#this is why i only bake a pie like every other year or less

[yuurei20]

Ace Info Compilation part 9: Ace, Malleus and Trey

Malleus says that he is glad he came to NRC because he was able to meet an interesting person who is not afraid of him. When Ace asks if he is means the Prefect, Malleus responds that he also means Ace himself.

This is possibly a reference to Spectral Soiree when Ace tells Malleus that the act of kidnapping 600 students and pretending to be possessed by a ghost as a form of entertainment was “not cool.”

Ace tells him outright that he needs to “PLEASE try to show some awareness of how overwhelmingly powerful you are. You’re THE Malleus Draconia.”

Lilia says he is surprised by Ace voicing a complaint to Malleus directly and Malleus observes, “Most students at school keep their distance. And rather a few of them flee at the sight of me. But not you. You spoke your mind openly and honestly, and without the aid of others.”

One of Ace’s earlier interactions with Trey involves Trey convincing him to add oyster sauce to a strawberry tart, and then mocking him for believing it. We learn in a voice line that—much like how Cater invited Deuce to join the Pop Music Club—Trey has invited Ace to the Science Club, but Ace turned him down because it sounded boring.

In a vignette Ace lies to Trey’s face in an attempt to learn answers to an upcoming exam saying that he he didn’t want to ask directly as all Trey would tell him to do is study. Trey offers to tutor him and Ace agrees, saying, “At least you’ll be a lot nicer of a tutor than Riddle.”

Ace causes trouble for Trey in another vignette where he asks Trey to bake a cherry pie for an upcoming Unbirthday Party instead of his usual cakes, inspiring other Heartslabyul students to start submitting requests as well.

Ace insists, “But you’re a pro, Trey. You could improvise!…I know I’d love to have a different type of cake every time.”

Trey decides to let the first-years make their own cake. Deuce calls Ace out for complaining about Ace’s cakes but Ace assures him, “Trey’s a chill guy. It’d take more than that to get him mad. If he got made over that, he’d never be able to manage our short-fused housewarden.”

The first-years’ cake is a disaster, they blame Ace for the mess they make and Riddle threatens everyone with collars.

Trey interrupts just in time with a proper cake for the party and says, “That’s why things are done in a certain, ‘samey’ way. Maintaining the peace is no easy task’ and Ace asks, “Uh, just to be clear, you ARE talking about baking, right? ‘Cause it sounds like you’re talking about the housewarden.”

Trey refuses to let any of the first-year students share his cake until they have eaten all of their own culinary disaster and Ace responds, “So much for Trey being ‘kindhearted and mature’.”

In a different vignette Ace tries to get away with brushing his teeth only once in the evening, contrary to a Queen’s of Heart’s rule, and Trey appears behind him to force him to follow through.

Trey lectures them on the importance of dental hygiene and Ace says, “My preschool teacher babied me less than you…you’re just some kind of weird dentistry nerd! I’m honestly freaked out by how into this you are.”

[mrs-gucci]

My Pumpkin

{ adam sackler x female reader }

just an idea I came up with! it's been a very, very long time since I've written for Sackler (like 2 years lol) so apologies if my characterization is a bit off...

warnings. SMUT (18+ ONLY), dirty talk, oral sex with food (m receiving), masturbation w/fingering (f receiving), deepthroating, facial.

word count: 1.13k

★ written for sextember 2023 ★

** CLICKING “KEEP READING” MEANS YOU UNDERSTAND & ACKNOWLEDGE ALL OF THE WARNINGS LISTED ABOVE AND ARE OVER THE AGE OF 18. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK, YOUR CONTENT CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. MINORS DNI. **

collage by me :)

“Mm, is that pumpkin pie I smell?”

You chuckle as Adam walks into the kitchen eagerly.

“Yes, but not for you,” you say. “I’m baking them for the fall farmers market this weekend.”

He pouts, standing behind you and putting his hands on your hips. “Aww, c’mon kid, can’t I just keep one? I love your pumpkin pie.”

“You can buy it for ten bucks. Friends and family discount.”

He groans.

“If I help you bake, can I get one for free?”

You sigh. “Oh my god, you just won’t quit, will you? Last time you helped me bake, all you did was try to fuck me.”

“But that was last year,” he pouts, squeezing your hips. “Please? I’ll be so so helpful and much less horny this time around. I’ve gotten better.”

“No you haven’t,” you laugh. “But you can help as long as you don’t try to have sex with me every two minutes.”

He nods happily, then washes his hands and puts on his favorite apron of yours, which is frilly and very feminine. You chuckle at the sight, then put him on pie-making duty.

At first, things go well. He’s focused and helpful, and he does a great job making the pies to put into the oven.

But soon enough he starts lingering by you more at the mixer, hands roaming on your hips and ass, and his lips begin pressing kisses to your cheeks or neck every time he goes by.

Your eyebrows raise slightly and you look back at him.

“Hey…I’m serious. I really have to focus on this.”

He nods, trying not to crack a small smile. "Mhm. Right. Focus."

You huff, rolling your eyes as you get back to mixing. Adam sets a timer for the pies in the oven, and as soon as he does that, he slides behind you again.

"Hey," he says, leaning in and kissing your cheek, hands on your hips again. "I'm done with the pies..."

"Great, I have dough ready and more filling--"

"Why don't we take a little break?" he asks, nipping at your earlobe. "You've been working hard all morning, kid."

You pause and look back at him.

"We shouldn't--"

"Let's play a little game," he says, smiling as he takes his apron off, then starts pulling off his t-shirt. "And it's called...lick it up."

He quickly tugs your shirt off, then takes a small scoop of dough and smears it onto the tops of your breasts. He takes a moment to admire them, then bends down to eat and lick the dough off your skin.

"A-Adam," you say, voice slightly shaky. "I need this dough for the pies..."

"We'll only use a little bit, kid." He gently takes another small scoop of dough, then smears it on his bare chest. "Now it's your turn. Go on, use that sweet little tongue of yours."

Your mouth turns up in a slight smirk as you lean in and lick up the dough, looking into his eyes the entire time you do so. He grunts softly, and your hands travel up to rest on his belt buckle, just above where he needs your touch most.

"God, keep going," he groans, leaning in to kiss you deeply, desperately. "Got me so hard."

You chuckle and pull his belt open, then push his jeans down enough to expose his hardening length. You reach over and put one hand in the dough and the other in the pumpkin pie filling, getting a bit of both before getting on your knees.

Sackler watches eagerly as you smooth the dough over his shaft, then smear the pie filling onto his head. You lick your lips just to tease him a bit, then start licking at his tip, eating the pie filling off him.

"Oh my god," he groans, head tipping back as he leans against the cabinets. "Kid, you're killing me here..."

"Mm, patience," you say, smiling. "I wanna eat my dessert first."

Adam growls, hand weaving in your hair while you continue to lick and eat the pie fixings off his hardened shaft. He makes noises the whole time, especially when you wrap your hand around him and stroke him while licking the last of the dough up.

"Suck," he says, hips rocking forward while he pushes your head against him. "Go on."

Your lips wrap around him and begin to suck gently, head bobbing, and Adam lets out a relieved sigh as he finally gets what he has so desperately wanted.

"Good girl, such a good girl," he praises shakily, jaw clenched. "Mmm, fuck, fuck kid...touch y-yourself, finger yourself for me..."

You reach down and move your pajama shorts out of the way, then press two fingers up into your wet hole. Your groan of pleasure vibrates through his cock, and Adam nearly cums at the feeling.

"God! Fuuuuck!"

It's hard to focus on both keeping your rhythm on both him and yourself, so eventually Adam takes over, moving your head and thrusting his hips at the same time.

Your fingers move in and out swiftly, creating pleasure for yourself, which causes you to start making more noises around his shaft. It drives him crazy, it makes him go even faster so that now, he's fucking your face.

Tears swell in your eyes from the deepthroating and gagging on his dick, and this only seems to spur him on, his hips rolling faster against you. You're close to orgasm, overwhelmingly so, and you finger yourself faster.

"Ggghhh! Mmmfffhhhh!"

He moans loudly, holding your mouth on him for a few moments before suddenly pulling away and desperately stroking himself over your face. You close your eyes just as the first rope of his warm seed shoots across your face. He groans and grunts with each spurt, making a mess on your cheeks, nose, mouth, and chin.

You're gasping for breath as you bring yourself to orgasm, moaning huskily as your insides grip and spasm around your digits.

"O-Oh fuck, fuck, Adam..."

Adam smiles slightly as he watches you, caressing your cheek and smearing his cum across your skin.

"Mm, so pretty. You look so fucking good when you've got my cum all over your face, kid."

"Gee, thanks."

You chuckle breathily, pulling your fingers out from between your legs and sucking them into your mouth while wiping the cum from your eyes so you can look up at him. He hums, tucking himself away before grabbing a towel to wipe off your face.

He helps you to your feet, then kisses you deeply, hands on your hips.

"You're the best," he says softly, kissing you again and again. "Best girlfriend ever. My pumpkin. I love you."

You smile just as the timer for the pies goes off, pulling him in for one more kiss.

"I love you too, Adam."

****

sextember taglist: @rynwritesstuff @safarigirlsp @babbushka @mrs-zimmerman

if you'd like to be tagged in future sextember works, please let me know via comment on this post or the original sextember post!

[laughinglynx]

Soft OC asks, for Zador

What if I want to know literally all of them? 😳👉👈

....oh boy y'all, get ready for a Long Post XD from this ask game!

🌹 Where in the world does your OC feel most at home? Is there any reason why? If it’s not the place they were born, where were they born? Is there a certain somebody that makes them feel at home where ever they may be? What does home mean to them?

Zador's had a few different homes over the years. The first was the little place he rented when Edille was young; it was filled with drawings and books, and while it was sometimes a struggle to make the money to keep it, he loved that home. When she died, he sold most of the stuff that was in it and moved out. Skyhold ended up being his second home; it never felt entirely safe, but his friends were there, and that made a world of difference. Post-Trespasser, he's.... trying to make his house a home, but it's difficult when it's just him. He really does like to be surrounded by the people he cares about.

🍄 What are your OCs favourite snacks? Their favourite comfort food which always cheers them up when they’re down? Favourite meal to make? Do they enjoy baking and cooking and are they any good in the kitchen?

Zador is.... Competent in the kitchen. He learned when he left his parents' house, he knows how to make stuff, but.... We're not making anything fancy here folks XD He does love pie though, doesn't really matter what kind as long as it's good pastry.

🍁Where does your OC go when they need to have some time to themself? Would they ever have their own “comfort corner” filled with all the things they like? Do they have a favourite spot outside that feels like its theirs and theirs alone?

He really doesn't have anything like that in Skyhold. There are always people around, and even if he goes to read at his desk in his room, someone will usually come find him to ask about something. So for most of the Inquisition... he takes snatches of quiet when he can, and otherwise is just. Very tired and stressed.

🍂 Does your OC enjoy hugs? What do they do as a show of affection for: their friends, their family, their significant other(s) or for strangers? Over all what are they like with recieving affection from others?

ABSOLUTELY ENJOYS THEM. He does a lot of shoulder/arm squeezes as little mini hugs, that's sort of his go-to.

🌻 What little things do they notice about people or the world around them that make them happy? What tiny little treasures do they find in the normal every day that makes the world seem a little brighter for them?

Zador spends a LOT of time watching people and listening to them. Part of that is picking up useful information, but a lot of it is just... Learning what makes people happy? In his journals he has notes on each of his friends, and a lot of it is just their hobbies, things that make them happy, stuff like that.

🌾 Describe your OC through the eyes of someone absolutely head-over-heels in love with them

I would love to do this but I cannot for the life of me write from the perspective of any other character in the Dragon Age universe. There's a reason I only write letters from Zador's point of view, oops XD

💐 How does your OC handle being unwell or forced to rest in bed? Who cares for them and in what ways? Does your OC enjoy being doted on or are they a terrible patient? Reversed: is your OC good at taking care of others who are ill or in need?

hahahahahaha no. He is a TERRIBLE patient, he hates being stuck in bed, he hates being the center of attention, it's just not fun. He's also really, really, really bad at taking care of people who are sick. He's happy to delegate, he actually uses Inquisition resources to set up medical clinics for those who can't afford doctors, but... He watched his daughter go from a mild cold to dead in less than a week. Seeing people he cares about get sick terrifies him to the point that he just has to walk away to have a breakdown.

🌿 What way does your OC show that they care without using words? What way do others show your OC that they’re cared about without using speech?

If someone's upset he defaults to bringing them warm milk and honey, and then just sitting nearby if they need/want to talk. Most of his friends know that works on him as well, though giving him a new book will do the trick as well XD

🌳 What is your OC’s favourite way to relax after a stressful day? Do they have a favourite book to curl up with? A hobby? Or do they have a nice bubble bath and have an early night to bed?

Reading. If Zador could spend all his time reading he probably would, and that's basically what he does when he retires. He's partial to really, really awful mystery novels, just the silliest stuff with the worst plots, he thinks they're hilarious.

🌲 How deeply does your OC feel? Are they typically empathetic or do they have a hard time connecting with others in this way? What are they like when offering support and comfort to someone they care for?

He's spent most of his adult life alternating between bone deep grief and locking his emotions entirely away to avoid dealing with said grief. He's... aware of his emotions, but largely looks at them and goes 'wow that's a Lot, I'm gonna walk away now'. Cole has trouble with him because of that, oops

🌺 What does your OC do to calm down when they’re scared or after a nightmare? Do they have any special comfort items or need to be reassured by a specific person? How do they handle this if they’re alone?

Zador writes. He doesn't want to talk about it, he's not great at talking about it, but he's found that writing it all out is an effective way of sorting through all of that fear.

🌸 What are some of their favourite things and why? List as many as you can think of!

Snow! Pie! Soft sweaters, preferably well worn! The crackling of a fireplace! The smell of paper and writing ink! Getting the tip of a quill Just Right! Getting to tell and hear stories! Teaching people new things!

....listen he's just a very tired history teacher XD

🥀 How would your OC decorate a notebook or journal? What kind of things are written in there? Could you give an example of a nice entry?

Oh dear god the journals. So many journals. He doesn't really decorate them (he can Maybe draw a stick figure, buddy is not artistically talented), but he does like trying to find ones with nice covers. In terms of a nice entry, this one is a fairy tale he wrote for his daughter!

🌼 Who are this characters friends and found family? How did they meet, how long have they been friends for, could they ever be something more than just friends? What do they look for in a friend or a romantic partner?

He counts most of the advisors of the Inquisition as his friends, barring a few of them, and he's definitely adopted several (Cole, Josie, Lace, Dorian), and of course there's his relationship with Cassandra. Mostly he looks for kindness in his friends, though if they're nerds who can tell him interesting things that's an extra bonus!

💫What is your favourite fact about this character and why?

I've just really enjoyed writing his letters! He came out with such a strong voice of his own from the very beginning, I wrote the first letter directly after Haven was burned... it's been really interesting having a character like this who really has a voice of his own.

☄️ Does this OC deserve better treatment from you? Do you make them suffer just a little bit too much? Be nice to them!

............listen I gave him a nice little retirement? .....where he's deeply deeply lonely and his every wish is fulfilled in the worst possible way, but STILL!!! Also I did write an entire AU for him where he could just be a happy history teacher with significantly less stress, so like. I tried?

🌠 On a scale of 1 - 10 how Baby is your OC? BONUS when asking this question rate the OC yourself as see if the reply matches up!!

Imma be honest, I don't really understand what this means? Sorry XD

💦 If you as the writer could erase one traumatic event from this OC’s life what would it be and why?

Ohhhh boy. You know, I wrote a letter from his daughter in an AU where she didn't die, where he got to see her grow up, and... It was an interesting experiment, and I love playing with that idea, but it also changes a lot of who he is? So for his sake, I wouldn't let her die, but for the sake of the story and who he becomes... I don't know if that's the right choice!

[cha-melodius]

7 or 13 for napollya? And good luck with your goal 💙

(The perfect napollya prompt: 7. “I have to bring Christmas cookies to the party and I don’t know how to make them.” This turned into a teachers AU. Why? I have no idea, but I'm going with it. I hope you enjoy!)

How’s About Cookin’ Something Up With Me?

Read it on AO3 (T, 4.3k)

The memo shows up in Illya’s mailbox on a fairly unremarkable Wednesday in early December. He reads it several times, as if he might be able to alter the instructions through sheer force of will, but the words stubbornly remain unchanged.

Annual Academic Clubs Holiday Party, the flyer announces. Please bring a homemade holiday treat to share that represents the club you sponsor!

He’s not even sure what it means. How is a holiday treat supposed represent a club, anyway? When Illya started teaching here at the beginning of the school year, he’d more or less immediately adopted the sadly-neglected chess club, which had been barely limping along since its original faculty sponsor had retired several years ago. Even if he could bake—which he decidedly cannot—he has no idea what a chess-themed treat would look like.

Illya is so busy puzzling over the message that he completely misses the sound of approaching footsteps in a cadence that has become very familiar over the few months since he joined the faculty here. Not that he would have tried to leave, but he at least might have been marginally more prepared for the arrival of the school’s art teacher. Instead, Napoleon takes him by surprise when he swans into the faculty lounge. As usual, he’s wearing two-thirds of a three-piece suit, lacking only the jacket, dressed far too well for someone who has to manage children using paints and pastels and charcoals all day. He’s also, as usual, so impossibly stunning that he still manages makes Illya’s beat an irregular rhythm every time they bump into each other various places around the school building, which seems to occur at a higher frequency than should be typical.

“Ah,” Napoleon says knowingly when he sees the paper in Illya’s hand. “Your first holiday party.”

“What does this mean?” Illya asks, holding up the memo.

“Oh, it’s a very big deal,” Napoleon replies with a grin. He pauses as he pours himself a cup of coffee, then perches half-sitting on a table in a way that manages to very beautifully display curve of his ass and the way his trousers stretch tight across his thighs, and Illya finds his eyes drawn inexorably to them without his permission. “Martha takes it very seriously,” he continues, snapping Illya’s attention back up to his face, which features a slight smirk that makes Illya’s cheeks go hot. “You have to bring a themed baked good that matches your club. I do petit fours with layers that make up the rainbow flag when you cut into them.”

Illya supposes that makes sense, because Napoleon is the faculty sponsor of the school’s LGBTQIA+ association. It also sounds incredibly laborious, but Illya has also become familiar with Napoleon’s rather impressive culinary skill over the past months, since he likes to bring in his ‘experiments’ to leave in the lounge for the other faculty and staff. In another life the art teacher could have been a professional chef. Themed baked goods may be no issue to him, but for Illya it’s an entirely different matter.

“They are required to be homemade?” he asks uncertainly.

Napoleon hums in confirmation as he sips his coffee. “And she will know if you cheat. I don’t know how, but she always does. One year Mark tried to disguise cookies from a local bakery and she was on him like a shot. He spent the next year on her shit list, which, trust me, you don’t want to be on.”

“You cannot expect me to believe that Sanders bakes for this party,” Illya counters. He’d eat his hat if the US History teacher, who sponsors the Model Government club, had ever touched an oven.

“Of course Sanders doesn’t cook,” Napoleon says with a laugh. “But his wife does. She makes a mean apple pie. Even does an American-flag design lattice on top.”

“That does not seem fair,” Illya huffs.

Napoleon shrugs. “It’s not.” He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he glances up at the clock on the wall and jumps to his feet. “Oops, gotta run. See you around, Peril.”

In what is probably not a very smart move, Illya promptly forgets all about the problem. The holidays are rapidly approaching, which means getting the kids to focus on anything is a herculean task, and the fact that this is his first year means that everything is even more of a challenge. The question of how he’s going to manage to produce something edible for the holiday party is very far from his mind. What is never far from his mind, though, is Napoleon; perhaps an art teacher and a math teacher should be unlikely friends, but no one told Napoleon that. He always seems to know exactly when Illya is feeling most overwhelmed, appearing in the door of his classroom with a cup of coffee, a sunny smile, and often some kind of baked good that Illya is sure he made. Illya is too busy to think too hard about it, but if he did have the time, he’d notice how the other man’s presence never fails to lift his spirits, and how the warmth that fills his chest during these little encounters lingers long afterward.

About a week before the party, a completely different and much less welcome figure darkens his door as he’s working late after school has let out. He assumes out of habit that it will be Napoleon, even though it’s later than the art teacher usually stays, but when he lifts his head up from his grading he sees the familiar unnaturally dyed red hair and heavily made up face of Martha looking in from the hallway.

“Yoo-hoo,” she sing-songs with a truly nauseating amount of cheer. “Just want to drop by and make sure you got the memo about the holiday party!”

Fuck. For a moment he wonders if he can plead ignorance, but it’s too early to try to get out of it. He won’t need a week to bakes something—well, he might need a week, and lots of trials, but he has a feeling that won’t work as an excuse.

“Yes,” he answers. “Sounds… great.”

“It is a lovely event,” Martha coos. “Everyone is so creative! I can’t wait to see what you bring.”

Thankfully, she flits away after that, leaving Illya to stew in his misery. Illya is not creative. His mind is entirely analytical, all math problems and chess openings, and unlike some of the other faculty, he does not have a stereotypical American homemaker of a wife to bake for him. He sighs and drops his pen before pushing himself to his feet and shuffling off down to the lounge to hopefully scrounge the last of the no doubt sludge-like coffee that remains in the pot. He’s certainly not expecting to find Napoleon sitting in one of the armchairs while Gaby reclines on the couch nearby.

