#yes the buildings are wonderful but they also have a history that barely anyone cares about

[mojogojocasahouse]

Just in Time Part I

Satoru Gojo x f!reader (Principal Gakuganji's daughter)

On the eve of a wedding of your father's arrangement, you call upon your reliable yet agitating old flame Satoru Gojo in an act of desperation and defiance

words: 4.7k content: infidelity (in an arranged marriage so does that even count?), smut, unprotected p in v, oral m-receiving, face fucking, rough sex, minor choking, spit kink, creampie, jealous!Gojo, protective!Gojo (moreso in part ii), minor degradation 18+ only

[9:37 pm] Are you busy?

[9:38 pm] Aw. Kamo family party not as lively as you’d hoped?

[9:38 pm] Just answer the question, Gojo.

[9:38 pm] Gojo is busy. Satoru on the other hand can be persuaded. 

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, scanning the room again for anyone who might be taking an interest. Of course, no one seems to even remember you’re here at all.. 

[9:45 pm] Yes or no

[9:45 pm] What’s in it for me?

[9:45 pm] You’re joking

[9:46 pm] With all my options, why do I choose the Kamo bride tonight? Hmm? 

[9:50 pm] You’re a piece of shit. 

[9:51 pm] HARSH!! You’ve convinced me. Send me the address. 

[9:52 pm] Oh and tell daddy hi for me!

“Fuck you!” you hiss under your breath, sighing as you toss your phone back into the small bag you were carrying. 

Your history with Satoru Gojo has always been…tumultuous. It started in high school, as the daughter of the principal of the Kyoto branch, you sought him to get back at your father, Principal Gakuganji, and he’d been more than happy to oblige for the same exact reason. Exchange events had been less about competition and more about the time stolen in dorm rooms and behind buildings, far more than goodwill being spread. 

It had all come crashing down the day you turned 18. 

Not that there had been an air of commitment between either of you, but whatever physically beneficial relationship that had sprung up and the hopes that it would be more frequent after graduation were wiped away with one sentence. 

“You’re getting married,” your father had said, the Kamo boy from a year ahead of you smiling at his side. 

That was the day you’d realized you’d been nothing but a pawn from the day you’d been born. Despite being a Jujutsu sorcerer, you’d begged to go to university, prolonging the inevitable for as long as you could. Gojo had frequented your dorm room there, too, arriving at your door with his cock already stiff, you barely made it inside before you were on your knees, pulling him into your throat. 

Those years were as close as you got to happy. 

The Kamo clan had taken possession of you two years ago, and while meetings with Gojo became less frequent, they also grew more hostile. Satoru Gojo wasn’t known for his kind, warm nature, and his frustration in losing his favorite toy was on full display whenever you’d been able to get away from lackluster events and days of learning customs you couldn’t care less about; you were too weak to end it entirely with him. He made you feel too good, it was a reprieve from the life you faced day in and day out. But maybe it was just a different breed of nightmare. 

As things continued, you realized it wasn’t actually you that got his cock throbbing. It had always been the satisfaction of how much your father would hate Gojo being in your presence, never mind your bed. You felt the same, being with a man your father loathed above all else was just as thrilling to you. And now, on the evening of your arranged wedding, you’re standing outside a small sushi cafe in a misting rain waiting for a ride to the lavish Tokyo apartment Gojo uses for one thing only. You can’t help but wonder how many others have seen those barren walls. 

Typically, he sends a taxi service, letting you know the details of the car to look out for, but it’s been twenty minutes and you’ve received no information. 

[10:19 pm] You better not have fucking bailed on me. 

You hate how the thought makes your cheeks burn and your chest hollow in what you try to convince yourself is anger, but you know the truth. 

“Why would I bail on you!?” The sound of his voice yelling from his downed window has the muscles in your shoulders loosening. “You look ridiculous. What is that makeup?”

“Fuck you,” you spit at him, rounding the car to slide into the passenger seat, “Just go.”

“Well, aren’t you tense? What’s a‘matter? Already hating marital bliss?”

The disregard he displays about your impending doom digs under your skin. Your bladed gaze shoots over to him, you’d just noticed he was wearing his white bandages over his eyes still, the high collar of his uniform unzipped just enough to reveal the stretch of his throat you’d be decorating soon. 

“Were you working?” you ask, the hour a little strange for a teacher to still be on the clock. 

“Uh-huh,” he practically purrs, flicking through the songs quietly humming from the radio.

Well, that explains why he was the one that rolled up to get you. However, more dangerously you consider that he’d dropped what he was doing for you. 

“Seriously, what are you wearing?” he asks again with a chuckle.

“Shut the fuck—“ your retort was cut short by a long, slender thumb pressing down on your tongue, your lips locking around the digit and sucking instinctively. 

“I’m gonna tear it to shreds.” The whisper is almost menacing, and your core throbs at the husky tone and malicious intent. 

When you’d texted him, you knew tonight would be different. Tomorrow you’ll be signed away. Not that it will change your arrangement, at least you had no intention for it to, but it won’t be the same. It couldn’t be. You’ll be princess to the Kamo clan, officially, and while you find pockets to escape now, soon there will be hurdles even Satoru Gojo can’t leap over. 

“Did you have any trouble?” he asks as the car comes to a smooth halt at a red light, your lips pressing a kiss to the pad of his thumb before he can pull it away completely and check whatever alert had just pinged his phone. 

“No,” you answer, turning your attention out the window.

In fact, the lack of resistance had given you pause. When you’d told your father you wanted to head home, he hadn’t even asked why. You’d already prepped the excuse of a headache and buzzing nerves, but he’d waved you off and returned to his conversation with one of the many Jujutsu society higher-ups in attendance. You hadn’t even bothered to check in with the man you were set to marry in just over twelve hours. Instead, you took the easy way out and ran.

The apartment is pitch black when you arrive, Gojo forgetting to turn the lights on as he throws his things onto the kitchen counter and heads straight to his fridge, grabbing a glass bottle of soda and sending the metal top skipping across the floor. Your eyes can’t help but try and follow it, even in the dark, the thud of Gojo’s hands slamming against the door behind you echoing in each of your ears. He’s centimeters away, his sweet strawberry breath huffing out against your lips, and your lungs seize up, your chest shaking with traitorous little gasps. It’s been almost ten years of this, and still, he leaves you quivering.

“I know what you wanna do.” His voice is smoother than melted chocolate, sweet and rich.

“You don’t know shit.” Maintaining this ruse is futile when your voice is trembling, but you try anyway.

“Oh? I think I know you best of all.”

He’s right, and the fact that he knows that has your stomach knotting. As he flashes that cocky, toothy grin there’s no helping the relief that floods through your body. The night had been tense, you’d been nothing but a stranger in a strange land, sat down and expected to abide by customs and etiquette that made you sick. It was a hierarchy, and you were the very bottom rung of the ladder, only there to push the others around you up higher towards their goals.

“You called me, remember?” he croons, backing away enough to have your body following his on pure instinct, “So come and take what you want. I’m all yours.”

For one last night. The leather of his belt is smooth as you grip it with one hand, yanking him back into you. He has a significant height advantage, but when you seek his lips he’s already curled himself down, the kiss you find solace in waiting for you. It’s sugary and warm, the soft cloth of his eye-covering pressing against your forehead as his palms swallow your sides whole, he’s learned the intricacies of your preferences in ways no one else ever would. He knows to tease you until your fingers thread through his hair, a gentle tug the welcome invitation to swipe his tongue along your swelling lower lip, but he’s also well aware you won’t take that step, but it’s one he’s always happy to leap into.

Snowy, white strands fall over the back of your hand as the bandages around his eyes loosen and drape over your noses, your nails still raking through the buzzed hair of his undercut and you know if you dared open your eyes, the infinite blue that the sky itself envied would greet you. Both your fingers and his work to pull the troublesome fabric free, his succeeding before threading with yours and pinning your hand above your head, the fraying edges of the cloth dancing against your hair as his pace picks up. 

Every inch of your body burns, the tight material of your assigned outfit suffocating and the room growing seemingly smaller around the broad shoulders in front of you. All you can smell is him as you search for the zipper of his jacket with your free hand, pulling it open and making quick work of the buttons of his overpriced shirt. His skin is smooth and cool to the touch, the peaks and valleys of his defined torso solid beneath your brushing fingertips. It takes all your concentration to keep up with him, he’s almost frantic, pushing you further and further into the wood behind you as his chest heaves until suddenly he pulls away. 

You’re left cold and buzzing in anticipation, his predatory gaze burning through you from where he stands just out of reach. 

“I want that off,” he mutters, low and menacing, his teeth gnashed together, and you know he isn’t talking about your clothes.

He’s faster than you are, his pointer finger and thumb gripping the gold ring on your left hand and tugging, the ping of the metal skittering across the floor after his haphazard toss in sync with the speed at which he claims your mouth once again. You knew he could feel it catching in his hair and grazing over his chest. Typically, you remembered to take it off prior to even stepping foot in his building, but today the surprise of Gojo himself pulling up to get you had sent everything out of whack. 

“Satoru,” you sigh, his appreciative groan from hearing his given name falling from your lips hitting where he was currently mouthing at your throat, “Satoru…”

You sound pathetic and you can't care less, he’s eating your blatant need for him out of the palm of your hand. He always does, and you wonder if he’s like this with everyone else who gets to see these walls. 

When your hand shoots to his belt, undoing the buckle and finding the button and zipper that’s keeping him contained you can feel the stretch of his smile against your neck.

“I win,” he croons, tugging his arms free of his sleeves as you push his pants and boxers down to his ankles. 

“I volunteer,” you correct as you sink to your knees, his finger keeping your chin in place and eyes on him as you drop down. 

Satoru usually won this little tradition, his hand diving between your legs first and claiming himself the “loser” as he spread your thighs wide and worked you on his tongue until he’d had his fill. Tonight, however, belonged to you, his cock thick and long as you ran your tongue along the underside, greedily collecting the small pearls that had already begun to leak from the tip. 

“Lookit me,” he slurs, mouth already hanging open as you keep his flushed head sitting on your tongue, “Good girl.”

His thumb rubs reverent circles on your jaw as he spits along his ridge, your mouth immediately locking around him and sucking him clean. With each bob of your head you take him a little deeper, your lips loudly suctioning around him as his head falls back in bliss and his shoulders drop from their tensed state. He sighs in relief, his thighs flexing beneath your hands when your throat constricts around the intrusion, your hair quickly knotting in his grip as he takes two steps forward, pinning you against the door. 

“Come on, princess,” he urges, pinching your chin, “don’t be a tease. Gag it down. All of it.”

It’s times like these when you remember the man towering above you is just a few criteria short of being a monster. Spoiled rotten and all-powerful—there is nothing the world could offer that was out of his reach. His confidence is otherworldly and earned, there is no task he isn’t proficient in, and in turn, you’ve always worked hard to stand toe-to-toe with him in all things. Even this. 

A wicked grin stretches across his face as he watches your expression morph into one of ire and determination, he knows how to push every button and pluck every string and he’s well aware of it. With your head firmly in his grasp, his hips start to move, his cock sliding over your tongue like silk as you try to force back the urge to wretch it out. Your eyes burn, tears sliding down your cheeks and mingling with the drool coating the lower half of your face, and he doesn’t relent, nor do you ask him to. 

“There we go,” he praises, yet your nose still hasn’t touched the thin patch of white curls that’s still an inch away, “Fixed that hideous makeup.”

He can tell that you need air, and he pulls himself free while still keeping you pinned by the hair, a string of spit connecting your gasping, swollen lips to the shining tip of his dick. He’s chuckling to himself at your haggard state, your lungs burning as they pull in the air that tastes like him. He bends, forcing himself to your eye level, his free hand thumbing at your gaping mouth.

“You’re such a whore,” he whispers, and it sounds like a compliment in his tooth-rotting, sweet tone, and he spits once again straight onto your tongue. 

“Prick…” you cough after swallowing down what he’d left, his high-pitched giggle echoing in the room as he stands back to his full height. 

“Well, you don’t come here cause I’m nice to you. Do you? Open up.”

Your response is a swift obeying of his command. 

“You like this kind of attention,” his tone is lower now.

Once again, you have to resign to the fact that he’s right. There’s no warning now, no preparation, just his cock slamming into your throat, and your eyes snap shut as you breathe through your nose. He reaches down to feel the bulging of his thrusts, being careful to not pinch off whatever airflow you may have just yet, his hum of approval shooting straight to your throbbing core. 

“And only I give it to you,” he finishes, your tongue laving out against his sack drawing out a whine, “Stay still.”

He knows exactly what you can take, moving his hips at a speed he knows won’t be too much and stopping when your mewling turns frantic, kissing your lips as you suck in air before returning to fucking your throat hard enough the door rattles on its hinges. You want to reach between your legs to relieve the ache that’s becoming unbearable, but you know he’ll scold you, prolonging any relief indefinitely. 

“And what would daddy think of you now?” he snarls, pulling out and smacking the side of your face with his cock, “When are you gonna stop letting that old man run your life?”

The question comes out of nowhere, shocking you enough to give you pause. His nostrils are flared again, and his chest heaving; he looks furious. He takes full advantage, a firm grip around your upper arm pulling you to your feet before he does exactly as he’d threatened, tearing your outfit off in one effortless tug. The question of what you’ll be going home in flits across your mind, but it’s background noise, drowned out by the confusion at his sudden uncharacteristic question and the oceans swirling in his eyes staring down at you.

“I hate what you do to me.” Words you weren’t sure you were meant to hear push the air from your lungs as he tugs you towards the bedroom, your feet following until your back hits the soft down comforter stretched across his bed. 

You want to contemplate what he means by that, but he doesn’t give you time. He’s nudging your legs apart with his knees, his cock flushed practically purple in his grip as he finds you dripping wet and ready for him. There’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he fills you in one hard thrust, his arms immediately pulling you upright and flush to his chest, your thighs trembling from the burning stretch between your legs as he lifts you slightly and lets you sink down onto him.

“You know, out of everyone,” he purrs, all signs of his previous anger neatly tucked away, “your pussy is still my favorite.”

Whatever of his anger had quelled now coiled in your belly at his words, and you shove at his shoulders, his unsuspecting body toppling over with a clumsy “oof!” as your knees straddle his thin waist. 

“Ohoo, ha! That makes you mad doesn’t it?” he taunts as you do your best to pin his wrists above his head with two hands, “That you have to share.”

It’s a thought that shouldn’t irk you in the slightest, but it makes your eyes flash green with envy. He doesn’t even flinch as you hold him in place despite how easily he could overpower you in less than a second. Tufts of white hair fan out around his head like a halo for a man anything but angelic, his hands wriggling free just enough to entwine his fingers with yours. You go from feeling in control to once again at his mercy as he cradles your palms in his, the gentle press of his lips to the point of your chin waking the butterflies in your stomach. There’s no reason for him to be this reverent, this intimate, he was spitting in your mouth just minutes ago, but he continues his soft path, your head turning to allow him to trace your jaw and find the sensitive hollow behind your ear.

“Now you know how I feel,” he breathes, and you clench around him as a shiver shoots down your spine.

The sharp point of his nose grazes along your skin and you’re twitching on him now, but you’re too content like this to move. He’s so close, you feel hypnotized, almost serene as you breathe him in and just feel him. The worst part is that he gives in, letting you have this tease of a moment, a flickering and fleeting ruse of something that will be ripped away. You like holding his hand, as it turns out, his grip is strong and delicate all the same, his fingers practically at the bend of your wrist. You’re just breathing each other’s air now, noses bumping as your eyes flutter closed, and part of you just wants to collapse and fall asleep.

“Am I still a prick?” he asks with a devious lilt.

“Yeah,” you confirm, but for reasons that aren’t entirely his fault.

“Hmm. Want me to be nice to you?”

Life will be easier moving forward if you refuse his offer, but before your train of thought catches up with the autopilot currently in control, you’d already nodded. 

The pillow is soft under your head as he flips you onto your back, your bodies still connected while he situates himself comfortably between your legs. With the first slow roll of his hips, a kiss to your forehead sends your knees into his ribs, his smile stretching across your dewy skin before he repeats it all over again. It’s cruel, and immediately you loathe the woman who has seen this side of him before you have. 

“You need to relax,” he commands, flicking his tongue out against your pursed lips, “Before you drive me insane. How long d’you think I can make it with you clamped around me like this, huh?”

“Aren’t you the strongest?” you sass in reply, trying to distract yourself, and he laughs.

“Most of the time.”

He’s found the angle that drives you mad, every drive of his cock hitting that spot deep inside you that inches you towards ecstasy. Your vision goes white around the edges, his lips still close enough to kiss but neither of you can focus enough to close the distance. At some point, your fingers had wound into his hair and his in yours, the muffled whines and gasping breaths escaping into the room more obscene than the guttural cries of his name of times past. This was raw, honest, desperate. He’s muttering obscenities as he tugs hard enough to have your scalp twinging, the sudden pressure of a hand clasping your throat dragging you up to the surface.

“I need you to…” He’s wrecked, sweat dripping down his temples, his hair stuck to his face, “I need you to come. I can’t…”

A reassurance that he can cut the act and do what he needs to is cut short by a blinding, white-hot wave surging from your middle outwards. Your nails seek to permanently indent their half-moon shapes into the marbled perfection of his back while your face buries in his neck. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can feel the vibration of his voice against your cheek until your senses begin to regulate, and it’s then you realize it’s a pleading whine of your name he’s been chanting like a prayer. 

Panic sets in, he looks like he’s in agony, his face twisting and eyes clamped shut but when your hands cup his jaw it melts away. A lazy kiss allows you both to settle, lips tugging and pulling, tongues brushing softly, and you can feel him softening inside of you as his cum and yours soaks your inner thighs and drips onto the bed. You want to know what he’s thinking, but his face is unreadable now, it’s almost as if he’s half asleep, opting to rest down on your chest for just a moment, his ear directly over your still-hammering heart.

There’s no time to decipher exactly what had just transpired. It’s better that way. He lifts you with ease and carries you to the shower, his fingers scrubbing your hair before he drops to his knees in front of you–a silent plea to return the favor. You take it slow, scraping over his scalp and combing through his thick locks until his head falls to your stomach. You stay until the water runs cold, not a word is said, and there’s no use in translating the silence. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

“Guess I didn’t think that through,” he chuckles as he passes you a t-shirt from his drawer, watching intently as you pull it over your head before focusing on the way the hem hits the middle of your thighs, “Maybe you’ll have to climb in through a window like the old days.”

The memory makes you smile. 

He’s in nothing but sweatpants when he walks out with a wink, leaving you sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel in your hair. Once you leave this room he’ll call you a taxi, and then it’ll be tomorrow. So you sit there surrounded by everything that makes Satoru him. Empty soda bottles on the nightstand, mochi wrappers surrounding a half-empty trash can, his uniform for tomorrow folded and set neatly on a chair in the corner of the room beside the moonlit window, expensive watches he rarely wore, an array of sunglasses, and a single photo of him, Shoko, and Suguru Geto from their second year at Jujutsu High tucked back on the dresser like a relic he dares not move.

When you finally shake the lead from your feet and trudge into the kitchen, Satoru’s at the stove, music playing lightly from his phone on the counter, the symphony of the orchestral tune mixing with the sound of metal scraping on a pan. As you approach the table, he slides a plate across to you, your stomach rumbling at the sight.

“What’s this?” you squeak out, staring down at his offering.

“An omelet,” he states bluntly, flipping the one he’d started for himself.

It’s like an anvil has been dropped on your chest, the control on the tears that had been threatening to break free since he’d pressed worshipful kisses to your stomach in the shower waning. It’s insane that for a moment you consider he actually cares, the lack of common decency you’re shown in your daily life making every gesture grand, even something as simple as this.

“Do you…not like omelets anymore?” he asks, you hadn’t realized how long you’d been in a staring contest with your late-night snack.

“I do.” Your throat is closing in on itself and it’s becoming impossible to mask.

“Okay…”

Etiquette takes over, and you sit to take a bite of what he’s prepared for you, but the small piece you’ve cut off only makes it halfway to your trembling lips before it goes clattering down to the table. 

“What is–” he starts, but you cut him off.

“Why?” The question is much more harsh than you intend.

“Why what?”

“This.”

“Because your stomach has been gurgling since I picked you up. It’s annoying. And you said you wanted me to be nice to you.”

You can’t help the knowing laugh that snaps you both out of whatever daze you’d been trapped in. Your appetite ducks and runs once again and you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s all part of the act; he could be whatever it was you wanted, all you had to do was ask as long as the request wasn’t honesty. If he won’t call you a cab, you can get one yourself, and you find your discarded bag on the counter on the other side of him, but of course, he blocks your path.

“What is your problem?” The concerned furrow of his brow almost makes this all believable, like he can feel remorse.

Footsteps coming up the sidewalk catch not only your attention but his, and although he slips around you to separate you from whatever lies on the other side, his arm held out to keep you safely pressed behind him, your anger has already taken over.

“Have I overstayed my welcome?” you snap, shoving at the barrier of infinity he’s activated.

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“Is your next visitor here? It is a Friday, I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Tch. I was working before I dropped everything to come rescue you. Left poor Megumi to finish the job on his own.”

“As if you couldn’t have just done it yourself.” You mimic the way he unleashes that destructive purple technique, flicking against his invisible wall right behind his ear with your middle finger, “Just let me leave–”

“With no pants? Good luck.”

The color drains from your face when it isn’t a woman’s voice heard on the other side of the door, but a very familiar one. Three raps of a wooden cane echo through the palpable silence, your body going rigid in terror as the sound of your pulse turns deafening.

“What did you do…” you mutter under your breath, backing away from Satoru who’s playing the part of shocked exceptionally well, “What the fuck did you do?”

“What did I do?!” he responds in a hushed, frantic whisper.

“You called him.”

“Of all the stupid conclusions you’ve had in your life!”

“Gojo!” your father’s voice echoes through the room, “GOJO!”

PART II Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs=love

{{Masterlist}}

[yesyoutubeisruiningmylife]

there's just something about people romanticizing travelling to europe that rubs me the wrong way

[phoenixyfriend]

Sugar, Spice, and a Heart to Entice

AKA: Jango Fett speedruns a romance with someone who should be his enemy. (It's okay. We know he makes bad choices.)

Note: Ahsoka uses the pseudonym "Ashla" in this fic. Warnings: slavery, references to drug use, crude sex jokes, undressing of an unconscious person (for medical reasons)

----

The girl that they shove into the chains next to him is... worrying.

(Well, probably a girl--he'll adjust later if it turns out he's wrong.)

She's not that much younger than him, he thinks. It's hard to tell, with the way her skin is taut over muscle and bone, too little water and too little sleep, and probably not enough food for whatever labor she's been doing. He's also, admittedly, not great at gauging ages in the first place, and certainly not for Togruta. Still, he thinks it's safe to say that they're close in age, and that she's probably younger than him.

She's lucky, by some measure. The spice ship is terrible, but it's probably better than the fate tog girls are usually subject to in this industry. They're hazardous conditions, and violent ones, but Jango's yet to see a slave here stripped of their clothing for anything other than a whipping.

He thinks it's probably a matter of money. That kind of violation lowers the profit margins, he imagines. Spice is more lucrative than anything, and pain is a better motivator than... well.

So she's lucky, by that measure, and that measure alone.

They clap her in bindings before he even sees her, even though she's unconscious, and bring her sometime in the night cycle. Jango doesn't have a lot of pity left in him, but some goes out to her. He won't say she's too young for this, because nobody is ever old enough for slavery, nor do slavers have any compunctions about selling babes in arms, but Jango would wager she's already led a hard life.

She's fairly covered, but what little is visible shows enough old battle wounds that he can't imagine she's stayed off of battlefields. He knows how to read a Togruta's markings for stress history, too, and hers tell a story. Her facial marks are thin and delicate, and he'd say they're certainly more complex than the average; the striation on her lekku and montrals is thin and jagged, like marble. It's pretty enough, but it's also a sign of the fact that her life has likely been anything but easy. Some of it might be genetics, and he hopes it is, but with the scars he can see... he doubts it's much.

"Keep that one alive," the overseer orders, eyes on Jango and hand gesturing at the tog girl.

He leaves.

Jango isn't sure what they're hoping to get out of putting her with him. The room is built for four, yes, but they usually don't try to have anyone share with Jango. Maybe they ran out of room, or just assumed Jango was the most likely to know field medicine, or just figured there wouldn't be any trouble until she woke.

As he gets closer, his confusion grows. The tog's got burns all over, ugly ones that aren't going to heal cleanly without bacta. They're going to get infected, as likely as not. He hasn't got much besides water in here, but the overseer's left behind a box of what looks like bandages. If he's lucky, there's burn cream in there.

(He's not lucky.)

He works slowly, careful of every movement. He builds up a story in his head as he does, based on the wounds he finds and what he starts to notice of the clothing. He can't see all the details, not in what little light he has, but there's plenty to notice.

He hadn't realized, with how dim it is, but most of what she's got on as an outer layer is hardened leather, real leather, not synth. There are attachment points for armor at the shoulders and hips, and he thinks he sees signs of wear for vambraces and greaves. She's no Mando'verde, not with how he can see that the fabric at her torso and upper legs is intended to stay light and flexible and uncovered, but the crafting of the leather layers is familiar. He thinks she might have contacts among Mando armorers.

She might even wear beskar, if she's impressed the right person.

The wounds are recent, and unfamiliar, and he thinks she was probably fought into chains, rather than bought in them. She's a captive, not a purchase, or maybe... maybe they just found an unconscious woman, and decided that she was worth keeping.

He thinks she lost a fight, or won but with great injuries, and just... stumbled off and collapsed. He gets the feeling no one on board the ship could have fought this woman, except for himself. It's not based on much, not until he can see her move, but he's got good instincts for that sort of thing.

Jango keeps his assessment of her torso quick and clinical, not even bothering to mentally apologize for stripping her bare. This is medical, and he's not a doctor, not even a field medic, but he's professional nonetheless. Even though there's nothing in the box but bandages, not even the burn cream he'd hoped for, he'd still rather know if there's a broken rib to worry about. He doesn't want to wait for her to wake up and then find out she's got a punctured lung, even if he can't do anything about it. He finds bruising, but... he thinks that if anything is broken, it's hairline at most.

Lucky, he thinks again, in the unluckiest situations.

She doesn't wake that cycle. It's all he can do to get some water in her, dripped into her mouth in a trickle, but it's something.

----

When the Togruta girl wakes up, it's sudden. Jango is wiping down her lekku with a wet cloth in hopes of staving off a fever, kneeling next to the bunk. She opens her eyes, stiffens with a sharp breath, and then twists off the bed. Before he's fully processed this, her legs are up and around his neck, and then he's being wrenched to the side and onto the filthy ground, cheek grinding down into the grit. He feels a bony knee press into his spine, and the growl of a predator.

"Where am I?" the tog girl demands.

"Spice ship," he says, and oh but this place has ruined him for fights; he's having trouble breathing from whatever she's done to him, and she doesn't even have the use of her hands. "Deep space. You're in the slave cells. Don't mess with the collar, it'll explode if you try to remove it."

"Spice refinery?" she repeats, sounding completely baffled. He gives her a second to process, but she blindsides him. "Someone got me in their hands and they went for spice slavery?"

"As opposed to..." he really hopes she gets off soon.

She doesn't answer him immediately, and he can't get a look at her face. He gets his arms out to the sides, plants them to the floor, and shoves back. She doesn't fall off, but she does slide to the side to sit on the floor.

The expression she's got is best described as 'shell-shocked,' he thinks.

"You don't know me," she says, faint and confused. He shakes his head; he's pretty sure he'd have recognized her if he'd known her at all, given the time he's spent cleaning her wounds and trying to keep her alive. She laughs, breathless and a tad hysterical. "You don't--fuck. You don't know me. That's... great. Okay. Okay, I can work with that. Don't know how they missed it, but okay."

"Bounty on your head?" he guesses.

She smiles, thin and unpleasant. "Something like that."

"Thought as much. You're built like a fighter." He intends it as a compliment, but he doesn't think she takes it as one.

