting nonsense to you, but I don’t want to be just friends. Even if I am broken, I want to make you happy so please accept my feelings-!”

Cheesy. Too cheesy! You’re oversharing, (y/n). Stop. It. Death suddenly seemed like a viable option. You loved him so much that you must die. Yes, that was the only way.

Vil kissed you. This time, it was more of a peck.

“This whole time… you… I love you too, Fairest. I accept you and your feelings.  Thank you for being so patient with me,” he kissed the trail of tears running down your cheeks, “You already make me so happy. I love your innocence, your beauty—inside and out as you would say. I admire your strength to help others despite being in a world of your own. I love your selflessness and... your adorable reactions to situations that make you anxious. Please, tug at my sleeves some more.”

You pouted at the last bit. Vil was observant. You’ve come to learn that the hard way. The trait never withered.

He continued: “I will be in your care from now on.”

Ah. He was crying. Smiling too. What a sappy mess of emotions you two were, sobbing in each other’s arms over a mutual confession.

He flicked your forehead, “And don’t you dare call yourself broken. You are not below me and I am not above you. We’re in this together. I love you and you love me and you better love yourself too. You hear me, potato?”

“Yes, but–”

“Did I stutter?”

You pressed your forehead against his, “Will do, Vil.”

He lowered his weight onto you, nuzzling into your neck. You wrapped your arms around his neck and combed through his champagne gold locks. You were sniffling. You were relieved that he loved you the way you loved him. You were relieved that you didn’t fall in love with potential. He loved you for you and you loved him the same. What if you weren’t good enough for? No, no, he said he felt the same. Stop overthinking, (y/n). 

You were drained after all this worrying. Being plagued by thoughts assuming the worst about him and the worst case scenarios concerning your confession consumed your mind. There was not a single day where your head was clear.

You were exhausted. So, so, so tired. Tired of thinking. Tired of Anxiety. Sleep seemed nice right now especially with Vil laying on top of you. The monster inside your head had gone dormant. All there was the thought of Vil being by your side, loving you and Anxiety all the same.

Your consciousness faded.

[ April, Someday– Vil’s Birthday, Pomefiore Dormitory Hallway ]

“Vil. Vil!!!”  you squealed, tackling your lover from behind.

He staggered on his toes, but recovered swiftly. He was tall. The stilettos made him taller. You were up to his shoulders, giggling, slipping under the long sleeves of the Pomefiore dorm uniform.

“Au revoir, Roi du Poison. Mademoiselle (y/n),” Rook chuckled and excused himself.

Vil gave Rook a look of disdain yet the vice prefect skipped along the halls, paying no mind to the daggers coming his way. Your beloved turned to you and smiled.

“Happy birthday~”

“You’re frisky today.”

“I’m excited.”

“I can see that. Thank you,” he pats your head.

“Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up something. You’re welcome to wait in my room. Might I tell you that you look beautiful today? Red lipstick suits you.”

You followed him into his quarters, seating yourself on the bed, fiddling with the ends of your hair. He called you beautiful. You were giddy over something trivial. It was normal for one to call their significant other beautiful. In truth, he was the fairest, not you. You never minded. You loved watching him flourish in the spotlight.

You watched him undo his bun, letting his hair fall loose. The ends were curled, bouncing on his shoulders. He stepped into the bathroom to shed the dorm uniform off, opting for a black suit with faint floral patterns. Your eyes widened, coming to terms with the fact that he wore no dress shirt underneath the suit.

“You’re eighteen now, Vil,” you mused.

“What of it?”

“Oh nothing. I was just thinking.”

He hummed in response, “Is that so?”

“It feels like yesterday when we were both- what? Fifteen? Nevermind that. It’s silly. Would you like to see your gift now?”

“How does after the party sound?” he asked, lining his eyes with a thick eyeliner.

A thin smirk creeped up on his lips.

The look was similar to the standard ceremonial robes makeup. His silver chain-like earrings, leather choker and red heels threw off the professional look. Vil was striking. From what he told you, his producers had invited him to a party celebrating the release of a film he starred in. It was conveniently on his birthday. He spent the last few weeks convincing you to go with him. 

You gave in, but the thought of attending a social gathering with people you had never met before worried you. Vil reassured you that he would remain by your side at all times. You agreed on the spot, putting on a brave face for his sake. He promised to spend time with you afterwards. Just you and him. He even agreed to eat cake.