Gaby, of course, would be the school’s shop teacher; currently she’s is wearing a set of filthy coveralls with the top half pulled down to hang around her hips, revealing a tank top underneath. It was immediately obvious when he started working here that she and Napoleon are close—they can often be found sitting together and muttering snarky sotto voce comments during staff meetings—which Illya admittedly found a little intimidating at first. He also spent a bit too much time being jealous of her, not that he’d even realized what the feeling was, until the time when he’d awkwardly insinuated that they were dating and she’d laughed so hard that coffee came out of her nose.

Why they’d still be here at school instead of at home, Illya has no idea. They’re drinking what Illya suspects is whiskey, which he’s pretty sure is not allowed on the premises.

“Peril!” Napoleon says brightly when he walks in, and Illya tries to ignore the little zing of pleasure that shoots through him at the way Napoleon smiles at him. “If I’d realized you were still here, I’d have come to get you!”

“I’m working, Cowboy,” Illya replies. “Why are you still here? You know Martha is around somewhere.”

Gaby’s eyes go slightly wide at this news. “She is? Shit. Gimme that,” she directs Napoleon, gesturing toward a flask sitting on the table near him; when he does, she quickly tucks it away in the endless pockets of her coveralls.

“Got pottery in the kiln,” Napoleon answers. “Have to hang out until it’s done, and darling Gaby here volunteered to keep me company.”

“Should you be drinking if you have to deal with kiln?” Illya asks, cocking a skeptical eyebrow at him.

Napoleon waves him off. “It’s fine. You should have a drink, since you’re here now.”

“No thanks,” Illya says. “I am grading.”

“Might make it more tolerable.”

Illya can’t help but huff a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Just need coffee.”

“What’d Martha want with you?” Gaby asks as Illya cross the room and pours the remainder of what’s in the pot into a mug.

“To remind me about the party,” Illya sighs. He tips his head thoughtfully as he considers the petite woman, who he suspects has about as much skill in the kitchen as he does. “What do you do?”

Gaby snorts. “My first year, Solo taught me to make these gingerbread cookies in the shape of wrenches, so that’s what I bring every year. They’re literally the only thing I know how to make.”

“And they’re delicious,” Napoleon puts in. Then he adds, with a wink at Illya, “I’m an excellent teacher, you know.”

“Ooh!” Gaby says abruptly, before Illya can reply, a grin spreading across her face that’s just a hair too mischievous. “I know! Illya, you should get Solo to teach you how to make something!”

“I would not want to impose—” Illya starts, at the same time as Napoleon says, “Well, I’m not sure if I’ll have the time—”

Napoleon, however, is interrupted when Gaby kicks him viciously in the shin. He hisses in pain, and then they have some kind of wordless yet heated argument for a few moments before Napoleon finally looks over at him again with a slightly tight smile on his face. “It seems my schedule has miraculously cleared. I’d love to help, Peril, if you’d like.”

“You are sure?” Illya asks uncertainly, because it’s not at all clear that Napoleon actually wants to help him. The last thing he wants is Napoleon only spending time with him out of pity. At the same time, if he doesn’t get help, he’s not sure he’ll have anything for the party.

“I am,” Napoleon replies more confidently. “Do you have time some night this week?”

Illya chews his lower lip for a minute, wavering, then finally nods. “Tomorrow?”

“Sounds perfect, Peril.”

~~~~~

It turns out that Napoleon’s house is only a few blocks over from Illya’s, nestled down at the end of the one-way street. It’s a little bigger, and a lot more decorated, even factoring that Illya just moved in a few months ago. His rooms manage to be full of art and color and life without seeming crowded or cluttered, and Illya immediately feels at home in a way he’d rather not examine too closely. Napoleon greets him at the door wearing an apron that very unhelpfully emphasizes both the breadth of his shoulders and how narrow his waist is, his shirt rolled to his elbows and unbuttoned down to somewhere below the top of the apron front, and Illya suddenly feels like tonight might be more challenging than he previously expected. 

“So I was thinking about your baked good for chess club,” Napoleon starts, immediately walking off toward the kitchen and leaving Illya to follow behind him, trying (and failing) not to stare at his ass. “The obvious answer was chess pie, but I suspect that’s a bit out of your skill level at this point, so—” He stops in front of the broad granite surface of a large kitchen island and leans forward on his hands next to a collection of ingredients. “A fairly simple sablé cookie, but with a twist. We’ll do a chocolate and vanilla dough, then put them together in a checkerboard pattern. Well— a chess board. I also had Gaby make you this,” he says, picking up a metal cookie cutter in the shape of a chess knight. “We’ll make some of each, black and white. No icing needed on these, and the dough is simple, I promise. The hardest part is the checkerboard, but I suspect that won’t be a problem for you.” He pauses, and looks expectantly at Illya. “So what do you think?”

“That’s… a lot,” Illya answers honestly before he can temper his answer, then rushes to add, “sounds perfect,” because it does. Chessboards, and chess pieces in two colors—he could hardly imagine something better. Still: “But I have not ever baked anything, Cowboy.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Napoleon says, grinning at him. “To teach you how.”

“Also, this is your house.”

Napoleon laughs at his dumb joke, which makes Illya’s stomach flip. What he wouldn’t give to hear that sound all the time. No matter how broadly Napoleon smiles up at him, though, he only volunteered to help him because they’re friends and Illya is hopeless in the kitchen. This isn’t a date, and Napoleon isn’t offering anything more. Illya needs to remember that, even when Napoleon stands very close, directing him with the ingredients, even when Napoleon puts a hand on his hip briefly to nudge him out of the way so he can inspect the dough in the mixer.

Baking, as it turns out, is not that difficult. All the precise measurements and putting things together with a particular method fits well with Illya’s analytical nature and his desire for order. What does not fit in his desire for order is Napoleon Solo, who is a whirlwind of chaos and brightness and beauty. Napoleon instructs him on the precise way of doing things, then proceeds to fudge the recipe until it ‘looks right’, which is not something Illya can abide. He gets flour and sugar everywhere, in his hair and on his forehead and on the crest of his cheekbone, which Illya has to stop himself from reaching out to rub off. He is, to put it simply, everything that Illya should not want, yet Illya wants him so, so badly it’s almost painful, and tonight is doing precisely nothing to improve matters.

“You’re pressing too hard,” Napoleon tells him when he tries to roll out the dough into thin layers. “You have to be more gentle.”

Then, without warning, Napoleon reaches around him on both sides, his hands coming to rest over Illya’s on the rolling pin. His skin can’t be that hot, yet it lights Illya on fire everywhere they’re touching, and Illya is struck with the paradoxical urge to lean into it and flinch away at the same time, so as not to get burned. Napoleon steps close behind him to reach, his front nearly pressed to Illya’s back as he tries to peek around his shoulders, and Illya’s hands tighten on the rolling pin.

“You’re too tense,” Napoleon says, his voice far too low and sultry for activities like rolling out cookie dough. “Your grip needs to be firm, but not too tight. Even strokes,” he nearly purrs, too close to Illya’s ear, and Illya hits his breaking point.

He drops the rolling pin and jerks away, nearly stumbling across the room as he tries not to look utterly insane. His face is on fire, just like every inch of the rest of him, and Napoleon is just staring at him with a confused frown on his face, as if he has no clue what that sounded like.

“Sorry, I—” Illya stammers. “Bathroom?”

“Down the hall, on the right.”

By the time Illya has splashed quite a bit of water on his face and managed to regain some tiny modicum of a fucking grip on himself, Napoleon has gone ahead and rolled out the remaining pieces of dough. He looks up as Illya comes back in, but whatever odd tension there had been between them before is gone, like steam from a kettle.

“Ready for the assembly?” Napoleon asks; Illya’s response is a probably too-curt nod, because he doesn’t really trust his voice right now.

Putting the cookies together, thankfully, goes more a bit more smoothly. They fall into an easy banter again, arguing about how precise the cuts need to be, about the alignment of the chessboards, about whether they should roll the outsides in sparkling sugar (Napoleon says yes; Illya prefers the look of the clean edges). They cut out a selection of knights out of the rest of the dough, and eventually all that’s left to do is wait for them to bake and cool.

“Can I get you a drink while we wait?” Napoleon asks as he takes off his apron and walks toward the living room.

Illya should probably say no, given that putting liquor in his system is unlikely to result in smart decisions right now, but he nods because frankly he could fucking use it. Napoleon pours them both a few fingers of whiskey, and after he passes a tumbler over to Illya they both settle on either side of the couch, not quite a full person’s-width of space between them. The liquor is sweet and smooth, full of vanilla and caramel and fruit, and Illya wants to know what it is but he also doesn’t, because it feels like it will be far too expensive for the too-large sips he’s taking in an effort to smooth down the frayed edges of his nerves. It’s fine, this is fine, they can sit on a couch together and have a drink and not have it mean anything.

“Thank you,” Illya says eventually, once the larger part of his drink is gone and some of its warmth is coursing through his veins. “You did not have to do all this.”

Napoleon smiles at him, tipping his head slightly as he leans sideways against the back of the couch, one leg bent up onto the cushions between them. “It was my pleasure, Peril.”

Illya wants to believe him, but… “It’s only—” he starts, cuts himself off, then decides he might as damn well say it, “well, it seemed like you did not want to offer, at first. Before Gaby volunteered you.”

Apparently that is not what Napoleon expected him to say, because he opens his mouth and closes it again, then frowns. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to help you. I just…” He trails off uncertainly. “Didn’t know if I could do it without making a fool out of myself.”

“What?” Illya says, stumped by this explanation. “What do you mean?”

Napoleon looks away, off across the room and up at the ceiling. “I was so close to making it,” he mutters to himself with a humorless chuckle. Then he swallows down the rest of his whiskey before he meets Illya’s eyes. “You see, I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be able to keep my massive, inconvenient crush on you under wraps, and that it would make things awkward.” He laughs, almost bitterly, and looks away again. “Which I’ve just done a truly excellent job of. You’ll want to be leaving now, I expect. I just want you to know that you don’t have to worry, you can let me down and that will be that, I just hope we can still be frie—“

He doesn’t finish, because Illya surges across the gap between them and captures his mouth in a determined and slightly desperate kiss. At first, understandably, Napoleon tenses in shock, but almost as quickly he melts into it, pressing forward across the space to more firmly fit his mouth against Illya’s. Nothing is aligned properly and the angle is painfully awkward, but Illya doesn’t care because the kiss is everything. All the months he’s spent imagining this, what it would feel like to kiss those perpetually smirking lips, none of it has even come close to this. He tries to tilt his head to deepen it, parting his lips in invitation, but before it can go much further Napoleon pulls back. He stares at Illya for a long moment with his mouth hanging slightly open, the expression on his face pleased but unmistakably puzzled, before he seems to find the words he wants.

“But you… ran away. Before,” he says slowly, his brows knitting together. “I thought…” He trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished, but Illya gets the gist.

Illya almost laughs. “Because you were talking about a firm grip and even strokes and if I did not leave I was going to do something very stupid,” he explains, letting a tiny smile tug on the corner of his mouth.

“Like?”

“Like this,” Illya says, then grabs ahold of the front of Napoleon’s shirt and drags him into another kiss. 

This time he leans backward, reclining onto the couch as he pulls Napoleon with him, though the other man needs no encouragement. Napoleon climbs over top of him, finding a place between his thighs as they splay open, until they’re both lying sprawled out in a space that’s really not big enough for the two of them. Not that either of them care, or have even noticed, lost as they are in the delicious give and take, in the lick of tongues and gentle tug of teeth as their mouths slide together. Illya shifts, hitching one leg up around Napoleon’s hip, and Napoleon moans into the kiss as his fingers tighten in Illya’s hair.

Then a timer blares from the kitchen, and Napoleon pulls back with jerk, cursing. “The cookies,” he huffs. “We should—”

He scrambles up—not without accidentally shifting so their hips grind together again, which very much makes Illya want to say fuck the cookies—and hurries off to grab them out of the oven. Illya allows himself a sigh and a moment to try to slow his racing heartbeat before he levers himself off the couch and follows, entering the kitchen to find Napoleon carefully transferring the cookies onto cooling racks. They look really good, actually—not that it’s that surprising, since Napoleon oversaw their making—and Illya tries to snag one only to have his hand swatted.

“They have to cool, you brute,” Napoleon scolds. “If you try to pick them up now they’ll fall apart. At least 15 minutes.”

“Hmm,” Illya hums, smirking as he hooks his fingers into Napoleon’s belt loops and pulls him close by the hips—after he’s finished with the cookies and tugged off his oven mitts, of course. “Whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

~~~~~

The cookies are a hit; Illya gets several compliments from other faculty that he doesn’t quite feel he deserves, though he’s perfectly content to let Martha coo delightedly over the little chess boards. He eats far too many sweets, stuffing himself with wrench-shaped gingerbreads, apple pie, sugar cookies decorated like saxophones, and of course plenty of rainbow-layered almond petit fours, which are by far the most delicious treat on offer. Not that he’s biased or anything.

Napoleon laughs every time he finds Illya eating some new confection, then drags him off down a secluded corridor to kiss the sugar off his lips. They had decided to keep this thing between them under wraps for now, given it’s still so new, but Illya thinks that there won’t be many people who haven’t guessed by the end of the night, what with the completely smitten looks Napoleon keeps giving him from across the room.

“So I hear cookie-making lessons were a success,” Gaby says, smirking up at him too-knowingly. Illya has no doubt that Napoleon told her already, given their close friendship, though that doesn’t keep him from flushing at the eyebrow waggle she gives him.

“Yes. I… learned a lot,” Illya hedges, biting down on a grin.

“I bet you did,” Gaby snorts. “So I guess you’ll be all set for next year, then?”

“How difficult do you think it will be to convince him to make them for me?” he counters, only half-joking.

“Not very,” she admits.

“I will help you,” Napoleon interjects, swooping in out of nowhere and leaning a little too affectionately into Illya’s side. After the students had all left, the party had transitioned to the faculty-only portion of the evening. That apparently meant mulled wine being brought out, and it’s clear that Napoleon has already had plenty of it. He’s grinning a little too broadly when he says, almost offhandedly, “You want me to fulfill your baking obligations for you, you’re gonna have to put a ring on it.”

It’s a joke, Illya knows it’s a joke, because of the conversation about Sanders’ wife baking the pie for the party, haha isn’t it funny, and maybe it would have been if something inside of him hadn’t seized up at the very idea of Napoleon as his husband. Fuck, it’s been a week since they kissed, and he’s already imagining holidays five years from now and a simple gold band on his finger that matches one on a hand covering his on a rolling pin. He tells himself he’s known Napoleon for months now, that there’s lots of good reasons he’s already fallen so hard, and tries to ignore the somewhat odd look Gaby is giving him. Napoleon, at least, seems oblivious to the momentary crisis he’s caused.

“You would not assemble the boards properly, anyway,” Illya replies, somehow managing to inject a teasing note into his voice.

“Not to your standards,” Napoleon agrees easily. He steps back and tugs on Illya’s hand, not quite interlacing their fingers but coming close. “I think we’ll make them together again, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Illya agrees, giving in and tangling their fingers together. “I think so.”

[herbalsingularitea]

Holly Jolly (Chapter 6)

Summary - “Betty! Thank Christmas you’re here, Sugar Pie!” Noel’s whispered reply was just as frantic. “I don’t know what color red and green make together, but I don’t think it’s a good one!”

Her mouth hung open as she dazedly walked closer. “Noel, how did this happen?” 

Pairing - Bernard/OC

Word Count - 5127

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Chapter 6 - One Horse Open Sleigh

(January 24, morning)

“But, Snickerdoodle—“

“Don’t ‘Snickerdoodle’ me, Noel! This is unacceptable!”

Betty pulled Noel by his collar away from the smoking kitchens and into a nearby broom closet. He opened his mouth to reply but a cookie was swiftly shoved into it. “Mmfh!” 

The tray of cookies in Betty’s hand was a hot mess of half burnt shapes all covered in red icing and glitter—not the edible kind. Noel chewed the cookie in his mouth and swallowed, looking chastised at his partner. “I’m sorry, Betty. I just want my first meeting with the new Santa to be perfect!” 

“You’re terrible at making cookies, though! You almost always eat the dough before we can bake any.”

“That’s why I was trying so hard here! And see, these ones made it to the oven this time.”

“I think they may have spent a little too long in the oven, Gummy Bear. They’re a bit… crunchy.”

“But they have extra love in them! And that makes them extra delicious.” His eyes crinkled as he took the tray from her. “He’ll love them! See, they’re all him!” They were at least recognizably Santa Claus shaped, she supposed. 

“You used up the Spirit Department’s entire stock of red icing, Noel. The entire stock of red icing !” She would not be swayed by puppy eyes and a cute smile, no way. Not at all. 

“But Honeybuns, Santa wears red! What other color was I supposed to use?”

Betty sighed. “Nevermind, Jellybean. Look, I’m going to take care of this, okay? You just go back to the ice cream shop—you know you weren’t supposed to enter the Workshop unsupervised.”

“But this was the only place that had enough red icing!” 

Production was really starting to ramp up. There were very few children who would send their Christmas lists this early in the year, so most of the Workshop was busy creating prep materials for the projected toys of the season. 

There were the staples of course. Dolls, trucks, blocks, puzzles, stuffed animals: these were always on a good amount of kids’ lists every year. Assembly teams were busy churning out half made toys from these basic categories to pack up and put into storage. Later in the year, they’d be taken out and finished with more detail tailored to individual kids’ tastes. The more they worked on them now, the less they had to scramble when the official Christmas lists started coming in. 

Curtis was still struggling to keep up with Bernard’s growing list of chores, and he could tell the Head Elf was becoming more and more frustrated with him. Judy had started stepping in and helping Curtis here and there when he felt especially overwhelmed, but although this meant things were getting done in a timely manner, Bernard very obviously looked down on Curtis asking for outside help. 

The younger elf heard them arguing over him at one point when he came to drop off reports, his pointed ear perking at the sound of his name. 

“—lay off a bit! Curtis is still young, Bernard!”

“If he can’t handle the workload then that tells me everything I need to know about him being Head Elf someday!”

“And just how much had you accomplished as Head Elf at 900, huh? Oh, that’s right! You didn’t become Head Elf until you were 1000, did you? Very interesting.”

He decided to just come back later. 

Bernard had apologized to him the next day about how hard he’d been on the younger elf and promised to pull back some and give Judy some of Curtis’ responsibilities. Curtis was still frantically trying to keep up most days, but things didn’t seem so impossible anymore. 

He didn’t feel better about it, though. He felt like he was letting Bernard down. Like he wasn’t good enough. He’d never voice these feelings aloud to his boss, however. He wasn’t a baby and he didn’t need them accommodating him more than they already were. Curtis would just put on a brave face and keep trying his best. 

He envied Quintin, though. Talk about confidence. Quintin had been training with Peewee for a few weeks now and things had never run smoother in R&D. The Elf on the Shelf production’s first batch was complete and ready to be sent out into the world. The sample pool they’d tested on had loved the idea and word of mouth was spreading. The toy elves would be sent out en masse and if demand was still high, they’d make more at the second half of the year. And so far it looked like demand would indeed be high. 

Quintin was handling things like he’d been working that position for hundreds of years. It was infuriating. The only solace Curtis took was that the machine meant to gather the data from the toy elves and print out a preliminary naughty/nice list wasn’t coming out exactly as planned. There was a problem internally somewhere and only half the data was coming through. Quintin had no idea how to fix it. He’d gone to Bernard, but the Head Elf was better at small machinery and wind up mechanics. They were stumped at the moment. 

A small smile of satisfaction painted his lips as he imagined Quintin frustratedly scratching his head, trying to figure out where the problem was. Curtis had seen him just the other day, petticoat removed for once, stuck up under the gears of his mech monstrosity and covered in oil. His long braid had been coming apart a bit as he worked, the normally perfectly coiffed bangs at the front of his head looking frazzled and sweaty. He had stopped a moment to wipe a weary hand across his forehead, leaving a black smudge in its wake. Curtis hadn’t stuck around, suddenly feeling light headed and needing some fresh air. 

If Quintin failed at his job, then it would undoubtedly make everyone else’s jobs much, much harder in the coming year. Still, a small part of Curtis would probably celebrate if that did end up happening. Hey, he was an elf, not a saint. 

“Noel!” A frantic whisper sounded from the doorway to Santa’s chambers. Betty watched incredulously as her lover tried desperately to scrub a spot of green out of a red coat. Santa’s red coat! 

“Betty! Thank Christmas you’re here, Sugar Pie!” Noel’s whispered reply was just as frantic. “I don’t know what color red and green make together, but I don’t think it’s a good one!” 

Her mouth hung open as she dazedly walked closer. “Noel, how did this happen?” 

“Well, I was thinking about what you said about the red icing, and then I realized—there’s no reason Santa couldn’t wear some other color too! I mean, the red is classic, but he’d look great in anything really. He could wear blue, yellow, purple, orange, black—“

“Noel, how did this happen ?” She repeated, eyebrows high and tented on her forehead. 

“I made a green Santa cookie! And it was perfect. It was cooked just right and the icing job was my best work yet. I started getting sad though, cause there’s no way I was ever gonna make a cookie that perfect again! I wanted to give it to the new Santa, but I have no way of getting to him. But then I thought of the next best thing! I could come here and look at the coat hanging up on the mannequin and pretend I was giving the cookie to Santa and it would be almost as good as the real thing! But I tripped and, well—“ he gestured at the stain. “I'm so sorry, Betty.” 

She took a slow calming breath through her nose and Noel mirrored her. Together they both let out the breath through their mouths. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, “I’m going straight to Crouton and I’m going to beg forgiveness for this and offer to have the cleaning fee come out of my next paycheck—“

“But, Sugarplum—“

“—and you’re going back to the ice cream shop and you’re staying there!”