"I've never had a choice otherwise," she says, and when she next looks around, it's to find a place to sit. She pushes herself up to the thin mattress of the cot behind her, and Jango mirrors her on the cot across the room. It's not his bed, technically, but it's not like there's anyone to complain. She frowns at him; it's not a rude look, he thinks, but an attempt to put something unfamiliar in place. "What legion were you with?"

He blinks at her. He's been part of an army, but never one that big. "Legion?"

"Were you with special forces?" she tries again. "Or--wait, did you even get off Kamino before--"

"I'm not whoever you think I am," he tells her. "None of that means anything to me. I know what a legion is, but I've never had reason to be part of one."

"But you're..." she trails off, brow furrowed. "I guess just a similar face, then."

"To who?"

"The clones?" she hazards, as if that clears anything at all up. "I have no idea where we are; maybe the war holos never made it out far enough for you to know what they looked like..."

"Which war?" he asks, because he feels like he'd probably have heard of a war that used clones, especially one that had enough holos spread around for this woman to expect him to know what the clones in question look like.

"The... the clone war," she says hesitantly. "With the Separatists?"

None of that means anything to him.

It must show in his face, because her brow furrows, and her eyes go wide in a way he doesn't like. He can't tell if her skin's losing color or anything, but he's pretty sure the curl at the tip of one lek is a sign of anxiety. He's not sure how to help, but part of him already decided he liked this woman, just on the suspicion that she was friendly to Mandalorians.

(It's been a solid year and a half since Jango has had anything approaching a friend. He may be, subconsciously, a little desperate.)

"What's your name?" she asks, voice pitching in discomfort, and tight as a garotte.

"Jango Fett."

She closes her eyes, clenches her jaw, and... he can't see, can't know if she's trembling, but he thinks she is. She lets her head fall back against the wall, and breathes in sharply. It's a shaky breath, and he doesn't like that much, either.

"Fuck," she repeats. "No wonder--fuck."

He gives her a few seconds, but she doesn't elaborate. He asks another question instead. "Do I get to know your name?"

Her eyes crack open, and then she sits up straight and looks him over. Her lips purse, and she comes to some decision, though he's at a loss for what. "Call me Ashla. She/her, if you'd rather stick to Basic."

Fake name. Alright. She mentioned a bounty, so it's probably about that.

"Well met, Ashla."

She laughs, empty and painful. She swears in a mix of Huttese and Mando'a, and a few languages he doesn't even recognize. The Core accent on her Mando'a is strong, but he thinks whoever taught her might have been from Concord Dawn.

"How old are you, if you don't--"

"I'm twenty-one," she says. He was right; she's only two years younger than him. "At least... fuck, okay. What's the date?"

He tells her, and she screws up her brow and mouths something to herself. He's not entirely sure what.

"How long ago was..." she trails off.

"Was what?"

She presses a hand over her eyes. "I don't know what year it is."

Ah. Well, he can help with that much. He tells her that, too.

Ashla drops her hand. She visibly mulls it over, eyes on the underside of the bunk above her. He has no idea what she's thinking.

"Why aren't there other people in this room?"

"Weak ones couldn't sleep because I'm 'too intimidating,' and the rest kept trying to throw their weight around." He shrugs at the look she points his way. "I'm not dumb enough to start a fight with a bomb around my neck, but I'm not letting someone knock me around so they can earn a reputation."

She purses her lips, but lets it lie. "You let me take you down, then?"

"You had the advantage of surprise," he says, and doesn't bother to list every other advantage. She's better fed than he is, has spent less time in spice-suffused air, was unconscious and resting while he was awake to keep an eye on her fever. He's got the feeling she already knows.

When she speaks again, it's low and in fluent Mando'a, heavily accented though it may be.

"You'd get out of here eventually," she tells him, eyes half shut. "But you'll get out faster with my help, Mand'alor."

His stomach twists.

----

"They are either very stupid, or very cheap," Ashla mutters a day later, when he's supposedly helping her change some bandages. It gives him the excuse of leaning in close.

"Probably the former," he says.

She grins, and then stiffens and hisses out a low breath as he pours some of the stolen whiskey over one of the burns. It's not a real disinfectant, but it's the best they've got at the moment. Jango still isn't sure how she managed to get it from the overseers without them noticing, but he's quickly gotten the gist that she's a fair shot sneakier than he is.

"What did they do?" he asks, and she huffs out a laugh.

"I need you to promise you won't try to kill me," she says, and he stills.

She seems to be waiting on his response. Great. "That's not an auspicious start, Ashla."

"Eh, I've survived more than my fair share of people trying to kill me. No offense, bro, but I could take you," she says.

She's probably right in their current circumstances. "Let's hear it."

"I left the Jedi Order when I was seventeen."

The whiskey bottle slips from his fingers.

An invisible hand catches it, and it settles quietly on the floor of their cell. No guards will come running. It's a damning sight, for him.

A Jedi.

A Jedi who--who left.

Jedi committed Galidraan, but she left three years before that, but she was--was--

She has her back to him, trusting.

Or just arrogant.

She phrased it that way on purpose, phrased it so he'd know she left before he--before--

"I was framed by my friend for a terrorist attack," she says, and he can't find his voice to tell her to stop talking. "And sentenced to death by a non-Jedi military tribunal for it. By the time they figured out I wasn't guilty, I'd already been kicked out."

He forces his hands to his knees, grips at the bones that are too close to the skin, and orders himself to breathe.

Ashla turns on the spot, blinks at him. "I'm telling you this because it's how we're going to get out."

"Your people killed mine."

"I wasn't a Jedi when Galidraan happened," she says. There's more she wants to say, he's sure, but she keeps the words locked behind her teeth. That might be a good thing.

"And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

"Only for long enough to get out of here," she tells him. She shrugs, easy as anything. She's done this before, maybe. "Trust me, I have plenty of reasons to hate you, too, but I'm a little more concerned about getting this ship taken into custody, and having all the slaves freed."

"And you can just... make that happen."

"I told you, they're either stupid or skint," she says, with that same disarming grin. "I had lightsabers on me, and they kept them on the ship. They haven't drugged me since I woke up. They put me in normal cuffs, Jango."

He hates the way his name sounds on her tongue.

He hates the fact that he sees her plan already.

"You don't even need me," he points out, resisting the urge to try to kill her here and now. He doesn't have his armor. He doesn't have weapons. He's good, but she's got the Force and thighs that can crush a bantha skull.

"I'm not exactly... legit," she admits with a grimace. "Once you're back in Mandalorian space, you at least have an identity. People that will give you a place to stay. A chain code."

"And you don't."

She smiles, brittle. "Give me a week to scope out what I need and get us out of here, and maybe I'll explain."

A week. Fine.

And once they're out of here, and he has a blaster and a meal and a good night's sleep, he'll handle her.

----

He hates the fact that he likes her, still. People had already noticed, even just one day in. The first time someone notices he's giving Ashla the cold shoulder in the workroom, they joke at him about her not putting out. He's known her one day, and they think--

He stops the thought in its tracks.

Jango doesn't start fights here, but he is tempted.

"Oh, he wouldn't dare," Ashla simpers, sweet as spun sugar. "I bite."

She smiles, every pearly white tooth on display. The fangs near glint in the light. She eyes the speaker, squeezes the tool in her hand. Her tendons strain, but the metal bends with a creak.

The overseer shouts for them to get back to work.

Jango steps closer to her, lets his elbows brush against hers, and glares off anyone that tries to get too close.

"I don't need protection," she mutters to him from the corner of her mouth.

"I keep my word," he replies, hating himself for it.

He said he'd have her back. He may hate what she is, but... she left the Order. She's not a Jedi anymore. If he thinks it enough, he can believe it.

----

There's always a camaraderie in shared suffering. Jango is aware of this, and he feels his fondness for Ashla grow against his better judgment. They're both slaves on a spice ship, and he can't change that. It makes him tolerate her more than he sensibly should.

She acts like a Mando soldier, sometimes. She's not at all like Haat Mando'ade, but she knows some of the jokes that Mandalorians grow up with. She walks like a woman used to beskar'gam. She knows a drinking song or two.

(They don't waste the whiskey. It's for injuries, not intoxication.)

"I had brothers, once," she tells him, late at night. "A lot of them. They had a Mandalorian parent, sort of, but he'd never seen fit to really... let them have the culture. I lost them all, mostly to slave chips, and a few to just normal deaths, but... I learned what I could about Mandalore, after, for their sake. In their memory."

It's not a terrible reason, he thinks.

"Irony for you to end up in chains, then," he mumbles, and she barks out a sharp laugh.

"Tradition, more like," she says, and explains before he can ask for her to keep talking. "My... teacher was born a slave, and I... have a suspicion he ended up back in chains after we lost contact. His teacher was enslaved at least twice that I know of."

"Shitty tradition," he says, because there's nothing else he can think of.

"Could be worse," she tells him. This time, she doesn't elaborate.

----

He likes her more than he should.

----

He likes her so, so, so much more than he should.

----

She steals datachips when nobody's looking, using the Force instead of her fingers. She wraps dismissal around her like a cloak to access computer terminals without anyone but Jango noticing. She slips spice into the drinks held by guards and overseers.

She moves through the ship like smoke, in the dim lights of the false night.

Someone notices. Someone always notices, in Jango's experience, but they have no idea who's doing it. They lock down the cells for the sleep cycle, turn down the temperature, leave all the slaves shivering in their beds.

He pulls Ashla into his cot without hesitation, fits their bodies together to conserve heat, and ignores the rest. They're both soldiers; there's no shame in survival for those like them. The lekku at her back drapes over his neck like a scarf, and he almost wants to laugh.

He's pathetic. His men would be so damn disappointed in him, sharing bunk with a Jedi.

"You're thinking too loud," she mumbles, shifting somehow closer. The chill clings, creeping in through the thin clothes and thinner blanket, but he feels like it's bearable with Ashla here.

----

When they enact the plan, it's so much quieter than Jango would have run it. Ashla holds his hands in the early morning, before anyone is awake, and smiles. When she closes her eyes, sinking into a light meditation, the collar around her neck just... comes apart. Nuts and bolts and curves of metal float about her like a wretched parody of the mobile hanging above an infant's crib, and then land quietly on the nearest cot. When she opens her eyes, hazy and distant, she looks at his throat, and frees him with a thought.

It's a heady thing, freedom.

"Come along, Fett," she goads, almost crooning the words, backing out of the cell with his hands in hers. Nobody is awake yet, or at least they shouldn't be. Her words curl in the air like something cloyingly too-sweet, and he's sure it's her way of trying to piss him off. It's only working a little. "We've work to do."

Said work involves slipping past guards with a Jedi's timing, commanding them to sleep with a whisper and a poke to the forehead, and drugging the ones that she claims are resistant to Jedi tricks. The work is, as such, mostly hers to do. They hide the bodies, but the alarm goes off by the time they get to the weapons locker.

That's fine, because the weapons locker is where they were headed.

"Oh, hell yes," she hisses through a grit-tooth grin, and a matched pair of lightsabers float to her. Jango turns off the energy field by the time they reach her, and she hooks them onto her belt. Beskar plating follows, exactly the pieces that Jango had guessed from wear and tear. It's real beskar, too, not even an alloy, and Jango doesn't ask the questions on the tip of his tongue. She straps it on in practiced movements, without hesitation and almost without thought.

"See anything better than what you got off the guards?" she asks him. "Or did they all take the best blasters for themselves?"

"The latter," he says.

(His eyes trace over the armor she wears, and while she does wear it well... he's jealous.)

(He misses his armor.)

(Envy is unbecoming of anyone, but he thinks he can be afforded a little leeway.)

There are people in the hall by the time they exit, a dozen blasters at the ready.

The people in the hall are... not a problem.

Ashla had called it the Sword and Shield maneuver, when walking him through her experiences working in a Mando/Jetii team. He'd laughed, because the saber was the shield. She'd smiled at him, and he'd cursed himself for it.

If he'd had his armor, they'd have been able to move forward as a pair of unstoppable monsters. As it stands, they're... still doing that, really, just a tad slower.

"You're a Jedi!" one of them shouts. "You're supposed to be diplomats! You're not supposed to kill!"

Jango could laugh at that horrible, horrible lie.

"I am no Jedi," Ashla says, and the words cut through the air like something she's said a million times, and will say a million more.

Jango could do a lot with that line, tucked away in his memories for later.

There's a moment, though, where they're stuck at one end of a hallway, and the door to the bridge is just on the other side, and Ashla grins at him, a challenge in every inch of her body, and asks, "You wanna see something cool?"

He can't help it.

"You planning to show off, Jedi?" He can say the word without flinching, and it's... absurd. It's absurd. What in all the hells is she doing to him?

(He's been told that war makes for strange bedfellows, but he's long known that trauma does the same.)

He takes cover when she moves, and oh, does she move.

Ashla's a whirlwind, dangerous as anything and beautiful in her careful, precise violence. She knocks people out, more often than not, but there's more then one dead body left in her wake. It appeals to something in him. She flips and twists and throws people with the Force. She slices and kicks, and smacks people across the face with the blasters she lifts of their comrades. She headbutts at least two people, and then jumps to bounce off the ceiling and back down so she can land feet first on an enemy.

He hopes he'll get his common sense back when he's had time to put himself together, because the sight of those sabers doesn't make him flinch. After all he's been through, after all his nightmares, it really should. The sound alone should have him shivery and shooting.

Maybe there's just too much spice in the air.

A head drops to the floor in a different direction from the body it had previously been attached to. Jango's throat goes dry in response.

When Ashla stands at the end of the hall, a saber in each hand and the floor behind her littered in both bodies breathing and bodies bereft of life, she looks back at him over her shoulder. She deactivates her swords, and smirks. She's smug, and she makes smug look very, very good.

"So," she says. "Verdict?"

Fuck.

----

The bridge is easy enough to handle. They land the ship on a Republic planet, one with relevant authorities and at least some reputation for actually handling things with a degree of kindness and transparency. Ashla does the talking, letting Jango lurk behind her. She lies.

"Half-truths," she later tells him, in a low voice. The smile she wears is amused and self-assured, just a twist at the corner, and the slightest of pouts. He can't see it, when she leans in to murmur in his ear. "I certainly used to be a Jedi. They don't need to know this wasn't an officially-sanctioned infiltration."

Her breath hits lightly against his ear, and he wants--he wants--

"Have a comm code for any old friends?" Ashla asks, stepping away. Her face twists unpleasantly. Frustration, he's sure. "I've got credits, but no contacts."

He eyes the little pack she's got around her waist. "Stole that from the slavers?"

"We'll consider it payment for services rendered," she tells him, with an impish grin Jango wants to kiss off of her face, because apparently he's kriffing suicidal and wants to bed a Jedi. "I'll give you most of it, if you want. Call it the two years of backpay they owed you."

He snorts before he can stop himself. "Just one year, sorry."

"Oh, it's hazard pay," she insists, blinking innocently. "Dangerous conditions having been what they were, of course."

She presses a comm--probably also stolen--and a few credits into his hand, then loops her arm through his. She sets off at a lazy walk, ignoring the people who stare at them with distaste and disgust. "We'll find a hotel. We'll shower, with real water, and fancy soaps, and a little sonic just for the clothes. I'll run out and get you a basic outfit, and then we can go shopping, and once that's done, and you've had a chance to comm a companion, we can reunite you with your buddies, and you can go hunting for your armor, and I'll split and--"

"Stay."

She tilts her head at him, though she doesn't stop walking, and he feels his face burn. He hopes it's not visible. She hums lowly. He can't learn anything from it. "You hate Jedi, though, and I might not really be one anymore, but I'm still more Jedi than not."

"You wear beskar and speak Mando'a," he says. "You helped the Mand'alor. You're halfway to being one of mine already."

"One of yours, huh?" she mutters, eyes somewhere distant. He doesn't know what it is that she's seeing, but he's gotten used to it. "Alright, let's have this conversation again after you've had some sleep and clothes and a good meal, yeah?"

He can take that compromise.

----

"What do you mean, you're from the future?!"

[disturbedbydesign]

A Night At The Museum

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Length: 4K

Summary: Your job as a museum tour guide was growing tiresome until a mysterious stranger showed up to claim what was his.

Warnings: Dubcon (slight mind control), Violence (mild), Light Bondage, Explicit Sex (oral, vaginal). 18+ only, no minors.

_____________________________________________________________

Your last tour of the day was about to start and all you could think about was getting off work and meeting up with your sister for drinks. You had always dreamed of one day working at the British Museum, but having been a tour guide there for the past year—doing the same thing, so many times a day, every single day—you found yourself growing tired of it and anxious to move on. Much as you loved art history (you did go to school for it, after all), you had grown thoroughly bored with your job. You wanted some excitement in your life. You needed it.

When you first started, you had been one of the museum’s most enthusiastic guides, always trying to engage all the members of your groups and fielding even the strangest of questions with grace and ease. These days, you were just going through the motions, especially for tours this late in the day. Over the course of the year, you had become adept at instantly identifying the one or two people in any given group who actually cared about the subject matter, and you found it simpler to focus on them and ignore everyone else.

As you performed your perfunctory scan of the last group of the day, you saw the usual suspects: a group of unruly children with intentionally oblivious parents; a travel group of obnoxious middle-aged Americans; an older gentleman, alone, who looked like he could be a professor of some sort (he was the one to pay attention to); and a young couple, clearly on one of their first few dates, who would have eyes only for each other.

And then you saw him.

You were immediately taken aback, struck by the fact that, for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t get a read on someone. The man was tall—really tall—with long, black hair slicked back. His skin was almost inhumanly pale and smooth, like he was sculpted of the same marble as the statues surrounding you. Despite the summer heat, the mysterious man wore a black suit and tie, a white dress shirt, and a long black coat with a scarf. He carried an ornately crafted cane, which seemed more an accessory than a walking aid. Compared to the rest of your tour group, he seemed a man out of time.

And then you saw his eyes—his impossibly green eyes. You could see them from across the room, almost glowing and staring at you, unblinking. your breath caught in your throat and all of a sudden you felt very, very cold.

As the hour-long tour progressed, you went through your practiced speeches about each artifact, moving across the room in the pre-established order and fielding questions here and there. As anticipated, the older gentleman was very engaged in the tour and asked intelligent questions, which you happily answered. Also unsurprisingly, one of the loudest Americans (probably trying to impress his friends) kept asking questions that he thought would make him sound smart and cultured but which, in reality, had the opposite effect. After one particularly ridiculous question, you had to turn your head away, pretending to be thinking about the answer but really trying not to laugh. That’s when you got caught in the emerald stare of the mysterious man with the cane.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of you the entire tour—hadn’t so much as glanced at any of the art that he was ostensibly there to see—and up until then you had done your best to avoid meeting his gaze. Something about him absolutely terrified you, although you couldn’t pinpoint what exactly you were frightened of. He was standing completely still at the back of the group, but he was so tall that he towered over everyone and you could see his face as clear as if he were right in front of you.

His piercing eyes were locked onto you; they moved where you moved. His gaze was intense and menacing, but it was more than that: you could physically feel his eyes on you, penetrating you all over, making you feel naked. You wanted to look away but you felt like some strange power was holding your eyes onto to his. You stood dumbfounded and locked in a silent stare with the dark-haired stranger until the loud American spoke up, demanding an answer to his previous inquiry. You had never in your life been so happy to answer a stupid question.

You managed to make it through the rest of the tour without meeting eyes with the man with the cane, although there wasn’t one second that went by when you didn’t feel his presence in the room. You even went so far as to forgo asking if anyone had any final questions at the end that they wanted to stay after and discuss with you. You ducked out of the exhibit hall as fast as you could, feeling the man’s gaze boring into your backside as you exited the room, and headed for the staff room to gather your things. You didn’t notice until you got to the employee lounge that you had been holding your breath the whole time.

The museum was officially closed for the day, and as you left the staff area you couldn’t help but notice that the usual security guards posted around the building were nowhere to be found. In fact, there was no one around at all. The main lights were dimmed and the place was impossibly silent; the only sound you could hear was the echo of your own footsteps as you quickly made your way across the building to the exit. You were rounding a darkened corner when you felt an ice-cold hand reach around from behind and clamp over your mouth.

“Don’t be afraid,” hissed a smooth voice in the darkness. “You’re going to like what comes next.”

Before you could think to cry out, you were spun around and face to face with the dark-haired man. He wore the devil’s grin as he leaned down to you, his face barely an inch from your own. One hand still clamped firmly across your mouth, he brought his cane up with the other and traced a gentle line down from your temple to your chin. He let the tip rest under your jaw, pressing in on your throat just a little too hard. He put his lips to your ear and whispered, “Come with me, my pet.”

In one swift motion, he swung you up and over his shoulder and held you there with one arm, the other arm brandishing the cane, which clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, keeping time with his long strides. You were still dazed and breathless from the force of the cane’s tip on your throat and before you knew it, you found yourself in some dark recess of the museum basement, on the floor of a room you hadn’t even known existed. It was filled with strange artifacts the likes of which you had never seen in your extensive studies. There were no lights on but the room was bathed in an eerie shade of blue, which seemed to emanate from the relics themselves. You managed to mumble out a few words.

“Where am I?”

You saw the cane flip once in his hand as he strode toward you and then felt only searing pain as it came crashing across the side of your face.

“Did I say you could speak?” he asked.

You brought your hand to your cheek where he’d struck you, expecting to feel a bloodied gash, but when you took your hand away and looked there was nothing. The blow had left no physical mark, only an icy hot streak of pain. He reached down and traced the line of his blow with a long delicate finger, and suddenly the pain was gone and replaced with a pleasurable tingle.

“As you see, I can inflict both pain and pleasure,” he said, his voice like honey. “What happens next is entirely up to you.”

You should have been terrified, screaming, looking for some outlet or escape, but you found yourself completely paralyzed by his gaze. Going against every survival instinct screaming inside of you, you dared speak again.

“Please… please just tell me who you are and what you want.”

You closed your eyes and braced yourself for another blow but it did not come. You glanced up to see him looking at you inquisitively from the corner of the room, resting his long, lean frame on the tip of his cane.

“You are a bold one, I see. Deserving of my punishment, yes, but also worthy of the pleasure I can give you. I am going to ask you three questions and you are going to answer them honestly. If you lie, I will know, and you will suffer for it. Now tell me, do I frighten you?”

“Yes.”

“Do I excite you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to leave? And before you answer this last and most important question, know this: If you say yes, I will let you go. I will not harm you. I will not follow you. You will never see me again. But you will also never know who I am or what I am here for, the memory of this night will haunt your dreams forever, and no one will ever believe your story. Within a week, you will go mad wondering whether I was a dream or reality.”

In one seamless motion, he crossed the room and yanked you to your feet by your shoulders, holding you an inch from his face, which seemed to glow with its own light.

“Now answer the question. Do you want to leave?”

The final answer flew from your lips before you even knew what you were saying. “No,” you whispered, and he eased his harsh grip on your shoulders, a sly smile spreading across his lips.

You stared at him, motionless and feeling almost paralyzed as you waited for permission to speak.

“Well,” he began, “I suppose it’s only fair that I offer you the same courtesy you have allowed me, so you may ask me three questions and I will answer them honestly. Choose your words carefully, because you get only three.”

He released his grip on you and returned to the corner, watching you and waiting.

“Who… who are you?” you stammered.

“Ah, a good question and excellently phrased. Had you asked just my name, that is all you would have received. But who I am is much more complicated.”

He sauntered toward you and lifted his cane, pointing it in a sweeping circle around the room.

“You see these things here? I am not so different—I was just another stolen relic from another world, locked away until someone might have use of me. But I have broken free of my shackles, and I have come to claim what is mine. You as who I am? I am a God. I am your God.”

You should have thought him completely mad, but you believed him. For whatever reason, you believed him.

“What do you want?” you asked.

He shook his head and chuckled low. “That’s far too vague a question, my pet, for I want many things. I could tell you simply that I want a glass of water, and I would not be lying. But since you are such an exquisite creature and so well behaved, I will answer the question you meant to ask, which is what is my purpose here.”

Something was happening to you, something strange and terrifying and wonderful. You were mesmerized by the way he spoke and the way his long, cold fingers brushed your cheek when he had called you exquisite. You hung on his every word and could not take your eyes off of him.

“I am Loki of Asgard and I have come to reclaim what was stolen from me. This room holds all that I need to take my rightful place as your master and overlord—to claim humanity as my own and rule the people of Earth as your king.”

You searched your racing mind for the words needed to get the answer you so desperately wanted, but your brain would not cooperate.

“One last question, my pet. And don’t keep me waiting.”

Finally, the words come to you in the correct order. “Why have you chosen me?”

Loki smiled lasciviously down at you. “I could tell just by looking at you that you crave subjugation,” he said, his voice smooth and so deep you felt it everywhere. “You were made to be ruled, and you will be the first to kneel for me.”

In a flash he was on you, grabbing your hair hard and pulling you into a deep kiss. His lips felt ice cold but his breath was hot and moist as his tongue twined around yours. You raised your hands to run them through his hair when he abruptly pulled back and caught you by the wrists. He spun you around and bound your arms behind your back with his scarf, pushing you to your knees once he had secured you.

“I told you to kneel,” he growled.

He was behind you and you could hear his ragged breathing, the rustling of clothes, and the soft thump of fabric hitting the floor. When he spun you back around, he was completely naked and you drank in the sight of his pale skin and lean, powerful body. His cock was enormous and rock hard.

“Pleasure me, my pet. I know this is what you crave.”

He grabbed you by the hair and shoved the whole length of his shaft down your throat repeatedly, fucking your face until you almost passed out for lack of air. When you thought you could take no more, he yanked you off of him, tilting your head back and looking down at you with glowing green eyes.

“Very good, my pet. Now slower. Worship it as you will worship me.”

He grabbed the base of his cock, holding it at an angle above your face and willing you to lick it. You complied, running your tongue slowly from the base to the tip, feeling his blood throbbing in the veins that ran the length of his massive shaft; the blood was hot but the flesh was icy cold—a very strange sensation, but one that fascinated you. He let out a series of short, carnal grunts as you swirled the tip of your tongue around his head. You took just the tip into your mouth and began to massage it gently with your lips as he ran his hand lightly up and down his shaft. You could taste his leaking juices as you tongued the slit, and the taste of him was like nothing you’d ever experienced before—it was delicious, addictive even, and it made you insatiable and impossibly wet. You moaned onto his cock as you let it drip down your throat, sending vibrations of pleasure running through his entire godly frame and causing him to groan in ecstasy.

Before you knew it, you were on your feet and your wrists were freed from the scarf that bound them. Holding the scarf between gritted teeth, he ripped your blouse open and straight off your body. He cupped and squeezed your breasts in his icy hands, and your already hard nipples became almost unbearably erect against the lace fabric of your bra. He unclasped it and let it fall to the floor next to you as he yanked your skirt down around your ankles. One hand cradled the back of your neck and he let the other trace a line in between your breasts and down your stomach. When he reached the top of your thong, just above your mound, he stopped.

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked at him. He took the scarf from between his teeth.

“Turn around,” Loki commanded.

You did as you were told and he brought the scarf around your head, blindfolding you. You felt his strong arms lift you up and moments later you were bent over a cold metal table, facedown and arms over your head, gripping the steel. You felt his breath on your pebbled skin as he ripped your thong off your body with his teeth, and he pushed your legs wider apart with his knee as he traced down the length of your spine with two fingers. When he found your entrance, you were already soaked for him—an almost unnatural level of wetness that you’d never felt before in your entire life—and he plunged two long fingers deep inside you without ceremony. You cried out your pleasure as he moved them furiously in and out of you before he slowed and found your sweet spot with his middle finger, working it violently until he started to feel your walls tighten around him and your cries faded to jagged breaths. He stopped just before you found release and you whined loudly.

“You are ready,” he said—telling you not asking you. “Now we shall see where your loyalty lies.”

You were left wanting and stranded on the verge, and the absence of sight heightened all your other senses. Every inch of your body was buzzing and the sound of your own heart beating was deafening in the silent room. That’s when you heard the rhythmic clicking of the cane moving slowly toward you and then stop.

“Who is your God?” Loki asked, his voice cold and commanding.

“You,” you wailed. “You are my God.”

He brought the cane down across your bare ass with all the power of Asgard and you screamed out in delicious agony.

“I said, WHO IS YOUR GOD?”