“I’m okay with that.”

“Thank you. I know you’re excited, but I want to save all the birthday related things for after.”

He set his makeup down and handed you a container of gel, climbing onto the bed while you got on your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You never let me do your hair.”

“Think of it as a reward for coming along with me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about that,” you said, letting go of your embrace and popping off the container’s lid.

“I’m thankful, but don’t push yourself for me.”

“I won’t, don’t worry. Besides, I want to. You’re going to be busy after today. I want to spend as much time as possible with you today.”

He smiled and helped you push his hair back. Dipping your fingers into the cool aquamarine substance, you combed through your lover’s hair, bringing his bangs back. When you finished, he turned around to kiss you. He caught you off guard, but you leaned into the kiss instantly. It wasn’t passionate nor was it chaste. It was somewhere in between as to not smear your lipstick. You reached for his hair to deepen it, but he grabbed your wrists. Right. You had forgotten. 

“Later,” he whispered.

Your cheeks were dusted with a rosy tint. Later? As quickly as he pulled away from you, Vil slid off the bed. He passed by his mirror, patting down his suit and hair. Then, he extended his hand to you, “Shall we go?”

[ Land of Pyroxene, Venue’s Rose Gardens ]

Vil said it was a small social gathering. A small party. The amount of people was fair to his description, but the setting was overwhelming. It was sophisticated. There were fae servers and ice sculptures. You were surprised to learn that the soirée was held in his homeland. You were expecting a carriage yet he simply led you to the mirror chamber where the headmaster bid him farewell.

And here you are. You were in a rose garden differed from Heartslabyul’s greatly as the roses were as white as snow. They grew on pickets and hung over your heads like grape vines. It was scenic, ethereal, like something out of a fairytale. There was also a castle in the distance, adding to the regality of the venue. 

“Vil! Oh thank goodness you’re here. I almost thought you were going to leave me to fend against all of these actors wanting to know more about you,” a stout woman said, scrambling towards him, “Oh? Is this your– ohhhhh–”

“Adella, this is (y/n). Fairest, this is Adella, my manager.”

Vil paused, cueing you for an introduction. He glanced at you.

“Chin up, dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Breathe. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Adella was Vil’s manager. Like he said, she’s nothing to be afraid of.

“P-Pleasure to meet you,” you extended your hand out.

She took it with a death grip. Sheer willpower prevented you from wincing. 

“No, no, the pleasure is mine. Vil has told me so much about you. And my, he calls you ‘Fairest’ how adorable~”

“What has he told you?”

You heard his breath hitch. Vil’s arm slithered back to his side. Was that too much? You were curious, but what if that made him uncomfortable? You should apologize later. 

“Nothing much. I didn’t even know what you looked like even! His pet name for you suits you so well. Oh! I do know that he frequently asks about his schedule because he said that he wants to spend time with the s–”

“That’s enough now, Adella,” Vil said, crossing his arms and putting his weight on one foot.

Shoot. He was displeased. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Shall we go greet your colleagues? You are free to mingle afterwards. I know that there was this one actor who was practically begging me to see you. You weren't here yet though so what could I do? Fufufu~”

“Are you coming, (y/n)?” Vil asked, turning his head to see you trailing behind.

You halted and pointed to the dessert table, “You can go on ahead.”

He nodded and followed his manager to the east side of the garden. You made your way to your own destination. While you wanted to go with Vil, meeting Adella set your nerves ablaze and drained all the social energy you had. Plus, you felt out of place when you stood next to Vil.

Compared to him, you could never pull off silver earrings. A pair of red heels simply looked better on him than they ever would on you. Then there was Adella who was also gorgeous with her messy bun and nude lipstick. She wasn’t a public figure yet you felt small around her presence. She exuded a lovable aura that drew people around her.  If you had to meet more people who were meant for the spotlight, celebrities no less, you could never manage through the night. If you avoided strangers, you should be fine. There were cake pops amongst other treats at the table. You were going to have a ball of a time.

You plucked the confection off its stand, examining it thoroughly. It was as luxurious as the party’s decor. The dessert resembled the poison apple the Beautiful Queen from the stories you were told as a child. Gold foil acted as the poison while a red coating of candy melts acted as the skin of the apple. You bit the top off. It was a vanilla sponge cake. Odd for an extravagant event like this as you assumed the flavors would be bolder. Maybe it was the kind expensive vanilla. Were they all the same flavor? You plucked another one from the stand, biting into it. Oh this one was red velvet with a cream cheese filling. Were there other flavors?