“No! This was my mistake, Apple Pie! I should be the one who gets the heat for it.“

“Listen to me, Noel, you aren’t even supposed to be in the Workshop! I don’t want you to get in trouble!” She gripped his round face in her hands and brushed her thumbs over sparkling skin. “Just let me handle this, okay, Honeybuns?”

His voice was partially muffled as he spoke around his squished cheeks. “Okay, Sweet Pea.” 

Something was going on with Betty. The serious little elf woman had just told the North Pole Preservation Society that she’d stained Santa’s coat somehow. He and Judy were bracing for the storm that Crouton was sure to unleash in response. And earlier that morning, Betty had smoked out one of the empty kitchens making cookies and used up their entire supply of red icing. Judy was scrambling to figure out how to decorate sweets for the upcoming Valentine’s Day celebration without using red or pink. Bernard was bewildered at this uncharacteristic series of blunders by his protégée. Betty was Head of Administration and while her department was located within the Workshop, her duties rarely crossed with Core Production or the Spirit Department. Admin usually kept to themselves, holed up in the office blocks. There was no reason for Betty to be anywhere near the kitchens or Santa’s living chambers. So what exactly was going on with her? 

Betty projected a calm professional facade to most of the world, but Bernard had known her all her life. He was usually the first to recognize when she wasn’t doing well. Admittedly, though, they had grown apart when she’d met Noel. 

Bernard liked Noel well enough. He was a good, honest elf. He worked in an ice cream shop in the Downtown Nord district, just a few blocks from the Workshop. He practically worshiped Betty. But he was a bit naive and could be overexcitable, which got him in trouble at times. Now that Bernard thought more about it, this whole thing with burnt cookies and stained coats had Noel written all over it. 

Betty was a model worker, but her one Achilles’ heel was always Noel. She was loyal to a fault and would do just about anything for her beau. 

She hadn’t really known her parents. Her mother, the Head of the Spirit Department before Judy, had died quite tragically in a caramel accident just a week after Betty had been born. Her father Raj—

Well. Raj had thrown himself into his work not long after that. By the time Betty was a year old, she’d been orphaned. 

Bernard wished he had been able to put aside his own grief and help the little elfling, maybe raise her himself. But he hadn’t. Years passed in a haze of new duties as he took on the title of Head Elf. He checked on Betty occasionally as she grew up, but usually from a distance. The kindly elf couple who had lived next door to Raj and his family made sure the elfling was fed and clothed, but for the most part, Betty had raised herself. He hadn’t seen her in 50 years when Betty, newly graduated from elf academy, had shown up at his office claiming her house belonged to him. 

Raj had apparently left the house to Bernard of all people. He hadn’t updated his will when Betty was born, which wasn’t surprising considering his state of mind at the time. What was surprising was how insistent Betty was that Bernard take the house. She was a bit of a stickler for the rules, it seemed. 

She was also incredibly lost. He could see it in her eyes, hard and searching for meaning in the lines of text she devoured constantly. She was like a perfect blend of her mother and father, determined and strong and good. 

He offered her a job on the spot. 

Only problem was that she was actually terrible at making toys. No matter what line, team, or department they tried, she just didn’t take to any of it. Toys fell apart in her hands wherever she went. He stuck her in Administration while he looked for something more suited for her, and she had risen the ranks and become a manager of her own office block within a month. 

He took her under his wing and she had thrived. They became very close. And then she met Noel. 

Betty had always been so self sufficient and independent. So it was jarring to see her suddenly so gooey over some guy. Betty and Noel stuck to each other like nougat on peanuts and the rest was history. 

It was extremely unlikely that she was all of a sudden making such outlandish mistakes and inconveniencing people from completely different departments. Bernard was sure. Noel had something to do with this. Now he just needed to get Betty to admit it. 

“Bernard! Noel’s done something terrible!”

Well, that was easier than he thought it’d be. 

“Elfcon to Noel, please respond. Over.”

“AHHHHHHHH!”

“Noel, we need you to stay calm. Over.”

“HHRK, WOAHH-UHH! AHHHH!”

“Stop screaming! Over!”

“EEEEEEEEEEE—“

Tamika flicked the radio off with an aggravated growl. “We aren’t getting anywhere with this! Where’s Bernard?”

Curtis flinched as she directed her irate question towards him. “Ah! Um, Betty’s gone to get him now! I’m sure they’ll be here soon.” 

This was a complete disaster. One unfortunate domino tipping into another and another until they eventually lead to this—an untrained elf who knew next to nothing about Workshop protocol several hundred feet in the air with a runaway sleigh. The way Betty had explained it, Noel had been on a misguided mission all day to plan the perfect first impression with the new Santa Claus. She’d confessed that it was actually the Village worker who had destroyed the kitchens and ruined Santa’s coat earlier that day. He had also apparently snuck into the Launching Room to place a note he’d written to Santa in the sleigh. Betty couldn’t say for sure, but her theory was that Noel wanted to send it, but due to Bernard’s orders that no one contact the new Santa until he’d had the chance to get his human affairs settled, he couldn’t. So Noel did what he believed was the next best thing and tried to leave the note in the sleigh for Santa to find once he returned. 

This was insanely bad timing, however, since the Stable crew was doing harness fit tests on the reindeer at the time. Only 4 of the reindeer had been strapped in at the time, but when the elves had stepped out to grab the other 4 to switch them out, Noel hadn’t been able to resist a bit of pretend fun, calling out “Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, now Vixen!”

The actual deer who had been strapped in were Comet, Dasher, Donner, and Prancer, but the command was ingrained in their minds and had startled them into a run down the launch pad. Betty had arrived, after yet another call from Noel’s best friend and coworker Zippy informing her of her partner’s absence, to find the sleigh just taking off and Noel’s screams of fright echoing into the open air. 

They were currently flying erratically above Santa’s Village, the almost weightless sleigh causing confusion in the half assembled team of reindeer. They needed Noel to direct the team back down to a landing and fast. They may be able to hide the Village from human eyes with the magic barrier, but a sleigh flying hundreds of feet in the air out of the barrier’s range was hard to miss. 

“Status report!” Bernard barked as soon as he entered the radio room, Betty at his heels. 

“We can’t get him to calm down enough to listen to us! He’s just up there screaming his ears off!” Tamika immediately replied. 

“I’ll try.” Betty stepped up to the radio transmitter and flicked it on. 

“AHHHH AHH EEEE—“

“Noel! Noel, it’s me, Betty! You have to stop screaming, Honeybuns!”

“—EEEEEEEE YAAAAAAA!”

It was no use, he didn’t even seem to pause for breaths. He couldn’t hear them over his own screams. 

Bernard’s face was starting to turn purple. “This is a serious crisis level emergency here, there’s a human out there who could see him!” 

Tamika crossed her arms and turned to the Head Elf. “I’ll have ELFS on standby for a dusting job.” 

Bernard looked conflicted, but nodded. “It’ll be a pain in our nutcrackers to clean up with the other humans, but we can stage an accident to explain the memory loss.” 

The Head of Elfcon rubbed her head at his words, groaning low in her throat. “I can already feel a headache coming on.”

Curtis winced at the thought of even more work being piled onto their already bloated schedules. “Maybe we can avoid all that! Sir, you’ve been working with the human, right? Maybe you can go and distract her, y’know, make sure she doesn’t see anything she shouldn’t?”

Tamika’s head shot up, a wide smile splitting her face. “Yes! That! Do that, Bernard!” She started to push the tall elf out the door, his sputtering replies falling on deaf ears. “Go, go, go! There’s no time to waste. We’ll figure out something here and keep you updated!” 

“But what if she’s already—“

“Then call in the ELFS team! Look, both you and I don’t need this right now. Let’s get ahead of it and try to save us both the extra paperwork.”

He grimaced and stopped resisting her prodding. “Ah, yep, alright. I’m off.” He started sprinting down the hall, but called over his shoulder, “Keep me posted!” 

Tamika stepped back into the radio room and looked at Curtis and Betty, their unsure faces staring back. 

“Okay, you two, let's start brainstorming here. What do we got?” 

Holly hadn’t seen Bernard for a few days now. He came to check in with her at least once a week since his fainting spell at the start of the year. He’d kept his word about taking better care of himself, and although he still seemed tired every time she saw him, there were no further health scares. However, he hadn’t actually taken her up on her offer to stop by ‘for a break’. It was always strictly business. He helped her set up the remaining cameras, tracked two more missing polar bears with her, and even helped haul more firewood back to her camp from a supply outpost. Turns out he did in fact own a snowmobile of his own. She was slightly weirded out at the thought that he just rode reindeer everywhere he went like some mythical figure, but that wasn’t the case. He was actually a very down to earth guy, despite his appearance. 

She really appreciated his company out here in the lonely arctic, even if he did tend to be a bit blunt and sarcastic. She enjoyed his wit, savoring the light hearted banter that arose while they worked. 

Holly was currently going over the notes Bernard had left on the polar bears they tracked down, George and Matteo. She’d long given up on calling them by the designations her own company used. Bernard insisted on speaking about them as if they were people, and Holly was absolutely charmed by this quirk. His obvious respect and care for the polar bears made her already fond feelings for the enigmatic Russian researcher grow that much more. 

The distant hum of a snowmobile engine made her look up on the horizon and spot the very subject of her current thoughts speeding towards her camp. 

This was a bit unusual for Bernard who almost always came earlier in the day when he visited. It was pushing late afternoon into early evening at this point, and Holly was thinking of winding down for the day. Either way, though, she was always happy to see him. 

She waved as he parked his vehicle a few yards away from her own. He threw his hood back and revealed a slightly strained smile, a hesitant one of her own lifting to meet his. 

“Everything okay, Bernard?”

“Yeah! No, everything’s all good. How, uh, how are you doing, Holly Jolly? Everything okay with you?”

“Uh, yeah? I was just reading over your notes on George and Matteo.”

She lifted the papers she had been reading on her fold out table and gave them a little wave for emphasis. 

“So you haven’t noticed anything weird today or…” he trailed off. 

“No?” She squinted. “Why, did your team accidentally launch a rocket or something?” 

He laughed stiltedly. 

“Nah, I was just wondering. It’s, uh,” he cleared his throat and dragged one of her folded chairs from the side of the tent over to the table with her, “been one of those days, y’know?”

He seemed distracted, looking over his shoulder a couple times with pinched brows. 

“So this is a social visit, then?”

“Well, you did say I could come by anytime. I hope that’s alright?” A hesitant note was in his voice. 

“Of course! I’m always happy to hang with you, dude. I’m just settling down for the day, though, so no appearances from Saint Bernard, capiche?” A wry smile twisted her lips. “This is a no-work zone for the next 12 hours, at least!” 

His eyes rolled in his head. “Yeah, yeah. Well, don’t let me hinder your big evening plans.”

“No big plans, don’t worry. I was just gonna listen to some tunes and snack on popcorn. I snagged some from the outpost last week and I’ve been looking forward to trying it out.” A hand motioned to the foil bag of plain popcorn sitting beside the fire. “How ‘bout we get this bad boy going and do some stargazing or something?” 

“Ah, well, that sounds pretty good! But, uh, maybe not stargazing. Have anything a bit more hands on?”

She hummed thoughtfully. 

“I totally had that!”

“Keep telling yourself that, dude!”

They’d quickly tired of War and Gin Rummy. Bernard had a nervous energy about him, so Holly suggested an oldie but a goodie: Slapjack. 

His reflexes were freakishly good, but she had an even greater power—bullshitting. 

“In what reality did you slap first?”

“Maybe you need glasses?” She smirked as he growled, the small curl to his lip telling her he was at least somewhat in on her little act. 

Boy, it was fun to rile him up. 

She placed a card down, at the same time crying out, “Holy shit, what is that?” while staring behind his head. 

He whipped around to look, his eyes widened in panic, and a slap echoed between them. “Ha! Too easy.”

He scowled and put down his card. “You aren’t gonna get me with that twice.” 

“We’ll see!” She was cheesin’ hard. 

Music drifted over to them from her portable radio, hung up on her tent so they could continue to play outside while enjoying the music. He’d suggested they move inside, but she was tired of being cooped up in her tent. She wanted to enjoy her tunes and take in the night, and he reluctantly agreed. The tape she had was a mix of rock ballads, 80s pop, the odd country song, and some love songs from the 70s. She hadn’t exactly made it to play for company. It was a mixtape of her favorite comfort songs, some true classics but some obscure, slightly embarrassing choices as well. But if Bernard minded at all, he never let on, even humming the tunes to a few himself. If she thought his general voice was musical, it was nothing compared to the pleasing rumble that left him when Take On Me started playing. 

They played a few more cards where he slapped and won three hands in a row before her hand could even twitch. On the fourth hand, she was starting to space out a bit. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as he half hummed, half sang, “I’ll be coming for your love, okay~” 

She flipped a card face up and without thinking, her hand slapped down onto it, his hand enclosing hers a millisecond later. He seemed shocked that she’d hit it faster, a startled laugh escaping him, but she could barely hear it over the rushing blood in her ears. His hand was so warm, but she was used to his body temperature running a lot hotter than hers. He was like a radiator. What struck her now, though, was how much larger his hand was compared to hers. Lovely long fingers and neat trimmed nails were a weakness of hers. She came back to herself suddenly with the realization that she’d just been staring at their hands. She darted her eyes up to his face and saw that he’d also been staring at their joined hands. He must have seen her look in his peripheral, because his sharp eyes were suddenly holding hers in their dark gaze.

She was surprised steam wasn’t rolling off her cheeks with how heated they felt. His own sparkling cheeks were darker than normal, his nose flaring as his breathing picked up slightly. A blink and those dark eyes were cut off from her, his hand pulling back with a cleared throat. “Maybe you’re actually getting better at this, finally.”

She laughed a bit breathlessly. “You’re an asshole.” 

Just like that they were back to normal, like nothing had happened. And maybe it hadn’t. Had she imagined his blush? It was pretty dark out here, the only light provided by her campfire and the gas lamp she’d set on the table. She shook her head at her own hazy thoughts. The last thing she wanted to do was misread the situation and alienate the only other person within a 100 mile radius. They continued to play, but as time went on, her one win seemed to be a fluke. 

“You must be cheating!”

“How could I possibly be cheating?”

“You’ve got secret super powers or something, for sure.” She huffed. 

“Maybe you’re just slow, ever consider that one?”

“Right, cause I’m so old and decrepit.”

“Exactly.” He smirked. 

She leaned in abruptly after another hand lost. “Aha! So you are younger than me, then! I knew you were just trying to throw me off before.”

Brows shot up to hide under dark curls. He kept his eyes down on the pile of cards between them. “Maybe you keep losing cause you can’t stay focused. Probably all that coffee you drink.” 

“Just cause you hate coffee like a complete maniac doesn’t mean the rest of the world is as tasteless.” She shook her head slightly. “And don’t change the subject! So you are younger?” 

Silence stretched as he continued to look away from her, eyes darting down to check his weird watch. She groaned dramatically after a beat. 

“Fine! Keep your secrets then, but that just tells me you’re younger than you wanna admit. Don’t worry, kiddo, I won’t think any less of you.” She punctuated her words with a patronizing pat on his head. 

He shoved her hand away and scoffed. “Okay, keep laughing, chuckles. I’m still taller than you, y’know.” His eyes grew big as he looked up from his watch. 

“By like an inch,” she retorted. 

“A few inches, thank you very much. Plenty enough to do this—“ he grabbed her wrist mid slap with a playful growl that sent a tingle down her spine and hoisted her up out of her chair. A cry of surprise left her lips as he wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her into the air. He laughed in response, twirling once, twice before setting her down again. Holly felt a bit breathless, her cheeks hurting from how hard she was smiling.

“Dance with me, Holly Jolly.”

“Huh?”

Her hands were enveloped in warmth as he raised them into a half waltzing pose between them. “Dance with me! C’mon, don’t tell me you don’t know how.”

Her lashes fluttered as she took in the smiling man who held her hands so gently in front of him. 

“What’s gotten into you? You don’t seem like the dancing type.”

“Of course I am. All of my kind love dancing.”

“Oh, huh. I didn’t know dancing was so big with Russians.”

He placed one of her hands on his chest and put his now free hand on her waist. The radio was playing something soft and slow and he easily pulled her into a relaxed sway. 

“Dancing is as natural as breathing. No baby needs to be told to dance, they just do it. It’s instinct.” He explained. “It’s sad that when some people grow up, they feel like they can’t dance anymore just because they aren’t the best at it. It’d be like never smiling just because you don’t have the most beautiful teeth in the world. Wouldn’t that be a shame?” 

Eyes sparkled up at him as he spoke, a small smile of wonder playing on her lips. “You’ve got a point. When you put it that way, it makes me wonder why people don’t dance all the time.”

“They used to.” He lead her into a twirl before bringing her back in close. “I think people these days have forgotten a lot of the simpler joys in life.” 

“See, just when I’m sure you’re younger than me, you say things like that and it makes me doubt everything I thought.”

A cloud of mist appeared between them as they both chuckled, but he didn’t reply. She eyed him as they rocked back and forth, the previous music fading into another soft song, How Deep Is Your Love by The Bee Gees. He hummed along with the melody, his gentle gaze on their joined hands. 

“And you come to me on a summer breeze~” he sang, suddenly releasing her waist and turning them in a circle. Her bark of laughter made his face light up in a wide smile, teeth gleaming in the firelight. They came back together and clasped hands, their slow dance evolving into something more lighthearted and sillier. 

He started exaggerating their swaying, hopping from side to side instead. She added a hip bounce to the rhythm and he copied her, matching the steps and adding a twirl on the fourth beat. 

They couldn’t look away from each other, eyes filled with mirth and locked together, only breaking their hold to spin or giggle. 

He looked so much happier and carefree like this, a light flickering behind those dark orbs. She thought he’d never looked more enchanting. 

Magical, even. 

[danpuff-ao3]

1 + 4 + 23 for the ask gave u just reblogged :3

Hello there! Thanks for the ask! :D

1.) What was the first fandom and/or pairing that you wrote fic for?

Haha. Same fandom and pairing I'm still obsessed with. Harry Potter fandom and shipping Snarry, 19 years and counting! It's actually only the past 2-3 years I even started reading fics with other main ships, and having interest in other ships. And I only temporarily shifted focus to other fandoms, those being Supernatural then Marvel. But even when I was reading more (and even writing) of another fandom, if you asked me what my fandom was and my OTP I'd still have said HP and Snarry! They've always been my #1 and always will be! <3

4.) Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

I do! I even have a general outline for even the smallest of fics (i.e. drabbles), though those might just live in my head. But I don't start until I know what I'm doing and where I'm going. The longer and more complex the story, the longer and more complex my outline will be. But I never jump in unsure of where to start, let alone not knowing the end!

Very rarely do I stray from my outline. I always see outlines as roadmaps so even if things begin to veer off course, I know enough about my destination and my supplies to get back on track. That's why I like outlines so much. But another part of it is that, especially with the HP fandom, I feel like I have a good enough grasp on the characters to not really encounter nasty surprises. My outline was my saving grace in my longest fic, The Best Kept Secrets. I'd have the occasional "uh oh" moment, but I'd get it fixed in a jiffy!

The stories that most caught me off guard were Orange Blossoms and Contempt (funny since they were both posted May 2022!) With Orange Blossoms it was a matter of the story fully developing pretty last minute and not feeling as well prepared as I like to be when starting that project. All the pieces clicked into place and bloomed right before my eyes, right as I sat at the keyboard! It was a quick job throwing together a more robust outline then diving into work.

With Contempt...that one's harder to explain. I've said it before, but I know their full story in that world beginning to end. I've always known where I was going, every step I would take. But the road was longer than I originally thought it was. And I felt underequipped and underprepared. Not enough water, not enough snacks. A lot of rest stops. And "surely just a little further..." I went in overconfident, in some ways. Daunted by the journey, but I'd been planning it for so long, surely it would be alright.

I really expected that fic to be like 3k. Then, as it surpassed that, maybe 6k...Imagine my horror that it ended up at 20k!! Geez Louise, where did that come from?? I've become very proud of my ability to tell a lot of story in a compact space, but more than anything I have to do my work justice, and allow them the space and grace to be what they need to be. And Contempt needed more. Maybe I could have managed it in less words, but you wouldn't have the full grasp of the intensity and the chaos of Harry's mind, would you? It needed to be the long, rambling, twisted road it was. I made it to the finish line exhausted and sore but looking back...it was worth every moment.

So, writing is never easy or predictable, really, but I manage! It's never big mishaps or course-changes I deal with, more a shift in vibe, or a veering a little leftward. Stories might be longer or shorter than I envisioned. They might be darker or fluffier; detailed or vague. They might not be precisely what I envisioned, but they're always what they need to be, and in the end more or less what I had in mind. If that makes sense. 😅 It's never "oh Harry decided to go bungee jumping today when he should have been baking a pie" but maybe "this pie baking is more depressing than I thought it would be."

23.) If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?

Hmmm!! You know, I feel like I've considered this before, but it's always been idle musings, and now that I'm being asked this question...I don't know how to answer! I never want to change much, I think, but more likely a shift in focus. Perhaps writing from an outside perspective, or running off with a background storyline. I don't know I'm rather married to my stories, so I'd never make big sweeping changes I think. Maybe spruce them up a bit.

Though I guess my biggest regret with The Best Kept Secrets was that in the current version I veered off from the original version by making Albus Severus straight. I started worrying too many characters were gay (as if there's any such thing!) (Let them be gay, dang it!!) So maybe I'd rewrite that whole thing and go back to my original vision of Albus Severus and Scorpius hooking up (even though I don't really ship it...maybe Albus and Lorcan Scamander or something, idk, but he'd be gay!!) So yeah that's it I think!

Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing: 30 Questions for Authors

Answered: 1, 4, 23

[nineteenninety-six]

A Little Bit of Sunshine

↳ Hector x Reader

↳ Word Count: 3.09k

↳ Requested by @shadechu​

A/N: I have never written for Castlevania before but I really enjoyed writing this, it flowed so easily. Hector is probably OOC but who cares lol. 

Anyway, enjoy :D

Hector had moved to a small town after everything had gone down with Lenore. After she died he realised how much damage she caused him, the lasting marks of her abuse and manipulation still scarred his body and mind and he could no longer stay in a place where they had lived and she had died.

The fact that he managed to escape the bond she had on him and that he was able to deceive her was only able to sustain him for a short while before everything fell apart and Hector was no longer able to act as if everything was okay, so he left and started anew.

The new town was on the smaller side but not small to the point where he would stand out. He easily blended into bustling crowds in the town centre and the residents treated him like any other local. For the first time in a long time, he felt normal, as working for Dracula was an experience that words couldn't explain.

He had his own little cabin in the woods where he could be at peace and the distance to the town centre was far but long enough for him to enjoy the sights as he walked past. All in all, he liked this new path of his life, it was almost completely different than it used to be and he expected to miss it but he enjoyed the calmness and serenity of this new path of his life.

On his usual weekly trip to town, someone called out to him, trying to catch his attention. it was a young woman, probably the same age as him and she was calling for his attention, waving him over to her stall.

"Sir! Sir!"

Hector looked up in surprise and as soon as the woman realised she had his attention a bright smile overtook over her face before she eagerly began to wave him over, swinging her arms back and forth over her head, gathering the attention of the other people around them.

Hector quickly shuffled over to them not wanting her to cause an even bigger scene and pull more attention their way.

"You're new aren't you?" Was the first thing out of her mouth.

Hector flinched in shock at her words, not expecting them. No one else knew he was new and that put him on edge.

"Oh don't look so surprised, I just know everyone that comes here."

Hector raises a brow at her words, " ... That's weird. You do realise that right?"

The woman shrugs, "Maybe but it makes for good business. People are more likely to buy something if I remember them from just previously meeting."

Hector realises that he's standing in front of a stall filled with baked goods, "You're a baker?"

"Family business," She clarifies, “I mostly do the selling due to my - "

"Charm?" Hector cuts in with a sarcastic tone.

"Actually, I was going to say my good looks but yes charm too." The woman grins.

Hector couldn't help but bark out a laugh, the woman never missed a beat.

"I'm (Y/N) in case you wanted to know" (Y/N) informed him with a wink.

Hector had to twist his lips so that the smile that so desperately wanted to escape, couldn't.

"Hector" He introduced himself.

"Well Hector, what can I get you? " (Y/N) asked, gesturing to the spread of baked goods in front of her.

Oh, she was smart. Catching his attention, making him come over to his stall and

converse with her in front of everyone and now he could surely not been seen walking away with nothing after taking up her time. While he didn't really care about the local’s opinions about him, he didn't want to be outcasted more than he already was.

"I'll have a loaf and a sweet pie please"

(Y/N) shoots him a bright smile and packs up his items, then collects his money.

"Thank you, Hector. I hope to see you again soon"

"I'll see you again" Hector responded

As he began to walk back home, Hector thought back on how easily (Y/N) made him feel at ease, how he brought a smile to his face and drew laughter from and he got scared.

This is how Lenore got her claws in him, she manipulated and lied to him before tricking him into servitude and he never wanted something like that to ever happen again.

He decided for the health of his mind, he would keep his distance from (Y/N). He couldn't find it in himself to completely ghost her and ignore her so he'll keep cordial. He'll be friendly but he couldn't let himself become close to her.

.•° ✿ °•.

His plan worked well, every time he went up to town he stopped by her stall and bought what ended up being his usual order of a loaf and a sweet pie, engaged in small talk with (Y/N) before leaving and it worked well for weeks until he had a dream about Lenore one night.

A mere dream had knocked him off-kilter. He had awoken a mess and fell out of his bed in his confused and frantic attempt to escape his blankets. He only managed to crawl a few paces before collapsing on the cold floor, his remaining energy only enough to let him roll onto his back. Hector blinked lazily up at the ceiling as everything he had locked away came rushing back. He relived the moment when he fell for her, the moment he realised that she had tricked him, the moment when she realised he betrayed her and then when she had died by her own will.

Everything that had occurred over the last few years played in front of his eyes and he hated every part of it. He could never forgive himself for being so naive and trusting yet he missed those traits of his.

When he 'awoke' again, the sun was moving low, signifying sunset wasn't far away. He pulled himself up and washed his face at the basin before he left his cabin, his feet taking him into town. The town centre was still busy despite the late hour and so was she, the woman who he came to see.

Despite the other stall owners who had either left or were in the process of doing so, her stall was still set up with what remaining items she had left. She was sitting on a stall with a book on her lap in a different world and Hector felt bad about disturbing her but he needed her.

He didn't even have to call her name, as soon as he was a few feet away, she looked up at him with a smile and closed her book shut, though when she got a proper look at him, her smile faltered.

"Hector?" She made her way over to him, brow furrowed in concern, "Is everything okay?"

He must look like a mess. He certainly felt it on the inside and he had been in a trance since he woke up, not paying any attention to his looks.

"I... um, I -" Hector stumbled over his words, his tongue suddenly heavy.

"Why don't you take a seat" (Y/N) guided Hector to her stall and offered him some water from the pouch at her side.

Seeing that he was in no position to talk about what happened, (Y/N) changed the topic slightly, "I thought you were not coming today. I got so used to seeing you, it would be a shame if I did not see you."

"But do not fret, I set aside your usual order for you," She said as she showed him a little wrapped up basket.

Hector nodded, the change in conversation took the pressure off his shoulders and he felt more at ease to speak.

"What do you do with the ones you do not sell? "He asked

"Today these are going to the homeless. I usually alternate between them, the orphanage and poor families"

"That is kind of you. Nobody did anything like that when I was young"

"I think the world is horrible enough with the wars and death and it costs nothing to do a little good within your own community" (Y/N) then looked up at the sky and noticed the changing colours, “Do you want to come with me as I give these out?”

Desperate for more of a distraction, Hector agrees and he helps her clear up her stan before they set off to a different part of town, him carrying the basket of baked goods for the homeless.

“Do you have any family, Hector?” (Y/N) asked.

Hector shook his head, his grey hair swishing around his chin as he did so, “Just me”

“Hm, well if you want any annoying younger siblings, I’ll eagerly give you all of mine”

“Surely they’re not that bad-”

(Y/N) lets out a laugh, “One day I’ll take you to meet them. You’ll regret your words!”

As they walked around, handing the food to the less fortunate, Hector noticed the strange way (Y/N) behaved. Her head constantly twitched one way to the other, as if someone was calling for her attention but she stopped herself before fully turning around to see and her eyes were flickering about like seeing things that weren’t there.

“(Y/N)? Is everything okay?” Hector asked

(Y/N) froze when he spoke, looking at him with wide eyes, she twisted her head around to make sure no one was nearby before she grabbed his hand and pulled him into a hidden alcove.

There was fear in her eyes as she gripped his hands tightly, “I am telling you this because I trust you but you cannot tell anyone or they will kill me.”

“(Y/N)...?”

(Y/N) casts one more precautionary look around her before speaking, “I can speak to animals”

Hector blinked in surprise, that was the last thing he expected.

“You...speak to animals?”

“Speak, understand, you know the whole thing”

“...The whole thing?” Hector repeated after her.

(Y/N)’s shoulder slumped in disappointment at his words, “You do not believe me. Of course, you don’t, I sound like a crazy woman.”

“No, no!” Hector was quick to reassure her, “I don’t think you’re crazy, of course not.”

(Y/N) gripped Hector’s hands tighter in relief and he suddenly realised that they had not stopped holding hands since she had dragged him. Her hands were soft but strong and steady and they fit perfectly in his, he never wanted to let go.

“I could do since I was a child and I told my parents but they thought I was a child with a large imagination so they ignored me,” (Y/N) began to elaborate on her talent, “And when I was ten there was a witch-burning in our old town, an older woman was accused of conjuring spirits and setting against the people of the village but in reality, she was just a sick old woman who needed help. After that, I knew I couldn’t let anyone know about you know what”

“Why did you tell me?” Hector asked.

“...I don’t know. There’s something about you, so understanding, empathetic, trustworthy. I know I can trust you.”

(Y/N) had revealed her deepest secret to him, made herself vulnerable yet he could not do the same to her, though the ability to communicate with animals was much different than being a forgemaster.

“You can trust me, I promise I will not tell anyone.”

(Y/N)’s shoulders relaxed and she gave him a brief smile, “Your belief in me means more than you know.”

“Now,” Hector lifted the basket up, “Should we finish what we started?”

It had progressively gotten darker, the sun only moments away from going down completely.

“Of course! We must finish before it gets too dark.” (Y/N) stepped out of the alcove and hurried down the street, dragging Hector behind her, still holding on to his hand.

-

It was dark by the time they began to walk home, Hector insisting on walking her home so that she wasn’t alone at night. She stopped in front of a little cabin, not unlike his, it also wasn’t that far away from his.

“You don’t live with your family?” Hector asked.

(Y/N) shook her head, “It is better for me this way. I love my family, truly but the chance of them finding out about me is something I can’t risk. I cannot truly say that they wouldn’t expose me… there are some things that are beyond even family ties.”

“Anyway,” (Y/N) spoke with a sigh, “It is late, I need to sleep. Thank you for today, Hector. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Hector waited until (Y/N) had reached her door and spoke again, “Can we...meet again soon?”

(Y/N) gave him a toothy smile, “Of course. In two days by the lake? I can bring a picnic for lunch.”

Hector nodded, “I’ll see you then.”

He waited until her door closed before he made his way home, his heart feeling happy. He had forgotten how he felt earlier that day and (Y/N) had completely turned his day around. He did feel guilt though, he went to for help, a distraction which she provided and then she revealed a deep secret of hers yet he couldn’t even tell her about his nor his past with Lenore or history with Dracula and being a forgemaster. The things he carried were heavy yet (Y/N) had already been so understanding and kink that he didn’t fear telling them to her, he knew she would understand.

In two days at the picnic, he would tell her.

.•° ✿ °•.

(Y/N) was already by the lake by the time he arrived, speaking out loud to someone he couldn’t see but when he heard the responding barks and yelps, he realised that she was talking to a dog. He hurried his pace to catch up to her, excited to see her communicate to animals in person.

“Is that a dog you’re speaking to?” He shouted as he jogged over to her.

(Y/N) spun around with a smile, “Yes! I’ll introduce you to him!”

She crouched down and took the dog into her arms before turning towards him after he finally reached her,

“Hector this is- Cezar”

“-Cezar”

Hector and (Y/N) spoke at the same time. Hector stared at the dog he had not seen since Carmilla had dragged him away after Dracula died and (Y/N) stared at Hector, surprised he knew the little mongrel dog.

Cezar eagerly barked at Hector, his tiny body wriggling in excitement as he tried to escape (Y/N)’s hold, so she let him down and watched as he raced over to Hector barking like mad and when Hector kneeled down, the door jumped into his arms and wiggled some more.

“...So I guess you know each other then?” (Y/N) asked.

“Cezar is my dog,” Hector explained, giving the small dog rubs and pats, “I got separated from him a while ago but how did you meet him?”

“We stumbled across each other last year and then we became close companions...but I’ve always been curious about something about him.”

“Is it that he looks like he should be dead?”

(Y/N) laughed, “Yes, Hector. Don’t get me wrong, I love the little dog but he looks a bit beyond his years.”

Hector put Cezar down and together they began walking towards the lake so they could set up their picnic.

He took a deep breath before he began to explain what he could do, “I’m a forgemaster.”

“Forgemaster? What’s that?”

Of course, she wouldn’t know what that was, her world was not the same as his.

“I can bring back animals and humans from the dead and call demons from hell.”

“Wow...that’s uh...wow”

“I’m sorry for dumping this on you, I know it’s quite heavy stuff.”

“I did not know that was possible”

“Many don’t. It’s beyond comprehension.”

“If I wasn’t looking at proof right now” (Y/N) pointed towards Cezar who was trotting ahead of them, “I wouldn’t believe it either.”

“Is that what caused you such distress the other day?” (Y/N) asked as they found a place to sit down.

“No, no, that was about Lenore.”

(Y/N) kept quiet allowing Hector to speak at his own pace.

“I was taken captive, stuck in a cell and Lenore gained my trust, pretending that she was someone that I could trust only to betray me and me her slave to her and her sisters. I was under their or more specifically her control for over a year until I managed to trick her and end the ‘bond’.”

“Where’s she now?”

“Dead. She was a vampire and decided it was her time to go.”

“Did you love her?” (Y/N) asked

“No, I don’t think I did. After I realised what she had done to me any feelings that I may have had disappeared, they were not formed authentically. I still feel incredibly stupid about the whole thing, I was foolish to believe someone who was involved in sisterhood with the person who captured me would genuinely care for me.”

“You were not foolish, you were human Hector '' (Y/N) comforted him, “You were vulnerable and she took advantage of that, you should not feel ashamed. You are strong that’s why you’re here with me right now and Lenore is no longer alive. You will never be proud of yourself if you keep on diminishing what you’ve achieved so far. You’ll never be happy and I want you to be happy”

Hector takes her hand in his, “I want to be happy.”

(Y/N) smiles at him, “You will be, I know you will.”

“I want to be happy with you”

“Oh-” (Y/N) smile changes into a softer one that tickles Hector’s heart, “I want to be happy with you too.”

“Imagine it,” Hector falls onto his back and tugs (Y/N) down with him, “You, me, Cezar in a cabin in the woods and all the animals you wish to speak to”

(Y/N) laughs, “You wouldn’t believe how chatting animals are, I’m fine with just being me you and Cezar for the moment.”

Cezar jumps up on Hector’s chest with a bark before settling down with a huff.

“Sounds like he agrees”

[gavin-plz-call-me]

The Brothers + Dateables & Luke react to MC owning a cat named lucifer

A/N- To attempt to avoid confusion, the demon Lucifer’s name will always be capitalized, while the cat lucifer’s name will never be capitalized.

~

“Now,” Diavolo said, obviously nearing the end of his speech, “Do you have any more questions, MC?”

You nod, “Is my cat up there all by himself?” you ask, “I don’t want him to get lonely, and without me he wont have anyone to feed him.”

The men, no, the demons in front of you stared, all obviously dumbstruck. You had been ripped out of your home, brought to a strange place, and told you were to live here for a year, and your first thought was of your cat? What a strange human you were.

“We can arrange someone to take care of your cat,” Diavolo said, smiling wide, but your face fell at his words. Diavolo seemed to sense your discontent as he spoke again, “Or we can arrange for your cat to be brought here?”

“Yes, please,” you spoke almost immediately.

Diavolo called for a demon named Barbatos, telling him to go to the human world to retrieve your cat. He disappeared then reappeared in a matter of seconds, your cat laying comfortably in his arms.

“Oh, lucifer,” You cooed, taking your cat away from Barbatos, kissing the cat’s forehead.

The hall went silent once again, before someone, the demon they introduced as Asmodeus, spoke up, “Honey, that’s Barbatos.” He said, a slight chuckle laced within the words.

Confused, you glance back up at the hall of demons, you point to your cat, “No? His name is lucifer.”

Lucifer

Can't decide if he's confused or insulted.

He's confused because, who the hell would someone name a cat of all things after a demon

and he's insulted because WHO THE HELL WOULD NAME A CAT AFTER HIM?

He's one of the strongest Demons in the Devildom, much stronger than a mere housecat, the insinuation that he, Lucifer, avatar of pride, shares anything in common with a cat has him fuming.

Of course, he shows none of these emotions outwardly, keeping his face stoic as always.

And any one of his brothers who dare joke about this cat's name will be hanged from the ceiling in a matter of seconds.

Is fairly annoyed with their shared name in day-to-day life, and not just because it's insulting.

But, many times a day, Lucifer'll hear his name called through the halls and, when he goes to investigate, one of his brothers is cooing over the damned pun intended cat.

Will eventually get used to lucifer and will definitely be seen cuddling with him.

Is like the dad who insists he doesn't want a cat, but as soon as he gets one they're inseparable.

At the end of the day, he loves that damn cat.

Mammon

Laughs out loud at the revelation that the cat's name is lucifer.

Until he realizes now he has to look after the human and the cat.

Will complain about it in typical Mammon fashion, but he warms up to lucifer about as quickly as he warms up to you.

Buys him a bunch of cat toys when he has the grimm, and loves to play with him

especially with a laser pointer.

Also loves to cuddle, but always acts very tsundere about it.

"What is it lucifer? Oh, of course, you want to cuddle with the Great Mammon."

Will either steal lucifer from your room at night, or sleep in your room to cuddle with him and totally not you, of course, but you should be honored he's even sleeping in your room.

Leviathan

Thinks it's hilarious as well.

Though he prefers anime, Levi is well versed in other human media, especially classic Disney films, so, because of Cinderella, he's well aware that lucifer is a popular cat name in the human realm.

That doesn't make it any less funny, though.

WILL NOT allow lucifer into his room.

He has too many expensive figurines to risk it

Plus, he doesn't want to risk Henry 2.0 getting hurt.

Will only play with, pet, or cuddle with lucifer if he initiates it.

"He probably doesn't want to be pet by a gross otaku like me," as if cats know what otakus are.

Will, at some point, sew lucifer a costume that looks suspiciously like what his older brother tends to wear.

He may or may not have been hanged for that one, but it was totally worth it.

Satan

Like Lucifer, Satan is conflicted.

On one hand, cat! He loves cats, he wants to pet this cat all day, and give him kisses and cuddles and love.

On the other hand, Satan would rather his soul be ripped apart than give love to something named after Lucifer.

Will try his hardest to completely ignore the cat's existence.

Has to leave the room if lucifer comes in because he can't trust himself to not pet him.

Is like this with lucifer until he sees him respond to the name luci as well.

After that, you cannot separate Satan from lucifer even if you tried.

Spoils him rotten.

The two are often found reading together in the library, Satan leisurely petting lucifer.

Fights with Mammon at least once a day for lucifer and always wins.

Goes on long rants about how cat lucifer is much better in every way than demon Lucifer.

Asmodeus

Another one who thinks it's hilarious.

Definitely thinks lucifer is cute but hates all the shedding, so he usually keeps his distance.

Like Levi, Asmo doesn't allow lucifer in his room.

Will constantly complain about fur getting all over his clothes.

Has had to buy more lint rollers in the first year you spent in the Devildom than he had bought in the last century.

Constantly posts pictures of lucifer on his Devilgram because, despite being a furry monster, he is just the cutest little kitten around.

Beelzebub

Thinks the name is a bit weird but accepts it pretty quickly.

It's just a name, after all, lots of people who are very different share names.

lucifer's food has to be hidden from Beel because he can, and will, eat it.

"It just smelled so good, and I was so hungry."

Apologizes by buying him some luxury cat treats that took all of Bee's willpower not to eat on the way home.

At first, he won't interact with lucifer unless lucifer approaches him.

Beel is so big, and lucifer is so small, he doesn't want to crush the little cat.

But with enough time and reinforcement, Beel will pick lucifer up himself for some much-needed cuddles.

Before Belphie comes down from the attic, Beel'll bring lucifer up to their room at night when he's feeling a bit more lonely than usual.

Beel will invite you up to his room as well.

Belphegor

Finds out about lucifer after everyone else, due to the whole, being locked in the attic, thing.

Hears Asmo trying to coax lucifer into a good pose from down the hall.

"Oh lucifer, cutie pie, you gotta look at the camera."

Is surprised that Asmo is still alive talking to Lucifer like that.

Is even more surprised when he turns the corner to find Asmo talking to a cat, not his eldest brother.

Thinks it's hilarious, but Lucifer is already over it so teasing him about it doesn't do much.

Won't actively seek out lucifer's attention, but will gladly nap with him.

Beel continues his habit of bringing lucifer up to their room for cuddles when Belphie returns, so the three of them usually end up in a big cuddle pile.

Bonus points if he brings you up too.

Diavolo

Thinks it's very amusing.

Laughs about it, probably for a bit too long.

He can't help it, especially because he knows Lucifer is most definitely a bit upset about it.

Will tease Lucifer once or twice about it, but will ultimately leave it alone.

When he visits the House of Lamentation, he'll give lucifer a nice pat, hello, but won't go very far beyond that.

Barbatos

Read lucifer's name tag while he was collecting him from the human realm.

Wasn't surprised in the slightest because nothing ever surprises him

Is definitely excited to see everyone's reactions to his name, and is not disappointed.

If given the chance, he will spend hours brushing lucifer's fur and pampering him

but doesn't get the chance to do so often, if ever.

Solomon

Has had a cat named lucifer in the past.

I mean, he's lived hundreds of years, it's not out of the realm of possibilities.

Named his own cat lucifer because he thought it was funny, and the humor hasn't faded since.

So he's very amused by this new lucifer in his life.

Will unabashedly cuddle and play with lucifer whenever he's given the chance.

I mean, this lucifer reminds him of his own cat, so he becomes pretty attached pretty quickly.

Whenever he visits the House of Lamentation, he'll hold lucifer until the very last minute he possibly can, and will be pretty sad when he has to leave.

Will joke about stealing lucifer, may actually try to steal him.

Simeon

Like Levi, Simeon is pretty well versed in human media, so the concept of cats named lucifer isn't new to him.

Still finds it a bit funny nonetheless.

Tells Michael right away.

Likes cats well enough, and, when he's in the House of Lamentation, will seek out a few pets from the kitten

but he doesn't venture to the House of Lamentation too often, so he never grows too close to lucifer.