You tried to answer but your mind could not form words. He brought the cane down on you again, three hard lashes in quick succession, and you made a noise that sounded inhuman in your own ears.

“I’ll ask you one more time: who is your God and your King?”

The sensations coursing through your body threatened to put you over the edge of consciousness, but somehow you managed to yell out to him through the haze of pain and pleasure.

“LOKI! Loki of Asgard is my God and my King!”

He laughed maniacally and you could hear the clatter of the cane dropping to the floor. You felt his magic fingers trace a line across the searing flesh of your ass and the white-hot agony turned instantly to a pleasure unlike any you had ever known. You almost achieved release just from his touch. He untied the blindfold and he rolled you over on your back, pulling you up to face him. His eyes seemed warmer as he leaned in and grazed your ear with his lips as he spoke.

“You have proven your loyalty to me, my pet. I know that you will worship me as I deserve. Now you will be rewarded.”

He stood between your legs and cupped your face in his hands as he kissed you slowly and deeply, more passionately than he had before. For the first time, when you went to touch him, he didn’t try to stop you. At last, your hands found his long black hair and you grabbed fistfuls of it as you pulled him down on top of you, the tip of his cock teasing your opening as you devoured each other. He pulled his face away and buried it in between your breasts as he massaged them, taking one nipple in his mouth and nibbling it lightly as he rubbed the other between two fingers. Every flick of his finger or tongue on your body dragged a sound out of you that you didn’t know you could make. You untangled one hand from his hair and found his massive cock, gripping it firmly and stroking it up and down as you rubbed it against your clit.

“Fuck me, my King. I beg you. Take me any way you want me.”

He lifted his mouth from your breast. “Not so fast, my pet. I must taste you first.”

He pulled you down to the edge of the table and threw your legs over his shoulders as he settled between your legs. He licked you slowly up and down a few times before latching onto your clit, holding your hips firm as he swirled the tip of his tongue around and around, faster and faster until you started to cry out and buck against him. He brought a hand down from your hip and teased your slick folds with one long finger as he continued to work your clit with his tongue and his lips. He brought another finger to your entrance, sliding the two fingers together from the top of your folds to the bottom, and when he plunged both fingers inside you, you came so hard you nearly fainted. His touch was godly, and you knew then he had ruined you for all mortal men.

You had barely recovered from your climax when he sat you up and took you all at once, shoving his cock inside you to the hilt, filling you with ice and fire. He grunted like an animal with each forceful thrust and you screamed with pleasure as you clawed at his back. Your hands found his muscular ass and you gripped it tightly as you screamed his name, keeping time with his rhythm.

“Loki… Loki… My God… My King...”

You brought your arms up around his neck as he lifted you off the table, his strong hands gripping your ass as he walked you over to the side of the room. You clung to him with your legs wrapped tightly around his waist and your arms at his neck as he fucked you senseless against the cold basement wall. The light of the otherworldly artifacts tinted his skin an inhuman shade of blue; it was beautiful, he was beautiful. He quickened his pace and then stopped, remaining motionless with the full length of him still throbbing inside of you.

“Such a good girl for me,” he whispered. “Such a good little pet. I think maybe I’ll keep you.”

He walked you back over to the table and laid himself down on it so that you were straddling him. You moved up and down on his cock slowly, almost teasingly, wanting to feel every inch of him inside of you. As you rocked up and down, he brought his cold thumb to your clit, circling it while you rode him and bringing you close to the edge again. He began to buck underneath you as you fucked him and you knew he was close, too. You leaned in and grabbed the hair at the back of his head as you continued to slam yourself onto on him.

The words fell from your lips—“Fill me with your God seed, my King, I want every last drop you have”—and even as you said them, you had no idea where they came from, almost as if they were planted there and forced from you.

That had Loki’s eyes rolling back in his head and he moaned deep as he sat up, grabbing your hips as you rocked back and forth on his lap. He tightened his grip on you and quickened his pace, pounding into you hard and fast. As the muscles of your tight walls rippled with pleasure and you cried out your reverence in his ear, Loki found his release. He held your squirming body tight against him, your muscles shaking uncontrollably as he came roaring into you. You felt his warmth spread inside of you—such a contrast to the chill of his flesh—and you stayed locked in his embrace, completely limp with exhaustion.

“Thank you, my King,” you whispered, and Loki brought his fingers to your face.

The last thing you remember is two cool fingertips pressed to your temple. When you awoke, you were naked and alone in the basement room. The artifacts that had filled the room were now gone and there was no sign of Loki but for a pile of clothing next to you on the table—new clothes to replace the ones he had destroyed in his lust—and a handwritten note that said only “Fit for a Queen.” You put them on, wondering if he would ever be back for you. You were nothing now without your king. You knew you were made to be ruled.

[writtenonreceipts]

a prompt?

single parent trope for feysand, pretty please?

more prompts for this would be great, otherwise you get my rambling mind and we all know how that goes...

Find my main masterlist here

#

An Intimate Display of Insecurities and Hopelessness

The air-conditioning was out.  Again.  And Feyre had already stripped down to a tank-top and shorts.  The heat was miserable.  

“Sweet mercy,” she muttered as she stood in front of the large fan she’d bought yesterday to try and keep things cool.  It wasn’t working.

Feyre brushed her hair from her sweaty brow and bit back a curse.  This day was not going at all the way she’d wanted it to.  It had taken her far to long to get anything started, not to mention coordinating with Elain on how she wanted to participate in the shop.

It was only three days to her deadline to get her shop up and running.  Three days to get pallets made, canvases designed, and interior design finished.  All in one-hundred-degree weather and boob sweat.

She turned back to the mess of her shop.  This was going to take more work than she had time for.  Or sanity.

The front door opened behind her with a clatter.  Feyre wasn’t that concerned about it, knowing she was getting some things delivered.

“Just leave the deliveries on the floor,” she said, not looking back.  She was trying to have a vision of what she was going to accomplish, a vision that would be epic and glorious.

“Excuse me?” 

Feyre spun at the smooth voice and nearly stumbled.  The most attractive man she’d ever seen was standing in her shop.  His black pants were crisp and cleanly lined and his black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, displaying his tanned skin.  He was tall, lean, and with his black hair swept neatly back.

Feyre felt sweat roll between her breasts.  Oh hell.

“Feyre Archeron?” He asked and took a step forward while holding out his hand. “Rhysand Avitas.  I’m the new building manager.”

A dozen curses ran through her head as she did her best to wipe her sweaty hand on her shorts inconspicuously.  Because of course she knew who Rhysand Avitas was.  Everyone in their small town did.  He was the son of the police chief and now the youngest elected mayor in Valeris history.

He had also been just a year ahead of Feyre in school.  So she knew the kind of person her was.  At least, she thought she did.

“Rhysand, of course,” she said as she took his hand. The heat didn’t seem to effecting him.  Jackass. “Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

Indeed, it was half-past two right when she’d told his assistant that he could come by the shop.  And see that everything was in order for her opening deadline.  Except she hadn’t really expected him to show up.  

“Not a problem.” He smiled in such a charming way that Feyre found herself wanting to hate him.

But Feyre already did hate him.  He had bought the building just two days after her father’s death.  Just two days after the building was up for sale.  She hadn’t even had the time to get funds together to convince the bank that she could buy the lease herself.  Now, she was going to have to open her shop under him.

In school he had been captain of the football team, president of the ASB club.  He had been the kind of person Feyre had never wanted to interact with.  High and mighty, proud and cruel.  He’d worn a mask of indifference to anyone beneath him, she was convinced.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Things are a little messy right now, but it’ll be ready for opening day on Monday.”

Rhysand nodded as he walked around the shop.  Bits of wood crunched under his too fancy shoes and dust clung to his pants when he brushed up against one of the pallets that Feyre was still trying to decide how to convert into a display case.

“You’re a painter, correct?” he asked.  He looked over his shoulder at her and Feyre was taken aback by his eyes.  Bright blue—so bright that she could have sworn they were violet.  And damn her if she didn’t want to at least try and draw them.

“Yes,” she replied. “My sister does some gardening and does floral arrangements and I’m planning on having her sell some of her work here as well.”

“I remember,” he said, “Mrs. Ellis always made sure all of her classes knew about her protegee.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.  The high school art teacher had been someone no one really liked.  Aside from her.  Maybe it was just because Feyre had wanted someone to pay attention to her, but the woman had always been nice to Feyre.

“My work wasn’t that good back then,” she said.  And it was true, it had taken years of study and experimentation to get to where she was now.  Ten years after those miserable high school years and here she was, finally maybe a little bit confident with what she could do.

Rhysand said nothing, only observed.  “And you’re sure you’ll be ready by Monday?  No offense Miss Archeron, but it seems like a lot needs to be taken care of.  You assured the bank, and my assistant, that your shop was worth allowing in the complex.”

Feyre’s mouth pursed as she watched his man before her.  With his impeccable clothing, that silver watch on his wrist, it was hard to imagine that he’d had any hardships in his life.

“Yes, and I keep my word,” she said, her voice cold enough to rival any a/c.  “What I would like to know is why the air conditioning still isn’t fixed.  It’s been this way for a week now.”

“It’s being looked into,” Rhysand said. 

His gaze turned sharp as he looked her over again.  Something passed over his face that Feyre didn’t care to try and understand.  She just wanted this man out of her shop so she could get back to work.

“Was there something in specific that you wanted to discuss?” she asked, “or were just interested in questioning my ability to run a shop?”

He smirked at her and shook his head. “You always did have that fire in you, didn’t you?”

Feyre was ready to tell him to get out when a soft cry caught her attention.  She held up a finger to silence him as she listened.  Maybe she’d imagined it.  Hell, she hoped he’d imagined it.  Unfortunately the cry came again.

“Just a minute,” she said.

She hurried to the back of the shop where a door led into what would be used for the breakroom.  It was a few degrees cooler back there, which was why she’d set it up for it’s current use.

Sitting up in the pack-and-play was her daughter.  Seren with her golden hair and large blue eyes looked up at her and cried again.

“Momma!” 

Immediately, Feyre scooped her daughter up.  Seren latched on with a snake-like grip.  Her arms wound around Feyre’s neck tightly.

“Hi baby,” Feyre murmured.  “Why are you awake?”

It had only been a half hour since Feyre’d put her down, she’d been hoping for at least one hour of uninterrupted work.

Seren said nothing and only whimpered into Feyre’s neck.  As Feyre whispered to her daughter to sooth her, she went back out into the main part of the store to find the diaper bag she’d packed that morning.  In one of the insulated pockets, she found a bottle of apple juice.

“Here, honey,” Feyre said.  Seren snatched the bottle and began drinking, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “Okay, there we go.  Momma need to talk to Mr. Avitas okay, can you let me do that?”

Seren nodded and the almost two-year-old tucked herself right against Feyre’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Feyre turned back to Rhysand who stood right where she’d left him.  The hard look in his eyes was gone and whatever hard-ass talk he was no doubt going to deliver evaporated.

“It seems I was wrong,” Rhysand said, “you do have some help, don’t you?”

Seren wiggled in Feyre’s arms to get a better look at the man, her bottle sticking in one cheek.

“Momma,” Seren said, her voice just slightly muffled.

“Yes, you are my big helper,” Feyre agreed, “even when you get into my paints.”

Seren beamed up at her. “I help.”

Feyre snorted a bit of laughter.  Help.  Sure.  There were some painted handprints on the wall that aid otherwise.

“Did you have any other concerns you needed to address, Mr. Avitas?” Feyre asked.

He seemed so taken aback that Feyre had had her daughter in the back room napping that it took him a moment to speak again.  It would have been amusing if the man hadn’t been so annoying to begin with.

“She looks just like you,” Rhysand said.

That was the last thing Feyre’d expected.  She quirked a brow at the man.  She knew it was true.  Seren, thank the heavens, looked like an Archeron.  There was barely a trace of her father.  Something Feyre would give thanks for every day.

Feyre heart gave a painful squeeze.  Of course that was what he meant.

She met his gaze, holding it for a long moment.  Her hold on Seren tightened automatically, something she always did when she remembered her baby’s father. 

“Yes, she does,” she whispered.  Feyre wondered what Rhysand could possibly know.  When she’d moved back to Valeris two years ago, just after she’d found out she was pregnant, she scrubbed her life clean of that man.  Rhysand couldn’t possibly know who the father was.  Even if he did, he shouldn’t care.

“Right,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. Once again, an un definable look flashed over his features, and disappeared just as quickly.  “I’ll see what I can do about the air-conditioning.”

“Good,” Feyre said, “I’d hate to have to delay opening.”

And much to her surprise, Rhysand laughed.  “Of course not.  That would be rather inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”

He turned back to the door and looked as though he would leave without saying anything else, until he paused. He seemed to be having an internal dilemma when he looked back to Feyre.

“If there is anything I can help with, let me know.”

The words were halting and careful.  Feyre wasn’t sure how to read them, how to respond.  So she only nodded.

#

i wanted to add more to this for the first part, but well here we are...

tags

@aelinchocolatelover // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @acourtofsjmtrash // @hellasblessed // @rhysandswhore  //  @story-scribbler  // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @whythefuckdoiexist // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @surielandiareendgame // @feysand-loml

[technowoah]

Hi! This is my first time doing a request for a prompt list but can you do prompts 1,34,25 if you can put those in one fanfic, or mini series. Again this is my first time requesting a prompt list thing. If you can’t fit those three in there you can just do 1 of them. If anything I wrote just made sense, sorry if it didn’t. Have a good day!

Rather Be Devisive Then Indecisive...

Thanks for the request! I decided to do Techno cause I need some Techno content here!

Sorry it took so long 😭

C! Techno x gen neutral! Reader (platonic)

1) "I fucking hate you" "please dont say that"

34) "one more chance please?" "You're being greedy"

25) "You're right. You are useless"

⚠︎ swearing, indecisive reader, angst, angst, mentions of weapons, mentions of death, mentions of tnt & explosions, Wilbur's last canon life, sad techno, I didn't proofread, this story is so fucking long-

"Dont you see history repeating itself?!"

You found yourself in a huge predicament right now while standing by Technoblade's side, adorned in netherite armor and weapons. You were facing against the people you used once to love, the people you eere supposed to kill. You hadn't seen Tommy's face so distraught in quite some time.

Everyone thought you were the traitor, you lost the trust of the people you once sided with and loved. You couldnt stand to see the pain Tommy had in his eyes and the betrayal Tubbo showed. It wasn't true, from what you heard it wasn't true.

You didn't just appear on Technoblade's side one day, it was a tough ride to follow. The beginning of your journey had you looking desperately for a place to be, a home. You were lost in the huge kingdom with huge monuments and different types of people.

Then came L'Manburg. A place where you could be free, at least they sold it like that. You had met Tommy and Tubbo while on the Prime Path and immediately asked about their blue war coats and they immediately introduced you to L'Manburg. You were accepted a while later, meeting the citizens and making connections with all of them.

Then came Manburg and Pogtopia which led you here next to Technoblade as he went on about replacing tyrant with another. You were always on Technoblade's side ever since he joined Pogtopia. All it took was constant literature sessions and talks about politics and you were on board with his ideals and his hate for government.

You were apart of L'Manburg before Pogtopia and Technoblade had changed your mind on government he made you see everything through a different lense and that lense was beautiful and clear. You adapted his ways of thinking quickly and became "one of his personal favorites" as he would say.

Technoblade set off a firework explosion and everyone screamed and scattered, that was the "go" you ended up attacking somone else that wasn't a close friend of yours. You were trying not to attack anyone, this wasnt your style. Yes, Techno had taught you fighting styles and how to become stronger but you didn't want to fight who you considered your family.

You eventually found yourself on a hill looking over the explosions and swords swinging in the gleaming sun. People below were looking in your direction quickly then heading back into battle wondering why there werent any fireworks hot from above, but you couldnt do it. You just couldn't bring yourself to soot the crossbow that was hanging on your hip. Techno kept looking up towards you as you looked back towards him in distraught.

Everyone was yelling until Dream had spoken up.

"You know who the trader was Tommy? Tommy the traitor was Wilbur."

No it couldn't be.

"No! Technoblade killed Tubbo and Y/N left us behind, they're the traitors!" Tommy exclaimed in confusion.

Your mind couldn't make up anything at the moment, was Wilbur the real traitor instead of everyone thinking it was you? Everyone was questioning if Dream was right or not, but you were so into your own mind you didn't hear that one faint scream that lead to many others.

The ground started shaking like a earthquake was about to happen and then the ground started to break apart and explode revealing the huge amounts of TNT that was placed under the stone and dirt. You felt uneasy as smoke, and debris flew from the ground and up into the air. You heard screams of agony who were caugh in the explosion, screams of anguish who witnessed the explosion and screams of joy.

Emotions flew through you like blood. This wasnt what was supposed to happen was is? You were a citezen of L'Manburg before a citizen of Pogtopia and this was the worst thing you have ever seen. The sky turned dark and grey, the place you used to call home is gone and the person who destroyed your home was the one who built it.

"Wilbur?!" You screamed as you saw him and Philza staning next to what looked like a man made cave in the hill.

Everyone else followed your line of sight and saw Wilbur standing next to Philza talking to him. Philza had a sword in his hand and what is seemed like arguing with Wilbur as well. Everything seemed so chaotic you didnt know what to focus on, Wilbur and Philza, Dream inevitably sneaking away, or Technoblade's glare at you from a top a building. You couldn't bring yourself to face Techno right now. Technoblade was a source of comfort for you, but at this moment you had no where to turn.

The straw that broke the camel's back was seeing Philza kill Wilbur. He pierced the sword through his heart and as Wilbur's legs couldn't hold himself up anymore Philza hugged his son and fell down to the ground with him hugging him in his last moments as everyone below screamed at Philza.

Your vision became blurry as tears welled up in your eyes. Everything was gone. You had nothing left to go back, no home, no Wilbur. It seemed like Tommy and Tubbo didn't want you back in their lives so it seemed hopeless. Falling to your knees you cradled your face in your hand trying to block out all of the commotion outside.

L'Manburg was like a home you always wanted but never had. They were like family and you grew too attached. You loved them like brothers and a sister. You loved them you grew attached to them as well, especially to Wilbur because you looked up to him as a leader and he took you under his wing when you had no where to go, he cared for you like a big brother. Tommy and Tubbo were also another two you grew too attached to because of Tommy's impulsiveness and Tubbo's attention to detail and caring for others.

After the fall of L'Manburg Technoblade had to make everything worse.

He had looked towards you one last time before getting into position.

"Are you just gonna sit there!? We have a job to do!" Techno said while unsheathing a sword.

"Isn't the job done already?!" You yelled back still sat on the hill.

Techno started to laugh. "Barely!"

He jumped down from the building and into some rubble underneath him and you followed him down the hill. Techno had brung out soul sand and began placing it on the ground with wither skeleton skulls in his hands. You walked over to him and he handed you a skeleton skull, you reluctantly took it out of his hands and you saw him smirk at your compliance.

Tommy began walking towards Techno and you in a fiery rage ready to fight him. He couldn't get straight to him because of a small gap the explosion made. Tommy was trying to keep everyone on that side, safe. Dream and Punz jumped over the gap and joined both you and Techno by the soul sand.

"Stop this right now Techno!"

"You stay over there Tommy!"

The two bickered back and forth until they eventually died down and Technoblade spoke up over the talking and yelling coming from the side Tommy was on.

"Tommy, do you think you're a hero? Is that what this is?" Techno said while letting his guard down for a moment and put his crossbow down.

"I just- I just wanted L'Manburg!" Tommy exclaimed back clearly confused.

You werent a stranger to Technoblade's speeches you were a fan of them really, but not when its against someone you would consider a brother.

Technoblade spoke up over Tommy. "You wanted power.

"I wanted L'Manburg, thats all I ever wanted. I wanted..." Tommy stopped talking for a moment, like he was thinking.

"Tommy you just did a coup! You just did a hostile government takeover and then immediately instilled yourself as president." Techno explained to him in a more serious voice than before.

"And then you gave it to your friend, but that still a tyrant Tommy!"

"But the thing about his world Tommy, is that good things dont happen to heros. Let me tell you a story Tommy. A story of a man called Theseus."

Technoblade had taught you about Greek literature and how they could be compared to people in the kingdom today. He so happened to find correlations between Tommy and Theseus at this moment.

You were still anxiously waiting for Technoblade's long speech to end so you could get this heartbreak over with. The need to cry more never became more apparent until now, the need ro run away and never come back but you wanted to listen.

"His country was endagered and he sent himself forward into enemie lines, he slayed the minotaur and saved his city. You know what they did to him Tommy?!"

"What did they do-"

"They exiled him. He died in disgrace, despised by his people. Thats what happens to heros Tommy." Techno finished his Greek mythology speech.

Tubbo spoke up from behind Tommy. "But he saved everyone!"

"The Greeks knew the score, but if you want to be a hero Tommy that's fine." Technoblade started walking backwards with a wither skulls in each hand.

You had soul sand infront of you and you were waiting till Technoblade set the first wither out into the world. There were wither skulls in the brown grass so you all could quickly put the skulls ontop if the sand. Technoblade thought it was a good idea to have multiple withers flying in L'Manburg at once. You and Techno were probably going to get attacked by the withers too because withers dont know who made them, they just attack.

"Technoblade dont do this! We're so close! Im not the hero! No one's the hero!" Tommy pleaded and that made your heart drop.

"You want to be a hero Tommy?! THEN DIE LIKE ONE!"

There it is. Techno started placing the skeleton heads on the soul sand and you followed suit placing three skulls onto the other. The two withers started to form and grow besides you and Technoblade. You didnt want to do this at all. You could hear the screams from the former Pogtopia and L'Manburg citizens, this wasnt what you wanted. You didn't want Wilbur to die, you didn't want L'Manburg to go, and of course you didnt want your family to die.

Technoblade grabbed your hand and led you to a higher plane, both of you dodging the blows the withers were giving out to anyone in their way. You had made it a top of the building Technoblade was before. You felt like your lungs had no air in them, from the running and and seeing Tommy desperately trying to fight a wither above him, Tubbo shooting arrows next to Quackity and the withers making Wilbur's explosion bigger than it was.

Technoblade started laughing at the destruction and the screams of the people below. You knew Technoblade was a dangerous man, he killed and did it for his own reasons that you didnt argue against. He had told you that he will tell you one day, but this wasnt that day. You didn't want to hear anything from him, you had lost everything.

"I fucking hate you." You breathed out in disbelief at the destruction below.

"Please dont say that." Techno rolled his eyes.

"You're not telling the truth-"

"MY LIFE IS GONE TECHNO! I- My home is gone! Wilbur is gone! Where do I go?!"

"Hou have me! What are you talking about? Did you just blindly follow me?! Newsflash I'm not Wilbur, Im not Schlatt! Im my own person that dosent associate with government so might as well destroy the government physically." Techno looked back out into the chaos.

"This cant be the way!"

"Do you have another plan?!"

"If I did it wouldn't have mattered." You said calming down, but still angry.

"Should've said something sooner." Techno said while walking away from the edge of the building and away from you.

"Again, it wouldn't have mattered." You said as a final statement before he walked away.

You didnt know where he was going nor did you care at this point. You retreated for now and found yourself back in Pogtopia. Going down into the decorated cave and reminiscing on times shared. The moments where Tommy was messing with Wilbur, when Tubbo immediately relaxed when he found himself around Pogtopia and he could be himself, when Techno and you had extremely deep talks in the potato farm.

You ended up going back to your home later that night trying to clear your mind and trying to know where to go next. The next morning your feet had a mind of its own that morning because you ended up at Tommy's house. You had knocked on his door and he swung it opened it with his widened eyes not expecting you to be there. He was bandaged up more than usual, he had scars on his hands and face too. It was a sad sight for you.

"Y/N?! What are you doing here!? I didn't-"

You cut Tommy off by hugging him and trying not to cry at the sight.

"Im so sorry Tommy." You said regretting everything.

"Im sorry I hurt you."

"Hey calm down. I forgive you, but it's gonna be hard ya know?" Tommy explained as you let him go sniffling.

"I understand, you shouldn't feel obligated to forgive me I know its going to be hard to help them grow even though I betrayed them." You slightly laughed and Tommy smiled.

You felt accomplished that day. You hung out with Tommy the whole day, then found Tubbo as well. They both accepted you but slowly but surely were going to forgive you. You hated that they were in pain but they knew you were in pain as well. Later that day you sat down with the both of them and wrote letters to everyone wanting to reconnect again. The two had said they would help deliver the letters while you delivered some too.

The day turned into night and you and Tubbo were currently walking around doing nothing in particular. Tommy had headed home as you promised to visit him tomorrow. You and Tubbo both ended up on the topic of Phil. Silence fell upon you two, you didn't know what to say about that. You didn't know Phil that well, but he seemed regretful. Wilbur's death became a touchy subject between you two. Tubbo then asked you about Technoblade and you had no answer to that either.

Technoblade left without telling you anything at first you didnt care, but now you are slightly regretting having that stupid fight. Days continued to go on and your regret became more apparent each and every day. You had reconnected with former L'Manburg members and asked for forgiveness. It was a slow process but you all became closer in due time.

Technoblade and your relationship grew further apart and you noticed that. You never seen him since the final day of L'Manburg until one day.

You had visited the abandoned and long forgotton Pogtopia once more longing for the days before all Hell broke loose.

"What are you doing here?" You turned your head to see Technoblade standing not too far away from you.

"What are YOU doing here?! Where have you been?" You exclaimed not knowing whether to run to him or stand still.

"Well im used to being left alone. It's not that hard you should try it sometimes."

"Last thing I remember was you walking away."

"Last thing I remember was you yelling at me and telling me that you fucking hated me." Techno said matching your tone.

"I was in a bad place at that moment." You tried to justify your actions when in reality you couldn't.

"Weren't you all!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" You said getting defensive.

"I mean all of you L'Manburgians. You all were going through something. That something was the death of your leader and the inevitable death if your country. You apparently never let go of that side, L'Manburg is still with you somehow." Techno explained to you.

He always read you like an open book. You still never let go of L'Manburg and thats why you went back and left your and Technoblade's relationship behind. Yes that was your fault, but you can try and reconnect, try to build trust again.

"Can't I be with them and you at the same time?" You asked, while your confidence left your body.

"NO! WHAT?! Why would you say that?! Have you been listening to me?!"

"I have! You-"

"No you clearly fucking havent! They are feeding into the very thing they sought to destroy! History is repeating and you going back is only encouraging it! Soon enough the new "L'Manburg" will fall time and time again!" Technoblade yelled clearly fed up with the conversation.

"Technoblade. I wanted to make ammends with you! I wanted to be on your side again!" You pleaded.

"Apparently not because you keep runnning to L'Manburg!"

You were getting desperate, it felt like everything was lost again. Why did you have to chose between anti-government and pro-government. You didnt have to, you just needed your friendship that was torn apart glued back together. The need to rekindle the friendship between you and Technoblade began to exceed everything else and continued to cloud your mind.

"One more chance please?!"

"You're being greedy." Techno taunted.

"Techno listen! I-"

"I am listening." He interrupted you on purpose.

"Seriously I wanted to rekindle our friendship so please just let me do this!" You pleaded.

"That's not going to be happening anytime soon. You know Im usually the one being left, but now that I see you like this I now understand why people leave others." He laughed.

You stayed silent and that gave him the opportunity to speak more.

"Those that have treated me with kindness, I will repay that kindness tenfold. And those that treat me with injustice, that use me, that hunt me down, that hurt my friends. I shall pay that injustice a thousand times over."

Another speech he would use another time. Your gaze was set on the stone ground beneath you. You couldn't face him and you knew he was talking about you. You weren't going to get the happy ending you always dreamt of. You were always aware of falling out of friendships but you never knew that one of your falling friendships would hurt this badly.

"All that time ago, you're right, you were right. You are useless."

"I dont need you anymore." Technoblade continued and ascended up the stairs to leave. He left you alone down in Pogtopia, it was hard.

"I came here to get actual shit done, but it turns out I couldn't." You heard Technoblade mumble upstairs before you were for sure he left.

You were left in the once lively underground community of Pogtopia. It was quiet and still now with the only thing was a small cool whispering of the wind.

You had your family, slowly but surely it was coming together but now everything seemed more broken than ever. Unbeknownst to you everything would get worse.