“My, my, you sure like the cake pops, don’t you?” a voice cooed.

You turned your head to meet the owner of that sweet voice. He had hair as black as ebony and skin as white as snow. His eyes were a warm chocolate brown. He wore a yellow jumpsuit with a red ribbon which was complemented by a black beret. He strained a smile at you.

“You needn’t look at me like a deer in headlights. It’s okay I like cake pops too,” he laughed.

“Who are you?”

“Eh? You don’t know who I am?”

You shook your head. He blinked twice. 

“I’m Neige LeBlanche, lead actor of the film. But, say, since you don’t know who I am, I’m assuming you’re someone’s plus one? You seem kind of young though...”

He took a cake pop from the stand, peeling off the gold foil.

“I’m Vil’s plus one.”

“Vil? I would have never guessed. I thought he said he wasn’t bringing someone. He didn’t seem like he wanted to either...” he mumbled something and paused, “As expected of my senior! Say, what are you to him?”

You pulled the ends of your hair, “I-I’m his girlfriend.”

“Is that so? He never mentioned having a girlfriend. I always thought he was going to end up–”

“We started dating a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my, that’s–”

“I have to go so if you’ll excuse me, Neige. It’s been nice meeting you. Congrats on the film,” you waved.

“No, no, the pleasure is mine, (y/n). I’m glad I got to meet Vil’s girlfriend. You were so sweet! I hope we can talk some more in the future! Oh I know–You should follow me on MagiCam! We can talk there,” he exclaimed, clasping his hands around yours.

He was so bubbly… You didn’t know how to handle him. Was this interaction not awkward to him at all? Your cheeks flushed as you excused yourself. You held your head down low and avoided eye contact with everyone you crossed paths with. Where you were headed to was a mystery, even to you. Anywhere was fine. Anywhere secluded. Anywhere without people, but close enough to trace your footsteps back to the rose gardens should anything arise.

Of course, that was the ideal scenario. In your situation, nothing was ideal per se. You were lost. You had trudged forward whilst looking at the ground, not getting a good look of your surroundings at all. It was hard to tell where you were. If you had known better, you would say that you were in a children’s book. The rose bushes towered high above your head and the castle was closer than it was before. In the center of it all was a gazebo adorned with intricate floral details. There was also a well to the side of the structure. You made your way to the gazebo and sat down on the bench, gazing upon the beauty of the raven sky. It glittered like a thousand fireflies.

You sighed, “The moon is beautiful tonight.”

[ Some Ungodly Hour, Venue’s Rose Garden ]

“Nghh…”

“You’re awake now?”

Vil? What was he doing here? The moon was high in the sky. It was late. You were resting your head on his lap. You sat upright in an abrupt motion.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Ruining the party by running off and falling asleep, wasting your time when you could have been talking to someone more important–”

Vil put a finger to your lips: “I was getting exhausted of people commenting on my looks anyway. You did worry me by running off though. To think that I had to ask Neige of all people too.”

That last part about Neige. Did he not like his co-star? He ran his hand through his hair while you adjusted yourself into a more comfortable position. You opted to lean your head on his shoulder. Vil reciprocated by placing his head on top of yours, nuzzling it.

“The party is still ongoing so don’t worry,” he said, “Though you could have told me where you were.”

You exhaled. Thank goodness. It would have been embarrassing if it ended.

“Sorry about that.”

“Was it that exhausting for you? I told you not to push yourself for my sake. It makes neither of us happy.”

“At first, no, I wasn’t. I was a bit nervous around your manager but then Neige threw me off for a bit–”

“Neige? What did he say to you?”

“Nothing. He just asked what I was to you and I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“We’re leaving.”

“What? Why?”

Your stomach growled. You looked down at the ground. Suddenly the grass below your feet was the most interesting thing in the world. He took your hand firmly. His grip was different. He held you as if he was about to lose you.

“I had talked to everyone I needed to talk to. I’m done for the day and so are you. I would like to celebrate my birthday now with my dearly beloved if she would please.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a demand. There was no room for apologies.

You rose from the bench, grimacing at the soreness and took his hand, following him to the mirror.