Luke

WHY? WOULD YOU NAME A CAT? AFTER A DEMON?

There are so many better names for a cat!

Like whiskers, or oreo, or simba.

Is genuinely confused, and maybe even a bit concerned.

He's afraid you were consorting with demons before coming to the Devildom and that's why you named him lucifer.

After his brief stay in the House of Lamentation, Luke is absolutely in love with lucifer.

Plays with him constantly.

Wants to pick him up, but doesn't know how to.

Luke will end up getting scratched eventually, but Luke forgives him.

Bakes lucifer special cat treats and hopes you'll let him feed lucifer one.

[livebloggingmydescentintomadness]

so my energy seems to be continuing to improve, if very slowly, but after the past few years where i’ve been bedbound ~22 hours of the day, it’s something i’m thrilled to experience. i’m not only cooking more and more (though in chunks every few days, not every single day like i used to), i feel like i have to actually force myself to stay in bed instead of running downstairs to bake something, because i know doing too much will set me back.

(not to get into a tangent, but this is why it drives me fucking nuts when people imply that chronically ill/disabled people are ‘lucky’ for ‘getting’ to stay in bed all day every day. staying in bed for a weekend is fun; staying in bed for a decade is not fun.)

it’s kind of funny how getting back to cooking is partly like riding a bike and partly like having to start all over again. i keep having to buy new jars and bags and boxes of things because what i have expired in 2016 and has been sitting in my pantry all this time while i lied in bed. and, much like my guitar calluses from when i was 15, i’ve totally lost my chef fingers! i keep touching hot things and going “FUCK”. 

this tuesday i did my once-every-six-weeks massive grocery trip (which sounds like i have my shit together, but it’s mostly fear of being exposed to covid in this shithole state and not having the energy to go more frequently; we supplement with online orders and a small delivery in the middle for fresh stuff), and i have so much stuff planned that’s actually exciting. (i made burritos with those pinto beans i cooked from dry the other day and i honestly think they’re the best beans i’ve ever had. i bought a bunch more dried legumes, and i even bought YEAST!)

i’ve spent the last couple weeks meticulously planning the details of what i want to make and how to keep things from going bad (i’ve been pickling lots of veg to keep them from spoiling, and learning how, like, wrapping cucumber in paper towels keeps them good much longer), and i was kind of nervous about buying raw meat for the first time in literally a couple years, but i was actually able to go downstairs just two days after shopping (i used to be stuck in bed for close to a week after the big shopping trip) and do two hours of cooking! that’s fucking huge for me.

i also treated myself to a HUGE sheet tray and a 24 cup muffin pan, because the more i can cook at once the more i can do. last night i roasted 3 pounds of mushrooms AT ONE TIME instead of standing by the stove sautéing half a pound at a time. honestly, fatigue is the mother of brilliant shortcuts.

i got a beautiful eye of round roast, my favorite kind of roast, and i’m planning on making some very simple yeast rolls to go with it, which is also really exciting. i used to be a person who bought 25lb sacks of whole grain and put it through my grain mill to make flour and then baked my own bread and bagels and pie crusts, but my health has been so bad i haven’t even made a pan of muffins in at least a couple years. my kitchen is a messy wreck, but if i can actually clean the shit off the countertops and rescue my stand mixer from where it’s buried, if i can knead dough with my hands again...

these last few years as i got worse and worse, i honestly feared that i was just going to keep going downhill until i died. i went through so many nights lying in the dark by myself, in pain and exhausted and unable to sleep, my little tv on 24/7 because if i was in complete silence i would start thinking about how i would rather be dead than have this be the rest of my life, that just the glimmer of hope of being able to achieve even a fraction of what i used to do when i wasn’t even healthy but just less-sick-than-this, it’s really... it’s good. there’s still a lot wrong, i wouldn’t actually call myself ‘happy’ or even ‘not super fucking depressed’, but just to have a sliver of hope makes a genuine difference. 

anyway, i guess i just wanted to share what i’ve been going through lately, and also explain why you may have been seeing fewer posts or answered asks from me. i’m definitely not going anywhere, but being productive is addictive (so is my food... i’m a really good cook 😁), so most of my spoons have been going to kitchen work rather than typing. 

and thank you in advance for your kind words, because i have such lovely followers and you always leave the sweetest comments and i don’t usually have the energy to respond to each one. thank you for being there to support me in the dark times too. <3

[stuckybarton]

Red Velvet Cake

Summary:   Behind the sweet smile and angelic personality was a spitfire when someone dared destroy her little bakery in the heart of New York. Steve finds that out the hard way when his girlfriend's bakery becomes collateral damage in a small fight in New York. Warning: Profanities. Mild Violence. (Two Loud Slaps to be specific). Grammar Errors. Not Beta’d. Characters: Unnamed Female Character x Steve Rogers Words: 1,775 A/N: I don’t know, I just thought of this idea and thought why not. Masterlist

You had never thought your life would become this wild, but you've gone with the flow. Who would have ever thought that finally starting this bakery in the heart of New York. It was tough, with just a handful of employees, would bring you into so much chaos in your once peaceful life.

Meeting the Avengers had been a wild ride with a smooth beginning for you. First meeting Sam, a man that was looking for a quick snack post-work out. A man with a soft smile and quick quips that brought a smile on everyone's faces every single time he would come to visit. Then eventually, he came not alone, but with two of his best friend and your life changed ever since.

Bucky Barnes was the mellow of the trio, preferring to stay in the background while Sam would try his hardest to flirt with you and push his other friend with you. But he always had this charm on him that had a few of your female employees swooning just by the simply nickname of Doll he would throw at them.

But Sam's other friend had all his attention on you just as much as you had your entire attention on him. The dame that always spoiled him with sweets and made him enjoy morning runs more now that your bakery become their daily stop after.

It started out with the flirtation, at least that was what Steve believed it to be. Having been used to Sam's daily flirtation, you got so immune to it that it had become easier to hide the warmth in your cheeks or the heart eyes that Sam and Bucky were once quick to point out when Steve wasn't looking. Eventually it ended with him finally asking you out for lunch and the rest, as they say was history between the two of you.

Eventually, it had brought you into the circle of what was his team. The Avengers. Starting with one Tony Stark that had visited your bakery one fair morning and brought everything in your bakery long before the trio would come for their visit. It was an eventful day for you, that much you could admit. Everyone had the rest of the day to themselves and gave you time to spend with Steve, as annoyed as he was to not be able to have his usual treats. You made him your special apple pie as compensation, much to his enjoyment.

Then it was the rest of the team, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff, and Vision. Visiting after getting a taste of your pastries that Tony Stark had generously provided for the team. Now like the trio, you now have another trio you can call as your regulars. Then there was Clint Barton, Thor, and Dr. Bruce Banner that eventually came to visit after everyone had egged them on and they would come for a few pastries and coffee, but not as much as the rest of the bunch. You were alright with that, being able to meet Steve's team and knowing each and every single one of them were good people in their own little way was enough for you.

Weeks turned into months, and months now turned to almost two years. Your life at the bakery was filled with ups and downs just as much as your relationship with one Steve Rogers. The constant fear you had when he was on a mission, uncertain whether he would come back alive or not.  Then there was the more often than not times that you were too consumed with the bustling number of customers than you only had time to give him a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek before helping out on the cashier. It had once been a fight between the two of you because of your line of work, but you would constantly compromise. He was out saving the world while you were living the dream you had always wanted for yourself with baking. Instead of his apartment in Brooklyn, Steve was now living with you, in the humble little apartment you had above the bakery. Your little piece of heaven.

This life you had created with Steve was something you had never thought you'd have for yourself but you were enjoying it immensely. You would want nothing more in your life. Until things had gone horribly bad and you want nothing more than to kill Steven Grant Rogers and the rest of the Avengers.

~

Y/N was going to kill him. That much Steve had known while they continued on with the debriefing. A quarter of New York City was wiped clean by the attack of the alien overlord attempting their luck on the planet. As much as Tony had assured that they could stay in the tower while repairs were being made, He was still uncertain with what you would be feeling because of it.

Nothing hurts him more than seeing you sad or disappointed.

"What's the ETA on the repair?" he inquired as soon as the meeting was done.

"More or less two weeks. We've had our team assure Y/N that her employees would be paid full for the two weeks while we are doing repairs." Tony explained. "Last time I heard she barely spoke a word while she helped her employees with cleaning up."

Steve could only sigh, annoyance peaking through his mind. It was worst than he thought.

"Mister Stark, Ms. Y/L/N is on her way to the meeting room." F.R.I.D.A.Y announced.

Before the A.I could finish with the announcement, the sudden slam of the door had everyone's head turn, every single one ready for another fight. But the sight of the innocent Y/N looking displeased brought everyone to a slight calm. There was still a problem, but this was better than another alien attack.

"Babe-"

The resounding slap had everyone else wincing. So much for the Super Serum. Everyone could see the red imprint on Steve's face and your shaky hand responsible for the said mark on the Captain's face.

"Your fucking shield destroyed the ramekins." you snapped, Steve could practically see you shaking from where you stood in front of him.

You were nothing, compared to him, a Super Soldier. But just the sight of you, fuming to the nose made everyone believe that you can easily take him on. This was a genuine surprise for Steve. He had seen so much side of his girlfriend of nearly two years. Through many stages of emotional turmoil, happiness, sadness, annoyance, dysphoria, and that godforsaken puppy dog eyes that he could never say no to. But this, the sight of you  angry, genuinely furious was the last thing he would have ever thought to see from you.

"Everyone has a long day, Y/N." Tony approached and the glare than now focused on her made it very well known that his presence and his response was the biggest mistake he has ever made in the moment. "Why don--"

Tony wasn't able to finish his sentence as he gets to experience the same slap handed to him by you. Without the Super Soldier Serum, the sound of the slap resounded even louder than the former. Everyone was left in a mix of shock and the need to hold in their laughter at the shock look than now lingered on Tony's face as he rubbed his red cheek.

"As for you," you snapped pointing your finger right into Tony. "You're going to pay for both the fuckin bakery and my apartment upstairs. Of all the places Stark, you just had to throw the alien on my newly renovated bathroom."

Tony could only nod.

"Your people also need to talk to my employees, some of them are injured because a big fucking green dickhead thought it would be nice to throw alien matters into the basement like basketballs through the hoops." you snapped side-glancing towards the guilty Bruce Banner that refused to make any eye contact with you. "You're covered for their hospital bills, therapy, and two weeks of their supposed shift."

Tony gaped nodding.

"Jesus, why the fuck does it always have to be New York, better yet, why the hell does it have to be in the US? There are so many fucking countries in this world." You ranted turning your attention back to Steve that now broke into a small smile at your outburst. "You're not off the hook. We're staying here, but you're sleeping on the coach until further notice."

What smile he had now comes falling from his face. Blinking, this was a dangerous situation. Far more dangerous than his earlier encounter with the aliens only hours ago. But all he could do was nod, not knowing if any protest from him would result in a worst punishment.

"Sam," you turned to the man that now looked scared to be your focus. "Can you show me to the kitchen? I'll try making everyone someone to eat. God knows you're all starving." you request, all signs of anger now slowly dissolving from your features.

Steve didn't know what scared him more at this point, your anger or how quick you were able to recover from said anger. As Sam escorted you out of the meeting room, the rest of the team also made their way out to help you in whatever you may need in the kitchen. It now left Steve and Tony alone, practically still feeling the aftermath of your slap.

"Having second thought about proposing, Lover Boy?" Tony finally broke the awkward silence.

Taking a deep breath, the first chuckle all day finally escaped his lips.

No, he was far from having second thoughts. The engagement ring hidden in his locker room made it evident to him what he was about to do on their 2nd anniversary. It would take some convincing on your part after what happened. But you loved him enough to forgive him for what happened, since technically it wasn't really his fault why the bakery was ruined.

"The proposal is still a go, Tony." he responds finally leaving the meeting room to making his way to the kitchen, already hard at work with cooking what he assumed was spaghetti and meatballs and his favourite red velvet cake.

"Steve's not having any cake right?" Nat asked as soon as she caught sight of him.

"You know what, Romanoff--"

"Not even a fucking crumb." Your response even with you facing away from him had everyone roaring in laughter and Steve rolling his eyes even with the smile on his lips growing bigger at the situations.

The things he has to endure for love.

[wrenhyperfixates]

Secret Santa

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: When you pick Loki’s name for Secret Santa, you are at a loss for what to get him. Some quality time with the God of Mischief sheds some light on the situation. Warnings: pure, unadulterated fluff; very long A/N: It’s almost Christmas now; less than a week to go! And a big thank you to my best friend @lokistan​ for writing the beautiful poetry for this story. I love you my bean! Happy reading all :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant​​ @lunarmoon8​ @twhiddlestonsstuff​ @lokistan​ @thelokiimaginechroniclesficrecs​ @gaitwae

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

“Oh my gosh, thank you Nat!” you said, throwing your arms around her shoulders in a hug. She had been your Secret Santa and gotten you the expensive jacket you’d been wanting for months. “It’s perfect.”

Christmas Eve in the Avengers Tower was full of laughter and drinks as the team exchanged Secret Santa gifts. Tomorrow morning you’d be opening regular presents, so it was tradition to set this aside for the night before. It was more fun that way, maybe because you could focus solely on the excitement of learning who had picked your name.  

“You’re welcome. I know you were nervous about being able to pull it off, but it’ll look great on you,” she reassured, hugging you back. “Ok, now it’s your turn.”

You shot a nervous glance at Peter, who flashed a thumbs up. Thor, who was sitting next to you, pat your back. You stood and picked up the carefully wrapped package, all decorated in gold and green. You were nervous about what you had picked, but whether the recipient liked it or not, you were happy that this anxiety of if it was good enough or not would be over. You’d rather know. After all, you’d been feeling this way ever since you’d picked the name a week earlier...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright everyone,” Tony said, holding a stocking filled with little pieces of paper. “It’s time for Secret Santa. And remember, if you get me, cash is accepted.”

You gathered around with the rest of the team as they started to pick names. You said a little prayer that you would get Peter, your best friend, seeing as you already had about thirty different gift ideas for him. Wanda would be pretty easy, too, as you were also really close with her. In fact, looking around, you were able to come up with at least some scrap of an idea for almost everyone. Almost being the operative word.  By the time Tony got to you, there was only one slip left. As you stuck your hand in the stocking, you made a silent wish that it wouldn’t be the one person you had no clue what to get for.

Please, you thought. Please be someone I know. Please don’t be...

Loki.

“And that concludes the name picking process,” Tony announced as you cast a dismayed look at the four-letter name on the paper. “You have a week to figure it out, so good luck.

“Remember, no swapping!” Steve added as the group began to disperse.

You looked around for the trickster, wondering why he was even participating. It’s not that you didn’t want him to, just that it didn’t seem like his kind of thing. From the way he was clenching his fists and scowling, you still guessed it wasn’t. Not like you really knew him all that well, unfortunately. When he’d come to the Tower, Loki seemed like he preferred the solitude. You often wondered if you should have made more of an effort to be his friend, wished that you had. There was this one time you were both reading Macbeth in a common area and had gotten into a very animated discussion about it. Nothing more ever really came of that, though, as he left for a mission the next day and didn’t return until two weeks later. By then, you’d both moved onto different books.

Later, you made a trip to the library, hoping to solve the enigma that is the God of Mischief. You were the only two people who went in their regularly and more than half the conversations you’d had with him had been held in that room. Granted they were all short, but you figured it was a start. In fact, you found yourself rather wanting to have a conversation with him right now. Yes, because of the Secret Santa thing, but also because they’d been getting more frequent recently. With every one, you realized how much you enjoyed talking to him. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in his usual spot by the crackling fire. You considered just leaving, but decided you should at least make some use of this trip. You’d seen him reading some works by James Joyce most recently, and you went to go look for the one he’d had last. Maybe seeing what he likes to read could give you some gift ideas. Your eyes scanned the shelves, but you couldn’t find it. It was possible you were just remembering the cover wrong. Just as you were about to give up, someone tapped your shoulder.

“Pardon me,” Loki said as you whipped around. “I think you may be looking for this.”

He held out the copy of the book you’d been looking for and raised an eyebrow when you just stared at him blankly for a second. Who could blame you, though? He was standing rather close, and he was... Well, quite frankly, he was hot. With his raven black hair framing his smooth, pale skin, and with striking blue-green eyes that stare into your soul, he was the most handsome man you’d ever met. Then again, he wasn’t really a man, was he?

“Oh, uh, yes. Yes I am,” you said, coming to your senses. “Thank you. Did you enjoy it?”

“Very much so. I have read it five times now. I apologize for that, if you were looking for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. You have nothing to apologize for.” He looked rather surprised that you would say such a thing, and you briefly wondered how many times people had made him apologize unnecessarily. “You could even just keep it if you want.”

“No, that is alright. At least, not until you have gotten to read it, too. Perhaps we could discuss it?” he said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if he was overstepping.

You looked at the title in your hands. Dubliners. You’d read a few of the short stories in high school and hadn’t enjoyed them much. But you were older now, so maybe your tastes had changed. Either way, you couldn’t pass up the opportunity to have another conversation with Loki. That slight smile and those intelligent eyes were just too captivating.

“That’s a wonderful idea. May I ask what your favorite is?”

“A good question. I think I will have to say Eveline. The way she ends up trapped, the mere emotion in the implication... It’s exquisitely done.”

“Wow, Loki, you have such a way with words. You’re beautiful,” you told him without thinking. As his eyes widened, you realized what you’d said and tried to cover it up. “I, um, I meant that that’s beautiful. The, ah, way you weave words. Sorry, I obviously don’t have the same ability.”

“It is quite alright. They do not call me silver-tongue for nothing, you know,” he said, though he was blushing now. “Still, I look forward to hearing your thoughts. But for now, my dear mortal, I must bid you goodbye. I have a sparring session with my brother to get to.”

He swept into a small, princely bow that made your heart stutter. Hugging the book to your chest, you waved goodbye, feeling much more awkward than he had been. You were also about a hundred times more determined to get Loki a perfect gift. You looked at the book again. It was a special first edition, unfortunately, and you couldn’t really do better than that. Besides, you got the impression he appreciated books more when they were well-loved. So, you could scratch that idea off the list.

You sighed and headed to your room for the night. Maybe an inspiration board could help you figure things out. Unfortunately, that led to you having a poster board with pictures solely of Loki. You’d meant to add other things, but you’d gotten so caught up in how beautiful he looked with his soft pink lips and carefully styled hair and... Ok, maybe you had the slightest, tiniest crush on the trickster god, but it was silly. You’d hardly even been friends for half a year. And yet, he was very hard to resist. You ended up destroying your project, cringing at the idea of anyone finding it and taking it the wrong way.

The next morning you woke up just as idealess as you had been the night before. You had been hoping that you could figure something out if you slept on it, but to no avail. Frustrated, you kicked your blankets off and got ready to attack the day. You absolutely hated the fact that you couldn’t come up with a gift idea on your own, and the last thing you wanted to have to do was ask someone else.

Splashing some water on your face, you had another idea that you quickly shut down. You’d thought for a second that maybe you could buy him some cologne, but then you realized you had no idea what scent or brand he used. In fact, you weren’t sure he used and fragrance at all. The smell of leather, pine, and old books that he had just suited him so well you couldn’t help but wonder if it was just a natural thing. Either way, he always smelled so safe, so wonderful. You cursed yourself for letting your thoughts take that turn again. It was a lot easier to ignore this crush when you didn’t have to be thinking about him 24/7.

Traipsing into the kitchen, you found Peter and Thor having an animated conversation about what was better, pecan or pumpkin pie. You wondered if you could bake something for Loki as a gift, then you realized that still required knowing what he likes. You would get him tea, but you already knew for a fact that was what Thor had gotten him as a regular present. Plus it was a special Asgardian blend, so there was no way you could top that.

“Good morning, guys,” you greeted as you tried to decide what to eat for breakfast.

“Morning,” they chorused back.

You bit your lip, coming to a split second decision. “Can I ask you two a question. It’s about Secret Santa.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Peter said while you took a seat across from them.

“Ok, this is top secret, right? So don’t tell anybody.” They both eagerly nodded their heads. “I know you’re both friends with Loki, and well, I picked his name. I have no clue what to get him, though. Any ideas?”

“I have the perfect idea!” Thor declared as you motioned for him to keep his voice down. “Get him some causal Midgardian clothes. You have excellent taste, I am sure he will love whatever you pick out.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Are you sure that’s not just what you want for him? I mean, he seems plenty happy to wear his Asgardian clothes around the Tower. And there’s nothing wrong with dressing up when you go out.” You sighed when Thor just seemed confused by your words, not understanding that his brother had embraced the Midgardian style as much as he wanted to. “I’ll just consider that a back-up plan for now. What about you, Peter? Any thoughts?”

“What if we just went shopping together?” he excitedly suggested. “Then if we see something we think is good, we can just point it out.”

You hurriedly agreed, anxious to get the gift-buying out of the way. The plan was to head out right after your training session with Nat and Steve. Unfortunately, that meant you were distracted nearly the whole time, leaving you with a few more bruises than normal. You loved your teammates to death, but boy did they ever need to learn how to ease up a little in practice. You stayed a few minutes extra to do some cool down stretches, and in waltzed the trickster god who had been occupying so much of your brain space recently. The way he was flipping and catching his daggers as he walked was slightly mesmerizing.

“My apologies,” he said, noticing you. “I did not think there was anyone else in here. I can come back later if you still need the space.”

“No!” you shouted as he began to turn away. It was a bit louder than you had meant to say it, and you mentally kicked yourself. “I mean, I was just on my way out, so please, stay.”