[sweeethinny]

Sunlit days

@velvethopewrites asked, and I took longer than I thought it would, but I wrote a Hinny kissing under the cloak.

it's not exactly smut, it's just warm kisses, but anyway, i hope you like it <3

AO3

-----

"Where are you taking me?" Ginny asked, a huge smile on her face as she let Harry - her boyfriend - guide her to who knows where, the two of them hiding under his cloak, making her even more excited.

The adrenaline of the forbidden always made her much more excited to do something. And if Harry was with her, everything was perfect.

"Can't I want to have a moment alone with you?" He asked, not even seeming to care how he sounded, he also had a huge smile on his face. Harry had seemed so much looser and freer these past few days, and Ginny loved to think it was because of her.

Of course it could be for a million other reasons, but that thought made her go to sleep smiling like an idiot.

"You're going to be late for class." They were in a hallway Ginny thought she'd never seen, but Harry seemed to recognize the place with eerie familiarity, only occasionally picking up the Map to make sure everything was empty.

“Are you worried about my grades?” He glanced over his shoulder, smiling in a way that made her blush and smile even more. Her cheeks would crack if she kept this up. 'No need to worry, I can say I was with Dumbledore, or just miss this class, it's History anyway' Harry and she reached the end of the corridor, there was nowhere else to go, there were no doors or anything nearby , and it was quiet enough for them to be comfortable. Nobody would come here.

Harry leaned against the wall, pulling Ginny close, legs spread wide enough for her to be comfortable in the middle, and she didn’t wait for him to say anything and kissed him like it had been days since they'd seen each other. And that was how she felt, at least in parts. Snape didn't take a break, and every night Harry looked tired or she was tired, and they just sat together in the common room for a few minutes before going to sleep. Hermione also didn't let her forget about the exams, just as Demelza seemed to make a point of reminding her whenever she and Harry started to get too distracted in some empty hallway in the library.

"I missed you," she said, grabbing his face and attacking his lips again, almost melting at the feel of his hands on her hips, keeping her where he wanted her, and for once Ginny didn't care.

Michael and she weren't all that evolved to exchange more than quick kisses, and as much as Dean sometimes did like Harry too - his hands on her hips - it never felt comfortable enough or hot, it was always weird, like they didn't fit right. But not with Harry, with him it was nice, comfortable, and she loved when he did that.

“Thought I saw you for breakfast?” He bit her lip, then began that trail of kisses that made her feel hot and forced her to clench her thighs together. His soft mouth moved down her chin, then under her ear, over her neck, over her collarbone… Ginny gasped.

She tightened her hands on his shoulders, just because she needed some support so her limp legs wouldn't make her fall like jelly. Ginny didn't even remember anymore what she had said and what Harry had replied, all so confused in her cloud of heat that she was almost blind to anything but her amazing boyfriend.

'Aren't you going to take your cloak off?'She managed to ask, starting to feel warm from the lack of air circulation, but it was also a good excuse to let Harry unbutton the top buttons of her shirt, and she did the same with his.

'Let me live my fantasy, I've dreamed of it.' Harry mumbled against her skin, his mouth that had been so close to her breasts began to rise again, and Ginny needed a second to deal with the frustration that she felt, soon being filled with desire as she felt him moving one of his hands up inside her shirt.

"Don't say you dreamed with me if you don't want me to attack you right here," Ginny said, her hands inside his shirt, scratching at his abdomen only to feel him shiver and take a deep breath down her neck.

"I'm not telling you not to do this, feel free." He bit into the sensitive skin that made Ginny whimper and try to pull her body away more by instinct than will, that heat building between her legs.

Harry made her land in the clouds, much lighter than when she flew as high as she could, while making her feel that delicious drop that left her heart pounding and her legs limp. He made her feel so many things that Ginny wondered how she had lived so long without knowing she was capable of feeling it.

Like when he saves her a piece of cake for breakfast, or a piece of meat pie for dinner, just because he knows Ginny likes it, and it makes her stomach churn and her throat feel tender as if suddenly, she was going to cry with joy, because she never got to tell him that, Harry just realized, and Ginny comes from a family with too many siblings for someone to notice little details about her.

“As much as I like the cloak idea,” she says, kissing him as if her life depended on it, his thigh between her legs and his left hand cupping her breast. “I'm getting too hot to be pleasant.” Ginny moves her hips just enough to gain that necessary friction that makes her go limp again.

Harry laughs, seeming to notice that she has started to sweat and now for other reasons, so he takes the cloak off them, and the icy wind hits Ginny at once and makes her shiver and lean closer to Harry, like a way to protect herself from the temperature difference. The movement made her feel him on her thigh, and Harry seemed to feel the simple touch as well, because he gasped and pulled his mouth away from hers.

They shouldn't be making out like that in a hallway, now that she was ready to assess the situation. Before at least they were invisible, and now anyone can see Harry groping her breasts and Ginny using his thigh for self-relief. She should feel embarrassed, or at least worry and tell them to find a room, or stop it before someone misses them both and puts the puzzle together to understand why they're gone. Ginny knows that people love to talk about Harry's life, and her love life, and that everyone thinks it's absurd that she dated two boys, so being seen in a hallway like that isn't the best option for her.

But Harry squeezes her hip with his free hand and pulls her forward again, and they're so close to each other, and his hand is warm and soft, and he managed to get his hand inside her bra, and the feeling of having Harry touching her nipples is otherworldly, and the feeling of his thigh creating friction where she needs it most feels so good, and the noises he makes… Ginny can't really think.

The sun is streaming in through a nearby window, and soon that sudden cold is gone and Ginny feels warm again, and she is on a mission to kiss Harry with all the will she has inside, and he seems to be on the same mission that she..

He even makes her forget all the reasons that should keep her from doing what she's doing now, and forget that the last time she made out with a boy in a hallway her brother caught them.

Harry took her to a dimension that is theirs alone and no one can touch or interrupt them, and Ginny thinks that even if she came to her senses now and walked away from him, she wouldn't be able to think for a few more hours, numb at how good it felt the combination of everything he was doing.

For a few seconds she even thought about taking his hand off her hip and putting it between her legs, just because Ginny wants to know what it would be like to have his fingers there, and because she's dreamed about it enough times now and her imagination is no longer enough and neither are her fingers themselves. She's very close to realizing this fantasy, she even puts her hand on top of his, but they hear voices and footsteps and Ginny jumps back in alarm, feeling her heart racing and her bleary eyes barely focusing on Harry's face.

He has rosy cheeks, crooked glasses and her lipstick is smeared across his face, it's a lovely sight indeed, but by the time the voices fade away and the hallway is silent again, Ginny still keeps a little distance, looking at him and taking a deep breath, trying to get back to Earth, as much as the paradise he takes her to is much, much, more inviting.

"Wow," Harry is the first to say, seeming to notice the mess she is in, shirt unbuttoned to her navel, bra bared, skirt crooked and cheeks on fire.

"Yeah." Ginny blinks, still dizzy. Harry isn't all that different from her, and maybe she should apply some less red lipstick next time because Harry looks like a clown with his mouth all smeared like that. She doesn't usually wear lipstick, but she wanted to impress Harry, and he seemed to have liked the choice when he found her coming out of the bathroom.

'Do you think we still have some time before they realize we're gone?'She asks, straightening her shirt and skirt, trying to draw Harry's attention away, as Ginny feels a bit suffocated the more she looks into his green eyes, the more dark now and with that mischievous glow she loves knowing it's her fault.

'I'm sure so,' Harry starts to adjust himself as well, and when the two of them look presentable again - although his lips are still a little smudged - Ginny reaches for him and pulls him close, and starts doing the way back, however much she has nowhere in mind.

'I need some fresh air,' she says, feeling her skin heat up even more, not because she feels embarrassed but because the memory makes her feel cloudy again, and Ginny doesn't want any girl to realize she's like this for something that did with Harry, she doesn't want them to imagine what he is like at these times. It's something so silly and irrational, but it lives in the back of her mind.

“You will be my cause of death, I'm serious.” He mutters, his cheeks also rosy, seeming to be far away.

“Me?” Ginny uses her best voice, wanting to make him laugh and deny it – and she succeeds.

'Yes you.' Harry puts his arm around her waist keeping her close to him, and the two head towards the gardens, there aren't many students around at least, and they don't need to walk to the farthest part to be able to stay in peace together. Harry lies down on her legs, Ginny leaning against a tree, the fresh air soothes the heat off her skin and makes her think rationally.

She smiles at him. "Should I be sad about it?"

"No." Harry smiles, that carefree smile that makes her feel so good knowing he's happy.

''Great, because you're going to be my cause.'' She closes her eyes, laying her head back and listening to him laugh. Ginny thinks she has never been happier.

[atlafan]

Office Neighbors - Part One

a/n: OKAY! this is my new love, professor!Harry x professor!Y/N. This is a slow burn, so buckle up because it’s going to be a longgggg ride. enjoy! (also reblogs/feedback is super helpful) not proofread

warnings:none yet...I suppose some fluff? slight angst?? 

words: 20K

masterpost

You were all cozied up in bed, in a cocoon of blankets. Even though it was August, your apartment had central air, and it was glorious. You loved nothing more than practically sleeping in a burrito of blankets year round. It was a new place to go along with your new job.

Y/F/N Y/L/N, Adjunct Professor, Communication Department: that was your new title. You had your master’s degree, and now you could finally move on to get your PhD. Your specialization was social media and the like, but you also had background in rhetoric and film. The few faculty that served on your search committee were quite impressed with the research you had already started conducting. Your main research was about the pros and cons of anonymity online. The school was a perfect fit. You would be teaching a couple of the intro courses for the major, and some special topics courses.

Today was faculty orientation. You would be given yet another tour of the university, go through some technology workshops, and be shown to your office. You were excited because you hadn’t been able to meet all of your faculty yet, and you’d be going to your first faculty meeting towards the end of the day.

You check your phone and see that it’s going to be in the mid 80’s today. You sigh and get up to start your morning routine. Once your face is washed and your teeth are brushed, you rummage through your closet to see what would be the most appropriate thing to wear. A flowy dress, in theory, would be a good idea, but the idea of sweating between your legs didn’t sound all that great. You settle on a pair of emerald green shorts that fall just above your knee, perfectly appropriate length for school. Plus, they were just a cute pair of shorts in general. You pair it with a white short-sleeve blouse, and tuck it into the shorts to show the shape of your body. Next, you needed to tackle your hair. You could leave it down, but sweat and humidity were not your friends. You had gotten into the habit of parting your hair down the middle more, you were twenty-six now it was okay to go with your natural part. You thought it made you look more adult, whatever that meant. So, you part it, and pull up each side to make pig tails, then you create a bun on each side. You looked professional, but fun. Just the vibe you were going for. You only apply a little makeup, in fear of it melting off of you. You slip on a pair of white tennis shoes for comfort, gather your laptop and other things, and head out.

Rolling through Dunkin Donuts, you treat yourself with a vanilla late instead of your usual, it was your first day after all. You’re not feeling too hungry yet, so you don’t get anything to eat. A college habit that just hasn’t died yet: barely eating anything until the late afternoon. You park at the building where your last meeting of the day will be, always thinking ahead. You sip on your coffee and enjoy your stroll across the beautiful campus to your first meeting of the day. There were a few people in the classroom, and you shyly smile and wave as you take a seat.

Policies and procedures are talked about after everyone in the cohort introduces themselves. You notice that you’re the only CM hire, there were three math hires, two for history, one for CS, two for art, and two for CJ. Some seemed to be around your age, and other seemed older. Everyone was friendly enough. You observed everyone’s posture and body language. You couldn’t help it, you were practically trained to read rooms and people.

The campus tour isn’t anything new. This was about the fifth time you had been walked around by some students to show you where things were, but it was nice to get outside for a good walk. You’re given a break for lunch, and you opt to eat outside at one of the open picnic benches. You notice that most people wanted to eat alone. It was a lot of social time, you yourself didn’t mind the break from talking and sharing.

After lunch are the technology workshops, making sure your account was set up and that you knew how to edit your courses in moodle. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but it was something everyone had to do. Luckily, as a first year professor, you wouldn’t be given any advisees. That you were thankful for. You had taught before, of course, and you loved helping students, but you wanted to make sure you had a good handle on the curriculum before telling students what they should be taking for courses.

Around 3PM a student comes to show you to your academic building, and escort you to your new office before your faculty meeting. There’s a bit of chit chat between the two of you before they open the door to the overly hot building. You cough when you first enter from the humidity.

“Don’t worry, it’s only like this for the first couple of weeks.” She says and you nod.

She guides you straight in where the communication lounge was. Wow, an entire lounge, you think to yourself. There were a few couches and three offices on the main level. A flat screen TV projecting student projects across from one of the couches. She takes you down a spiral staircase where there were four other offices, one vacant for you. There were two computer clusters, a projects and screen, and more couches. You already liked that it seemed to be an interactive space for students.

“Looks like you got the one with the window.” She smiles. “Have a nice day.”

“Thank you so much.” You beam at the student that you’ll probably never see again.

The door was open for you, and two sets of keys were sitting on your desk. The office was bare just waiting for your interior design ideas to be splashed all over it. Your desk was L-shaped with two monitors and a laptop plugged into a docking station. At least you didn’t have to wait to be given your school sanctioned computer. You smile when you see that you were given a Mac as requested. You look at your one window and take a picture so you could find curtains for it. You open and close all of drawers just to make sure there was nothing left behind inside the desk. There were two seats on the other side of the desk for what you would assume would be for student meetings. You could get better ones. You also definitely had room for a small couch, a love seat perhaps.

“Well, look at that, I finally got a new neighbor.”

You jump slightly and turn around. There were a couple of reasons that you were slightly started. Whoever it was that was speaking to you had a deep, gravel-like voice, and they had a British accent. Not totally uncommon at a university, but still something you weren’t expecting. You were also started because no one else was downstairs with you. As you turn around, your cheeks flush when you take in the man with the toothy smile before you.

He was wearing a loose pair of jeans with a couple of rips in them, beaten up white sneakers with different color laces, and a light blue t-shirt. You barely have time to take in his tattoos, or the thick rim of his glasses before he speaks again.

“I’m so sorry, did I startle you?”

“Only slightly.” You give him a half smile. “I’m Y/N.” She extends her hand out to him and he takes it, shaking it gently.

“I’m Harry.”

“Ah! Dr. Styles, yeah. You were away when all of my interviews were happening.”

“Yes, I was away at a conference, but I heard great things. And please, just call me Harry. We’re not a very formal group.” He smirks.

“So, your office is the one next to mine?”

“That’s right.” He nods towards it, and you step out to look at his door.

Dr. Harry Styles, PhD was on his door along with a paper with his office hours printed on it.

“You’re lucky you got one with a window right away, I’m surprised no one wanted to snatch it up. The two across from us don’t have windows, but maybe some people don’t really care about that. I happen to enjoy looking out the window to see what’s happening when my eyes need a rest from the screen.”

You nod your head and peep inside his office. He had put his desk in the back corner of the room. So if students were to come see him, his back would be to them and they could easily see whatever he was doing on the computer, but you notice he also has a corner set up with a few chairs and around coffee table. Perhaps he’s able to discuss things easier this way. Many ideas pop into your head about how you might like to set things up.

“There’s a really great consignment shop downtown with quality furniture for cheap. That’s where I got those that table and chairs.”

“Thanks.” You squint at the three diplomas framed one the wall, and a couple of certifications as well. He had a small shelf with a couple of awards too. “What’s your PhD in?”

“At the base level, Media Studies, but my master’s was in Literary Dynamics. I’m a bit of a book worm as you can see.” He points to the bookshelf full of worn books and you smile. “Got my doctorate here, same as you’re doing, and they offered me a tenure position. Been here about six years total now, I love it.”

You think for a moment to try to put together how old he might be. There was a boyishness to his features, but he also had crinkles around his eyes and a few specs of grey in his hair. Then again, so did you. You greyed early, not that anyone would know since you get highlights in your hair.

“I turn thirty-two in February, if that’s what you were wondering.”

“Oh…I wasn’t, um, I-“

“It’s okay.” He chuckles. “Shall we head up to the faculty meeting? They sent me down here to get you.”

“Yeah, let’s get to it.” You quickly grab your laptop and follow him up the spiral staircase, trying not to look at his butt too much.

He leads you down a hall to a room used for meetings. A large table with people sitting around it casually, a few you recognize from your search committee.

“Y/N!” Lisa, the department chair, exclaims. “Glad Harry found you, come in.” Everyone turns their attention towards you and you smile. You sit down, and Harry goes to sit at the other end of the table. “Right, so let’s go round the table to introduce ourselves to Y/N. Let’s tell her what courses we all teach as well. I’m Lisa, obviously, I teach Game Design and Senior Seminar. I used to teach more, but so it goes when you’re the department chair.”

“Hi, Y/N, I’m Andre, I teach Communication Theory, Digital Media in the New Age, and Journalism.”

“I’m Mateo, good to see you again.” He smiles and you nod. “I teach Tech Comm, Intercultural Communication, and Strategic Communication.”

“I’m Sandra, I teach Global Perspectives in the Media, Film and Video Production Techniques, and basically any other film production courses.” She laughs.

“I’m Harry.” He gives you that same toothy smile. “I teach Communication, Media, and Wellness, Media Effects, Analyzing Screen Media, Literature into Film, and The Craft of Screenwriting.”

“I’m Janette, I teach Philosophy of Communication, Advanced Composition, and Interactive Web Communication.”

“Wonderful, thank you everyone. Don’t worry, Y/N, our admin Lucas will email you all of this info if he hasn’t already.”

“That’s alright, thank you.” She smiles.

“Why don’t you tell everyone what courses you’ll be teaching this fall and spring?”

“Well, this fall I’ll be teaching Communication and Media Studies, Media and Cultural Studies, and Social Media: Technology and Culture. Then in the spring I’ll teach the two intro courses, along with Professional Social Media, and Rhetoric and Semiotics.”

“We’re so happy to have you aboard.” Lisa smiles.

Lisa goes on to explain any policy or curriculum changes. Y/N notices how casual the group is, and also how diverse the group is. It was nice to see.

“Now, I know it’s your first day, and you just moved to the area…feel free to say no, but we’re all headed downtown to the pub for dinner if you’d like to join us.” Lisa says at the end of the meeting.

“That would be great! I haven’t gotten the chance to eat downtown much.”

“Oh, you’ll love the pub.” Sandra says. “Best nachos I’ve ever had.”

You smile and stand with everyone. You notice that everyone just simply walks downtown. You run to your car quickly to drop her bag off, and continues the walk. You all go in and grab a table for seven. You slide into the booth and Harry slides in next to you, followed by Janette and Sandra. Lisa, Mateo, and Andre all sit in the chairs across from you. You weren’t sure if you felt comfortable drinking in front of your colleagues just yet, but you order a vodka-tonic anyways just to be social.

“Sandra’s right, they do have the best nachos here.” Lisa says. “Should we just get a couple of orders of that? We could do one with chicken and one without.”

“I can just pick it off, don’t be silly.” Harry says.

“I, uh , don’t eat meat either, and I can also just pick it off.” You speak up.

“Oh, please.” Lisa scoffs. “We can get one with and one without, no problem.”

“You don’t eat meat?” Harry turns to you slightly.

“Um, no.” He was very close to you, and you weren’t sure how you felt about it. You just met him. You take a sip of your drink so your mouth doesn’t feel so dry. “My doctor told me to cut out red meat, and then I got sick of chicken and stuff, so I just cut it all out.” You shrug.

“Things were sort of the same with me, I just didn’t like how it made me feel after eating it. There’s other ways to get protein. I eat a lot of beans and nuts.”

“Right.” You were curious as to why he was being so open with you.

“Course, I feel like I’m starved half the time, don’t know if that happens to you, but I always keep granola bars in my office if you ever need one.”

“Oh! Um, thank you. Are we allowed to bring mini fridges? I’m really into overnight oats right now, so if I could just leave that stuff in there…”

“We are! It can’t be one of those huge ones though, it’s gotta be one of those ones that looks like a cube.” Harry makes a fake outlines of a box with his fingers. The waitress comes over and takes the orders for the nachos. “Excuse me, love, could I also get a separate order of chicken fingers and fries to go?”

The waitress nods and Harry smiles at her. You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Got someone at home who requested it.” He says before turning his attention to the other conversations at the table.

You wondered whom might me home waiting for him. A wife, a girlfriend…boyfriend? Harry wore a lot of rings, and his nails were painted, but a lot of men were doing that these days so you didn’t want to make any assumptions.

“So, Y/N, where’s home for you?” Andre asks.

“Oh, I’m from Boston originally.”

“Wow! And you moved up here to the mountains. Do you miss the hustle and bustle yet?”

“Not yet, I sort of don’t mind the quiet, although, when I first moved I had trouble falling asleep at night. It was almost too quiet.” You laugh. “But I’ve gotten more used to it. I’m in a great little apartment building, nice neighborhood. I think there are some grad students that I’m neighbors with.”

“Do you going hiking at all?” Mateo asks. “There are some great trails around here.”

“I haven’t gone yet, but I’d certainly be willing to give it a go.”

“We usually all go together before the semester starts.” Lisa says. It surprised you at how close everyone seemed. All different people of different ages. “There’s this really easy mountain about twenty minutes from campus with a beautiful view of the lakes region.”

“Well, I’ll certainly give it a go. Just let me know when.” You smile.

Sandra was absolutely right, the nachos were incredible. Lots of layers of chips and cheese, fresh veggies and guacamole, not to mention the sour cream and salsa. Everyone squares up their checks and heads out. Harry grabs his to go order from the bar. The sun was just barely setting, god, you loved August.

“I parked in the same lot as you, mind if I walk back up with you?” Harry asks after you all say goodnight.

“Not at all.” You smile.

“So, how was the first day? Is your brain ready to explode?”

“Only a little. I think if I take in anymore new information today I’ll pop.” Harry chuckles at that.

“I remember my faculty orientation.” He smirks and shakes his head. “I think I wore a suit, if you can believe it.”

“I’m sure you clean up really well.” You say playfully and he rolls his eyes.

“Well, you’re right about that, but it was super embarrassing at the time. No one told me how casual it was.”

“A little initiation ritual perhaps.”

“Maybe.” He looks at her. “I like your little, um, what do you call those.”

“Oh! My buns?”

“Yeah! Didn’t know if you’d still call them that, or poofs, or something.”

“Poof works.” You chuckle. “I wasn’t sure how humid it was going to be so I just did it up like that. They’re nice for keeping pens or pencils in.”

“Brilliant.” He smiles and reaches his car. “Well, I hope you enjoyed your first day. Feel free to email me if you have any questions. I know being new the area and campus can be overwhelming.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that.” You nod and get into your own car. You take a deep breath as you drive away. “I can do this.” You tell yourself. You enjoyed how friendly everyone was, you could definitely see yourself fitting in with everyone.

//

Harry gets home soon after he leaves campus, only living about fifteen minutes away. He owned a quaint ranch-style home.

“Andy, I’m home, bud!” He yells out. “Got your dinner.” He walks into the living room and sees his son playing video games. “Please don’t tell me you played all day…”

“Hey, dad.” He pauses the game and takes the to go box from Harry. “No, I didn’t play all day.” He rolls his eyes. “I went to the skate park at with Brandon, and then we swam in his pool, remember?”

“Right, I’ll have to say thanks to his parents.” Harry sits down on the couch and sighs.

“Tired?” Andy asks with his mouth full.

“Yeah, it was just a day full of meetings, then we all had dinner. Being social is draining.” He laughs. “How’s the chicken, good?”

“Mhm.”

“Let me get you some napkins…water?”

“Yes, please.”

Harry nods to his son. Harry usually got to be with his son all summer, but this year Andy asked to stay for the school year. It was a rather large discussion that Harry had to have with him and Andy’s mother, who Harry wasn’t on bad terms with, but he certainly didn’t live the one on one chat.

“I just feel like he didn’t get this idea on his own.” She whispered to him in the kitchen.

“I swear I didn’t put the idea in his head. He just asked me out of the blue if he could be enrolled at the middle school. He’s going into fifth grade, maybe he wants a fresh start. He has good friends here, Paige.”

“He has good friends at home too…” She sighs. “I just…so what, now I only get to see him on weekends? I’m his mother, Harry.”

“And I’m his father.”

“You get him for the entire summer.”

“You know it’s not enough time with him. I miss him a lot during the school year.” He drums his fingers on the kitchen counter. “Do you think…I mean…your boyfriend moved in with you, right? Do you think he feels uncomfortable with the change?”

“I don’t know, when Noah and I spoke with him about it he said he was fine with it. He was used to him sleeping over anyways. He’s knowing him for two years now, it’s not that weird.”

“I didn’t say it was weird, I’m talking about comfort. Maybe he just doesn’t want to share his space. It’s not just Noah that moved in, he has a daughter too…”

“Andy and Rachel get along really well. She’s only a year younger than he is.” She sighs again. “I don’t want him thinking he’s being replaced, Harry. What if he doesn’t want to come back into my life once he’s with you all the time?”

“I don’t think that could happen, I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“And you’d be able to handle him all year long?”

“Sure, I’d have to change when I’m offering my classes so I’m home at a reasonable time, but I can make it work.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I could always send him home to you if I can’t be around anyways, like how you do with me.”

“Right.” She looks into the living room where Andy had his headphones in, and then back to Harry. “That’s my little baby in there. How can I let him go?”

“You’re not letting him go, you’re letting him grow up a bit. Why don’t we tell him we’ll see how this year goes, and then we can talk more seriously about custody and all that?”

“Alright, yeah, that seems fair.”

“You only live thirty minutes away, I could always drop him off for dinner sometimes, or-“

“Yeah.” She nods. “Well, um, let’s go talk with him then.”

That conversation happened after the July 4th holiday. Andy went home every other weekend to his mother’s, and Harry always talked with him about how his time with her was. Andy would always say that had a great time. He really did just like his friends better where Harry lived, and he was getting older. Maybe he just wanted to live with his dad.

“Alright.” Harry hands him the napkins and water. “Shall we watch a movie and then get you ready for bed?”

“I’m not a baby.” He scoffs.

“You are though, you’ll always be my baby.”

“Dad.” Andy groans. “Don’t be gross.”

“Can’t help it, you’re too stinkin’ cute.”

“Please stop before I barf up my chicken.”

Harry laughs and switches the TV to Netflix. Andy looked a lot like Harry in that he had curly hair and green eyes. He had his mother’s button nose and freckles. Andy liked dressing in basketball shorts and t-shirts, but he also like using a scrunchie or bandana to keep his hair off his face the way Harry did. It was cute.

“Am I going to mum’s this weekend?”

“You are, my darling.” Harry sips on a beer while lounging on the couch during the movie. “That alright?”

“Course.” He shrugs. “I actually have a new skate trick to show Rachel.”

“Do you to go boarding together?”

“Sometimes. She’s better on her skates, though.” He munches on some popcorn. “I kinda like going there on Friday nights because her and Noah go to temple on Saturday mornings, so mum and I get up late and make breakfast together.”

“Good, I’m glad you get that quality time together. I hope you’re paying attention to the culture that Rachel and Noah are bringing into your life, though. She’ll probably have a Bat Mitzvah someday and you’ll have this big party to go to.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever…I mean…it’s sort of weird that you like Noah…”

“Is it?” Harry sits up. “I’ve got no problem with him. He’s a nice guy, takes care of your mum.”

“That’s just it, I have friends with divorced parents and they-“

“Well, mum and I aren’t divorced, Andy, you know that. We never got married.”

“Even still…”

“We wanted to do right by you can be good co-parents. I’d be a real brat if I was rude to him.”

“How come you and mum never got married?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink. He clears his throat and pauses the movie. Andy never really asked questions like this. He never even saw Harry and Paige as a couple, he never knew them together.

“Um…well…we were really young when you were born. I was twenty when we found out about you, and I was twenty-one when you born, I was just barely finishing school when you came along. Your mum was a year ahead of me, so luckily she got her degree before you were born.”

“Were you together then?”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “Mum and I dated for about two years in undergrad, and then…well…we found out about you, and we were nervous, but excited.”

“But you didn’t want to get married?”

“I asked her, but she said no.”

“Why?”