[ Midnight, Vil’s Bedroom ]

Was he mad? He said he wasn’t. But then why was he handling you so roughly? Vil pulled you into the bathroom. He turned the faucet on, drawing water into the bathtub. He grabbed a bottle of bubble bath product and rose petals. He emptied the contents and discarded the containers onto the cool tiles. They rattled and echoed. Vil turned to his cabinets, searching for something. Strands of his loosely gelled hair swayed back and forth as he sifted through his cosmetics. He muttered gibberish as he found makeup wipes. Pulling you towards him, he began to wipe the gunk off your face. His motions were rigid, frantic, like he was wiping at a stubborn speck on a mirror. He turned you around and undid your dress’s zipper. The process was akin to a kitten’s first yawn. Slow, drawling yet somehow winsome. The act was intimate. Vil manhandling you was a first. It spawned many mixed motions. The positives outweigh the negatives, but was he alright? His eyes were ready to cry. They were glossy to the rim. When the zipper reached the end of its path, he pushed you aside and tended to his own face with a new wipe.

“Strip and get into the tub,” he instructed.

Strip? That was off-putting, especially from him. He didn’t want to have birthday sex did he? Or would he leave when he was done with his makeup? It had to be the latter. You held your sides, preventing the dress from slipping down your shoulders. But what if he did? What if he wanted to let out his frustrations on you? Was that it? He said he was more worried than upset, but his actions betrayed his words. He was tense. He could burst at any moment. Vil, as he was now, was a time bomb, ticking away. You feared he might break.

Vil snapped his fingers before you. You flinched. As you regain focus into the real world, you come to the sight of your lover in the tub, hair wet and his body leaning against the edge. His clothes were hanging on the laundry hamper. You looked away, excusing yourself under your breath. A tug on the hem of your dress stopped you in your tracks. He had broken. His eyes were red and puffy though no tears trailed down his fair complexion. You knelt down beside the tub, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Vil…”

“Could you stay?”

“In the tub?”

“Only if you want to.”

Why is it that he could always see through you? Was your discomfort obvious? No, no, he was merely attentive. Then again, you were equally observant to everyone, especially towards Vil. Your darling was an open book, an easy read– the merit being that his words rarely matched his actions. He was a novel full of metaphors, eloquent tones and arbitrary words. Underneath the complications, he was as simple as the next composition. He was as insecure as any other person, if not more. To read Vil Schoenheit, you mustn't analyze his speech. Words fail in this case. You had to look for the little things: his weight shifting on one leg, his shoulders tensing, his eyebrows furrowing for a brief moment, his shortness of breath, his eyes.

In this very moment in time, Vil needed you. He said there was no obligation, but the small frown on his lips told you otherwise. He was aware of your own boundaries, but at times like these, when he needed you most, your instinct to reach for him, to hold him, triumphed over your murky thoughts. There was mutual trust between you and Vil, two profoundly regardful people. One was observant because he had a keen eye for details and all things beautiful. The other was observant because she was wary of the opinions of others.

Vil turned away from you as you let your dress and undergarments fall to the ground. His eyes were closed when you climbed into the tub.

“You never have to push yourself for my sake, Fairest,” Vil said as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your back closer to his chest.

“I don’t mind if it’s for you. I will tell you when I can’t do something, I promise.”

“You better,” he sighed.

You turned around and cupped his cheeks, “What about you? Are you alright? You’ve been so stiff ever since we left.”

You scooped some soap suds onto his hair, lathering and combing though his silky locks while you waited for him to formulate the right words.

“Fairest, do you think I am more than my appearance?”

You stopped mid-caress and nodded. His looks were always a touchy subject. Vil had a severe case of type-casting, a situation where he was only casted for roles with “beautiful” as the main attribute of the character. At first, he was content with them, but as time went on, he felt defined by his appearance. His hard work was futile in an industry that valued beauty over effort. Comments such as “you only got to where you are now because of your face” was a stab in the heart for Vil. He often sought out you or Rook for comfort. It came to the point where Vil frequently declined callbacks.

He continued, “No matter how much I talked to others about my role in the film or attempted to make more connections to those in the industry, they would always comment on my ensemble first. Sometimes they comment on how I look and nothing more.”

“So you feel invalidated for your efforts?”

“Yes, I feel like none of the work I put into getting where I am now. I feel like all I had to do was look pretty and everything will be handed to me… just like Neige. I want to be as pretty as him. I want to be as popular as him. I want to be recognized for my skills and get casted for the best roles. Not superficial ones. I want… I want....”