He smiled and set his things down on the bench next to yours. You eyed the daggers that had just been wielded by his expertly trained hands moments ago.

“May I?” you asked, gesturing to them.

He picked one up and handed it to you. Turning it over in your hands, you noticed that handles were slightly worn, but it was still excellently crafted. The blade had obviously been sharpened a great number of times before and was looking like it might need to be again. You’d never personally used a dagger in battle, but the way Loki was so graceful with them made a part of you want to.

“To be very precise with such a weapon,” Loki began as if reading your thoughts, “requires great focus and skill. There is no room for error when used to block another’s attack, and to deliver a powerful blow, you must strike in just the right spot.” A shiver of excitement shot down your spine as he picked up his other blade and began adeptly demonstrating, moving like a flowing river as he sliced the air. “It is much smaller than most weapons, sure. However, it is just as deadly. And if the sword is an extension of your body, the same can be said for the dagger tenfold.”

You blinked a couple times, beyond impressed by his majestic, fluid movements. It was breathtaking. He was breathtaking. Now you just had to find a way to say that without sounding obsessed.

“Wow, Loki,” you finally gasped, unable to hide your amazement. “I don’t know how you do it, but you even make weapons sound beautiful. And you’re very talented, too. I could never,” you nervously laughed.

“You are too kind to me, my dear mortal,” he said, and you felt a spark of pride in your chest that you were making him blush yet again. “You are not kind enough to yourself, though. I am certain you would be excellent. Perhaps you just need to find a teacher.”

“Would you teach me?” you asked, oddly worried to do so. You tried to calm your swelling nerves.

“Well, I did not mean to imply that I should be your instructor, for I fear that I would not be very good at it.” He watched your smile falter just the tiniest bit and found himself rushing to bring it back to full strength. “However, if you so desire, I can certainly try. I must warn you, it will not be easy.”

“Loki, you’d really do that for me?” Your heart beat a little faster in your chest as he shyly nodded his head yes. “I would love to. And don’t worry about going easy; I want to be as good as you.”

“Excellent! We shall have out first lesson, say, at the start of the New Year?”

After the plans were set, you excused yourself so you could meet your friends for shopping. You were late as it was, and you still had to go freshen up. The whole reason for the trip was you, and you’d feel bad to keep them waiting much longer. Still, you stole one last glance at Loki before exiting.

Hours later, you still had no gift for Loki. You barely even had an idea, much to your dismay. Peter and Thor kept pointing out little trinkets, a couple of which you did pick up as a regular gift for him, but your Secret Santa gift had to be a showstopper. Something about him drew you in, and you wanted to give him the most amazing present you could. If only it weren’t so difficult.

You were walking down a street when you happened to notice the trickster god himself in one of the store windows. You waved your companions on with the excuse you wanted to check something out for one of them and entered the shop Loki was at. For a second you considered just watching him to try to get some ideas, but that was quickly dashed when he let out a sigh of frustration. He just looked so perplexed and adorably aggravated.

“Hey, Loki,” you greeted after clearing your throat. “Funny running into you here. Are you alright?”

“Hello, my dear mortal. Thank you for asking,” he said. “I am alright. It is just this blasted Secret Santa.”

“I know what you mean,” you replied before you could help yourself. “But I’m, uh, not going to say who it is. I mean, you can tell me if you want to, but I’ve already told so many people it’ll hardly be a secret if anyone else knows,” you covered your tracks.

“Ah, I see. It is supposed to be a secret, and I do so ever hate to crack under the pressure, but I find myself in dire need of assistance. Do you suppose you could help?”

You beamed at him as you realized you’d talked with him more in the past few days than you had in the last three weeks. If there was one thing you knew, it was you had better be careful, or you’d get addicted to the sound of his voice. You were on thin ice with this crush as it was, you really shouldn’t let it blossom into more.

“Sure! I’d love to. Who do you have?” you finally said, looking around the store. “Wait, let me guess. Steve?”

“Stark.”

“Oh. Well, he did say cash was fine,” you giggled.

“Believe me, I was tempted,” Loki chuckled along with you. “But I promised Thor I would make more of an effort this time around. I do not know what he is talking about, though. Bruce loved his socks last year!”

You slapped a hand over your mouth as your loud laughter garnered a few stares from other shoppers. Loki’s eyes held only soft admiration, though, and your hands got a little sweaty from how nervous that made you. You subtly wiped them on your pants as you calmed down.

“Well, it you want to get something more personal, I might have an idea.”

“By all means, do tell,” he urged.

“You know that tool set he was talking about the other day?” you questioned, but were met with a blank stare. “I’ll take that as a no, but he was saying he didn’t want to get them because he doesn’t actually need them.”

“When has that ever stopped him before?” Loki scoffed.

“I guess he’s trying something new,” you shrugged. “But anyway, if you got them it would show you were thinking about what he actually liked and stuff. Or maybe that’s dumb, sorry.”

“No, no, it is a splendid idea!” he was quick to reassure you. For a second it seemed as if he was going to reach out and touch your shoulder, but then he thought better of it. “You do not happen to know where they are sold, do you?”

You nodded and led him out of the store you were in, towards the place where he could buy them. You were waiting at a corner for a light to change, amicably chatting. Nothing groundbreaking, just small talk. Regardless, it made your heart beat just a little faster. Still engrossed in the conversation, you took a step out into the crosswalk when the light said it was safe to go. You didn’t notice the car speeding towards you until Loki grabbed your wrist and pulled you back into his chest. You gasped as he glared after the driver, who gave no acknowledgement or apology to you. The god’s arms were wrapped around you in a protective manner, and you looked up at his face, appreciating his beauty at this close angle. Given what had just happened, probably not the thing you should be focusing on.

“My dear mortal,” he fretted, looking down at you, not yet letting go. “Are you alright? You are not injured at all, are you? Shall I take you to the hospital wing to make sure?”

“I’m ok,” you reassured him, though a part of you didn’t want to. He seemed about ready to scoop you up and use his godly strength to carry you home. Alas, your moral compass decided that wouldn’t be very fair to him. “Just a little shaken, but you saved me. Thank you, Loki. That doesn’t really cut it, but thank you so much.”

“Do not mention it. I am just glad you are alright,” he replied, though his voice did still have a tint of worry to it. Maybe you were imaging it, but he seemed almost reluctant to let you go from his tight embrace. “Now, you may carefully lead the way. Carefully,” he emphasized.

With a giggle, you brought him to the store where the tools were. After browsing the aisles for a few minutes, the two of you found the shelf they were on. With a frown, you examined the price tag.

“Sorry, Loki,” you said. “I didn’t realize how expensive it was.”

“It is fine,” he replied, looking at the cost himself. “This is actually plenty within my price range.”

You waited outside of the busy store while he made his purchase and checked your phone. You felt a pang of guilt as you noticed a number of missed texts from Peter and Thor.

Sorry guys, you texted the group chat. Ran into someone I know and got carried away. Carry on without me.

Don’t worry, came Peter’s reply. See you back home :)

You pocketed your phone as Loki walked back out, giving you a smile. You looked at the ground to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

“I hope I am not keeping you from anything,” he said as you started walking back towards the Tower. “Is there any shopping I can assist you with?”

You lamented the irony of the situation. Despite the entire point of this venture being to buy a gift for Loki, you were still empty handed. It was tempting to try to ask him what he wanted, but you were sure he was far more clever than you were subtle.

“No, I’m good, thanks. But if you don’t mind my asking, how do you have so much money?” you asked to satisfy your curiosity. “I mean, Tony’s always complaining about how you use his credit card.”

“That, my dear mortal, is simply because I can,” he replied as you both laughed. “I have been around for much longer than you might imagine. I have amassed a certain amount of wealth in my many years.”

“Wow, that’s pretty cool, actually. You’re making me wish I was an immortal being,” you joked.

“And tell me, my dear mortal, if you were to treat yourself to something nice, what would it be?”

You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe I’d go to a nice restaurant,” you finally said. “It doesn’t have to be anything too far from home. Oh! Like, Nobu has really good sushi.”

“Well then, perhaps I will have to pay for us to have a meal there sometime.”

“Yeah! I bet the team would really like that.”

“Actually,” he sheepishly said, bringing you to a stop on the sidewalk, “I meant for just the two of us to go. That is, if you would like to. Maybe one day after we start our training. You are not obligated to say yes, though. The offer for me to pay is still open if you would like to take another friend instead of me.”

“Loki, no. That’s so generous, of course I’d love to go with you,” you reassured him, settling a hand on his arm. Though, admittedly, you were beyond flustered, especially when you realized how that last sentence sounded. “I mean as friends, of course. It sounds amazing, thank you.”

“Well then, I look forward to it.” He brought his hand to rest on yours, and goosebumps erupted on your skin, not only from his cold touch, but the wave of excitement you felt. “And speaking of our lessons, I was thinking you may want some daggers of your own. We do not have to get them now but-”

“That’s it!” you suddenly shouted, then apologized for cutting him off. “Can I borrow your daggers, Loki? To go get myself a pair?”

He offered to come with you, but you waved him off, saying you’d be fine on your own. It was a little suspicious, he thought, but decided to drop it. Handing you the weapons, he bid you goodbye. As soon as he was out of eyesight, you examined the daggers, trying to get a clear picture in your mind of what you wanted.

A few quick stops later, and after gaining permission from Tony, you were in the lab, carefully crafting Loki’s gift. It took a few days, and you were by no means used to doing this kind of thing, but you were finally satisfied with the finished product. You wrapped it and then hid it with the rest of your presents, just waiting to be given to their recipients. With only a few days left until Christmas Eve, you were filled with an anxious excitement to give Loki his gift. There was nothing left to do but hope that he likes it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...You looked everywhere but at Loki as you approached him, nerves bubbling in your stomach. By the time you reached him, his mouth had curled into a soft smile. It occurred to you that you’d never seen him look that way at anyone but you. Building on the confidence that thought brought, you held out the gift.

“Here, Loki,” you told him, averting your gaze again. “This is for you.”

You perched on the edge of the coffee table across from him as he accepted the package with a thank you. There was some light chatter coming from the rest of your teammates, but it felt like the only people in the world at this moment were you and Loki, his fingers skillfully unwrapping the present. You sat on your hands to keep from fidgeting with them. It took all your focus to keep your eyes on Loki and not wandering the room in anticipation. As he opened the lid of the box and revealed what was inside, his mouth formed into a surprised “o”.

He picked up the gift, a pair of new daggers, each with a gold hilt. His name was engraved on it, and there was a band of emeralds at the top and bottom. You’d made them the same dimensions as his old ones.

“My dear mortal,” he breathed in awe, his eyes full of sincerity, coming up to met yours. “This is so thoughtful, so beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Loki. I’m really glad you like it.”

“I do. I love it,” he replied, taking your hand in his for the briefest of moments. He pulled away before anyone could really think anything of it. Neither of you said anything else, instead just staring into each other’s eyes.

“Ok, Reindeer Games,” Tony said, interrupting the moment you were sharing with Loki. “Now it’s your turn. So, who’d you get?”

“Well, actually, I picked your name, Stark. Here,” he said, nonchalantly handing over the gift. Though he seemed completely uninterested, you could tell he was a little nervous. “For you.”

“Alright, let’s see what it is. I swear, this better not be socks or-” Tony cut off, seeing the very thing he wanted. “Wow, Rock of Ages. This is really thoughtful. Thanks. I had no idea you actually listened,” he finished with a laugh.

“You are quite welcome,” Loki said, but he was more looking at you than Tony.

Later that evening, after all the gifts were given out, you were sitting by the fireplace, waiting for the flames to completely die out. You were curled up in the corner of the couch, your feet pulled up next to you, a blanket draped over your shoulders, and a book open on your lap.

“My dear mortal,” Loki’s voice suddenly said as he appeared in the doorway, pulling you from the words on the page. “I thought you were supposed to be in bed, lest Santa skip this house and move onto the next.”

“Yes, but I have to make sure the fire goes out so he can get in,” you laughed, playing along. “As long as I’m up, I wouldn’t mind some company. Care to join me?”

Wordlessly, he sat down, and you closed your book. The both of you just stared at the dying flames in a peaceful silence for a while. Your mind seemed to be content to be filled with thoughts of Loki; the way he was sitting so close, the way his hands kept brushing his hair away from his face every few moments, the way he’d looked at you earlier when he’d received your gift. After you weren’t sure exactly how long, he gently said your name, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Yes?” you replied.

“I truly do your love your gift. It is beyond lovely, your generosity and thoughtfulness a true reflection of what is in your brilliant soul.”

“Loki, I can’t even express how happy I am to hear that. And thank you for your beautiful words.”

“Speaking of,” he nervously said, “the gift that I have for you, it is, well, my words. A poem. I am sorry to say, I would be a little self-conscious to give it to you in front of everyone else. Would I... Would I be able to recite it to you now?”

“Of course, Loki. Whatever you’re comfortable with. I’m just grateful that you’re willing to share it with me.”

“Alright then, my dear mortal. Here goes nothing.”

You shifted to a more position as he took a deep breath and opened up a journal. You waited with bated breath as he began to speak.

“From your eyes that shine as the brightest stars, to your smile that's a reflection of your radiant heart. From your gentle hands that fit as though they belong in mine, to your laugh that stops my perception of time. You've shown me kindness when I didn't feel I deserved it, you welcomed me into your world with a caring embrace and showed me I am not my mistakes. My heart beats stronger for you, the love that I feel couldn't be more true. If you will have me, I will show you the world, for you have shown me the universe, the place also known as your touch, as your mind, as your heart, as your soul. You, you are my universe.”

He looked at you expectantly, but with a hesitation understandable given what he’d just confessed. You wanted to tell him how you felt just as eloquently, but were dumbstruck that the feelings were even reciprocated.

“Loki,” you said, holding his cold hands in your warm ones. “That’s so beautiful and I-I love you, too.”

He seemed just as shocked as you that the feeling could be mutual. He squeezed your hands, at a loss for words for the first time since you’d known him. With no one to interrupt you this time, you remained lost in each other’s emotion-filled eyes. It was Loki who broke the silence.

“My dear mortal, I... May I kiss you?”

You answered by surging forward and pressing your lips to his. His hands came to cup your cheeks, and yours found his hair, tangling themselves in his dark locks. He tasted like heaven, and you sighed against his mouth. You could have stayed that way forever, and yet it could never be enough. Sadly, you had to pull away, but Loki was quick to pull you against him, holding you to his chest as if he didn’t believe you’d stay, didn’t believe he could have something so wonderful.

You stayed like that for a while, conveying things even words couldn’t say in the silence, just holding each other. Eventually, you began talking, enjoying the way a light conversation was flowing between you. Your eyes were drooping shut as you snuggled against his chest, the final embers of the fire going out. You glanced at the clock and saw that it read midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you whispered. “There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, my dear mortal. I could write you a thousand poems, and still I would never properly express how much I feel the same.”

As sleep slowly claimed you, it occurred to you that you may have never even admitted how you feel without the whole Secret Santa ordeal. It seemed that it had revealed more secrets than you’d ever expected, and for that, you’d be forever grateful.

[drabbles-mc]

The Long Game

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Request by Anon:  Nestor Oceteva with the fluff sections prompts 30: I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, 40: Why are you so scared of loving and 49: You’re the only thing that matters?

Warnings: language, fluff so sweet it’ll make your teeth hurt

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: So to balance out the angsty request, we have a nice fluffy one too. I had a lot of fun writing this. I just really like the idea of super sweet Nestor

General Mayans Taglist: @mayans-sauce ​ @thesandbeneathmytoes ​ @paintballkid711 ​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl ​ @queenbeered ​ @sillygoose6969 ​ @sesamepancakes ​ @yourwonkywriter ​ @chibsytelford ​ @gemini0410 ​ @multiyfandomgirl40 ​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead ​ @plentyoffandoms ​ @georgiaaintnopeach ​ @twistnet ​ @garbinge ​ @amandinesblogofstuff ​ @bucky-iss-bae ​

Nestor loomed over your shoulder, watching as you folded ingredients together in a giant mixing bowl. You bit back a laugh as he watched you intently. You hadn’t been expecting him to stop in, not that you minded. But the unannounced visit meant that he was going to have to deal with the fact that you were wrapped up in other things before he arrived. He didn’t seem to mind, though, as he wandered around your kitchen with you.

“Who are you making all of these for?” he asked with a slightly confused look on his face.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ll bring some to work. You can take some home with you if you want,” you laughed when you turned to look at him, “I just felt like baking this weekend.”

“Can I help?”

You shook your head, “No way.”

He looked a little offended but you could see that he was trying not to smile, “Why not? I’m a good cook.”

You nodded, “I know you are. But you’re a terrible baker. Remember when you tried to help me with the pie for my sister?”

He laughed, and you tried to pretend that it didn’t make your heart jump inside your chest, “But these are cookies. Totally different, right?”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly, “You can help by being my taste-tester when the first batch is done. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re trying not to be patronizing but you still are,” he chuckled.

You laughed and handed him the spatula that you had been using, “You can lick this clean while you sulk about it.”

Something flashed across his face for a moment that you couldn’t quite read. But before you could think about it too much, he snatched the spatula from you with a small smile, “Fine. But it won’t stop me from bothering you.”

You didn’t expect that it would. And, realistically, the last thing you would ever consider Nestor to be was a bother. You liked when he stopped in, even though as you both grew up and got wrapped up in your own lives it happened less and less frequently. He’d been your best friend for as long as you could remember, and the two of you had always balanced each other out. Nestor had always been a little quieter, keeping a lot of his thoughts and feelings to himself most of the time. You were good for him in that way, being open and honest enough to draw things out of him. He was good for you, too. Everything about Nestor made you feel safe. That sense of safety happened long before he became the man that was in your apartment that day—even as children you knew that he had your back and that hadn’t changed.

And as you both got older and he got involved with Galindo and everything that that entailed, you’d remained a safe place to go and rest. Your apartment was a place where he could recharge and he just got to be Nestor, and not the head of security for a cartel leader. You didn’t talk about work unless he brought it up, and he didn’t bring it up often. Despite the fact that his life had continued to get more dangerous, you never felt like it would ever get back to you. Something about the way he spoke and carried himself assured you of that despite the fact that he never verbally said it. You trusted that if things were too dicey, he wouldn’t bring it to your front door.

So, the two of you maneuvered around your tiny kitchen together. He was leaning against the counter, watching as you flitted around, spatula still between his fingers. He’d set the timer for you but other than that he let you do whatever it was you had to do to keep the kitchen from burning down. Every now and then your shoulder would brush and push against his and you pretended that you didn’t notice, that it didn’t make your face feel hot for a few moments each time.

The timer went off and you grabbed a pair of oven mitts. You carefully pulled the tray out of the oven, allowing Nestor to shut it for you as you carried the hot tray over to the table to cool.

“Can you put that tray in for me and start the timer again?”

He nodded, tossing the spatula into the sink before doing what you asked, “So I do get to help.”

You chuckled as you walked back over, “Baby steps. I might make a baker out of you yet.”

All that was left to do was wait. You were waiting for one tray to cool so you could empty it just to fill it up again, and you were waiting for the timer to go off for the tray that was currently in the oven. You and Nestor were each leaning on a separate stretch of counter, kitty-corner to each other. You wiped your hands off on your jeans, pretending not to notice the way that he was staring at you as you did.

“So is this how you spend your weekends now?” he asked with a quiet chuckle.

You smiled, “It’s been a while. Listen, I know it’s not quite as exciting as whatever you spend all your time doing, but it suits me just fine.”

“I’m not making fun of you,” he saw the disbelieving look on your face and he laughed, nudging your foot lightly with his own, “I swear! This is nice.”

“Mhm,” you smiled at him, leaving it at that.

You walked over to the table and started carefully scooping cookies off of the tray and onto a plate so they could completely finish cooling. When the tray was empty, you looked up and saw Nestor watching you, a calm radiating from his facial expression and body language.

“Wanna try one?” you asked.

He nodded, walking over. You smiled as you held one out for him. You expected him to take it from your hand into his own, but instead he just leaned and bit into while you were still holding it. You laughed, smile stretching from ear to ear as butterflies erupted in your stomach.

He gave a nod of approval, “Those are good.”

“Well here,” you fed him the rest of the cookie, “you gotta finish it now.”

You both laughed and without thinking you reached up and brushed the crumbs clinging to the stubble on his face. It didn’t hit you until it was too late how close you were standing, the weight of the gentle gesture clearly not lost on either of you as you took in the look in Nestor’s eyes. Before you could make it any worse you cleared your throat, scooping up the now-empty tray and heading back over to the counter to put more dough onto it.

Nestor materialized behind you, and you were hyper-aware of how close he was standing to you. “Can I help with this part?” there was a lightness to his voice that you found reassuring.

You let out an exaggerated sigh, “I suppose,” it got him to laugh and he playfully nudged your shoulder. You smiled, “They all gotta be the same size though, alright?”

He nodded, a small smirk tugging at his lips, “I think I can handle that.”

You hopped up onto the counter so you could watch him. You swung your legs as you watched the concentration on his face and you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling. He was so methodical, clearly taking his baking lesson very seriously.

You bit back a laugh, “Domesticity doesn’t look half bad on you, Nes.”

He flicked his eyes up to you for a moment, a smile passing over his face for a brief moment before returning to the task at hand, “Oh really?”

You nod, “Really. One of these days, when you find someone who makes you wanna settle down, you’ll be able to do it. I can tell.”

“Just from watching me scoop cookie dough?” he laughed but didn’t lift his eyes from the tray in front of him.

“Just from knowing you for so long. I can’t believe you haven’t put a ring on some girl yet anyway.”