“She thought I only wanted to marry her because she was pregnant.” He sighs. “Things like that sort of get complicated when you’re older. I also had a lot going on for school, and she didn’t want me to put my career on hold, she already had a full time job and all that. We tried to make things work, but we both realized a relationship shouldn’t be made to work because of…a baby. We both love you very much, Andy, make no mistake about that, but mum and I make better friends than a couple, I can assure you.”

“Oh.”

“Do you wish we were together sometimes?”

“Sometimes.” He nods. “But only because I hate going back and forth.”

“I’m sorry.” He sighs. “We live as close to each other as we can.”

“I know.” He furrows his brows. “I just don’t like when Noah acts like he’s my dad because he’s not, you are.”

“True, but you should still be respectful. Rachel lives there full time too, so-“

“I can’t stand that either, honestly.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…ugh, she was on the phone with one of her friends and she referred to me as her brother. Not even step-brother, brother! I’m not her brother.” He huffs.

“Andy��come here.” His son gets up and sits next to him. Harry puts an arm around him and holds him close. “You’re going through a lot of change right now, huh?”

“I guess.” He looks up at Harry. “I think Noah’s gonna ask mum to marry her…which I guess is nice for her, but I’d rather just be with you.”

“You are with me.”

“Permanently, though. I’ve felt better just going over on the weekends, it’s plenty.”

“Mum and I said we’d see how this year at school goes, and then we could decide. I want you here, but I have to respect what she wants too.” He smiles down at him. “Poor you, having two parents who just love you so much.” He kisses his forehead.

“Blegh!” He wipes the spit from his forehead away. “What is wrong with you?” He gets up and goes back to his own seat.

“What? A father can’t love on his son anymore just because he’s in the double digits?”

“Exactly, press play.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head as he starts the movie back up.

//

Your semester was off to a great start. You got your office decorated nicely, and you were able to make it a cozy and homey space, which was good because you spent a lot of late nights there. Balancing teaching multiple sections of three different classes while also making time for research was proving to be a little difficult. Sometimes students were hanging out in the lounge while you were working, so you didn’t feel truly alone.

You were on an incredible team. You met bi-weekly with Lisa just for wellness check ins. She knew how overwhelming the first year could be, and she recommended chatting with Harry. He was the last one to go through all of it, so he would have the best tips. Harry was often out of the building by 3PM most days. He held virtual office hours from his home office. You weren’t entirely sure why he always needed to get home so early. Well, you weren’t sure until the answer slapped you in the face.

“And this is my new neighbor, Y/N.” You hear him say as he knocks on your door. “Got a second?”

“Um…sure.” You stand up and see a young boy with Harry.

“Y/N, this is my son, Andy. He had a half day from school today, so he’s hanging out until it’s time to go home.”

“Oh! Hi, Andy. It’s nice to meet you.” You had foolishly assumed the picture of Harry holding a baby on his desk was a nephew or something since he himself looked so young in the photo.

“Nice to meet you too.” He mumbles.

“What grade are you in?”

“Fifth.”

“Oh, so you just started middle school? How’s that going?”

“Okay, I guess.” He shrugs. “Dad, can I go get a snack at the grille?”

“Sure.” Harry fishes for his wallet and hands Andy a ten dollar bill. “Don’t pig out though, I want you to be hungry for dinner.”

“Okay.” He walks away from them and Harry shakes his head with a smile.

“He’s a human disposal right now.”

“I…didn’t know you had a son.” You say awkwardly.

“Yeah! Yikes, have I not mentioned him before now?” You shake your head no. “Guess that means we haven’t spent enough time together then.” You blush slightly and Harry clears his throat, then pushes his glasses up his nose. “He, um, just turned ten in May…sort of had him young.”

“I see.”

“This is his first time being with me during the school year. He wanted to give this school system a try, couldn’t say no to that.”

“Oh…um…so his mom…?” You didn’t want to pry too much. Harry wore a lot of rings so you weren’t sure if he was married or not.

“She lives about thirty minutes away, closer to the lakes. She’s a para at a law office, does well for herself. We were college sweethearts, but it didn’t work out.” He shrugs and you nod. “She’s got a serious boyfriend and he has a daughter a year younger than Andy. I think he felt like his personal space was closing in on him, so he asked to live with me. I usually just get him for the summer when I’m not teaching, it’s been great having him around more.”

“He has your eyes.” You wanted smack your forehead for making such a weird comment.

“He does! One of the first things I noticed about him when they stopped being that weird, dark color babies have when they’re first born.” You simply nod your head. “Well, I’ve taken up a lot of your time…um…let’s plan a lunch or something sometime soon. I’d love to know how your classes are going. I know it can’t be easy teaching the intro courses.”

“I’m doing well with it, actually. I taught a lot of the first-year courses at my previous institution. I’ve just been more bogged down with my research than anything else.”

“I’d like to hear more about that too, if that’s alright. Didn’t get to hear about like everyone else since I was gone during your interviews.”

“Sure, we could do lunch sometime then.” Harry smiles at that.

“Great. You know, we get together to do a monthly game night with the faculty from the English department. It’s in a couple of weeks, I hope you’ll come. A lot of their classes double count within our major, so it would be good for you to meet them.”

“Yeah, just let me know when it is. I enjoyed the hike a couple weeks ago.”

“I was pissed I missed that.” Harry groans. “I had to take Andy-“

“Dad.” Andy comes back, handing Harry his change. He was biting into a BLT.

“Thank you, let’s go into my office, yeah? You’ve got some homework that needs to get done.”

“Fine.” He goes into Harry’s office with a huff.

“Anyways, I’ll let you know when the game night is.”

“Okay, thanks.” You smile at each other and go back to sit down in your office.

He had a kid, a ten-year-old…holy shit. You couldn’t imagine going through your master’s and doctoral program while also raising a child. Good for him, you think.  Andy was a pretty cute kid, a mop of curls, just like his dad.

//

You gave yourself Saturdays off. Saturdays were for sleeping in, doing a quick pilates workout, grocery shopping, laundry and whatever other chores you may have. Saturdays were for curling up on the sofa with a cup of tea and good movie. Saturday nights were for you and Janette, who you have become pretty close with, to go have drinks.

“You need to find someone to bring home with you tonight.” Janette says, as you both begin your second drinks of the evening.

“Oh stop.” You laugh. “I don’t think I have the energy to pretend to be into someone enough to fuck them.” She rolls her eyes at you. “So…what’s this I hear about a game night with the English department?”

“Oh! It’s so much fun. Once a month someone different hosts it. Sometimes we play board games, sometimes it’s card games, one time we even played Heads Up, that was a hoot.” She giggles. “You should definitely come, Lisa’s hosting the next one. Her house is huge and has a beautiful view of the lakes and mountains.”

“I think I might, yeah.”

“Who told you about it? I think Lucas was planning to add you to the email about it.”

“Oh, Harry mentioned it the other day. He said it would be good for me to get to know the other faculty.”

“He’s certainly right about that.”

“I met his son…”

“Andy was in the office! Damn, I try to keep candy in my office for him. He’s so sweet. He was just a little guy when Harry started, can’t believe he’s in middle school.”

“Yeah, he was really polite. Sort of closed off at the same time.”

“Harry seems to think he’s become more self-aware. It’s a big deal for him to want to live with Harry year round.” She sips her drink. “Shouldn’t gossip too much about it though.”

“Right.” You sip your own drink.

“The students seem to like you so far, we’ve all heard good things from our advisees.”

“Really?! That means a lot.”

“Your teaching must speak for itself.”

“Students are always in the downstairs lounge, it’s nice to chat with them sometimes. They always seem to be visiting Harry. Andre and Sandra are down with us too, and they don’t have as many frequent flyers.”

“I know you’re new and all, but I didn’t think you were naïve.” She chuckles.

“What do you mean?”

“Harry perfectly fits the hot teacher trope, Y/N. He’s slightly mysterious with his tattoos and his nail polish, but still totally approachable. He’s dorky, but funny. He’s got a little muscle on him, but he’s not terribly intimidating, plus he’s fucking brilliant. You should sit in on his Literature and Film class.”

“One might think you have a crush on him from the way you speak about him.” You tease her.

“One would have to be straight, my dear.” She winks at you, and you laugh a little too loud. “However, I know an attractive man when I see one. Girls swoon over him all the time. It was really bad when he first started because he was a little closer in age with students, things have calmed down considerably though.”

“He dresses nicely too, I like his style.”

“It’s a little out there, but it works for him.”

“Sometimes I can smell the nail polish remover from my office.” You giggle. “He really hates when they’re chipped, huh?”

“God, you have no idea. Sometimes in the faculty meetings I’ll catch him chipping away at, next time I see him they’re freshly painted again.”

You take an uber home after having four drinks with your friend. You gossiped about some other people, Harry didn’t remain the topic of conversation for long. You get home and strip yourself of your clothes, and wash up before getting into your blanket burrito.

//

Sundays were for getting a head start on the week. Sometimes you worked from your office at home, but today you forgot something at your office at work, so you decide to just grab all your things and work from your office for the day. You were making some progress on your research and you wanted to keep riding the wave you were on.

You had a tie-dye t-shirt on under your coat that had a picture of Goofy on it, and a pair of jeans on. You didn’t need to be super dressed up for some weekend work. No one was usually in the building anyways. You get some up and put some music on while you do some reading and highlighting.

“Hey! Look who it is.”

“Jesus!” You flinch and look up. “Scared the shit out of me, Harry.”

“Sorry about that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “You’re a tad jumpy.”

“Hard not to be when you’re always coming out of nowhere.” You turn your music down and stand up to walk over to him, crossing your arms over your stupid shirt. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, Andy’s with his mum this weekend, and I needed a change of scenery from the home office, so I thought I’d come here.”

“Oh.”

He looks you up and down and smiles.

“Is Goofy your favorite?”

“Huh?”

“Your shirt.” He points to it. “Personally, I’m partial to Mickey Mouse, but Goofy’s fun.”

“This is a really old shirt, I did laundry yesterday so this is what I was left with.”

“Ah…and I suppose you weren’t expecting to bump into your colleague.”

“Correct.”

“Well, I think it’s proper cute, so no worries, I won’t make fun.” He winks and goes into his own office.

You feel your cheek and it’s considerably warmer than it was from before he got there. You shake your head and return to your seat, opting to put your headphones in to not disturb him. Just as you’re getting going in the zone again, he comes into your office and plops down on one of the reupholstered chairs you had on the other side of your desk.

“Yes?” You ask, taking your headphones out.

“I want you to come observe my wellness class this week.”

“Why?”

“Because I think you could use some time to distress. You don’t teach any 8AM’s, right?”

“No…um…what makes you think I need to distress?”

“You just look like you’re carrying a lot of tension. It’s a great class. We chat, we meditate. Sometimes students fall asleep, but I’ve told them it’s okay. If their bodies are telling them they need sleep, then they should sleep. We do a bit of yoga as well. Plus, I just think it would be good for you to observe me.”

“I was told your literature class would be fun to observe, couldn’t I do that instead?”

“And let you get out of a bit of meditation?” He scoffs. “I don’t think so, sister.” You laugh at that.

“Alright, which day should I come?”

“It’s my Tuesday/Thursday course. You can pick which morning you’d prefer.”

“Anything else?”

“Tell me about your research.”

“Are you just using me to procrastinate?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Hey, what happens between me and the stack of papers I need to grade is none of your business.” You laugh at him again. Harry was funny, no doubt about that. “Come on, just a few minutes, tell me what you’re working on.”

“I am researching anonymity online, the pros and cons, how social media is mixed into it, stuff like that. People carry themselves different on the various social media platforms, trying to show specific versions of themselves, but when you’re able to remain anonymous, you somehow are truly able to be yourself without fear of judgement.”

“So, what are the cons then?”

“Oh, there are tons. There’s the fear of someone finding this anonymous version of yourself and being exposed. Then there are the people that forget there’s someone else behind the screen and send nasty messages to other anonymously.”

“That’s my biggest fear with Andy. He’s been begging me for a smart phone, but I just don’t feel comfortable with that yet.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I told him when he was thirteen we could talk about it.”

“It’s funny, I didn’t get my first phone until I was fifteen, and it was one of those ones that slid open and had a keyboard. Literally had to use the family desktop if I wanted to go on Facebook.”

“Do people even use Facebook anymore? Feel like it’s just forty-year-old wine moms and Home Depot dads.” Harry snorts.

“No one uses it anymore because it’s not fun. It may as well be LinkedIn.” You scoff.

“Well, I’ll certainly be looking forward to reading what you whip up when the time comes.” He smiles.

“Thanks.”

“I’ll let you get back to it…um, feel like grabbing a bite later?”

“If you don’t disturb me for the next two hours I’ll consider getting lunch with you.”

“Oh, I love a challenge.” He grins and stands up, leaving your office.

You smile and shake your head. Perhaps your neighbor was becoming a pretty good friend.

//

“You’re coming to Lisa’s tonight, right?” Harry asks you as he slings his bag over his shoulder on Friday afternoon.

“I believe so, six, right?”

“Yup! Do you need directions?”

“I have this thing called a smart phone, and get this…it has an app where if I put in an address, it shows me the route!”

“I really hate it when you’re sarcastic with me.” He rolls his eyes. “Get it enough from my son, you know?”

“Will he be joining the fun as well?”

“Nope, he’s with his mum this weekend. I gotta go get him from school and get him all packed up for her.”

“Does she always pick him up?”

“She picks him up on Fridays, and I pick him up on Sundays.” He shrugs. “It just works for us.”

“Makes sense.”

“Right, well, I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.” You smile and wave him off.

After knuckling at your eyes, you head home around 4PM. You wanted to shower and freshen up before heading to Lisa’s. It was a beautiful, chilly Fall evening, so you opt for a light sweater and black jeans, and a pair of boots. You run your fingers through your hair, reapply some makeup, and grab the bottle of white you had chilling in your fridge. You plug the address into your phone, and get going.

It was about a twenty-five minute drive. Lisa lived in a neighborhood with a lot of beautiful homes. Her driveway was long and winding, and on top of a hill.

“This must be a bitch in the winter.” You say to yourself. Maybe that was why she was hosting the September game night. There were a couple of other cars there, so you didn’t feel totally awkward. You walk up to the door and ring the bell.

“Y/N!” Lisa exclaims and hugs you. “Come on in, so glad you could make it.”

“Thank you for having me. I brought some wine.” You hand the bottle to her as you step inside.

“Oh, thank you, dear.”

“Shoes on or off?”

“On is perfectly fine, it’s all hardwood.” Lisa leads you inside. “I’ll get this open.”

You wait for her to pour you a glass, and then she leads you into the living room. Sandra and Mateo were already there. You wave hello and grab a seat.

“Y/N, this is Dan, the English department chair, Alice, Joe, and Fred.”

“Hi, it’s nice to formally meet you all.” You stand up and shake a few hands.

Everyone mingles and eats the snacks Lisa puts out. Her husband was quite the co-host. Janette shows up next, and you end up sitting with her. Harry’s the last to arrive. Lisa gets him a glass of red right away. He looked handsome. A tan cardigan over a white t-shirt and a pair of light wash jeans.

“Sorry I’m late everyone, Paige was over an hour late picking Andy up. There was an accident on the highway and she got stuck behind it, it was a whole thing.”

Paige, it was the first time Y/N heard Harry actually say the name of Andy’s mother.

“No worries, H.” Andre says. “Relax, we haven’t even decided on the game yet.”

“Thank god.” Harry plops down next to you on the couch. “Janette, did Y/N tell you she observed my wellness class yesterday?”

“She did, she told me she fell asleep the second you turned the lights off.” She snickers.

“Please, keep talking about me like I’m not even here.” You roll your eyes. Harry and Janette both lean over you so they can pretend to speak closer. “Okay, okay.” You push them both away. “That’s enough, thank you.”

“Alright, everyone, I was thinking we could play charades, yeah?” Lisa announces. “It’ll keep us limber.”

“English vs. CM?” Dan asks.

“You know it.” Lisa grins.

You were pretty good at charades so you weren’t worried. The couple of glasses of wine certainly helped boost your confidence. It was fun to let a little loose with your colleagues. It was some much needed bonding. Harry was quite competitive, which surprised you because he was usually so chill about everything. It was down to the final points, Harry needed to guess the name of your film correctly.

You put up two fingers.

“Second word.” You nod and he licks his lips in concentration You pretend to open a book and write it in it. “Uhhh, book…” He furrows his brows. You look up like as if you’re reading something, and then you pretend to write the book some more. “Notes…notebook, oh! The Notebook!” You tap your finger on your nose and your team cheers. “Ha!” Harry stands up and hugs you. He lets you go and looks back at everyone. “That was exhilarating. Better luck next time.” He says to the English team.

“Wasn’t exactly a difficult film to guess.” Alice says playfully.

“I had zero control over the slip of paper I chose out of that hat.” You grin.

You all help clean up before heading out. You slip your coat on and head outside after saying your goodbyes.

“Y/N?” You hear Harry from behind you. “You’re good to drive, right?”

“Yeah, of course. Wouldn’t get behind the wheel if I wasn’t.”

“Alright.” He smiles. “Just wanted to be sure.” He walks with you outside.

“It would be pretty bad if I got so fucked up I couldn’t drive home from our department chair’s house.”

“Lisa would actually get a pretty good kick out of it.” He smirks. You get to your car and press the button to unlock it. “Well…I hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

“Same to you, any big plans while Andy’s gone?”

“Not really, I try to save the fun stuff for while he’s with me.”

“Aw, no hot dates.” You wink at him. Okay, maybe some of the wine was still in your system. He blinks at you for a moment and then he bursts out laughing.

“Right, the ladies are really fighting to knock my door down.” He wipes a tear from under his eye. “Can’t remember the last time I went on a proper date to be honest with you. Not exactly a turn on when you bring someone home and they see kid’s toys hanging around.”

“Oh come on, you’ve totally got the hot single dad thing working for you.” You nudge his shoulder. “Janette I usually go out on Saturday nights for drinks, you should come out tomorrow.”

“Um…which, uh, which bar do you go to?”

“Firefly, little more adult. We don’t really see the college kids there.”

“Sure, yeah, I know that place well. Um, what time?”

“Nine?”

“I’ll be there.” He smiles.

“Great! Goodnight, Harry.”

“Night, Y/N.”

He watches as you get into your car and drive away. It wasn’t until you woke up the next morning that you realize that you essentially asked him out, and that you sort of flirted with him. You text Janette immediately and let her know he may show up.

Jan: Yay! Harry’s so much fun to go drinking with, this’ll be great!

Will it? You think to yourself. It was one thing to have a couple of glasses of wine with colleagues, but you usually got pretty drunk with Janette, always taking an uber to and from the bar. You were a nervous wreck all day, and you weren’t sure why. You were hoping all of your Saturday chores would distract you, but they weren’t.

As you get ready, you decide on a blue dress that showed a tasteful amount of cleavage, pairing it with patterned nylons, and boots. Your hair is down and wavy, and your makeup looks cute, for now. You put on your leather jacket and head out. Well, not before doing a quick shot at home. Your leg bounces the entire time in the uber. Janette is already there at your usual table. She waves you over and you sit down.

“I texted Harry earlier.” She says to you. “Just so he really knew he was invited.”

“I don’t have his number, otherwise I would have. Sorry, I feel like I should have asked first. This is sort of like our girl’s night.”

“Are you kidding?! Like I said earlier, Harry is super fun to drink with.”

After you both guzzle down your first drink, Harry arrives. He’s got a black button up on with the first few buttons undone, exposing the birds on his collar bones. He smiles when he sees the both of you.

“H!” Janette says, getting up to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, love.” He gives her a squeeze and a returned kiss. He looks at you and you give him a shy smile before giving him a side hug. “Thanks again for the invite, haven’t been to this place in a while.” He slides into the stool.

“Oh, of course!” Janette says. “I was excited when Y/N said you were coming.”

“Apparently I need to do more fun things when Andy’s with his mum.” He nudges you.

“What do you usually do when he’s gone?” You ask him.

“I usually clean up the house, stalk up on food, wash his sheets…dad stuff.” He shrugs with a laugh. The waitress comes over and smiles.

“Can I get you started with anything?”

“Rum and coke would be great, and I’ll start a tab.” He hands her his credit card and she nods.

“Nother round for you two?”

“Please!” Janette says.

“Yes.” You say with a smile.

The waitress nods and smiles. She walks away and looks back at Harry, blushing.

“Oh boy.” Janette grins. “I think you may get lucky tonight, H.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Our waitress did a double take.”

“She’s probably, like, ten years younger than I am or something. Not my style.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugs.

“What about you? Any ladies you’re trying to take home?”

“Well, if I weren’t in a long distance relationship, sure.”

“You and Sadie are still together?” He asks almost in shock.

“Of course we are! You would have known if we broke up.”

“Doesn’t it get difficult?” He frowns.

“I really don’t mind. When we’re able to be together it’s nice, but I like having my own space.” Janette turns to you. “Sadie is a photographer, traveling for National Geographic.”

“That’s incredible!”

The waitress brings all of the dinks over and you clink your glasses.

“Alright, what’s the gossip, ladies? Who are we shitting on?”

“Hmm.” Jaette taps her chin. “Perhaps Dan? He’s obviously still in love with Lisa.”

“Still?” Your jaw drops.

“Back in the day,” Harry starts, “he and Lisa were quite the item. She met Arnold at a conference. He’s a chef.”

“Ah, that’s why the food is so good.”

“Mhm, he’s retired now, but at the time she had to make this big choice between the two of them, and she chose Arnold. Built an entire life with him. Dogs, kids, big house, you name it.” Harry explains.

“And Dan’s been married and divorced twice. Lisa’s the one that got away.” Janette sighs. “Course, Lisa’s incredibly oblivious, or she pretends to be. You’d think they were simply best friends.”

“I wonder what made her choose Arnold over Dan.” You say.

“Good dick.” Janette says. “Simple as that.”

“Oh, come on.” You roll your eyes.

“You come on! Are you going to tell me you’d give up good dick?”

“So you’re telling me she was seeing both of them at the same time, and she chose Arnold because he hit it better?”

“That’s what I’m inferring, yes.” She sips her drink. “Getting to come every time you fuck is worth it, don’t you think?”

Harry nearly chokes on his drink from laughing.

“I forgot how nasty you can be, I love it.” He says and looks at you. “So, Y/N, what’s your answer? Is an orgasm reason enough to choose one guy over another?”

“Well, considering that I dated some real fuck when I was in college just so I could get some good dick, I’d have to say yes.” You say, enjoying the look on both of their faces. “I mean, it’s hard to remember how much you can’t stand someone when they’re railing you to completion.”

“Very true.” Janette agrees. “Also, Arnold is a really sweet man, sort of the whole package for her. I don’t think Lisa liked be challenged, and Dan, I heard, would challenge her on everything.”

“I’m usually up for a debate, but I get that. I don’t need to be in control of everything, but agreeable people are better.” You say.

“I wouldn’t say it’s because he’s agreeable.” Harry says, finishing his drink, and gesturing towards the waitress for another. “Arnold is smitten, not just in love, big difference.”

“How so?” You ask.

“When you’re…oh, thank you.” He smiles at the waitress brings him a new drink. “When you’re smitten, you walk around with rose colored glasses, to some that can be a bad thing, but I think when you’re that in love, you should really adore the person you’re with too. Arnold adores Lisa, Dan doesn’t. You can tell by the way they both look at her.”

It was nice discussing things like this with people who also observed people the way you did. It makes you wonder, though, what they may have picked up on about you.

After a few more drinks, you knew you needed to stop when your vision began to get hazy. Harry only had his two drinks since he drove himself. He drank some water as the night went on.

“H, Y/N lives not too far from you, help her save a couple bucks and drive her home, would you?”

“Jan…” You scold her.

“She’s right, I could give you a lift, if you want?”

“Um…well…sure.”

You both say goodnight to Janette, and Harry helps you into his car. He keeps the music low as he pulls out of the bar.

“So, where am I taking you?”

“To The Ledges, do you know where that is?”

“Sure do.” He chuckles. “Lived there myself when I first moved to the area.”

“Really?! It’s a great size place. I love it.”

“Got any pets or anything?”

“Nope, just me, myself, and I.” You grin.

“And you prefer it that way?”

“Well, after living at home my whole life, and then having various roommates over the years, I’d say that I’m quite enjoying living alone.”

“Good for you. I’m glad you’re liking it here so much. The person you replaced was such a twat.” You burst into laughter. “I’m serious! He never came to any of the outings. It was like he didn’t even care that we were trying to get him to engage. The second he got his PhD he left. Good riddance.” Harry scoffs.

“I really like it. It’s a lot different than being at a college in the city. I wasn’t sure how I’d do working in a college town, but I’m really enjoying it. I feel safe, you know? I didn’t always feel safe in the city.”

“I’m sorry, that had to have been difficult.”

“On the late nights it was. I usually had UPD walk me to my car. I don’t really have to do that here. I feel like I gained a lot of independence back.”

Harry pulls up to the apartment building, and parks. He turns the ignition off and you raise your eyebrows at him.

“What are you doing?”

“I was going to walk you to the door…”

“Oh…you don’t have to.”

“I insist.”

“Really, it’s okay. Um, thank you for the ride, it was really nice of you.”

“Thanks for the invite, I had fun.” He smiles.

“Me too.” You smile back and get out of the car.

You hear the car turn back on, and you know he waits to drive off until you’re inside.

//

“Paige, I get him for Christmas, why are you trying to change things?”

“You usually get him for Christmas because you don’t usually get him for the school year.” She crosses her arms as she stands outside in the frigid early December air.

“But you just got him for Thanksgiving.”

“You don’t celebrate Thanksgiving!”

“I observe!” He takes a deep breath. “His plane ticket is already paid for, he’s coming with me to London like always, and he will be back to you for New Year’s, like always.” He steps closer to her. “He looks forward to seeing my mum and Gem every winter, please don’t take that away from him.”

“It’s just…we’re hosting a Hanukkah party, and Noah really wanted him to be a part of it…”

“Shit.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “There’s Jewish holidays all the time, couldn’t Andy be a part of the next celebration?”

“Dad! Come on, the Pats game is starting!”

“One second, just saying bye to mum!” He yells to Andy, and looks back at Paige, eyes pleading.

“Alright…he can still go with you.”

“Thank you.” Harry breathes. “His cousins would miss him terribly.”

“I know, I’d feel terrible doing that to him. I’m just trying to balance all of this. I wanna be a good partner to Noah, and somewhat of a mother figure to Rachel, but I don’t want Andy to feel like I’m favoring them over him. He comes first, he always will.”

“I’m sure he knows that.” He puts his hand on her shoulder. “Have a latke for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” She smiles and gives his hand a squeeze before getting back into her car.

Harry heads inside and sits on the couch while Andy sits in his usual spot on the love seat, entranced by the football game.

“What was that all about? I heard shouting.”

“Could barely hear each other over the wind outside. Nothing to worry about. We were just confirming plans for your holiday break.”

“I’m still going to London, right?”

“Of course! No question about it.”

Andy smiles at Harry before returning his attention to the TV. Harry was usually very honest with Andy, but he didn’t need to worry him with any of the drama.

//

“You survived your first semester, congrats!” Janette says, popping a bottle of champagne as she walks into your office.

“Not over yet, I have finals to grade.”

“Whatever, the kids are gone, that’s something to celebrate.” She nods towards the plastic cups you keep in your office, and you grab two. “Any plans for the holidays? Going home at all?”

“Oh sure. Doing the Hanukkah thing with my folks, and then doing New Year’s in Boston with some friends.”

“Fun!”

“Wait.” Harry says, overhearing, grabbing the bottle for a swig. “You’re Jewish?”

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow at him and take a sip from your cup.

“Brilliant. Paige’s boyfriend is Jewish, and I think it’s confusing for Andy. He doesn’t much like asking th guy questions, maybe he could talk to you sometime.”

“Sure.” You shrug. “Any plans for the holidays?”

“Yeah, Andy comes home to London for Christmas, and then I send him back for New Year’s with his mum.”

“You send him on the plane alone?”