You embraced him as he choked on his own words.

“This is hypocritical since it’s coming from me, but you should never compare yourself or your efforts or progress to anyone else. You are enough as you are, at your own pace.”

His arms engulfed you. He kissed you, intertwining his tongue with yours.

“I’m sorry,” Vil said, pulling away. 

“I’m sorry too.”

“What did I tell you about saying sorry for something that’s out of your control?”

“But you’re apologizing too,” you laughed.

He snorted.

“But I do feel guilty for leaving you alone though. Maybe I could have said something for your sake. I feel even worse since it was your birthday.”

“We’re both pathetic in that regard.”

You scooped water onto Vil’s head. He did the same for you. You looked him into the eyes before averting your gaze. They were as intense as ever.

“I accept your apology though. In turn, you should accept mine.”

“I can’t. Sorry, Vil. You told me that I should never apologize for how I feel. Neither should you.”

“But I don’t have anxi–”

“You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to have a bad mental health day. You don’t have to have anxiety or anything to feel insecure or worthless. Those feelings are valid for anyone”

“You do have a point there,” Vil said as he tousled his hair.

“I have something for you. It may not be your birthday anymore,” you glanced at the clock, “but we haven’t slept yet so in my mind the day isn’t over yet.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“Does it still feel like a ninth of April to you?”

“Yes, but technically it’s not.”

“Think of it as a feeling then,” you said and climbed out of the tub.

Vil assisted you in the process and got towels for you both. He languidly dried your hair.  His touch was soft like a ghost’s embosom. You could barely feel his touch. Then, he waltzed over to his dresser and gave you one of his silk pajama tops. While he was getting dressed, you grabbed your gift for him, sitting on the edge of the mattress waiting for him.

Shortly after, he plopped down on the bed. The pillows bounced on impact. You held the gift bag over his chest. He looked up at you then at the bag. Sitting up, he opened it.

“Well?”

Your lover tore through the tissue paper, revealing a small box wrapped in brown wrapping paper, red ribbon and twine. His eyes sparkled like a child on Christmas Day.

He read the present tag aloud: “‘To my darling: Vil Schoenheit. Happy birthday.’”

He undid the bow, careful not to ruin the label. He found the edges of the wrapping paper and picked off the tape piece by piece and discarded it on the ground. It fell with grace. Vil lifted the lid of the box.

“A book?”

“Open it.”

Granted, you were more nervous than he was. Would he like it? Today was not his day. You hoped to make him feel better. If he didn’t like it in the slightest, you wouldn’t know how to feel. You wanted to see him smile. It was his birthday. He did not deserve to feel insecure because of soirée guests. He did not deserve to feel so small when he was your world. In fact, he deserved the world for all that he was. He worked too hard not to. His efforts deserved to be paid off. Perhaps not every day, but for his birthday, he should have. It was his day.

Vil obliged, turning to the title page.

“Eighteen things I love about you,” he read.

You leaned over his shoulder.

“Did you honestly write an essay about your love for me?”

“No,” you said, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “Just look.”

“I jest, Fairest.”

Vil licked his finger and turned the page.

“Ah. A scrapbook? Let’s see… ‘Number one: I love how—”

You put a hand over his mouth, “It’s embarrassing if you read it out loud.”

“I think it’s endearing. Besides, I live for your flushed face.”

You whined and he let out a laugh.

“I’ll spare you. I’ll only read the first one aloud.”

“That’s fair,” you mumbled.

“I hope it is. Anyhow… ‘Number one: I love how you carry yourself with utmost respect. I love how you know your worth. I love how angry you are when you are undermined– because you know you are worth more than what the current situation offers. Your confidence is contagious as it inspires me to acknowledge my own worth, to be bolder and seek opportunities that are on par to my own capabilities.’”

He paused.

“What?” you asked.

“I like how you included a photo of us as freshman potatoes,” he said, running his fingers over the image as if he was wiping away dust.

“You always were always like a star to me, ever since we first met. It was hard to start off this scrapbook without referencing that.”

You twirled the ends of your hair.

“I’m glad that you see me in such a way.”

His voice was so soft, inaudible even.

“Vil?”