He smiled at you, setting his tray off to the side, “And I can’t believe you haven’t domesticated some guy yet.”

You laughed, “What do you think I’ve been doing with you this whole time?”

You said it as a joke, but there was a lot of truth to it. Not that you were trying to change Nestor into someone that he wasn’t, but that there was a part of you that was always holding out. There was something in the back of your mind that was always waiting for it to be you and Nestor in the end. It was a long shot—you knew his life and that he might never be able to settle down, but you still hoped. You tried not to put your life on hold for it, but days like this made you realize that there wasn’t another person you wanted to spend this kind of time with. You didn’t know if there ever would be.

He chuckled, “Really playing the long game, huh?”

You nudged his leg with your foot, “Is it not working? You think that a couple years ago you would’ve spent one of your very few days off in some girl’s apartment watching her bake cookies?”

He smiled, but you could see that there was something else lingering in his expression, “Maybe not.”

“See? I’ve got you ready for whatever girl reels you in,” your tone was light but you didn’t really want to think about him being with someone else.

“You’ve got some high hopes for me,” his smile was soft.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He laughed, but there was a touch of hollowness to it, “You know me better than anyone—you know exactly why you shouldn’t have such high hopes for me.”

You shook your head, “Stop, don’t be like that,” you knew it was a bit of a touchy topic for him, but what was the point in being someone’s best friend if you weren’t going to call them out on their shit, “Why do you always sell yourself so short, hm? Why are you so scared of loving?”

“I’m not scared, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Right. Because Big Bad Nestor Oceteva isn’t scared of anything,” it broke the tension and got you both to laugh, “But I mean it, you know—don’t sell yourself short. You’re gonna make some girl real happy one day.”

He started to say something else when the sound of the timer cut through your conversation. He pressed his lips together, stepping out of your way so you could take the tray out. Your back was to him but you could hear him setting the next tray into the oven and starting the time over again.

When you turned around to walk back into the kitchen, you nearly bumped into Nestor who was already right behind you. You laughed, ignoring the heat taking over your cheeks, “Sneaky.”

He chuckled, “It’s a job requirement,” he paused, eyes desperately searching yours as he tried to piece together his next sentence, “You really think that I could have this with someone?” he gestured around your apartment.

You nodded as you made your way back to the kitchen, Nestor close behind, “Why wouldn’t you?”

“You know my life. It just feels stupid to even think about all of that when I do what I do for a living.”

You gently rested your hand against his chest, “It’s not stupid. You’re going to find someone who understands and accepts all of that. Someone who is…you know…patient,” you smiled.

“Someone like you?”

You didn’t think that three words could knock the wind out of you so effectively, but they did. You laughed, unable to meet his eyes, “Nes, c’mon, don’t joke—”

“I’m not joking,” he stepped closer, looking down at you intently. Every word you wanted to say got caught in your throat, so Nestor continued, “You’re my best friend. And, you’re right, I am scared. Or at least, I usually am. But when I’m here, with you, I’m not. Being here with you is like stepping into an entirely different world, one where you’re the only thing that matters. I love it, and I miss it the second I leave.”

It was everything you wanted to hear and yet you had a hard time believing it, “Where is all of this coming from?”

“Because, as usual, you’re right,” he smiled as he reached forward, wiping a small streak of flour off your forehead, “a few years ago I wouldn’t be doing any of this. And, honestly, if it wasn’t you, I still wouldn’t be doing it. But it is you,” his hand rested lightly on your cheek, “and you feel like home. I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, and it feels like a waste of time to keep pretending like I haven’t been.”

There were so many things that you wanted to say, but you couldn’t force yourself to speak. All the words were caught in a lump at the back of your throat. You could feel happy tears starting to gather in your eyes as you rested your hand over his. Knowing that there were no words you could think of that would accurately explain how you felt, you pulled him down into a kiss.

You could feel that it caught him by surprise, but he quickly recovered and leaned down into you. Both his hands rested on the back of your neck, pulling you up into him. You smiled into your kiss, arms easily wrapping around him as you soaked up every moment of his lips being pressed against yours.

The moment wasn’t long enough, cut short by the sound of the timer buzzing on the counter. You pulled away slightly, unable to stop the quiet laugh from escaping past your lips as Nestor rested his forehead against yours.

“Dammit,” you finally were able to make yourself speak, a tinge of humor in your voice.

Nestor chuckled as he reached over and turned the timer off, “Timing is everything, huh?”

You laughed, but the intensity of everything that had just happened didn’t slip from your mind. You looked over at him, “I love you.”

His eyes widened at hearing you say it like that for the first time. A small smile crossed his face, “I love you too,” he pressed a quick, soft kiss to your lips, “Don’t let the cookies burn.”

“Shit, right, right,” you laughed as you shook your head, trying to get all of your thoughts back in order.

You felt his eyes on you as you shuffled around the kitchen, thankful that everything was second nature for you at this point because there were a million thoughts running through your head and none of them had to do with the task at hand. You heard his light footsteps as he walked up behind you, and the wave of warmth that washed over you as he lightly draped his arms around your waist was unlike anything else you’d ever felt. He rested his chin down onto your shoulder, watching you get everything in order.

“Better take notes,” you said with a laugh, “Now you’re definitely going to have to help next time.”

He laughed, pressing a light kiss into your shoulder, “Oh, so this is what it took?”

You smile, nodding, “You’re leveling up now, Nestor. You think you’re ready?”

He smiled, “I guess we’ll find out.”

[adhd-disaster-willie]

home is wherever you are tonight

summary: Alex and Willie are suffocating beneath their respective parental figures, so, barely 20 and scrambling to just breathe, they leave LA. And they also slow dance.

notes: this was gonna just be a like 800 word fic of them dancing but I have no self control so I ended up with this monstrosity. (also, maybe listen to apple pie by lizzy mcalpine while reading)

word count: 2,600

---

“I been runnin' 'round

Try'na find a place where I can breathe

But me oh my

I found you

Under an april sky

And you feel like

City life, apple pie baked just right

Home is wherever you are tonight”

---

The early morning tastes like coffee and Willie’s breath mints, gentle laughter lingering on his lips. And Alex has never been a morning person, but with the first rays of sun in his eyes and boxes crammed into every empty space in his car, he thinks that maybe he should wake up early more often.

The road seems to stretch endlessly ahead of them, but Alex can’t tell if the tension in his chest is anxiety or anticipation. Willie squeezes his hand in reassurance as he starts the car and they take a deep breath in unison, realizing it’s maybe the first time they’ve ever been able to truly breathe.

They’re several miles down the highway, shoved in between cardboard boxes and the dry August heat; and Alex’s car is cramped and smells of fast food and summer and Willie Willie Willie. Alex adjusts his grip on the steering wheel, mumbling the words to whatever song is playing on the clunky, staticky radio. The whole world seems softer, with the sun dipping just below the horizon, the last dregs of light sticking to the clouds and painting them pink. Alex sighs contentedly, a grin tugging at the ends of his lips. Willie has their hand stuck out the open window, giggling into the rushing air like it’s telling him the whole world’s secrets. And with their other hand gripped in his own, no reason to let go ever, Alex thinks that the secrets of the universe are laid right out on the dashboard for him to hold.

“What’s so funny?” Alex asks, although it’s less of a question and more a reason to hear Willie’s voice.

“We’re running away together,” Willie replies breathlessly. He laughs again, throwing his head back and stretching his arm farther out the window like he’s trying to touch the clouds.

“Well I wouldn’t quite say we’re running- oh okay.” The last part is in response to Willie putting their index finger over Alex’s lips and looking at him like he’s crazy.

“Yes we totally are. Buzzkill.”

Alex huffs, but it doesn’t hold any weight and is laced with a smile. “I’m driving, idiot. Stop- okay move your hand please.”

“Make me.”

“Willie.” Alex’s fixes a stern gaze on him, just long enough to send them into a fit of giggles before he turns back to face the road. It’s several minutes of comfortable, soft silence before Alex sighs in resignation. “I guess you can say we’re running away.”

“Ha!” Willie pumps his fist, narrowly avoiding smashing the ceiling. And really, considering the age of Alex’s rickety car, smashing would probably be the right word.

Alex raises their intertwined hands briefly. “Here’s to running away.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Willie cheers. They crinkle their nose and kiss Alex’s knuckles, hugging their hands to his chest.

“That’s…” Alex shakes off the crimson tint to his cheeks. “You’re not drinking anything.”

“Not yet,” Willie replies, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

Willie falls asleep with the sun, something that’s baffled Alex for years. The sky is twinkling with stars and the horizon with city lights, and Willie’s curled up around a pillow, their cheek pressed against the window, breath fogging up the glass. Alex shifts slightly to turn down the music, maneuvering around cautiously to reach the knob without letting go of Willie’s hand. He can’t help from humming under his breath, it’s an older Queen song, one Alex remembers listening to with tangled headphones, huddled in the corner of the gym to avoid the atrocity of dodgeball.

“Love of my life…” Alex trails off, mouthing the lyrics. Beside him, Willie stirs slightly, mumbling something incoherent.

“Hmm?” Alex likes having conversations with a mostly asleep Willie, it’s incredibly entertaining.

“Love you more.” Eyes still closed, Willie pats Alex’s cheek and nods decidedly. “Mostest.”

“Is that so?”

“Love of my life!” Willie sings along loud and off-key, voice slurred with sleep. “M gonna love you forever.” They fall back, last bits of consciousness gone, and Alex blinks back surprised tears.

“And ever,” he finishes softly, squeezing Willie’s hand. Forever sounds nice.

The rest of the drive floats by like a spring breeze snaking through a field of long grass. Willie wakes up at some point, eats an ungodly amount of popcorn and screams the lyrics of American Idiot out the window at the bustling city, like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to hear the song. Alex can’t help but laugh loudly when a conservative looking old lady glares at them, utterly scandalized.

“I think you just ruined her night,” Alex quips with mock seriousness.

“As I should!” Willie flops back into the seat, adjusting their tangled seatbelt and looking at Alex with a lopsided grin.

Alex laughs for what’s maybe the millionth time today, and it hits him that this is the most he’s ever involuntarily smiled in a day. It’s half past 8 and he’s settled at the base of a tree with Willie perched on a branch just above his head, rambling on about color theory or something equally as confusing. The drive would’ve taken 4 hours without Willie pulling on Alex’s elbow and squealing for him to stop at everything mildly interesting, but Alex isn’t entirely complaining, even if his back is sore.

It’s odd, to be leaving LA, but Alex thinks that everyone knew he couldn’t stay there his whole life, not with the church on his drive to work and the streets full of too many people that know him too well. And maybe he didn’t like change, but it can’t be that much of a change if Willie is still there with him. Willie grounds him. So do Luke and Reggie and Julie and Flynn, but in a different way. His parents tied him to the floor, his friends root him, let him grow and have a place to come home to at the same time. And Willie? Willie is the ground. He is the soil and the curling grass to Alex’s timid tree. Willie is home, wherever they may be.

“2 miles,” Alex states, pulling gently on Willie’s ankle, letting them know that he wants to look at them. Willie hops down and Alex winces even when they land safe and sound on their feet.

“Why do you do that?” Alex questions huffily, crossing his arms over his chest.

Willie gives a half shrug. “ ‘S fun.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Hmm.” Willie drapes their arms around Alex’s neck, pulling him into into a gentle kiss. Kissing Willie feels like rain after months of drought, sun breaking through a canopy of trees, and Alex is sure that it always will, until they’re old and grey. Alex smiles against his lips, pulls apart and rests his forehead against Willie’s, biting his lip in a soft smile. “C’mon.” He clasps Willie’s hand and sticks it in the pocket of his hoodie, bumping their shoulders together. “Lets go home.”

“Home.” Willie breaks out in a grin that glows like the full moon on a clear night. “Yea.”

---

The apartment complex is wedged in between a suspicious looking butchery and a quaint little antique shop with butterflies painted on the dusty windows that Alex reminds himself to take Julie to at some point, when his friends all inevitably visit in the whirlwind that they are. The pale yellow wall paint is peeling and the stairs are much more wobbly than Alex is comfortable with, but he lets out a breathless, bubbly laugh at the sight of it. His parents aren’t there, nor is Caleb, or any of the things back in LA that were suffocating them both to the point that they booked it, half-broke and with only 2 months of warning.

Alex swings their hands, looking at a very bouncy Willie with his eyes blown wide from excitement. “Hey, we’re home.”

“We’re home!” Willie grabs Alex’s face roughly, fumbling to kiss him with their hands shaking and lips curled up in a giddy beam. They settle for holding him in a crushing hug, swaying them back and forth gleefully.

“You’re excited,” Alex chuckles, brushing at his crumpled hoodie when Willie breaks away.

Willie sticks his tongue out childishly. “So are you, admit it.”

Softening, Alex cups Willie’s cheek and exhales softly. “Of course I am.” He crinkles his nose affectionately as Willie leans up to peck his cheek. “Now-” Alex stacks as many boxes as he can fit in his arms. “Lets do this.”

---

It’s 2am and Alex is completely and utterly exhausted. Half the boxes are open, they unpacked most of it just looking for the air mattress. His record player is resting on the counter, there’s a pile of books in one corner and several trashbags of clothes in another. Willie is sitting crosslegged on the floor trying to work the portable air pump and scowling at the still deflated mattress like it stole his wallet.

“Y’know, you’d think they would provide some sort of instruction book,” Willie says poutingly. They fall back onto the wooden floor with an annoyed sigh.

Alex looks up from where his head is buried in his arms, sitting on the single bar stool they’d managed to fit in the car. “There was an instruction book, speed bump. You threw it out because you claimed that ‘everyone knows how to work an air pump!’”

“But I’m not everyone!” Willie whines. “You should’ve warned me.”

“I… okay.” Alex bows his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Lets blow up the mattress and call it a night, okay?” He lowers himself to the floor, hovering over Willie and tucking a strand of hair behind their ear. “Give me the pump, I’ll figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Willie hauls themself up, yawning loudly. They settle themselves in Alex’s lap, head tucked into his shoulder while Alex wraps his arms around them and fiddles with the mattress.

“M gonna fall sleep here,” Willie mumbles into Alex’s shoulder.

“Yea?”

“Mhm, g’night.” Willie burrows further into Alex, tucking his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Alex exhales, a fond smile tracing his face. He lifts one hand to card his fingers through Willie’s long hair, using the other to blow up the mattress. Willie groans in frustration at the loud noise and Alex has to fight a laugh.

“Alright get up, we have to- Willie.” Willie’s latched himself onto Alex like some sort of leech, pretending to be asleep despite the soft giggling escaping his lips.

“William,” Alex says, snickering. Willie doesn’t budge. “Pretty boy,” Alex tries. That always works.

Willie melts, lifting their head and flushing bright red. “Stop taking advantage of me,” He grumbles as he stands, pulling Alex up with him.

“Stop letting me,” Alex retorts with a teasing chuckle.

But instead of flopping unceremoniously onto the mattress like Alex expects, Willie pads tentatively to the wide window facing the flickering city and lets out a breath of awe. He hugs himself firmly, brushing his thumb over his bicep. Alex approaches them and snakes his arms around their torso, perching his chin on their shoulder and humming in question.

“I’m okay,” Willie answers the unspoken question, nudging Alex’s head lightly. “It’s just overwhelming but like…” he pauses, eyebrow furrowed in thought. “In a good way. It’s a lot, but it’s all good.”

Alex nods in understanding. “Yea, I agree.” He intertwines their fingers, rocking back and forth. “Lots of good.” He presses a kiss to the top of Willie’s head, lingering for a moment to relish in his presence.

“It’s beautiful,” Willie remarks, eyes raking over the bright city lights. It looks so distant and yet so familiar at the same time.

“You’ve seen the city a million times.”

“Ok, but this is a different city,” Willie responds. It’s true. It’s like the same puzzle with all the pieces arranged differently, except for one in the middle that the whole rest of the world revolves around.

Willie wriggles in Alex’s grip and spins around, tossing their arms over his shoulders and fidgeting with the hood of his sweatshirt. “Dance with me,” he says, voice soft and silvery, a whisper of cloud waltzing across the moon. Alex raises a doubtful eyebrow.

“You wanna dance… Willie, we’re exhausted.”

“No, no, no,” Willie shakes his head slowly, eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Just-” They settle one hand one Alex’s shoulder and the other on his hip. Humming a gentle, lilting tune, they begin swaying side to side, drumming his fingers to a beat only in his head. “Dance with me.” He presses an idle kiss to Alex’s lips, chapped from the wind and laced with fresh apples . “Please.”

Alex hums in consideration, moving Willie’s hands to hold them in his own. “One second.” He ducks out of Willie’s arms, earning a squeak of protest.

Alex has had his record player for years now, Ray gave it to him as a Christmas present when he was 15 and he definitely cried. He’d gone through 3 boxes packing his records and Willie had looked… mildly concerned. But ha, who’s laughing now? The vinyl starts, popping occasionally in the way that makes Alex giggle with joy. Alex steps back proudly, floating back over to Willie and mimicking their previous position, one hand on their hip and the other on their shoulder. Willie smiles fondly at the song choice, Apple Pie by Lizzy Mcalpine, though he knows that nothing else would’ve fit.

“Remember the first time we listened to this song together?” Alex asks as Willie stumbles over his feet.

Willie nods. “Course I do, hotdog. You got sooo blushy.”

Alex shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, you kissed me so it worked out.”

“It did,” Willie whispers.

Alex spins them messily, laughing aloud when they slam into his chest without warning. "Very graceful," he remarks sarcastically.

Willie scrunches his face affectionately, pecking the tip of Alex's nose, singing gently as he draws back. "Home is wherever you are tonight."

It’s a tender moment, until Willie steps on Alex’s foot and snickers an apology. “Oops-”

“Ow, Willie. You don’t know how to slow dance do you?” Alex teases.

“Ok-”

Alex sighs warmly, god sometimes all the feelings were just so big and overwhelming. “Just, c'mere-” He draws Willie closer to him, embracing them like he’s the only thing in the world. And maybe, for the moment, he is. Willie tucks his head into Alex’s shoulder, breathing in his scent, lavender and dust; and Alex follows suit. His eyes flutter shut and he hums contentedly, heart giving a leap at the sheer domesticity of dancing in the empty living room in their pajamas, Willie tracing slow, sleepy circles on his back.

They’re hardly dancing anymore, really, wrapped up in each other like the sea and the shore at high tide, swaying to their synced heartbeats. The unfamiliar walls and creaky floorboards, cold beneath their socked feet, suddenly begin to look like home beneath all the strangeness and Alex can’t help but grin.

Alex’s home is in the crook of Willie’s neck and the light curve of his spine; the scent of rainstorms and cotton holding him close like he’s prone to break. And perhaps one day he will break, fall apart in Willie’s arms. But with the scratchy record humming in the background, and Willie’s body melting into his own, he thinks that their arms would be the best place to fall apart in.

---

art i made :)))

[justapoet]

mary all those prompts are 👀👀👀 can i get 33 + tarlos please?

I'm so glad you like them, Jamie! Of course you can, and I truly hope you like it! ♥

33. "It hurts to breathe..."

Send me a prompt! | Prompt list

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tell me your secrets (and ask me your questions)

TK had always been a curious person.

Since he was a child, he would ask questions about every single thing he saw around him. From why a window is called "window" to where we go after we're no longer beating, and it never changed throughout the years. His curiosity only grew as the answers didn't exist, and TK would always find himself making questions he would chase after answers that didn't exist.

TK would wonder why the stars shine, or why the sky is blue ― and who named it "sky" anyway? How are the same thing called in different languages, and none of them is wrong? Why does the fire burn, and how do we feel the heat? Who chose the name of the sea, and who was the first person to ever decide that fishes were edible?

His parents would say that, as a baby, he would touch everything he could and be mesmerized by anything new that would come to his sight. They would say they knew he'd be trouble once he started walking, for his hands wouldn't fear touching a single thing, and TK would only laugh at how right they were about that.

As a kid, he would ask too much until his mother ran out of patience, and Enzo had to come to the rescue, taking him to the nearest bookstore or library so he could have a source of both questions and answers. As a pre-teenager, he would ask his teachers, and some of them would be thrilled to be challenged with their knowledge, while others would just say they weren't an encyclopedia.

As a teenager, his doubts and curiosity would lead him to periodic obsessions that would keep him awake at night, or it was just something he used as an excuse to stay awake. Anyhow, it was an escape from his twisted mind and fucked up head ― so, for what's worth, his curiosity had kept him alive when the bare facts didn't want to do so.

When he became an adult, his curiosity was never left behind. His questions changed, though, and he essentially wanted to know how it felt not to feel as down as he did and how it would be if someone ever loved him the way he had always read about in books and fiction. TK would wonder why the world wasn't as bright as he used to see it and how he could just disappear, even if for a little while.

Wondering why it was something TK was better in than anyone he knew.

He never wondered why it was like that, though.

With his curiosity, TK also learned he had to be patient and observe the world around him, which led him to know people from a different angle. He would notice their movements, word choices, and how their eyes moved in each situation ― he would read into people as he would read into books, and it was pretty nice to know how to do that.

He wished he had done that better, though, when it came to Alex. But he read into himself around that time, and he knew that he was desperate for any type of love and affection ― TK wanted the love his younger self always questioned if his older self would get and didn't think twice before jumping into the change he'd have that.

It was entirely his fault; TK knew it.

And he was determined not to make the same misjudgment twice in his life ― because he feared he wouldn't have a life to get right if it happened again.

When he got to Austin, TK was still mad at the world and at himself for being so stupid and losing everything he had achieved through the years. His anger took the best of him for most times, and so did his sadness ― but it opened his eyes for a few new lenses, and he found out it was pretty cool to have more than one set of eyes to read people and situations.