“I haven’t always, but they let me walk him right to the gate, and he flies first class, so it’s very safe. They let his mum wait at the other gate too. I like to stay home for a few weeks if I can. I’m afraid I’m a bit of a mama’s boy.” He takes another swig of the bottle. “I am not looking forward to grading these papers. I really should just have each class do a presentation, can grade those right on the spot.”

“Tell me about it.” Janette groans. “My Advanced Comp class is going to be the death of me.”

“Well, clearly this champagne is going to keep us all awake enough to get through it.”

The three of you stand there laughing. You were looking forward to the long winter break. It would give you plenty of time to work on your research, and you wouldn’t be disturbed by any students popping in and out of your office, as much as you enjoyed the chats.

//

It was the beginning of January, there you were, working away in your office. You had a long flowy dress on, for some reason, and your door bursts open.

“Y/N! I’ve traveled across the pond for you!”

“Harry! You’re back.”

“That’s right, darling, I’m back.” He pushes everything off your desk, walks around to your and pulls you close to him. He crashes his mouth to yours.

“Oh, Harry.” You moan.

“Oh, Y/N.” He moans back before laying you on your desk. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” He rips your dress of and kneels in front of you, diving his head between your legs.

You wake up in a cold sweat, panting. Your eyes snap open and you grimace. Your legs feel sweaty, so you kick your blankets off.

“What the fuck?” You say to yourself as you sit up. Harry was attractive, but you never once fantasized about him. You reach between your legs and gasp. “Did I just fucking have a wet dream?!” You lick at your sticky fingers and shake your head in disbelief. “Shower, go shower Y/N.” You were talking to yourself, yes, but it was needed to help you calm down.

You were incredibly embarrassed. Harry was your friend, not someone you wanted to fuck, and certainly not on your desk in your office at work. Most people would be turned off, but doing it in a professional place was a big turn off for you. The idea of getting caught was also not a turn on for you. If you were ever caught you could be fired, and it just wasn’t worth it. Neither was dating a colleague. It wasn’t against the rules or anything, nor was it frowned upon, but dating in the workplace could lead to a lot of problems. You had a PhD on the line. Maybe it was time to just suck it up and go for a one night stand.

//

You had forgotten all about your dream by the time the January faculty meeting hit. That is, until Harry was the last to walk in. Your face flushes immediately. His hair was a little longer, and he had a bit of scruff that he normally wouldn’t have. He smiles and says hello to a couple of people, and then sits down right next to you.

“Hi.” He whispers with a smile.

“Hello.” You swallow and don’t look at him.

“How was your-“

“Can we get started?” Lisa addresses the group. “Much to go over, we need to start talking about the fall schedule.”

You were grateful for the distraction of the discussion, but you felt Harry’s eyes burn into you every few moments. He had to have known you were acting weird, you wouldn’t fucking look at him. Even if you thought to try, you just couldn’t. Two hours later, and the meeting finally ends. You gather your things quickly and head out, and down to your office. Just as you’re able to take a deep breath, you look up and see Harry standing in your doorway, hands in his pockets, squinting at you.

“Are we good?” He asks.

“Um.” You focus on the space behind him. “Yes, why wouldn’t we be?”

“Because you refuse to look at me. Even now, you’re not really looking at me.” He shifts his weight so he’s stand up normally. “Are you mad because I didn’t reach out over break?”

“What? No! I could care less about that, it wasn’t like I reached out to you.”

“So…what is it then? You make eye contact all the time, it’s not like you to not.”

“I…” You suck both of your lips into your mouth. “It’s nothing, it’s stupid, I’m being stupid.”

“If it’s stupid then just tell me.” He comes in and sits down on your loveseat.

“Harry, please.” You shake your head and sit down in your desk chair.

“Come on, Y/N. Clearly something’s bothering you.”

“Ugh.” You groan and get up to close your door. You sit on the edge of your desk. “I…had a rather odd dream a week or so ago…”

“Okay?”

“And you were in it.” You whisper.

“What was I doing in your dream?” He whispers back.

“That’s just it, I don’t know.” You rest your chin in your palm as you cross your arms over your chest.

“Well I must have done something to make you not even look at me. Did I hurt you, do something scary?”

“No…I suppose I wouldn’t call it scary, but I was certainly disturbed when I woke up.”

“What then?” A smirk grows on his face. “Don’t tell me you had a sex dream or something.” When your face stays the way it is his smile fades. “You had a sex dream about me?” You nod yes. “Where were we?”

“Here.”

“In your office?!”

“Shh!” You swat your hands in his direction. “Do you want the building to hear?”

“You had a dream that we fucked in your office?”

“Well, it wasn’t fucking per say…you sort of…I don’t know…it doesn’t matter.”

“No tell me, let’s talk this through.”

“You wiped everything off my desk, ripped my clothes off, sat me on top, and then…” You wince slightly. “You sort of…got your head between my legs, and then I woke up.” You say the rest of it quickly. “And I was utterly concerned when I woke up because I swear I don’t see you that way, Harry. You’re my friend, just my friend. I forgot all about it, and then I saw you and got all embarrassed again.”

He stands up from his seat and gives you a shy smile.

“It was just a dream, you don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re adults, yeah? Let’s act like it.”

“I just don’t want you thinking I’m some…sex maniac or something.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay…I’m sorry if I worried you during the meeting. It really is good to see you, I’m glad you’re back. We could have lunch soon, I’d love to hear about London.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He smiles, but you can tell it’s fake.

He heads out and goes into his own office, closing the door behind him. For whatever reason, your words hurt him. Just my friend rang through his mind. It wasn’t as though it were a lie, you were just friends, but you made it clear you didn’t want him to be the one between your legs in a dream. At first he was flattered, but now…well, now he just felt sad. Was he not good enough to be the one to get you off? Even if in a dream? He hears a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

You open it slowly.

“I hurt your feelings…”

“A little.” He admits. “Not sure why, though.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I was objectifying you.”

“It was a dream, Y/N, you have zero control over it.”

“But I must have been thinking of you subconsciously, right? Isn’t that how that works?”

“Okay, so maybe you were thinking of me and maybe that got mixed in with…whatever else.”

“I just don’t want you thinking I want to fuck you, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” He mumbles.

“You want me to want to fuck you?!”

“Now who’d being loud?!”

“Sorry…”

“It’s just, well, how would you feel if I told you I didn’t want to fuck you, you probably wouldn’t feel too great about yourself.”

“It’s not that you’re not attractive, Harry-“

“This is making it worse.” He runs his hands over his face and looks at you. “It was just a dream, nothing to worry about, okay?”

“Things won’t be weird between us?”

“No.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did in that meeting, then we wouldn’t have needed to talk about it.”

“Did you tell Janette?”

“I resent that, just because I’m close with her doesn’t mean she knows every bit of my business.”

“I just didn’t know if I should be expecting some teasing from her.”

“No, none, and you better not tease me either.”

“I won’t.” He smiles. “London was good by the way…”

“Good, I’m glad.” You smile at him. “Talk later?”

“Yeah.”

//

“Not that I’m not happy to be out with the two of you, but why are the three of us out to dinner?” Andy asks.

“Mum and I thought it would be nice to see what you wanted to do for your February vacation. Usually you come see me and we go skiing, but mum knows how to ski too-“

“You’re canceling our trip?!”

“No! We were just thinking mum could take you this year.”

“But it’s your cabin.”

“And I don’t mind sharing.”

“Andy…I thought it would be nice for the four of us to go together. Noah knows how to snowboard, and Rachel wants to take a skiing lesson.”

“Great, so now this going to be a huge family trip? I don’t wanna do that, Mum.” Andy groans.

“Andy.” Harry sighs. “I think Mum and I have been very accommodating to you this year. Could you please just try to help us out a little? Do you know how many kids would kill to have their parents take them on a ski trip for their breaks?”

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful, I’m sorry.” He looks down at his plate and then back up to Harry. “Can’t you still come? The house is big enough.”

“It’s not a bad idea, Har.” Paige says to him and his eyes widen.

“Would Noah and Rachel feel comfortable with that? I wouldn’t want to overstep…”

“I’ll talk to them, I can’t see either of them feeling weird about it. She refers to you as Uncle Harry as it is, and it’s your cabin, I don’t think Noah would care.”

“Would you be alright with it?”

“Sure.” She shrugs. “There’s that spare room on the other end of the house, so you could have your own space and the kids could stay in the bunk room.”

“Wait, so this is happening?” Andy perks up. “You’d really come, Dad?”

“Yeah, if it’s not weird for anyone, I’m in.”

Andy gets up from the table and moves to hug both Harry and Paige, both of them looking at each other surprised. They give each other mental high fives for being able to figure things out.

“I’m really excited now.” Andy says as he sits back down.

“Okay, now that we’ve got that out of the way…” Paige grins and looks back at one of the waitresses, giving her a nod. Happy birthday starts being sung throughout the restaurant.

“Oh my god.” Harry closes his eyes and groans. “This dinner wasn’t about me…”

“Nonsense.” She chuckles. “How often do we all get to celebrate together?”

A small cake with candles is brought over in front of Harry. The singing continues and he feels thoroughly embarrassed.

“Wanna help me blow ‘em out?” He asks Andy.

“Yeah!” He leans over and blows out the candles and the restaurant claps.

Harry looks at Paige and shakes his head. She laughs and thanks the waitresses.

“Andy, go get in Dad’s lap, I’ll take your picture together. I’ve got your gift for him in the car too, I’ll go get it.” Andy crawls into Harry’s lap, and Paige uses Harry’s phone to snap the photo. She beams when she looks at it. “You should get this one printed, it’s adorable.” She gets up and leaves to go get the gifts.

“Did you know about all this?” He says to Andy giving him a squeeze before letting him go.

“She just told me we were meeting you for dinner instead of going straight to your place.” He shrugs.

Paige returns shortly with a few cards and bags.

“Alright, this is from Rachel and Noah.”

“They didn’t have to get me anything…”

“They insisted!”

Harry takes the card out and smiles. Rachel had clearly drawn him a picture, it was cute. His smile grows wider when he takes a nail kit out of the small bag.

“I was due for one of these, I’ll have to text Noah a thank you.” Harry opens the next bag and sees a card from Andy that he also drew. In the bag was a new set of pocket squares for his suits, that he desperately needed, some bandanas, scrunchies, and a gift card to his favorite clothing store. “Went all out son, thank you.”

“Thought your…what was the word you used, Mum?”

“Wardrobe.” She chuckles.

“Yeah! Thought your wardrobe could use an update.”

“Should I be offended?” He says, raising an eyebrow.

“I think you should be happy your son has your keen eye for fashion.” She slides another card over. “That one’s from me.”

“You’ve done enough.” He says before leaning over to kiss the top of Andy’s head.

“Just open it.”

Harry rolls his eyes and opens the card. He starts laughing. There was some joke about being close co-parents, and a gift card to one of his favorite restaurants.

“Thank you.”

“More than welcome.”

Andy hugs Paige goodbye in the parking lot before hopping in the backseat of Harry’s car.

“Were you surprised, Dad?”

“Very! Thank you again for the gifts, it was very thoughtful of you.”

“I’m more excited about going skiing now.”

“Sorry if we scared you. I just wanna make sure Mum gets to see you.”

“I know.” He sighs. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“How come Mum has Noah, but you don’t have anyone?”

“I have you.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I just…I don’t know, I don’t have much time for dating.”

“What do you do on the weekends when I’m not with you?”

“Sometimes I see friends, or I catch up on some grading, I clean up too. You’re gonna start doing more chores, that would be the ultimate birthday gift.”

“It’s okay if you wanna date, you know…”

“I don’t exactly need your permission.” He chuckles.

“I know…but I want you to know I’m okay with it.”

“Well, I appreciate that, thanks.”

//

When Harry walks into his office Monday morning he’s surprised to see a vase full of flowers. There’s a small card with it:

Happy Birthday, H!

-        Y/N

Harry smiles to himself and smells the flowers, he couldn’t believe you remembered. He only mentioned it once when his birthday was. Thirty-two was off to a great start. He hangs his jacket up and gets his computer set up. His first class wasn’t until 9AM, so he had some time to prep and wake up a bit more before heading to the lecture hall. He sees you walk by on your way to your office.

“Oh! You’re here!” You had two coffees in your hands. “My gift wasn’t complete yet.” You walk in and hand him his coffee. “Black coffee.” You smile.

“Thank you, the flowers are lovely.”

“Not that I thought you needed more plants in here.” You joke. Harry had a fuck ton of plants in his office windowsill.

“Well excuse me for enjoying nature.” He scoffs, and takes a sip of his coffee. You sit down on the couch in his office.

“Did you have a good weekend?”

“I did, Paige and I took Andy out to dinner to talk about his February break, and it turned into a little surprise birthday thing, it was nice. Can’t remember the last time we did something like that as a family. I mean, we have shared birthday parties for him and stuff, but I think he enjoys when it’s just the three of us.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…did he ever know the two of you as a couple?”

“No.” Harry sighs. “I think he was almost two when she and I called it quits. Now look at us, we’re all going on a ski trip together, including her boyfriend and his daughter.”

“That won’t be weird?”

“Not really, I’ve known Noah a while.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Well, they’ve been a couple for almost three years, but they were friends beforehand. He’s one of the lawyers at the office she works at. He came on, like, a year after she and I split, they were friends for a while, and I think once he knew she and I weren’t getting back together he made his move.” Harry shrugs. “No skin off my nose, I just wanted her to be happy. His daughter Rachel is as cute as a button too.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “Poor thing, her mum died in a car accident when she was really little. Paige is a great mum, so it was a good fit for everyone I think. The only thing I don’t love is that Noah is, like, almost forty.”

“How old is Paige?”

“Almost thirty-four, so it’s not super weird, but…I think that’s another reason why he waited to ask her out, you know?”

“I’m surprised he doesn’t have his own cabin to take her too.”

“Nope, just a massive house on the lake.” Harry chuckles and looks at his flowers again. “Thank you again for these, it was a nice surprise.”

“Oh, don’t mention it.” She sips her own coffee and gets up to go to her own office.

“How’d you know I’d like these?”

“Everyone likes getting flowers, Harry.” She smiles and leaves.

//

Harry had cancelled his classes during the week of Andy’s February break like he always did. He had forum posts for them to work in in his absence. Going to the cabin wasn’t ask awkward as he thought, and it was good bonding for Rachel and Andy. Harry, Noah, and Paige could hear the two of them giggling as they watched movies at night, it was sweet. Harry mostly stuck with skiing with Andy during the day, and he and Paige took him for a run or two as well. As Andy got older co-parenting got easier, for whatever reason. Any lingering feelings between Harry and Paige had simply fizzled into a normal friendship. There was no malice between them which was good for Andy to see.

“Uncle Harry?” Rachel asks one night at dinner.

“Yes, love?”

“How come you have an accent, but Andy doesn’t?”

“Because Andy wasn’t born and raised in a country where people sound like me. Although sometimes you sound like me when you’ve been around me a lot.” Harry looks at Andy.

“My friends tease me for how I say pasta sometimes.” He chuckles. “I say that like you.”

“It’s true! You say taco like Dad too. It’s pretty funny.”

“Well, those are my two favorite foods so it makes sense.”

“How come you have so many tattoos?” Rachel asks.

“Honey, tattoos can be really personal.” Noah explains.

“It’s alright, I got a lot of them when I was younger. Think my last one was when Andy was born, got his initials my forearm.” He extends his arm out.

“Harry.” Paige clears her throat, nodding towards his mermaid tattoo and shakes her head no.

“Oop! Sorry.” He blushes. “Sometimes I forget she’s there.” He chuckles.

“Can we paint nails after dinner, Uncle Harry?” Rachel pleads.

“Sure! Brought that nail kit you and Dad so nicely got for me.”

“Yay! It’s okay, right, Daddy?”

“Of course, princess.” Noah says lovingly towards his daughter.

After dinner, Harry sits with Rachel at the kitchen table, to not make a mess, while Paige, Noah, and Andy sit in the living room watching TV. On the outside looking in the scene may be odd, but this was working well for all of them. Andy was having a good time and that was all Harry cared about.

//

It was a Thursday night, you both swiped right, and you met him at a bar. After a few drinks you climbed into the backseat of his car and before you knew it you were bouncing up and down on his dick while he pressed hot kisses to your neck. His name was Gabriel, and he was just what you needed right now. Or he would have been if he had been able to last a moment longer. You were so close, and he came into the condom before you had a chance to have your own release. He didn’t even ask if you got yours, he just kissed your cheek and lifted you off him.

“Care to take this back to my place?” He says.

“Think I’ve had enough for one night, thanks.” You say as you button your pants back up.

“Let me at least drive you home.”

“No, that’s okay, I can take an uber.” You get out of his car and slam the door shut. He gets out and looks at you, you turn around and look at him.

“Another time?”

“No, I don’t think so.” You say bluntly and his face falls.

“Thought we just had a nice time.”

“You had a nice time because you got to finish.” You huff as you fix your jacket. You take your phone out and order your ride.

“Thought you did, my bad.”

“Right.” The car pulls up, and you get in.

This is why you hated doing things like this. Men on these dating apps just wanted to get theirs. They just wanted a place to stick it and they didn’t care if you were left satisfied or not. You take a nice, long shower when you get back, scrubbing the smell of Gabriel away from you. You grimace when you see the kiss mark he left on your collar bone. Luckily a shirt and scarf would cover it, and it didn’t look like it would last longer than a couple of days anyways.

//

“Well, were you being vocal about what you needed?” Janette asks you as she sits on the edge of your desk Monday morning.

“I said things like right there or like that…he didn’t even warn me that he was coming, he just did. Then he wanted me to come back to his place with him…”

“Maybe he would have put on a better show for you.”

“The previews certainly didn’t leave me wanting to see more.”

“Preview for what.” Harry says, peeping his head in. He had a slight tan from skiing, and it was sort of cute.

“Y/N saw a really bad preview for this movie about this loser, that’s all.” Janette says. “How was your week away?”

“Actually, not too bad. I think it was good for us to all do something together. Andy had a great time, that’s all I cared about. He even agreed to be with his mum for the entire April vacation.”

“Oh? What’s she going to take him to do?” You ask.

“They’re gonna go to New York to see some shows, I thought it was a great idea. It’ll be good for him to get some real culture.”

“And that’s not a trip you wanted to join in on?” Janette smirks.

“Hmm, large cabin where I have my own space or cramped hotel room?” He weighs his option. “I’ll take the bitter cold and the cabin, thanks.”

“What do you think you’ll do while he’s away?” You ask.

“No idea, I’ve got time to figure it out. Honestly, it’s perfect timing because that’s right during advising weeks so I’ll actually be able to help my students without him sitting in the corner complaining that he’s bored.” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t what’s gonna turn my hair grey first, him or the college students.”

“Oh please.” Janette groans. “Men look so much better with a little grey, makes you look distinguished, it’s us who look like old crones when we let our greys out. I don’t wanna hear it.” She shakes her head and looks at her watch. “Gotta get ready for my next class, so you later.”

“Is it true?”

“What?”

“Do men look better with a little grey.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“Depends on the guy, I think. I mean, I’m twenty-six so a little grey wouldn’t scare me away, but I’m not exactly looking for a silver fox.” You laugh and so does he.

“I missed your sense of humor last week. As good of a time it was, I felt like I had to be very careful about the jokes I cracked.”

“Well, no need for a filter here.”

Harry nods and goes into his own office. He thinks for a moment and then peeps his head back into yours.

“So, what movie preview did you see that you didn’t like?”

“What?”

“When I first came in, you and Jan were talking about-“

“Oh! Um, it was so bad I don’t even remember the name.” You tug slightly at your scarf out of nerves.

“Too bad, I could’ve searched it and had a good laugh.” He shrugs and leaves again.

Sometimes you wondered what Harry’s dating life was like, not that it was any of your business. He had mentioned a couple of times he didn’t make a lot of time for it, but what about one night stands? Did he make sure women got theirs when he was with them?

//

“I’m going to look like a fucking idiot compared to all of you.” You pout as you get your robe and hood on.

“You will not. Sort of miss the master’s robe, honestly, they’ve basically got pockets. You’ll have your doctoral one soon enough.” Harry says, putting on his own robes.

“I can never get this thing right, could you help me?”

“Of course.” He steps behind you and adjusts the blue hood for you.

“Do I need the cap? It’s just an honor’s ceremony.”

“You certainly do, and get used to it. This is one of three times a year you’ll need to put this on.”

“Three?”

“Grad commencement and undergrad commencement are separate ceremonies.”

“And we have to go to both?”

“We do.” He sighs. “You’re also not the only professor on this campus that isn’t a PhD yet, so don’t get down on yourself, yeah? You’re working towards it.” You turn towards him and his hands place gently on your shoulders.

“Thanks, Har.”

He smiles at the nickname and lets go of you. You and the other CM professors head over to the CM Honors Inductee Ceremony. It was a nice event for the honors students within the major. As soon as it ends you rip your cap off. You didn’t enjoy wearing it at all. You mingle with a few parents and take pictures with some of the students that wanted you in their photos.

“Y/N?” One of your students, Kayla, says.

“Yes?”

“I was wondering…for our final assignment, instead of writing you a paper about signs, could I make you a video instead?” She was in your Rhetoric and Semiotics class.

“Hmm, I think that could be really interesting. What would a video entail?”

“Well, I thought I could go to the grocery store and show unwritten rules, like how someone will put a divider down on the belt without having to be asked, or how when you go up to the deli you just grab a ticket, how branding works, stuff like that.”

“As long as you still send me a references page I think that could be fine. Of course, I’d have to show it to the rest of the class.”

“Deal.” She smiles. “Thanks.” You nod and then she walks away.

You head back to your office to hang your robe and hood up in your closet. You grab your back and smack right into your Harry.

“Jesus.” You say and back away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even see you.”

“No, that was me, I was walking too fast.” He unzips his robe and hangs it up same as you in his own closet.

“Why were you in such a hurry?”

“Single mum at the ceremony got a little too liberal with the hugging, had to get out of there.” He chuckles. “You hungry?”

“I could eat.”

“Wanna go down to the pub? I don’t have Andy’s still in New York…”

“Sure! That sounds great, actually. Let me just drop all this off in my car.” He nods and you both walk down to the parking lot before walking the rest of the way to the pub.

You both sit down at the bar and order drinks. You both end up getting Mediterranean wraps, not feeling quite hungry enough for nachos this time around.

“Any summer plans yet? I know it’s early, but-“

“Paige and I need to sit down with Andy to figure all that out. He got to stay with me all year, so it would be make sense for him to be with her for the summer, but I have a feeling he won’t like that. School gets out in June for him so I’ve got some time…but I have a feeling it’s not going to be easy.”

“Why do you think he wants to be with you so much more?”

“I just think he’s at an age where maybe he feels more comfortable being with me. He’ll be eleven soon, changes are starting to happen.” He chuckles. “Maybe Paige and I could split up the summer or something.”

“How have his grades been? Wasn’t that part of the deal?”

“His marks have been great, he’s doing well. He has some great friends and he loves his teachers. He really enjoyed playing basketball this winter in the town league too.”

“Not that I’m an expert on custody agreements, but couldn’t you do what you’re doing now? Wednesdays and every other weekend with Paige, and the rest of the time with you?”

“He hates the back and forth in the summer, that’s why we agreed on summers with me. I mean, she still sees him in the summer, obviously, but he usually doesn’t have to go every other weekend. We’ll see.” He sighs. “We try to give him what he wants to not make waves, but at the end of the day we’re the parents and he’s the child and what we say goes.” He finishes off his drink and asks for another. “Need a refill?”

“Sure, I could probably handle two.” You shrug.

Two turned into three, then, four, and finally five. The sun had gone down and it was dark outside. You two had split a chocolate lava cake. The bar was starting to fill with college students.

“Holy shit, it’s almost ten!” You say. “Should probably go before some of these kids try to buy me a drink for a passing grade.” Harry laughs at that and agrees. You split the bill, and nearly lose your balance as you hop off the bar stool, clutching as his bicep.

“Wanna split an uber? I can’t drive, and I don’t think you can either.” He chuckles.

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll order it.”

“No, I’ve got it.” He takes his phone out as you both head outside. The car pulls up after a couple of minutes and you both get in. “We’ll drop you off first.”

“Alright.” You smile. “This was fun tonight. I like when we get to hang out.”

“Me too.” He smiles at you. “Can’t believe your first year is almost done.”

“I know, it’s really flown by.” You crane your neck from side to side and sigh. “Maybe now that I know the area better I’ll feel more comfortable trying to really meet someone.”

“Meet someone for what?” You look up at him, making a face as if the answer is obvious. “Oh! That’s cute you think you have time for a relationship.” He laughs.

“Excuse me?”

“Y/N, you spend all your free time on your research.”

“I just spent some free time with you, didn’t I? Janette and I go out, and-“

“Janette travels with Sadie in the summers.”

“Guess that leaves me stuck with you then.” You nudge him. “Actually, I’m hoping to go to Boston for a bit, visit friends and family. I’m hoping to get to the beach too. I love summer.”

“You should come hiking with me. Despite the black flies, May is great because it’s not humid yet.”

“Might have to take you up on that, I really enjoyed it this fall.” The car pulls up in front of your house. “Have a good night, Harry.”

“You too.” You both reach over and hug each other. “See you Monday.”

“See you Monday.” You smile and get out.

//

Once the school year was over, you sat with Lisa and went over your course evaluations. Overall you did really well, and she reaffirmed how happy she was that she hired you. She wishes you a happy summer, and that’s about it. You ask if you’re allowed to use your office in the summer, and she says yes but it gets really hot so it’s not as great as you may think.

Saturday night as you’re having your last girl’s night with Janette you get a text.

Harry: Hey! Know it’s last minute, but I’m taking Andy up Rattlesnake tomorrow morning, care to join?

Y/N: sure! As long as he doesn’t mind…

Harry: got his permission already, we’re all set ;)

You bite your bottom lip and smile, and Janette peaks over your shoulder to see what you could be smiling at.

“God, what a gift it would be if I come back in the fall and you two are dating.”

“Oh, stop.” You nudge her. “We’re friends.”  

“Would it be bad to be more?”

“I don’t really think it’s a good idea to go out with someone you work with…”

“Good luck finding anyone else who’s decent around here then.”

“I could meet someone in Boston, do the long distance thing.”

“That gets old.”

“You’re doing it!”

“Yeah, but I’m more of a free spirit. Sadie and I don’t care about marriage or kids or a house in the hills. You, my sweet friend, would like all of those things.”

“True…” You finish your drink. “Well, if I don’t want to puke on this hike tomorrow I should probably get going.” You both stand and hug and kiss and wish each other fantastic summers.

You get a restful night’s sleep, and get yourself ready in the morning. You had invested in a pair of hiking boots in the fall, so you were feeling prepared. You put on a pair of spandex shorts, and put on some mesh shorts over those. You opt for a sweat resistant short sleeve shirt, and pull your ponytail through a baseball cap. You get everything in your small pack that you’ll need: sunglasses, sunscreen, water bottle, granola bar, rag, and bug spray. You drive out to the trail and park, lathering your arms and legs with sunscreen. You see Harry’s car pull up, and Andy hops out, bandana and clip keeping his hair back, just like Harry’s. Harry had a sleeveless shirt on and you could really see the definition in his shoulder muscles. You put your sunglasses on and head over to them.

“Morning, boys.” You smile.

“Morning.” Harry smiles back.

“Hi, Y/N.” Andy mumbles shyly.

“Hi, Andy. Dad told me you’re doing well in school. Bet you’re about ready to be done, huh?”

“Yeah, only a few more weeks.”

“Can’t believe he’s going into sixth grade. Makin’ me feel old.”

“You are old.” Andy giggles.

“Mhm, thanks.” Harry rolls his eyes. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Andy walks a few paces ahead of you and Harry.

“His birthday is soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, next weekend, actually…um…Paige is hosting his party this year.” Andy looks back at Harry making a face, and Harry makes a face back at him.

“That’ll be fun.” You say, not noticing the exchange as you look at the various trees surrounding you.

“Yeah…it will be. Um…it’s Saturday afternoon…”

“Weather looking good?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s great. Probably still cold to swim at the lake, though, right?”

“Yeah, but the kids will still have a water balloon fight.”

“Dad, just ask her!” Andy groans as he turns around again.

“Ask me what?”

“He wants you to go with him to the party.”