No response. He flipped the book to page two. Then to page three and so forth. He was still. His chest did not rise and fall each breath. He didn’t even blink. He stopped at the last page. It read: “I love you. You as a whole– the person you present to the crowd and the person you present to a select few. I love you for every flaw and insecurity. I love and accept you in the same way you love and accept me and more. I promise to love you forevermore– no shunning, no judging, just staying by your side and watching you grow into a person I fall in love with more and more every day.”

He pushed you down onto the bed and kissed you, dropping the book onto the ground.

“V-Vil…”

A sense of déjà vu washed over you.

He was vulnerable. He knew, you knew. His lips were quivering and his eyes were glossy. But did he like it? You tried so hard not to say that you liked him because of his looks. That was a touchy subject for him. Did that last one come off as too cheesy? You were told you were quite sappy on top of having an ability with words but still…

“What are you doing writing a bunch of wedding vows, you sweet potato?” Vil muttered as he cuddled you.

“I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. We’re barely a month into this relationship so that’s out of the question. I’m pretty sure we’re still in our honeymoon phase too. But that’s how I feel right now. So… What if I wrote a bunch of wedding vows to you? What of it?”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t find your sudden confession cringe-worthy.

“I never said it was bad... I feel the same.”

He let the last part of his sentence trail off into silence.

“Do you feel better now?”

Was that out of place? Did that kill the mood? What if you soured his mood?

“Much better, thank you. I appreciate it and… I love you too. I know I don’t say it a lot, but I think you know that already.”

“I do.”

He peppered your face with kisses. Some were on your lips, Others were on your cheeks and forehead and occasionally trailed down your jawline.

“I also have something else for you,” you spoke up, pushing him off of you so you could grab another bag that you left by the foot of his bed.

“You spoil me, Fairest.”

“It’s not much. Just a cake I made for you.”

“A whole cake?”

“A cupcake, I mean. I know you’re not one for sweets.”

“And you left it in my room with no refrigeration.”

You pointed to the ice pack. He nodded. You pulled out a cake box, propping it open on Vil’s hands and told him to hold still. You placed a candle in the center and lit with a little spark of fire magic.

“Make a wish~”

“What am I? Twelve?”

“You have to make a wish.”

“Fine,” he said as he blew out the taper, “I wish to be with you for as long as possible.”

“You can’t say your wish out loud. It won’t come true!”

“Do you have any intention of separating from me?”

“N-No.”

“I don’t see why my wish won’t come true then,” Vil said as he cut the cupcake in half, handing you a piece.

“I guess you’re right about that.”

“Careful. If you get crumbs on my bed, you’re sleeping in the spare room.”

“...Understood.”

[ Present Day, Pomefiore Hallway ]

One moment he was dolling you up, the next he was wrapping a blindfold around your eyes and led you down the hallway to god knows where. You were still walking straight so you only assumed that you were still in the Pomefiore dormitories. Unless you walked through a mirror. Or maybe you simply had a terrible sense of direction. Whatever the case was, it did not change the fact that you were trembling.

“Vil. Where are you taking me?”

He exhaled. You could hear his chest heave.

“Darling, are you scared?”

Like how you could read him like an open book, he knew you like the back of his hand. You nodded and you felt him undo the blindfold. He held the ribbon in his hand and yours in the other. You looked into his eyes for comfort. He was wearing a single French braid. It was nostalgic. It was like you were first years again. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but it was enough to stir up fond memories. Instead, Vil wore a casual ensemble with a kimono-esque silhouette. He wore a white dress shirt with a pair of shapeless, high-waisted black dress pants. A cardigan with an ornate pattern accentuated the look, He wasn’t wearing the barrette you made him for his sixteenth birthday either, but you felt nostalgic regardless.

“I still need you to close your eyes for me though,” he said, putting the hand with the ribbon over your eyes, “I know you’re scared, but please hold on for a little longer.”

You nodded and closed your eyes. You felt his hand leaving your face, but the other was holding yours tightly, guiding you to your destination.

“Fairest, are your eyes actually closed?” Vil asked, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yes.”

You had been walking for a few minutes now. Where was he taking you?

“Vil, do you know what today is?”

No response.

“Vil… You’re scaring me.”

“We’re almost there, don't worry.”

Would it hurt to trust him for a little bit? You trailed behind him aimlessly. Your steps lagged behind his.

“You ready?” he asked, cupping his lanky fingers over your eyes.