Judd, under his red vision and bitter analysis, was just someone too mad at life to realize other people had feelings, too. He was hostile, had anger problems, and was a pain in the ass ― not that it was entirely wrong ―, and TK would never ever be friends with someone like that.

Under his blue vision and heartbroken analysis, though, Judd was just someone who needed some space and time to find the way back from the place he had gotten lost. He was sad, and melancholic, and seriously in need of help.

And, under the vision that didn't require lenses, Judd was a big-hearted man with a few pieces falling from his soul. He was kind, had horrible jokes, and was profoundly in love with the woman he had gotten married to ― and it was the kind of person TK desperately needed as a brother in his life.

Marjan was a badass firefighter with strong opinions and more feelings she'd let slip out of her sleeve, not to mention how sweet she could be towards those who'd allow a mask to fall without any judgment. She was strong, fearless, and should be a bit less acid to those who were only trying to help ― but she was a best friend TK had missed in his life.

Paul was a riddle, and TK suspected that was what he wanted people to think about him. He was observant ― a little too much ―, alarmed and always had good advice on the tip of his tongue, even if he'd rarely follow someone's help that didn't come from Grace or Carlos. Paul was attentive, patient, and wise ― and TK was a little scared of it but wouldn't trade a best friend like that for the world.

Mateo and Nancy seemed to get along well, for both of them had unending jokes for every situation and never won from Marjan on any of their video games. TK had no clue about how it happened, but suddenly Mateo just revealed he was a Broadway fan, and Nancy let it slip that she had watched every single Marvel movie and series so far ― and it was the end of the peace around the firehouse.

TK wouldn't trade them for anybody else, to be honest. But he would, for sure, lock Nancy in the ambulance in revenge for eating his piece of the pie Grace had baked.

And then, there was Carlos.

In the first moment, TK didn't want to read into him enough to regret his choice of not wanting something serious. It was notorious, almost like a fact known to all humanity, that Carlos had kindness hanging out from each one of his words and movements. His words were nothing but sweet, and every single one of his actions seemed to be careful and calculated.

It was surprising, really, when Carlos had invited him to dance on that first night after a shift at the Honky Tonk. He didn't touch TK at any moment, only doing it when he approached first ― and Carlos seemed to always give him a second to think and rethink if he really wanted to go all the way.

Even if it was the bare minimum of respect, it was rare to find it around.

From the beginning, TK also noticed how patient Carlos could be and how he would never pressure anyone into doing anything. He was dedicated to his friends ― since they've met, TK lost count of how many times he would stop by the firehouse to give Michelle something she mentioned he wanted to eat or offer her a ride ―, and to his job, being a damn good cop.

He was good with kids, and any call with one would get him a bit sad afterward. Even so, TK had seen him countless times sitting with them in the ambulance, telling them a story or a joke to distract them from the needles and exams. It was heartwarming for whoever would see it.

From the beginning, too, Carlos would be a mystery TK didn't really know how to begin to solve. Unlike everything TK could've predicted or expected, Carlos didn't seem to want him just for his body or pretty face ― he seemed to want to get to know him, and that was something TK really couldn't wrap his mind around.

Not only that, but he was a mystery, too, to everyone in the firehouse. Judd had known him already from a distance, his friendship with Michelle bringing him around for years, but nothing more than cordialities and the usual kindness that evaporated from the man. Grace had known him from calls, as well, and only knew that he was a good cop, a good man, and really cared about those he was trying to help.

Other than that, no one knew much. Paul could tell Carlos was someone who really respected his privacy and didn't talk much when he didn't seem comfortable or didn't have to, being quiet even when going out. He didn't drink much and was absolutely punctual, and Paul somehow knew that Carlos loved giving small gifts to people.

Marjan said that he would always listen and give full attention to what anyone was saying, and Mateo couldn't get over the fact Carlos had a Mjölnir autographed by Chris Hemsworth ― and he would never tell how he got that.

Being curious about Carlos, then, was inevitable.

Getting to read and decipher him, though, was a choice. And a choice that TK would never regret taking.

He wasn't fluent just yet, but TK would spend as much time as necessary to learn every single word Carlos had to say, imply, or erase. It was a book, a whole universe, that TK was willing to find out more about.

Turns out Carlos never touches anybody without their complete consent, but he loves to be hugged and held whenever he can. He never complains, and on hard days, he almost purrs to any skin-to-skin contact.

TK loved to know that because he loves contact just as much.

TK also found out that Carlos is quiet most of the time, not only in public, and only gets to speak a lot when he's incredibly excited over something new. He found out through some night hours when, after TK had arrived back from his shift, he had started to talk excitedly about Einstein's Theory of Relativity and everything that involves the whole thing.

He was sure he fell in love again as each minute passed.

Carlos was punctual, but finding out he got ready for every appointment about an hour earlier was surreal for TK. And Carlos loved giving gifts to people just to make their day better ― TK had cried when, after a shift from hell, Carlos offered him a single dandelion, telling him to close his eyes and make a wish.

TK had kissed him deeply before blowing the dandelion.

And out of all the details TK could've learned about Carlos, one that would always be in red letters on the back of his mind is that Carlos could be quiet not only for his comfort but for the comfort of others. And, although it had been transparent with all of the mess and pain in Carlos' eyes when they talked after the meeting on the Farmer's Market, TK had noticed it on small moments through the days.

Carlos wouldn't speak up about his feelings or open up to anybody. He would be in pain, miserable, and silent, not wanting to bother or worry anyone around him.

He had gotten so used to it through the years that TK wasn't surprised when Carlos seemed shocked that he had noticed something was up.

The thing is that TK paid attention. To Carlos more than anyone, indeed, he had learned a few details that he knew Carlos himself didn't know, like how the cop would talk to himself when he thought no one was looking. Or how his lips would tramble a little every time he was going out, or how he would bite his tongue when the concentration was taking over his worries.

There was also that permanent wrinkle on the top of his nose that would deepen whenever he was confused and even more when he was worried. His eyebrows would follow the movement when he was emotional, and he would press his lips together when he got speechless ― and TK loved to kiss it away and watch as his face melted under his touch.

TK was lucky enough to say that he knew Carlos behind all the quietness and politeness ― he knew the lows, the fears, and the clever jokes.

That's why he knew something was wrong when they were driving back home from Judd and Grace's house on a Saturday afternoon, the sun already setting on the horizon.

Carlos hadn't drunk, not a sip, and seemed to be enjoying the company, the talk even if he was quieter than usual, and the kids ― the Vega twins really had fallen in love with him after the sandstorm. Yet, the man had given TK the car keys as they were leaving the house and didn't say much before walking around the car and taking the passager's seat.

Carlos loved to drive, and TK usually only took the wheel when his boyfriend chose to drink on their night out. He didn't do questions, though, and got in the car, taking Carlos' hand in his and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

The cop smiled at him, almost thankfully, and then looked out his window.

It was a thirty-minute drive, which had never been a problem for the both of them for some reason, loved to take car rides whenever they could. Ten minutes in the vehicle, though, TK noticed that Carlos was moving quite too much, his hands gripping his pants and his leg bouncing against the floor. His brown eyes wouldn't focus, either, and he would swallow dryly more times in a minute than anyone should.

He wanted to ask if everything was okay, but Carlos beat him to it.

"Stop the car," he asked, his voice seeming to be stuck on his throat. TK frowned worriedly at him but did as he was asked, turning the wheel and parking the car on the curb and watching his boyfriend as his mind seemed to race, and he didn't know what to do.

TK didn't have to wait a second until Carlos was opening the door and walking away from the car, crossing the flower field they'd stopped beside and not looking back at TK, looking too scared to do that. His legs seemed to work automatically, and TK quickly snapped out of his worried state to realize what the hell was going on when Carlos walked towards the empty gazebo further on the field.

Carlos kept walking, his palms feeling sweaty and his feet seeming to work mechanically. He didn't stare at anything around him, his eyes were unfocused, his mouth seemed to have dried up, and he couldn't even hear anything but the thin, high-pitched whistle inside his ears.

The cop found himself walking towards a little empty gazebo, groping the air unconsciously to find the small gate and then opening it and not even bothering to close it before he placed himself against the wall, leaning almost vainly on it. He took a few deep breaths, the warm spring air entering his lungs and seeming to hurt, but he didn't really care.

Carlos closed his eyes, feeling the world and his head spin a few times. His brain could only say "too many people, too many people, too long," but Carlos couldn't utter a single word or move.

Not even when he noticed a movement next to him and could assume that someone was stooping down. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't be sure at that moment. He didn't want to think about it or anything else in the world.

It was when the person sat down next to him, also leaning their head against the wall, that he could connect the dots to the smell of perfume his boyfriend always wore. The other man didn't say anything, just bent his knees and put one of his arms over his legs, and looked straight ahead.

TK knew him well enough to figure that he hated to be seen in such a vulnerable situation.

"I..." Carlos muttered, swallowing hard and looking breathless. "A lot of people, I..." he interrupted himself, feeling the tears that hadn't been falling fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

His lips trembled, and he felt frustrated then. Carlos threw his head back, knowing that it would hit the wall. It was then that TK finally faced him and placed one of his hands on his boyfriend's hand that was still on the floor while the other seemed to pull at his hair.

"It hurts to breathe..." Carlos said, then sobbing. TK's grip on his hand got more solid, and Carlos wouldn't stop crying even if he wanted to ― he felt pathetic, overwhelmed, and he hated to be facing that fact about him in front of someone else.

TK inhaled deeply before saying anything.

"You're on a gazebo," the man began, his voice sweet. "There's nothing here but the two of us and a plant I don't know the name of, but you should," he said, and Carlos could hear a small smile in his voice. His hand let go of his hair, and he began to breathe slowly. "There are only the two of us here. And the stars."

Carlos took a deep breath. Once, twice, three times― just him and TK. Just him and TK. It was all right. Everything was fine.

He held his boyfriend's hand weakly, and TK made sure to squeeze it a little. He was there, just him, and everything was fine. He could breathe, there was air, and there was nobody else but him and the man he loved right beside him.

TK didn't say a word, his thumb caressing the back of Carlos' hand and his eyes analyzing each one of his breaths as he breathed just as slowly. His heart was pounding on his chest, and he had a few questions, but it was alright ― everything was fine, and they had time to talk about it.

The minutes went on like this, quietly, until Carlos, a little calmer but still with a knot in his throat, opened his eyes, swallowing hard and analyzing his surroundings warily. His brown eyes seemed alarmed, rimmed, and his breathing was still shaken.

"Allamanda," he said, then, his voice weak and hoarse. His breathing was smooth now, and TK smiled as he noticed it, even though he hadn't understood what Carlos had said until he gestured toward the flowers with his head.

TK chuckled quietly, amused that his boyfriend actually knew what the flowers were, and leaned his head against the wall again. They stood there for some time ― Carlos couldn't tell how long ― until his breathing returned to normal, and his ears were whistled low enough that he could hear around him.

"Sorry," he said, and TK turned his head, still leaning against the wall. "For this. I had no reason and― and I just..."

"Carlos," the paramedic called in a low voice, interrupting him before he could blame himself or try to explain what he wasn't ready to. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize or justify anything. It happened, that's fine," TK said, confident. Carlos swallowed hard. "It's okay, babe. I promise."

Carlos nodded but didn't seem too confident in agreeing with TK's words. TK looked at some spot in front of him again, and Carlos let his head fall until he was staring at his lap, his hand over his stretched legs and his mind racing with wild thoughts. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and threw his head back, leaning on the wall.

"I've never told anybody," Carlos said, then, all of a sudden. TK turned his head in his boyfriend's direction, bending it a bit with the piece of given information. "About this. The disorder or the crisis," he explained, and TK frowned with worry. "Not even Michelle."

TK waited, not wanting Carlos to shut down with any questions. After a minute or two, he spoke up again.

"I feel pathetic," Carlos said, a humorless chuckle leaving his closed lips. "I know I shouldn't because it's perfectly normal and everything, but..." Carlos swallowed dryly, his lips twisting in some shade of sadness. "I'm an adult. I should've left this in my teenage years, shouldn't I?"

TK didn't answer but thanked God it was a rhetorical question. He didn't quite know what to say.

He couldn't help but ask, though.

"How long you've been hiding these crises?" he asked, and Carlos chuckled humorlessly again. It caused TK's stomach to wrap.

"Since they began," he replied, and TK closed his eyes as if it was a painful truth to face. He squeezed Carlos' hand, and the other man just shrugged. "I was going to tell my father, even before I came out to them, but I heard a conversation over some documentary about mental disorders," Carlos said, and TK didn't like his tone. "I should really stop listening to what he and mom talk about. It would save me mental health," he joked, and TK bit his tongue.

Carlos wanted to cry, but he didn't think he could.

"I don't think they realized, you know? I mean, everyone makes jokes about it," Carlos said, then. "They didn't mean harm, I think. But they were laughing," he told TK, turning his head and not really looking around. "It was― eating me alive, and..." he chuckled again. "They were laughing."

TK squeezed his hand.

"So you figured that would be their reaction," TK supposed.

"Theirs and anybody's," Carlos said. "The only ones who take mental health seriously are the ones to whom it's lacking."

And TK didn't have an answer for that because there wasn't one. He could see what Carlos meant when he said that his parents meant no harm ― mental disorders were only a thing if you knew well enough to understand that sick people didn't want attention or were being dramatic; they just wanted peace.

And it was only genuine when someone that mattered hurt themselves over it, and TK knew that. He had experienced it himself, his mother being usually too skeptical to believe that someone wouldn't have control over their feelings.

Until TK had lost control over himself and his heart had lost the strength to beat for the first time.

Carlos had skepticism surrounding him when it came to taboos such as mental disorders ― and having one wasn't quite the solution to deal with it. His family didn't think it was something more than some drama or lack of control over emotions, and even the best-intended comments could hurt when they were only meant to be seen as a joke.

And TK couldn't see how it must have been to Carlos to feel like it for over a decade ― like a joke. Like who he was and the problems he had were too much, inconvenient, uncomfortable for someone he loved to deal with.

From cover to cover, Carlos had felt like a burden to his family. And although it wasn't their intention to make it like it, the fact they didn't seem to be open enough for Carlos to come to them still twisted something inside TK's soul.

"Hey?" Carlos called beside him, and TK lifted his eyes to find his boyfriend's sad face and closed eyes. "Does anybody else need to know about it?"

TK caressed his thumb over Carlos' skin.

"Not if you don't want them to," he replied. Carlos sighed.

"But?" he asked, and TK's heart swollen with how much he knew how to read him.

"It would be nice if you talked to Mitchell," TK said. "So she can have your back at work, you know?" Carlos sighed. "I know you've dealt with it all your life, babe, but someone has to have your back. Especially in our field," TK explained, and Carlos knew he was right. It didn't make things easier. "You know no one would laugh, don't you? And no one would ignore it, either," the paramedic continued, and Carlos weighted his head forward again.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Carlos said, then. "I've been prepared for the laughing and the ignoring my whole life; what do I do when it doesn't come?" he asked, and TK felt his heart clench inside his chest. "Besides, letting people know just..."

"Makes you feel a weird thing you can't really name?" TK guessed. "Something between guilt, regret, and stupidity and not the relief they've promised you?"

Carlos chucked again, and TK followed him. The cop nodded, and his lips trembled a bit.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Something like that."

A beat of silence, and then TK asked.

"Do you regret that I know it?" he said, and Carlos only closed his eyes again. There was no judgment or expectation in his boyfriend's voice, which is much more comfortable to answer.

"Honestly?" TK nodded. Carlos sighed. "Yes," he said, and TK pressed his lips together in a sad smile. "But I, uh...―" Carlos babbled. "I'm glad I can ask you for a hug now," he said, and TK widely smiled when he noticed the words. Carlos turned his head up to him, smiling expectantly, and the paramedic didn't lose a second before hugging him close to his chest.

Although Carlos was taller, TK knew he loved to be held close to someone and be involved in their arms as if he fit in them. Which, when it came to the two of them, the affirmative was nothing but correct ― Carlos fit in TK's arms seamlessly.

They stayed there for a while more, with Carlos breathing slowly against TK's neck and feeling his heartbeats and TK caressing his fingers through Carlos' curls and nape.

When they got back to the car, Carlos was almost sleeping on the passenger's seat with his head pressed to the window, and TK smiled at the cuteness of the scene and the peace on Carlos' face. He didn't say much, not to say anything, all the way back, sniffing a bit and taking some deep breaths.

TK could relate if being honest. Sharing such a personal thing, that something that should lift the weight out of your shoulders isn't as pretty as people make it seem. It's excruciating, tiring, and it feels like all the power you once had over your lack of control vanishes for a while.

It isn't exactly about being vulnerable, but about how much you can pretend something isn't real if no one else knows about it. And, when someone else does know, it feels a bunch more genuine than it was before ― even if the pain was already breathtaking.

As soon as TK parked in front of their house, he took Carlos' hand in his, squeezing it lightly to wake him from his superficial sleep. The cop opened his eyes a bit confused, breathing in deeply before looking out the window and then turning to his boyfriend, who smiled sweetly at him.

Wordlessly, the pair got out of the car and made their way to the front door, Carlos always a step behind him as they went up the stairs. TK couldn't point out if it was Carlos' habitual protectiveness towards those who he cared about or some kind of embarrassment over the things he wished he didn't mind about, but TK decided it wasn't something he shouldn't ask. Not then, at least.

They walked around their house silently, taking their shoes off before walking to the living room, where TK put his cellphone and wallet over the coffee table. Carlos seemed scared, hiding in the shadows around the corners, almost unsure of what he was doing there ― and, damn, it hurt TK to see that. Even if the paramedic knew it had nothing to do with him or the two of them, seeing the man he loved so out of place in their own house was a dagger to the heart.

TK wanted to suggest something, but Carlos seemed so stuck in his head that he wasn't sure he would be heard. So, he went to the bathroom downstairs silently, taking more time than necessary to wash his hands just so he could see if Carlos would move. When he went back to the living room, his boyfriend wasn't there anymore.

Knowing that he probably needed some space to deal with what happened and with the fact that TK knew about it all, the paramedic found a few things to do downstairs. Putting more water in a bottle to put in the fridge, wash the pair of plates and coffee mugs they've left there in the morning, answer a few texts on their group chat and some others from Grace asking if they've made a safe ride home.

He also checked all locks and windows before taking his phone and slowly climb up the stairs, turning off the lights as he went to their room. There, Carlos was still in the bathroom, and TK plugged his charger before taking off his shirt and pair of jeans.

As he laid down, he could hear the shower on and smiled a bit that Carlos had enough disposition to let himself relax around warm steam. TK sighed, sinking under the covers and closing his eyes for a second to let his thoughts settle around his head.

A second might have been longer, though, when he opened his eyes to the turned-off bedroom lights and the only light source being the semi-open bathroom door from where he could see Carlos' reflection moving a bit. His heavy eyelids wouldn't let him sit up or even move too much, but he used all the strength he had to stay awake and stare as his boyfriend left the bathroom and turned that light off, too.

His head was down as he walked to their bed, and he seemed to hesitate for a second before swallowing hard and turning his body a bit, his direction changing from his to TK's side of the bed. The paramedic waited, just to see how carefully Carlos took the blankets off his body and then moved to crawl up the bed.

The mattress deepened, and TK inhaled sharply ― which made Carlos realize he was awake but didn't stop him from doing whatever it was. TK tried to see something in the dark, but Carlos' warm hand over his naked waist caused every nerve to relax, and his eyelids fell heavy once again. He was a little more alert, though, his worried side speaking loudly.

Carlos put himself between TK's legs, his body half over his, and wrapped his arms around the paramedic's waist, sighing heavily and placing his head in the middle of TK's abdomen. Instinctively, TK's hand was in Carlos' curls, and the cop felt like he could cry just with that touch again.

"Am I hurting you?" Carlos whispered in the dark. "Do you want me to move?"

"Nah," TK grumbled. "You okay?" he asked, and Carlos just stood quiet. TK didn't pressure him into saying anything, perfectly comfortable with whatever Carlos wanted to talk about.

The cop closed his eyes for a second and then exhaled wearily against TK's stomach. He moved his legs to tangle it with TK's and the blankets, the coldness of one bringing relief to his racing nerves.

"Not quite," he said. "I'll be."

TK hugged him the best he could manage to in their position, caressing Carlos' bare skin in comfort.

"Don't rush yourself into it," TK murmured. Carlos closed his eyes, ignoring a bit of a headache on the side of his temple.

"Won't," Carlos said, and TK knew he was telling the truth.

Because Carlos was kind, sweet, loving, and the easiest person to love. He's the kind of person the paramedic tried to avoid because TK simply knew that he would fall in love with him ― it was Carlos, after all, and TK knew better than trying to fool himself with the premise he could only do casual.

TK searched for questions without answers, and Carlos had all the answers TK wanted to find the questions to. He was pretty sure he could discover why the sky is blue in the brown of Carlos' eyes. He could find out why the languages change just by kissing his lips. The reason fire would burn would be written over Carlos' skin, and the sea could be explained but never compared to how deeply Carlos felt things.

TK was curious, indeed, but he didn't mind waiting for the answers if it meant he would discover Carlos page by page, breath after breath.

Carlos, deep down, couldn't wait to be deciphered, too. And he knew things would be better and would be good if he tried to see himself through somebody else's lenses. It would take time, effort, and much more talking than he liked to think about ― but it would be alright.

Because they didn't have to wonder if they'd be alone while trying to be better.

Because they didn't have to wonder what it would be like to share some of the weight.

Because the answers weren't written, and they could always wonder what they were.

Because, for now, it didn't hurt to breathe.