“Andy!” Harry snaps at him. “Keep walking.”

Andy rolls his eyes and continues to walk ahead of you.

“Is that true, you want me to come?”

“Is that weird?”

“Not really.” You shrug. “Although, I’d only know you and Andy.” You chuckle.

“See…it’s just…Paige’s parents will be there, and that’s fine, but Noah’s parents are coming too, and it would be nice to have a buffer other than my son. He’ll be off playing games and eating junk good, I don’t want him to think he needs to babysit me…”

“I totally get it. I don’t think I have plans, I could go for a little while.”

“Really? I’m not asking too much?”

“Not at all, what are friends for?” You smile and he smiles back.

You walk a few paces ahead of Harry, but still behind Andy, giving Harry the perfect view of your bum in your shorts. He wasn’t staring, but he certainly wasn’t not looking. When you get up to the top your jaw drops. The view of the mountains and the lakes were even better in the late spring. You snap a few photos, taking one of Harry and Andy, Harry taking one of you looking out, and then you all sit down for some water and snacks.

“Andy, do you enjoy hiking with your Dad?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot of fun. We go a lot over the summer.”

“Andy’s hiked two of the 4,000 footers, hoping to get a couple more done this summer.”

“Wow! That’s incredible.”

“You should come with us, Y/N. We’re going to camp overnight at one of them.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna go camping with me, I’m a real snob. I need running water and indoor plumbing.”

“It has that.” Harry says, taking a sip of his water. “There’s bathroom, no shower or anything, but working toilets. You bring all your own camping gear. It’s pretty cool.”

“I’ll consider it. Think I should probably go on hikes that are longer than a mile up.” You laugh.

“You guys can do during the week now that school’s over, right?” Andy says.

“I wouldn’t want to exclude you, Andy.” You smile.

“Don’t worry about me.” He crunches down on his granola bar. He shares another look with Harry, but again it goes unnoticed by you, too busy looking out at the beauty of the mountains and lakes.

You all hike down the mountain in not time and say your goodbyes. Harry tells you he’ll text you with more details about the party later in the week.

“I told you she’d say yes.” Andy says from the backseat of the car.

“I wish you had let me work up to it a little more.”

“You were taking too long. Sometimes you just need to pull the trigger, Dad.”

“Is that so?” Harry laughs. “Things are a little more complicated at my age. Sort of awkward asking a colleague out on a date.”

“If you two are friends does that make it a date?”

“Well, she’ll be attending with me, so that makes her my date.”

“Does that mean you’ll kiss her goodnight?”

“Andy!” Harry looks back for a moment and then gets his eyes back on the road. “No, I’m not going to kiss her. You heard her, what are friends for, that’s all she sees me as.” He sighs to himself.

“That’s why you need to step up your game.”

“Son, do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Just, shut up for the rest of the drive home.”

Andy bursts out laughing, but does as Harry asks, knowing he’s being a bit annoying.

//

It was a beautiful day on Saturday, but you were worried about being cold out by the water, so you opt for a pair of high-waist jean capris that flare a bit at the bottom. You find a sleeveless white blouse and pair it with a blue cardigan. You put your hair up in your two buns, and throw on a pair of wedges.

Harry: I’m outside

“Shit.” You say, just finishing your makeup. You run around, grabbing your purse, and the box you had wrapped for Andy’s gift, and head out.

You open the passenger seat and get settled, smiling at Harry.

“You didn’t have to get him anything.”

“I know, it’s just a new basketball. I saw it at WalMart when I was picking up a card. I hate showing up to these things empty handed. What did you get him?”

“A new bike.” He grins. “It’s in his mum’s garage already.”

“Oh! He’ll be so excited. He skateboard too right?”

“Yeah, I really don’t know where he gets his coordination from. Other than skiing I’m pretty clumsy.”

“Don’t you go to a boxing gym?”

“Yeah, and I look like a proper oaf.” He laughs and looks at you. “You look nice by the way. Your outfits are always so put together.”

“Oh, um, thanks.” You blush slightly. You wanted to tell him that you did your hair the way you did because you know he sort of likes it, but you thought that might be a weird thing to say. “Does, um, Paige know you’re bringing me?”

“She does.” Harry nods. “You’re not, like, nervous to meet her are you?”

“No.” You scoff. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “What did you say to her about me?”

“Well, before I got a chance to say anything last night when she picked Andy up, he spilled the beans.” He rolls his eyes. “So I told her you’re a friend from work…is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s what I am so it makes sense.” You drum your fingers on top of the box to the beat of the music. “None of your family will be there?”

“They’re going to FaceTime in for it. They came for his tenth birthday since it’s a bit more sentimental.”

“Do you miss them?”

“Oh sure, but I love here too much to go back permanently. I like going during winter break, that’s enough.”

“You don’t go during the summer?”

“Sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. Sometimes they come to visit here during the summer too. My sister has two kids of her own so it’s not always easy to travel.” You nod your head. “You know, I’ve known you almost a year and I don’t know a thing about your family.”

“What’s there to know? My parents are still together, somehow, I’ve got an older brother who’s a sous chef at a restaurant in Boston. He’s not married, but he has a partner and he’s just lovely. I usually stay with them if I go home for a visit.”

“That’s great! How much older is he?”

“He’s around your age, actually, so not a huge age difference.”

“And when’s your birthday?”

“Beginning of August.” You grin.

“Wow, so you had just turned twenty-six when you came to us.”

“Pretty much, got hired at twenty-five, not too shabby.”

“Not at all.”

The conversation went on for the entire drive. That’s how it always was with you two, always a lot to talk about. When you get out of the car you’re able to get a good look at Harry’s outfit. His outfits were usually well crafted, you’d call his style dad-chic. He was in a pair of tan slacks that he had cuffed at the bottom, a pair of white loafers to go with them, a white tank top tucked in with a floral open short-sleeve button up. Very handsome. You smile at each other and then he leads you around back to where the party was. You weren’t the first people there, but you weren’t the last either.

“Dad!” Andy exclaims and runs over to you both. Harry picks him up and swings him around before setting him down.

“Happy birthday, kiddo.”

“Thanks! Look, all my friends from school came.” He points over to them. Harry recognizes Brandon and his father out of the bunch.

“That’s great, bud, let us come in and say hi to everyone, can you say hi to Y/N?”

“Hi, thanks for coming.” He gives you a surprising hug.

“Oh! You’re welcome, Andy. Happy birthday.”

He runs back over to his friends and you walk further into the backyard. It was stunning. Grass that led to sand that led to the lake water. A boat parked further down by the docks, and just gorgeous views for miles. The house itself was huge, you couldn’t believe it.

“Harry!” A woman, who you would assume is Paige, comes waking over. She was beautiful. Shoulder length blonde hair, sort of thin, but not quite a stick. She was wearing a yellow sundress. Her and Harry share a slight hug. “He’s eleven.” She pouts.

“He’s eleven.” Harry agrees with a sigh. “Oh, this is Y/N. Y/N this is Paige, Andy’s mum.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” She says to you. “Let me take that for you, thank you for bringing him something. I’ll put this with the others.” She takes the box from you. “There’s wine and beer for the adults if you like, but we also have soda and water if you’re not up for drinking. I certainly had a glass after my folks showed up.”

“Did your mother put her white glove on and see if there was any dust?” Harry teases her.

“She may as well have.” Paige rolls her eyes.

Harry puts his hand on the small of your back and leads you closer into the party.

“This is a lovely home.”

“Oh, thank you. I sort of inherited it. It’s was my grandparents’.” She sets your gift on the table with the others. “There’s snacks inside and outside. Feel free to hangout wherever.”

“Where exactly are your parents?” Harry asks.

“Up on the deck.” Paige points up towards it. “Feel free to avoid them as long as you like. They’re speaking with Noah’s parents at the moment. My sister should be here soon.” She looks at her watch. “I’m gonna go check on some things.”

“Alright, love, thanks.” They smile at each other. You get a bad taste in your mouth hearing him call her love, for whatever reason. “Wanna meet some of the parents. I know that guy, Ed, the best. He’s Brandon’s dad, Andy’s best friend.”

“Sure.” You nod and Harry leads you over. “I never quite understood why some parents stay at kids parties.”

“Well…look around you, wouldn’t you wanna hang for a bit?”

“Got me there.”

“Harry, hi.” Ed shakes Harry’s hand.

“Good to see you, this is my friend Y/N, we work together at the university.”

“Hi.” You shake his hand.

“Great to meet you. Brandon was so excited when he got the invite. He and Andy get along so well.” The three of you watch them and the other kids playing tag.

“Born to be friends I’d say.” Harry says.

“Uncle Harry!” A young girl comes running over to Harry and he picks her up, kissing her check, and then setting her down.

“Hi, Rachel, can you say hello to my friend Y/N?”

“Hello.” She beams up at you, a couple of teeth missing. “My grammy and grampy are here.”

“Are they?” Harry says.

“Mhm, I love them a lot.”

“I’m sure they love you too, sweetheart. Are you having a good time for Andy’s birthday?”

“Yeah! We’re going to have a water balloon toss soon.”

“Oh, that’ll be fun!”

“Daddy said he’d be on my team for it.”

“Well, that’s good.”

She smiles again and then runs off.

“Your ex’s boyfriend’s daughter calls you Uncle Harry?” You ask.

“Yeah…she sort of started doing that on her own. She knows I’m Andy’s dad, but I don’t think it quite registers with her yet how we’re all mixed together.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A glass of white would be great, thank you.” Harry nods and leaves you standing with Ed.

“So, how long have you and H known each other?”

“Well, I started working at the university last August, so less than a year. We’re office neighbors.”

“Ah, how nice. He’s a really great guy, isn’t he? I coach the boys’ basketball team and he was the first to sign up for snack duty.”

“He’s definitely always thinking of others.”

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Oh, um, we’re not.” You shake your head. “He just asked me to come with him, ex in laws, you know?”

“Shit, I’m sorry for just assuming.”

“It’s alright.” You assure him. Harry comes over with a glass of wine for you and a bottle of beer for him.

“Sorry that took a moment, I ran into Noah inside and had to do the hellos. Still managed to not bump into Paige’s parents though, so that’s good.” He chuckles, taking a sip from his drink.

“Bad blood?” You ask.

“Even though things between Paige and I are perfectly fine, in their eyes, I’m always going to be the guy that got her pregnant and didn’t make an honest woman out of her.”

“That’s annoying.”

“Very.”

An hour or so passes and then Paige announces that the balloon toss will be beginning soon.

“Dad, be my partner?”

“You got it, buddy. Mind holding my drink?” He says to you.

“Not at all, have fun.” You smile.

More people had come down off the deck so they could watch. Some parents partnered with their kids, and other kids just partnered with kids. Everyone starts about a foot apart. This should be fun, you think, knowing Harry’s competitive nature.

“Would you look at Harry, he looks like an old man from Florida.” You hear a woman scoff.

“Notice how he’s been avoiding us, always a child.” You hear a man say, and this makes you turn towards them. They must be Paige’s parents.

Everyone playing was further apart now, some balloons had popped, but Harry and Andy were still in the game. The balloon pops at Rachel’s feet and she giggles loudly. There were only a few people now. You watch as Harry lobs the balloon perfectly to Andy, and Andy catches it with ease. It was Brandon and his dad vs. Harry and Andy now. Brandon overthrows it, causing the balloon to pop on the sand.

“We won!” Andy shouts running towards Harry.

“Great job.” Harry jostle’s Andy’s hair. Everyone cheers for them.

“What do you say, honey, cake and gifts now?” Paige asks Andy.

“Yeah.” He smiles.

All of the kids sit around a large glass table while Paige goes inside to get the cake. Harry walks back towards you and you hand him his beer.

“What were you saying about you have no coordination?”

“I had to win, it’s his birthday.” He laughs and then stops when he sees Paige’s parents. “Lydia, Nathan, how are you?”

“Oh, are you speaking with us now?” Lydia says playfully, giving him a hug. Harry shakes Nathan’s hand.

“You know how it is when you first get to a party, lots of excitement. I’d find you eventually.” He clears his throat. “This is Y/N, we work together at the university.”

“Hello.” You smile and they both look you up and down.

“How nice for you to bring a friend.” Nathan says, his tone laced with sarcasm.

“I’m gonna go see if she needs help with the cake.” Harry says to all of you, and you also decide to move away from the rude people you were standing with.

Paige and Harry stand on either side of Andy’s chair as everyone sings happy birthday. After cake the gifts come out. Noah takes Harry into the garage to grab the bike.

“Alright…this one is from…Y/N!” Paige says brightly as she hands the gift to Andy. He tears the wrapping paper off and gasps.

“Alright! A new basketball, thank you!” Andy says looking in your direction and you nod with a smile.

“Okay, Andy, Dad and I got you something really special.” Paige says pointing over to Harry who was wheeling the bike over. Andy’s jaw drops.

“Are you serious?!” He stand up and walks over to the bike.

“Know you’ve been wanting it for a while, and your grades have just been so good this year, we just had to do it. Mum’s got a new helmet, elbow and knee pads for you in the house.”

“Thank you so much!” He hugs Harry and then he hugs Paige.

“You’re more than welcome, baby doll.” Paige says to him and then he squirms away from her.

“Mum.” He huffs.

“Right, sorry, not in front of your friends.”

Paige’s sister helps her clean up the remains of the cake while the kids continue to play yard games. You find yourself sitting in a lawn chair when a man you have yet to meet takes the chair next to you, but you recognize him as Rachel’s father.

“We haven’t gotten to meet yet, I’m Noah.” He shakes your hand.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He smiles. “I was happy to hear Harry was bringing someone with him. Takes a bit of the pressure off.”

“Exactly.” You nod.

“How’d you meet?”

“We’re office neighbors, I started working at the university less than a year ago.”

“Oh! Right, you went hiking with them last weekend.” He says in understanding. “Andy told us. He’s quite the gossip.”

You observe Noah as he speaks. His hair has turned to salt and pepper, definitely had crow’s feet, also wore glasses, but he had a warm and inviting smile, similar to his daughter’s.

“He certainly speaks his mind.” You chuckle. “He’s very sweet though, I have to say.”

“Very sweet. He’s a good kid. It’s nice for Rach to have someone to grow up with a little She adores him, definitely sees him as a big brother.”

“That’s good. I’ve always found blended families to be interesting. You all are doing it well.”

“Took us a while to get to this point, but it’s all been worth it.”

“Y/N?” You both turn to look at Harry. “Party’s starting to dissipate a bit, are you about ready to head out?”

“Sure!” You stand up. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Same here.” Noah stands up and gives Harry a thumbs up without you seeing.

You both say your goodbyes, Andy gives you another hug and says thank you again for the gift. Harry tells him he’ll see him Sunday night, and then you head to his car.

“Hope you didn’t mind when I had to leave to chat a couple of times.”

“Oh, it was fine. I enjoyed just hanging out. It was a beautiful day.” The sun was just starting to set.

“Yeah, I’m glad the weather was nice. I think it’s supposed to rain tomorrow.” He looks at you and then gets his attention back on the road. “You really did look nice today.”

“Thank you, Harry.” You smile and give his shoulder a squeeze.

“Am I…taking you straight home?”

You blink a couple of times before looking at him.

“Where else would we go?”

“Well, I’ve got a back deck of my own. We could sit out, enjoy the sunset…if you want.”

“That sounds nice, actually. Yeah, let’s do that.” You smile.

“Great.”

You notice his jaw and shoulders relax. Were you making him tense? You both listen to the music on the radio as he drives you to his home. You smile as he pulls up. It was a decent size ranch. Cream color paneling and red shutters, very cute.

“Here were are.” He says awkwardly as you both get out.

“Do I get a tour?”

“Of course!”

He unlocks the front door and leads you inside. There was an open concept kitchen and living area. The house smelled like fresh coffee. He noticed you taking a whiff.

“I have an automatic air freshener.” He says and you nod.

“I like it, should get one for my place.”

“There’s a full bath down the hall, Andy uses that, and then I have my own bathroom. Three bedrooms totally, and then you can see I technically have two levels, that’s what I use for my office.”

“It’s a huge loft.”

“Yeah, it’s partially why I bought the place. I didn’t feel cramped. Basement’s partially finished which will be great for Andy when he’s over if he wants to have parties or whatever. Uh, and then the deck is this way. Can I get you anything…I only have red wine, I know you like white…”

“Red’s fine, maybe just put an ice cube in it for me?”

“Can do, make yourself comfortable outside.” He smiles.

You slide the glass door open and smile. It was a decent sized deck. There was a small glass round table with chairs, a grill, and some Adirondack chairs as well. You sit in one of those after taking a glance at the flowers and plants he had in pots. You also notice the various flower beds he had in the yard.

“Here you go.” He says, sitting down next to you, handing you the glass of wine.

“Thank you.” You smile and take a sip. You cross your cardigan over yourself.

“Are you cold? I can get a blanket.”

“Oh, no I’m fine, thanks. It’s beautiful out here.”

“Thanks, took me a while to get it landscaped the way I like.” He lights the citronella candle on the small table between you to help keep any bugs away. “I’ve been thinking of getting an above ground pool for Andy, he loves to swim, but it’s a lot maintenance, and his mum as the lake right there.”

“That house is incredible.”

“Noah’s helped her revamp it quite a bit, and the boat’s his.” He takes a sip of his drink and looks at you. “Thanks again for coming today.”

“Of course, I had a really good time.” You smile.

“You’re not just saying that?”

“Not at all. It was nice to finally meet the people you’ve told me so much about.”

“Are you hungry or anything? I could bring some-“

“Harry.” You put your hand over his that was resting on the arm of the chair. “Relax, yeah? I’m all set, thank you.”

“Alright.” He blushes and looks straight ahead. You notice him check an app on his phone. “Are you free Tuesday morning?”

“I think so, why?”

“Weather’s looking good, how about we go on one of those longer hikes?”

“I’d like that.” You smile. “Anything special I’d need to back.”

“Just a lunch, maybe some T.P.”

“You’re funny if think I’m going to take a piss in the woods.”

“Everyone does it.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I’d keep lookout for you.”

“You men have it so easy, you can just whip your things out, go quick, and you’re all set. Me, I’d have to roll my pants down, squat, hope none of it got on my shoes, wipe, and then get dressed again.”

“I’ve had to do that before, sometimes you just need to take a shit in the woods.” You burst out laughing at that. “Course that only happened because I went out drinking the night before.”

“Good to know.” You wipe a tear from your eye. “But seriously, I’d love to go hiking with you Tuesday.”

“I know it was more so Andy that invited you on our little camping trip, but you’re welcome to join in on that if you feel comfortable.”

“I would just feel like I’m intruding on your quality time.”

“You wouldn’t be, he likes you…um…I like you.” Your head snaps in his direction and your eyebrows shoot up. “I mean, like, I like hanging out with you, is all.” He was internally cringing at himself.

“I like hanging out with you too.” You swallow. “I’m glad we’ve gotten to know each other so well. You’ve been a great help with my classes. You’re so progressive, not always using the same syllabus and being willing to make things work for the students. It’s refreshing.”

“Please, go on, the narcissist within me is loving it.” He smirks and you roll your eyes. “Don’t sell yourself short, you’re doing really well. I enjoyed observing your rhetoric class. It was a nice refresher. I hope you won’t work yourself to much this summer. I know it’s more time for research and writing, but it’s also time for you to clear your head.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to keep that in mind.” You finish off your wine just as the sun it setting, the light from the candle being the only thing to keep things bright enough to see.

“I can, uh, bring you home now if you want.”

“I could just get an uber so you don’t have to go out again.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble.”

Harry drives you home, and you find yourself lingering in the car.

“So…Tuesday?”

“Tuesday.” He smiles. “Bright and early.”

“How early?” You raise an eyebrow.”

“How’s six sound? I’ll come pick you up, we’ll get to the trailhead by 6:30. It’s always better to summit earlier in the day.”

“You’re the expert.” You shrug. “Works for me.”

You both lean across the console to give each other a hug a goodbye, like you normally would, only this time…you press your lips to his cheek before getting out of the car. His gaze stays fixed on you, and it’s not until you’re inside your building where he lightly presses his fingers to his cheek to feel where you kissed him.

[kyberphilosopher]

Atonement

Requested: yes. 

Word Count: 4193 Cal must deal with the consequences of his comrades deception and injuries, while they must deal with what this means for their relationship. 

Atonement is the concept of a person taking action to correct previous wrongdoing on their part, either through direct action to undo the consequences of that act, equivalent action to do good for others, or some other expression of feelings of remorse.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*. 

Once upon a time, Anakin wasn’t all bad. But maybe that was why he died. After that, there wouldn’t have been competition for someone that was all bad, or at least somewhat worse than Anakin was alone. 

Not that Anakin was a complete and utter angel. You knew, not better than anyone but still enough, that Anakin wasn’t all good either. And sure, most people aren’t, but your Master wasn’t most people. Far more talented and powerful was he than the other Jedi Knights, but far more unhinged was he who could not control himself. Anakin was the latter. 

The other Jedi seemed to pity you. It wasn’t as if Anakin Skywalker was always inherently kind on you. You weren’t funny like Ahsoka, or respectable like Obi-Wan. In fact, Anakin had a suspicion that there was something inside of you that reminded him of his mother. Thus, he was cold. And he rarely bothered to teach in the way that people deserved to be taught. 

He doesn’t like me, you remember thinking. He never will. 

You had been the perfect padawan. You were certain you had done everything right. And yet, Anakin’s stare was icy, when he bothered to look your way at all. Where had your Master gone after the Purge anyway?

Your eyes open slowly. 

Light peels across your vision, smeared from the art of being tired. Once your lids are widened, the back of your right hand lays across your forehead lazily. You had been dreaming, hadn’t you? But what had it been about? And why did it seem so hard to remember?

Maybe it was about your Master again, you realize as you exhale. No- ex Master now. But maybe it had been about him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

You’re a Clone Killer. 

Eyebrows crease with a twitch. You’ve laid in bed with too much comfort now. It’s time to get up. Stars, but the bed is warm and your legs are tangled in your comforter just right. When’s the next time you’ll get to feel this relaxed and sleepy?

Must’ve been the worst Padawan in history. 

“Shit,” you whisper with closed eyes. Yes, now you’re more than certain that it’s time to get up. Comfort doesn’t matter today. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The restroom door hisses to a close behind you. Rubbing the back of your neck, you begin your sluggish march to the ships deck. You can already smell Greez’s cooking wafting from around the corner. What is that? Sausage and... is that eggs?

Your pants scuff against each other, sweatshirt twisting with the reach of your arm. As the floor transitions from metal to stiff rug, you pull your chair out. 

“Ah, good morning sleepyhead,” you hear Greez’s voice call out to you. Your eyes remain sleepy, gazing down at the table. Doesn’t even look present, Cal observes as his eyes flick over your face. 

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sun today,” Dritus continues from the stove. One of his four hands flick the pan over the stove up with an explosive sizzle. “Be careful you don’t make me feel bad, so I don’t feel inclined to give you more of my food.”

“I slept in too late,” you mutter, half to yourself. 

At the other side of the table, Cal’s stocky form is hunched over. One of his hands is wrapped around a cup on the table, which is covered in cold perspiration. Soft ginger hair falls back as he looks over you. You could feel his pretty, kaleidoscope eyes from the other side of the universe. He doesn’t say anything, though, and you’re too tired to play the “What’s He Thinking About?” game right now. 

“You’re damn right you did,” the Latero says. “Cal here was just about to go and check in on you.”

You swallow quickly, glancing up at the man parallel to you. Cal is looking over at Greez, given you a clear view of his jaw and the scar that stretches over his neck. He’s beautiful. He always has been. You can feel your ears start to burn, and you look away almost immediately. 

“Thanks,” you say instead, finally pulling your hand away from your neck. Without even realizing it, your intelligent orbs look to Cal again. This time, however, your eyes meet. Electric pulses run through you, tickling from your neck to your pelvis. And, true to your nature, you brake gazes immediately. “I think I’ll skip out on breakfast today.”

“Seriously?” Greez whirls around, dumbfounded. “But... breakfast is the most important meal of the day!”

That’s true. Ever since you gained the privilege of having Greez Dritus the wanted Latero to cook for you, breakfast had been far more likeable. He always knows how to add the perfect amount of spice and flavor without coming off as overbearing. But there’s something in the back of your throat, crawling up to the tip of your tongue. A name of an old master, and the dream that you can’t remember. 

“I’m just not hungry,” you push yourself out of your stool and slide it back under the table. Cal watches your form jog down the steps and disappear into the cockpit, his lips parted and near pulling into a frown. 

“Wonder what her problem is,” Greez’s raspy voice calls into the air. 

“Let her be,” a mature female voice breaks as it rounds the corner. Cere emerges from the hallway by the stares, her watchful eyes also glued on the cockpit archway. “She’ll come around.”

Will you? Cal wonders. You’ve always been a bit tight lipped in the grand scheme of things, but today the anguish is peeling off of you like steam. You seem pale in the way that conveys sickness. The dark circles under your eyes are wise, but tired. Maybe you’re just ill. 

It’s not that far off. As you flip switches around on the console pointlessly, all you have to think about are these hands that disappointed your Master. Calloused, rough fingers. Raw palms from holding your saber. Clever, but never enough. 

You exhale through your nose, your shoulders sinking. 

Oh, that’s right. That’s what happened to your Master.

How could you have forgotten that?

“Rough night?”

You perk up at the sound of his voice, but don’t turn around. It’s not that you don’t want to look at Cal, it’s that you feel to ashamed of yourself to even try it. You don’t deserve to look upon him. 

“Just feeling sick,” you mutter so hoarse he can barely hear. 

“Is that the truth?”

Your eyes widen stiffly. One heel at a time, your feet turn around until you are facing your companion. 

Time slows as you look at Cal. His soft orange hair billows in the air conditioning, kaleidoscope eyes twinkling with wonder. The freckles, the jaw, the chapped pink lips. He is beautiful. The way he looks at you now makes you feel guiltier than usual. 

Why don’t you just tell him? Tell him you know the person who’s responsible for that scar on his stomach. Tell him you were trained by him. Tell him about your nightmare last night, how you woke up in cold sweats. But you can’t. You just can’t. 

“Yeah,” you say hoarsely, eyes glued to his. 

Cal steps forward suddenly, almost losing his balance. His soft, pink lips come dangerously close to yours. You can smell his scent, turning your jaw to meet him instinctively. But it was just an accident. 

He steps away to regain his balance. The only sound in the room is that of the air vents. 

He wasn’t going to kiss you. 

Cal stays still, firm. “I hope you feel better,” he says in the same tone as before, though far more sincere. 

And he turns away and walks out of the room, leaving you alone with only the air to comfort you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

The leaves crunch under boots as they do. Twigs snap, pebbles crumble. Dirt scuffs against each shoe. 

Above you, the Kashyyyk trees whisper in the wind, allowing pools of sunlight to fall in between the loose spaces of green. The breeze tickles at the skin on your arms. It’s a nice day. But this is still not enough to improve the sick feeling in your stomach. 

Maybe you really were just a failure of a padawan after all. 

“Hey,” the boy beside you calls. “Look up there.”

You raise your head, squinting through the thin, rainbow rays of sun. Up ahead of you, over a steep drop that could be anything from a river to an abyss, is a great mechanical building. It’s sleek and gray, standing out against the natural beauty. This itself is enough proof of Imperial presence. 

“I thought they would’ve left by now,” you mutter, slightly in awe. Birds fly over the fort as if it didn’t bother them for a second, and the waterfall nearby doesn’t cease its babbling. “Why haven’t they left by now?”

“Only one way to find out,” Cal tells you after some seconds of silence. 

Something rushes through the air then- a gust of wind that only you seem to feel. It’s haunting and low, like it has it’s own voice or musical theme of doom. It’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s a warning, a promise, or some kind of mockery, but it feels dark. More importantly, it feels like a message. But Cal doesn’t move a muscle. Only his orange locks billow in time with his lashes, which close slowly. 

“Wait,” you break the quiet. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

The boys eyes are furrowed when his head turns to you. His pale green eyes flash briefly in the sunlight, but the twinkle of confusion and curiosity remain after the flash disappears. “Why not?”