You nodded. Whatever could it be? Lacking sight made Anxiety rattle against your skull. Was Vil going to push you off a cliff? Send you to your doom? No, no, no. He wouldn’t. That was too extreme, (y/n). Calm down.

He lifted his fingers off of your eyes, whispering a faint “happy birthday” to you. You gasped. Pomefiore lounge decorated with streamers and balloons– color coordinated to match both the dorm’s interior as well as your favorite colors. Rose petals were sprinkled on the ground. You heard Vil step away from you. You jumped as you heard something pop and turned around to find the source. Before you could react, a swarm of confetti went your way followed by a loud “surprise!”

You blinked twice, pulling bits of paper out of your hair..  You stepped forward and spun your heel. Were you dreaming?

“Hey, are you crying? I forbid you from crying. Your mascara is going to smear. Stop touching your face,” Vil scolded, running to your side, whipping out a handkerchief to pat your tears dry.

He had no confetti on his person. He was pristine.

“Vil… it’s wonderful. Thank you. I’m so glad you didn’t forget.”

“How could I forget? You must give me more credit, Fairest. I may not have the time to be with you every day, but I’m not cruel as to forgot your birthday,” he huffed, pulling you into a hug.

He was right. He could have never forgotten. Was he mad that you doubted him? He didn’t seem irritated. It wasn’t like him to forget such an important date. You’ll give him credit for being a good actor; he fooled you well. He ignored you for almost two weeks. Whenever you brought up your birthday, he brushed over it and changed the subject. You were on edge the entire time. A weight was lifted off your chest.

“I know you’re not one for parties, but I figured I’d go all out for a small group of people you are comfortable with. You’re seventeen now. Rejoice, my dear.”

You pecked his lips, “This is fine. Thank you so much.”

Snap!

“Cute~ Hashtag: Vil-Did-Not-Forget. Hashtag: (y/n)’s-Growth Record. Hashtag: (y/n)-And-Vil-Forever. Hashtag: Birthday. And posted! Happy birthday, (y/n)-chan~”

“Ah. Thank you, Cay-kun.”

“Did you have to do that?” your lover asked, hands on his hip.

“It’s fine, Vil.”

He nodded. You hoped he wouldn’t bicker too much with Leona as the upperclassman was lounging a bit too close to the throne for [Vil’s] comfort. You sighed as he went to the refreshments table.

“You’ve grown for much,” Cater said with crocodile tears, hugging you.

“I’m still the same height.”

“I didn’t mean that, silly.”

“What did you mean then?”

“Nothing, much. You just look happier. Anyways, here’s your present. Continue to blossom, m’kay?”

You took the gift: “Alright?”

“Cater. Mind your manners. You’re being rude. According to the–,” a voice called.

“I don’t think I am, right, (y/n)? Tell Riddle for me~” he pouted.

His eyes widened as the complexion of Heartslabyul’s prefect grew as red as his hair. 

“Hey now. Let’s not fight,” Trey, the vice prefect, hurried over to pat Riddle’s back.

You sighed, “There’s nothing to worry about, Riddle.”

You could have sworn you saw a vein deflate on his forehead as he mumbled something about the rules. He handed you a bouquet of roses.

“Happy birthday, (y/n).”

“Let’s take a Heartslabyul selfie to celebrate! Say cheese!”

No one said cheese. The flash flickered before your eyes as you held the flowers close to your nose. Riddle’s eyebrows were scrunched together. He was socially awkward in that aspect.

“Hashtag: Heartsla…”

Cater’s words faded. Since when have you been comfortable taking pictures with him. It was nice. You felt pretty today. Was it because Vil dolled you up to a T? You hugged the bouquet closer to your chest as you walked towards the refreshments table.

“Oi. Herbivore. Watch the tail,” an all too familiar voice groaned.

“Good afternoon to you too, Leona.”

“Here’s your present.”

He handed you a small box and he waved you goodbye. Was he not going to stay? You watched his back get smaller and smaller as he walked out of the Pomefiore Lounge. He wasn’t big on parties either. That was alright.

You continued the refreshments, stopping occasionally and accumulating presents here and there, engaging in idle chatter. Soon, your arms were full of trinkets and parcels. You panted as you set the gifts onto a spare table.

“You’re quite the attraction,” Vil said, sipping on a glass of apple cider.

“I don’t really think I’m–”

“Own it for a day, will you? You look absolutely divine.”

“Thank you, Vil.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, “My pleasure, Fairest.”