The rush of wind slows until you can barely feel it anymore. The words are on the tip of your dried up tongue, but you’re not even sure what they are. What can you say to explain your... your fear? It’s more than just intuition or a gut feeling. It’s something you know for a fact, and you have the evidence, but you can’t even hold it. 

“It’s dangerous,” you decide, your bottom lip shaking too quick to notice. You say it almost casually, almost as if it were obvious. And of course, it is. Thus the flaw in your attempt. 

“Most things are,” Cal replies. 

Just then, the pitter pattering of little metal feet tap against the dirt and mulch comes to life. It completely cuts away what little presence the ominous air had left, only allowing BD-1′s happy little whirs to clearly ring through. 

Cal’s hands rest on his hips as he turns his head to look at his partner. He squats to the ground with his little calm smile. “Would it make you feel better if I sent BD to scout ahead?”

It wouldn’t at all. All you can think about instead is your little scrapped friend getting his sliced clean off with a long, red blade. Cal wouldn’t even be able to fix him. 

“BD, go on ahead,” Cal tells the machine. He scratches along BD’s head for encouragement, and the creature doesn’t even seemed miffed before hopping off into the leaves and trees until he’s completely out of sight. 

“I don’t- I don’t think-” your hands ball to fists at your sides. A lump forms in your throat like an invisible bubble, or a heavy ball clogging your airway. 

“Y/N?” Cal’s brows furrow once more as he twists and stands again. “You look pale.”

Another wave of wind flows through. It’s the same as before- cold, threatening, filled with something angry and sad and warning you to never have to feel it for real. However, your partner feels it this time too. 

His eyes leave yours and drop to the ground behind him as he twists in concern, looking around for whatever could be the cause. Subconsciously, his right hand lifts from his side to the right side of his ribs. Your eyes widen in understanding, but you wish so badly it was anything but that. 

“Do you feel that?” Cal calls out to you, still trying to locate the presence that doesn’t even exist. 

Yes, you think as you watch the boys other hand slip over his saber. I feel it. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Anakin wasn’t always evil. Whether or not he’s even evil now is up for debate. But for as long as you knew him, in your eyes at least, he was your hero. Not because he helped you, which he didn’t, or because he wanted the best for you, which he didn’t care about. But because he was strong, and someone to look up to. He’s the knight in shining armor that every little boy wants to be like when they grow up, and the warrior every feminist wants to be equal to. Anakin Skywalker was, by all means, a dream. 

So then why is this the worst you’ve ever felt?

“Master?” your voice wheezes out. There’s a storm all around you, a personal tornado for the three of you that makes everything but roaring hard to hear. Rapid blinking helps to keep the dust from your eyes every few seconds, but not enough. It’s starting to sting.

“Stop,” you hear another voice say, but it’s muffled with chokes. “Stop...”

This isn’t Anakin. This is a man of metal- obsidian and iron and cooled magma. There’s not a single inch of flesh showing. The cape, whipping wildly in the wind, is the closest thing to organic. It’s tattered, and the wind gives the illusion of it bleeding away like inky smoke.

“Join me,” False Anakin calls. His fist clenched with determination, a red glow brightening up the area. “Serve your master.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

And from Cal’s position, you just look plain pretty. Kind of distraught, with faded eyes and slightly knitted brows paired with a frown. Your hair is sort of billowing in time with the storm around you, along side that weapon on your belt. Really, you look sad. 

Cal’s fingers dig into the dirt and sand beneath his body. His whole form feels like it’s going to rip away into dust, like Vader doesn’t want him there. And of course, he doesn’t. He hasn’t even given Cal a glance. That being said, his whole stomach feels entirely enflamed. Especially that one special place where he’d felt Vader’s touch before. Now Cal knows that you must’ve been touched by him as well. It’s the worst feeling in the world. 

“Don’t,” he chokes. Cal gets a mouthful of dirt in the process, but he doesn’t even register it. “Y/N-”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

“-will come back from this.”

Your eyes open. They feel stiff and dry, like how you imagine a mummy’s would. The light over head is blinding and white, with flecks of rainbow bouncing off it at the sharper edges. You do not react in any way. 

Internal bleeding of the stomach, one impalement scar on your right side. There is a long, long series of blisters and torn skin across your shoulder from being tossed and dragged across the ground. Then there’s the slit over your left eye which makes it impossible to open. You might as well have lost it. 

Some people would’ve been happy to just be alive. Fighting Darth Vader? Fighting Anakin Skywalker? And surviving it? Well, not everyone gets that privilege. But for some reason the appreciation isn’t coming to you. Maybe you should’ve died back then as some kind of last apology. 

“I know they will.”

You hear footsteps from beyond the doorway become more and more faint, until you can’t even hear them at all. The metal door hisses open. There’s a few footsteps against the floor, then a sharp pause. 

Your head rolls to your right lazily. A young man stands before you. A cute redhead with a broad chest and wide, shocked pale green eyes. Underneath them are mauve rings- dark circles and bags- and chapped pink lips. 

Cal opens his mouth to speak, and then spins around. With the flick of your wounded fingers, the entrance to the room closes and seals itself shut with a click. The cute redhead is still, his back away from you. 

Maybe because of the loss of some other senses, your Jedi one’s have heightened. The intuition inside of you is reading his color- his entire aura- something you could’ve sworn you weren’t able to do before. There’s so much anxiety from him. Enough to make up from the lack of anxiety you have right about now. 

“You’re awake,” he speaks. You can sense his voice about to crack. “I should tell the others.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cal,” your raspy voice croaks. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

He turns around to look at you, one foot at a time. His eyes are downturned tiredly, but mostly from sadness. The corners of his lips are annoyed from your words. “You’ve been asleep for two weeks,” Cal says. “Didn’t know if you were coming back.”

You don’t say anything.

His use of the words ‘coming back’ sting. Just two simple words, which to you feel like they mean something far more deep and sinister. Almost as sinister as yourself. 

“Are you okay?” he proceeds to question, though you both know it’s just out of politeness. 

“I can’t see out of my eye.”

“Do you know why?”

You don’t move. You’re quiet yet again. 

Cal’s voice raises frustratingly. “Do you know why? You let someone put a lightsaber to your face just so you could smash in their helmet!”

“I don’t remember that.”

“He stabbed you in your stomach!”

Cal’s never raised his voice at you before. You wish you were more upset about it. His tone alone is enough to make a sinking weight appear in the pit of your stomach. But you can’t cry. You can barely feel anything but both relief and emptiness. Not once in those two weeks did you dream about either Anakin, or Vader. 

“I watched him pick you up and slam you on the ground! I watched you die about a million times out there!”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you mutter hoarsely. And you mean that, too. 

“I thought that...”

Don’t. Don’t tell him. 

“I thought that I was going to hurt you.”

Silence fills the room from corner to corner. Even whatever air that once came from the vents has come to a complete halt. Maybe every system in the galaxy has stopped its turn. 

“What?” Cal asks, now much softer. He takes a gentle step towards you, his eyes desperately locked to your own.

You glance down before back to him. “I was his apprentice before the purge. Don’t ask Cere about it- he never talked about me. I doubt there was even paperwork to confirm it. I thought this was coming but... I wasn’t sure.”

Cal takes another step forward. 

“He never liked me. And then on Kashyyyk... he...” You swallow down the shame for a moment. “He told me he wanted me to be his apprentice again. For real this time.”

“So you fought him,” Cal partially pieces together. 

You swallow again and look down to your hands. 

“Cal, I fought him because I wanted to go with him. I saw my- I saw the future he was talking about. It was good for me. I was happy... sort of.”

He’s finally close enough to sit on the end of the bench that you didn’t even process lying on. There’s concern in his eyes as he listens, and he doesn’t dare take them off your face. It makes you feel like even more of a coward. 

“But I didn’t see you there, too. I didn’t see anyone there. I thought maybe I... I thought maybe I had killed you.”

Cal opens his parched lips slightly, and then closes them. 

“And I really don’t want to kill you.”

Cal looks away. From here, sitting up slightly so you didn’t choke in your sleep, you can make out freckles on his neck. They stretch over his tendons, across his jawline. They’ll no doubt stretch over that scar from his jaw down on the other side. His long lashes move as he blinks. His hair looks softer than ever. 

“After the battle I carried you away. After it was done you just... looked at me. And then you collapsed, and I had to carry you.”

Silence. 

Cal gets up. 

“Cal?” you call, louder than you meant. 

The boy turns back to look at you. 

“I...”

Is he prettier than before?

“Do you hate me?”

Cal creases his brows. 

“Do you... are you going to talk to me again?”

He opens his mouth, but you don’t let him speak. 

“Don’t say it, if you don’t mean it. I was trained by the most dangerous person in the galaxy. By your biggest enemy. I... lied to you about it. I almost killed you, Cal. You can hate me.”

“Do you think I hate you?”

Your eye squints, and finally it glosses over as it wells with tears. “Yeah.”

Cal Kestis. Man of your dreams. Hero of everything. Angel of infinity. Please, don’t hate me. You have every right to, I know. But please- please don’t. 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” he finally whispers, looking down at the floor. “Maybe you should’ve told me, but... I think deep down I already knew.”

A questioning look appears over your features, but Cal answers before you can ask. “You’d been acting off for weeks, Y/N. Those nightmares were about Vader, weren’t they.”

“Yeah. They were... Do you... think of me any differently?”

Please. 

“...No. I don’t know if I could ever do that to you.”

“I couldn’t think of you differently either,” you say after a moment. You throat is getting scratchy, but it’s hard to care. 

“I care about you, Y/N,” he tells you, sincere but calm. “You know that don’t you?”

“You wouldn’t have carried me if you didn’t care, Cal.”

“Y/N on the morning of this whole thing I wanted to kiss you,” he snaps, his hands limply swinging with urgency. “I should’ve kissed you.”

So many emotions in one conversation. 

“You can still kiss me now that I’m clean with you.”

Cal looks at you for a long time, his tired, bright eyes searching for something in your stillness. Then he looks down. 

“It’s okay, Cal. It’s part of my atonement.”

He looks at you for a long time again. The corner of his lips twitch upwards for just a second. It puts you at ease somewhat, with a warm feeling spreading in your stomach finally. 

“You’ve got nothing to atone for,” Cal says. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Y/N.”

You have nothing to say. No words come to your dry tongue, although your lips hang open like something will come out. Nothing does. You just look at your redhead, who’s tired and distraught, but has more clarity and love than he ever has in his entire life. He won’t raise his voice to you again. 

Your palm dances again as you look to away. The door finally opens again, and Cal forgot that you had initially even caged him in here. 

“You can go now.”

It’s quiet. You can hear shuffling, slow footsteps like maybe he doesn’t want to leave. “Can I kiss you when I get back?”

Even while looking at the wall right next to you, your face goes hot and pink. 

“Maybe,” your husky voice answers. And when you turn to look back at him, he’s already looking at you with a genuine smile like a little boy getting a big present that they can’t believe. That’s how he sees it, anyway. 

“I don’t hate you, Y/N,” he suddenly says. “I could never hate you.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Idk if I’m happy with this or not? I ran into a bunch of writers block with this I don’t know why. Sorry it took so long to put out anyway. I also might change it to better fit the request because that’s really the most important thing to me and with finishing it after literal months I might’ve lost sight of the whole point. Idk though. Cal is a cutie. 

TAGLIST: @omg-we-really-doo @chokemeanakin @anakinswhore @haztory @fanficsforheartandsoul @kit-jpg @ahsokatano-thetogruta

[nikethestatue]

Just Breathe

Of Fawns and Shadows

Chapter 7 I know it’s been 3 weeks, but this is almost 60 pages and 23,000 words!

Summary:

The twins teach Elain something about the brothers, and Illyrian males

Elain flexes her magical muscle

We learn much more about Azrie’s background and his mother

Some Prythian history is explained 

Elain pleasures Azriel in a variety of ways that he enjoys

Heavy NSFW elements 

This is a long chapter, but also is a set up for many things that will happen in the future, hints are dropping like bombs!

Tell me what you think. I love reading comments and reactions.

Just Breathe

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

Pabo Neruda

 Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night. 

Yesterday, after the four of them woke up after their impromptu nap, Azriel took her back to the orphanage and stupidly, she almost cried. They stood at the gates, swathed in his shadows to keep the two of them from prying eyes. 

He stroked her hair, then her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones, as he murmured endearments to her. 

“Do you want me to come to the River House for dinner tonight?” he asked, hoping to placate her before she unraveled in front of him. But she shook her head stubbornly and pressed her lips to the inside of his palm. 

“They are leaving tomorrow,” he reminded her, and then leaned in and gently kissed her neck. “And you should wear a scarf,” he chuckled.

“I think that I left it at the House,” she looked around, suddenly feeling lost. 

She was returning to the real world, at least for tonight, and it’s not where she wanted to be. She didn’t want to live her regular boring life. She wasn’t interested in going back home after her time with the children, then possibly meeting with city planners, while Feyre and Rhys smiled at her politely, their expressions telling--they were indulging the strange sister who had her singular interests. In exchange for their tolerance, she cooked and baked, and looked after their estate, now that Feyre was busy with their boy. How did she, Elain, become the odd, spinster sister? She didn’t know. 

Up until two days ago, she was utterly miserable. Every day, she’d wake up hating her life, the monotony of it all, while cursing herself for being so selfish and ungrateful. She was living a comfortable, well-tended life where she lacked nothing, where she had people who cared for her, where she could make herself useful, and where she wasn’t burdened by societal expectations. Despite all that, inside, she was hollow. Only her children brought a spark of joy into her life, her children, and the shy, pointless glimpses at Azriel, whenever she managed to lay her eyes on him. Her damn bond pushed and pressured, though over the past few years she’s become accustomed to it, to its tug, its phantom presence which floated inside of her. 

She held Azriel’s hand in hers, unwilling to let go. He kept stroking her face, his thumb on her lips, under her eyes, over her chin and nose.

“Don’t be sad, emani,” he begged. “I hate leaving you like this.”

She wasn’t going to lie to him and say that she was just fine. She wasn’t. 

She wanted her life with him, where it was the two of them and happiness. Was she envious of Cassian and Nesta? Of their wild, passionate, maddening devotion to each other? Perhaps. But she didn’t want what they had. She wanted her own.

“Ahh, I want to come in,” muttered Azriel, looking longingly at the crazily-painted building.

She chuckled sadly, “If you do, they won’t let you go.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be let go.”

He looked down at her, into her sad eyes the colour of amber and then leaned to kiss her hair.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he promised.

She kissed his hand and then he watched her walk inside the gates.

Something empty and cold settled inside his stomach.

It was late when Elain was walking home. She opted to eat dinner with the children, and then they all had story time and finally, she helped with nighttime rituals of bathing, dressing, tucking and hugging. 

Lex floated next to her, its presence suddenly a comfort to her. She never thought about, never considered that she was unsafe here, in Velaris, but when she turned around, she noticed a trail of shadows. To an untrained eye, they were just that--shadows that spread over walls of the buildings, the cobblestones beneath, stretching and moving the way all shadows did. But now, they were her friends. Her protectors. They were not just an empty, thoughtless, natural entity, but a mysterious sentient thing that cared for her, because its master cared for her. 

“Lex, what do you like?” she asked, surprising herself. She wasn’t intent on having a conversation with a shadow.

“I like stars,” said Lex simply. 

“Stars? That’s beautiful, Lex. But why?”

“Because that’s where I am from. Stardust. The song of the wind and stars created us. Here, we were born at dusk. There were so many of us once before, free to roam and live at dusk, amidst the oncoming darkness and the fading light. Now, there are very few left,”

“Where did the shadows go?” 

“Dusk left and the shadows left with it. Only a few remain now. The master and those who serve him.”

“Are you talking about Azriel?” she was confused. Lex was prone to wax lyrical and talk too much, or too little. 

“Yes, lord Azriel. My master. The last master of all shadows.”

“Hmm,”

“So I am here, with you and my master. Until maybe we return to the dusk with my master. Maybe with you too.”

Elain had no idea what Lex was rambling about, so she let it drop.

With the shadows slithering behind her, she felt safe, protected even, so she walked slower than usual, taking in the evening sights and sounds. Envious again. Envious of all this life around her. Life that bubbled and spilled on the sidewalks; laughing Fae stumbling from bars and public houses, distinguished couples out on their evening walk, lovers holding each other’s gazes and bodies, not seeing and not caring about anyone else. But she...she was invisible. Not because of the shadows, but because that’s what she’d become. Elain the Beautiful. Kingslayer. She now trudged quietly and lonesomely down the streets, wondering when in the world she became a shadow herself? A shadow of her former self, an invisible entity that no one paid attention to? 

The human Elain did not want this sort of life--she enjoyed the balls and the outings, she enjoyed attention and beautiful things, lovely gowns, male company and compliments. And the Fae Elain wasn’t sure if that changed very much--he still liked parties and balls, and nice dresses and dancing. She didn’t want to be quiet and lonesome and obscure. She wanted to glow and sparkle and love and live with adventures and travels.

She felt a beast of wonder prowling under her skin. A beast that wanted to unleash and see the world turned, and reforged. She felt the beast, but feared it--it was her new Fae self, this untamed wild thing that the Cauldron gifted her. She didn’t know what it was, and why it was there, but it beckoned and seduced her with its presence and the thoughts that she had. 

By the time she got home, Feyre and Rhys already retired for the night and she walked to her suite. She sat down on her bed, looking around. 

“Go to sleep, Lex,” she said.

“I am not tired.”

“Then do whatever you want,” she plopped down on the bed, and looked up at the ceiling.

“Why are you sad?” inquired Lex.

“You are the shadow, you tell me,” she muttered, annoyed.

“You are in love with the master.”

“Very astute observation,” she said tartly. 

“Master is not rude like you,” noted Lex. 

She threatened, “I am going to ask the master for a different shadow.”

“No you won’t. I am going to sleep.”

For something that shouldn’t have had emotions, Lex sure seemed like he was angry. 

There was a knock on the door just as soon as Elain changed and put on her robe. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to talk to Feyre, but she hid her grimace and said ‘come in”.

To her great relief, it wasn’t her sister who stood at the door, but the grinning wraiths. What’s more, Cerridwen held a bottle of brandy and a glass, while Nuala held two glasses, which she raised as a peace offering and an invitation.

Elain burst out laughing.

“You seemed in a right mood tonight,” grumbled Cerridwen, as she pushed past Elain and made her way to the small sitting room. 

“So we came to cheer you up!” Nuala followed her sister.

...Thirty minutes later, the three of them were deep into the bottle, buzzed and laughing.

“Aww,” Elain rubbed her temples. “I am not used to drinking every night! I got drunk yesterday,”

They snickered and Nuala winked, “we know!”

Elain blushed, remembering that one of them had been to Azriel’s house to deliver her clothes and toiletries. They knew where she spent the night.

“So,” Cerridwen, stretched out on the sofa, was sipping her drink slowly. Among the three of them, she was an expert at holding her liquor. “Did all that pining between the two of you amount to anything?” she inquired bluntly.

Elain blushed and mumbled about being given a shadow.

Cerridwen rolled her dark eyes and shook her head, “Honey, that’s not what I wanted to hear. Is he any good? As good as they say he is?”

Confused, Elain nodded, “he is good. He is very nice.”

Cerridwen bubbled her lips, shaking her head. Nuala smiled into her glass and said, “Elain, what my sister is so rudely trying to ascertain is whether you’ve made love. I am going to go with a ‘no’, but,”

“No!” exclaimed Elain, blushing profusely.

The three of them had discussed males, and bedding them, without going into explicit details, but this was different. While Cerridwen preferred women, but also enjoyed discussing males and their ‘shortcomings’, Nuala was, used to be, Azriel’s lover. 

“Elain, I don’t care,” assured her Nuala, seeing the panicked discomfort on Elain’s face. She waved her hand, “it’s in the past. Whatever happened,”

“So you can go and jump his bones!” encouraged Cerridwen, raising her glass in a salute.

Still hot, from embarrassment and alcohol, Elain murmured, “it’s not like that...We haven’t,”

“Well, why not?” shrugged Cerridwen. “With those wings of his, he ought to know what he is doing,”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “His wings? what do the wings have to do with anything?”

The twins exchanged meaningful glances, and Nuala laid her head on Elain’s lap, saying, “El, there is still much that you don’t know…”

Elain recalled all the offhand comments that her sisters, Mor, and even Amren had made about wings over the years. The knowing glances and the smirks.

“Is it something sexual?” she sighed at last.

“Of course it’s something sexual!” cried Cerridwen with a laugh. “Have you touched his wings?”

“Why would I touch his wings?”

“Just try it,” encouraged Cerridwen, “see how he reacts!”

“Don’t,” Nuala shook her head, and then pointed an admonishing finger to her sister, “you stop that!”

“Why?!” laughed Cerridwen.

“Elain,” Nuala stroked Elain’s hand, “don’t listen to her. And don’t touch an Illyrian’s wings without permission. They are...sensitive,”

“I thought because it hurts them,” started Elain.

“Oh no. It certainly doesn’t hurt them.”

Elain shrugged. “So, that’s the big deal? Their wings are sensitive to touch?”

“Nu, tell her!” pleaded Cerridwen.

Elain looked down at the sprawled Nuala with expectation.

“It’s the size, honey,” finally blurted Cerridwen, choking on her laughter, “the bigger the wings, the bigger,”

“The cock,” concluded Nuala.

“What?” Elain snapped, blushing deeply. Feyre’s comment from earlier today came back to haunt her. “You two are just teasing me,” she folded her arms on her chest, “it’s not true! You are just saying this because you know that I haven’t been with a Fae male,”

“And what a fine Fae male you’ll get to be with,” Cerridwen whistled and Nuala smiled.

“Well, I am sure that Cassian is,” she began, but Nuala interrupted, shaking her head,

“Oh no. Cassian wants to be the biggest,”

“But our shadowsinger got him beat by a margin,” said Cerridwen meaningfully. “A measurable margin.”

“And Rhysand?” Elain blurted, immediately regretting her outburst. Oh gods. Now she was going to be walking around and eyeing the males’ wings! 

“The High Lord,” said Nuala, “possesses a High Fae endowment.”

Elain waited, knowing that they weren’t done. So Nuala added, “The Illyrians are naturally,”

“Better equipped,” supplied Cerridwen. “Why do you think that the High Fae hate them so much?”

“And some Illyrians exceed even Illyrian expectations, like a certain shad-,”

Elain buried her face in her hands, yelling ‘stop it, stop it, stop it!”

The sisters were laughing at her. “Don't tell me this!” she exclaimed. “I have to face him! What am I supposed to think about now?”

“Probably his cock,” offered Cerridwen unhelpfully.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” she moaned.

Nuala slid her arm around her and butted her shoulder, “Well, take consolation in that he knows what he is doing!”

“Well, I would hope that at 500 years old, he’d know what he is doing,” groaned Elain.

Cerridwen gave her a look. “Hmmm. Don’t bet on it. Males don’t always learn...”

“539,” said Nuala casually.

Elain glanced at her. “What?”

“He is 539 years old. He will be turning 540 soon.”

“When is soon?

“Imbolc,” said Cerridwen. “He and Cassian celebrate it together.”

Elain sat up, asking, “They were born on the same day?”

“Azriel was born on Imbolc.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Elain admitted.

“A holiday to celebrate the Mother. It’s halfway between Solstice and Spring Equinox. It’s a lovely little holiday, without much fanfare...Anyway, he will be 540. Cassian will be 539.”

“But they were born on the same day??”

Cerridwen, despite the alcohol, became serious, almost wistful.

“Well...No one knows when Cassian was born. He was taken from his mother so young and the records were lost, if there was ever even a record of his birth. So, from what we’ve gathered, when they were boys, they’d celebrate together, since Cassian was also born in the winter. After they survived and won the Blood Rite, Azriel offered Cassian his birth day--so they’d always share it together. So ever since they were boys, they’ve celebrated their birth day on Imbolc.”

So, Elain woke up groggy and tired. ‘Woke up’ was probably the wrong term, because she barely slept at all last night. Her head was heavy with the aftermath of the drinking, though she paced herself last night, and wasn’t suffering, unlike yesterday. She knew there wouldn’t be a tonic prepared thoughtfully for her and waiting on the sink counter, so she exercised self-control and let the twins drink. She even promised to make breakfast today, for Cerridwen begged her, knowing that there would be a price to pay for their late night shenanigans. 

Sleeping alone, without Azriel, even after only two nights together, was strange. At least three times during the night, she caught herself reaching for him, for the feel of his hard, warm body in bed with her, only to find cool sheets. It unsettled her. Was she being needy and so dependent on him too quickly? Or was it something else? Was it the Mother, or the Cauldron telling her that she was correct to seek him out--to search for him in her sleep, and when she was awake, and that it was right to need him and want him? 

The house was still quiet, the servants moving silently about the wide corridors, dusting and wiping and watering pants, and curtsying in front of Elain, which was not something she wanted them to do, but they insisted. She snuck into the nursery.

“Good morning, my baby boy,” she cooed at Nyx, who was sitting in his crib, playing with Brute, waiting to be picked up. He knew his aunt was the first one who usually got him roused in the morning, and the moment she entered, he was up, holding onto the slats of the crib, his little wings fluttering excitedly. 

It took Elain a bit of time to learn how to hold him properly, and the wings, their delicate soft bones, their thin, silky membrane scared her and made her terribly nervous. 

By the time Nyx was about to be born, Azriel ‘allowed’ himself back in the house. The relationship between him and Rhys was still strained and oftentimes tense, aggression simmering beneath their skin, that Fae male call for dominance still very much present when they were together. But Azriel, for the sake of other relationships, for the love of the Inner Circle, kept his rage in check, as he always tended to do. But there was happiness, there was a new and beautiful life that came about after so much strife and sorrow and danger that it would be petty and dishonest not to celebrate it. So Nyx was responsible for patching things up between the adults, at least on the surface. 

That day, after the brutal birth and Nesta’s sacrifice, Feyre finally fell asleep, with Rhys by her side. Nesta was recovering, and Cassian was freaking out, worrying about everybody. He and Mor were running around, arranging for things and taking care of formalities, but Elain was left to oversee Nyx. That’s how they bonded, Nyx and his aunt, who loved him from the moment he emerged into the world. But she was scared to pick him up, unsure of what to do with the wings, and how to position him in the crook of her arm.

“Like that,” said Azriel softly, emerging from the shadows, watching her try to pick the baby up. His scarred hands gingerly cradled Nyx, and then he laid him into Elain’s waiting arms. “Make sure that the wings drape over your arm, like this,” and he showed her. Nyx settled at once, quiet and content. “Perfect,” Azriel almost smiled. “You are a natural with an Illyrian babe.”

Those words haunted Elain to this day.

“Lana!” Nyx yelled, lifting his arms in the air. She picked him up, and he threw his short arms around her in their morning greeting. She changed him, dressed him and then, following his command ‘Boot!’ grabbed Brute and went downstairs.

But she soon became aware that she wasn’t the only one awake. 

Passing by Rhysand’s office, she heard familiar voices--the three males. Colour flooded her cheeks as she quickly scurried by the door, hoping that they wouldn't hear her and she could avoid them. After last night’s conversation about the wings and the wingspans and all those other things, she really had no desire to face them. Had no desire to stand before them and sneak peeks at their wings and compare.

However, as soon as she put Nyx down in the kitchen, a dark shadow tapped on the reeses of her mind and she allowed him in. ‘Elain, please join us in the study,’ said Rhysand. Before she could even respond, he added, ‘His nanny is coming.” Unsurprisingly, Nyx’s nanny appeared in the kitchen the next moment. Elain greeted her with a forced smile and then walked to the office. She smoothed her skirt before entering, without knocking. 

The three males were standing around the desk, all had their arms folded on their chests. What in the seven hells did she walk into? Cassian looked at her, his eyebrow arched and then smiled his spectacular smile and somehow, immediately, eased her worries.

“‘Morning baby girl!” He greeted her, and then went to hug and kiss her cheek, when Rhys cleared his throat. A formal conversation then. No room for informalities. Elain therefore, reached on her tiptoes and kissed Cassian’s cheek. “Good morning, Cass!” she said cheerfully, and then with great pretend indifference she inclined her head towards Azriel. “Az.” He was in full uniform, which jolted her somehow, for she was used to seeing him in normal, civilian clothes lately. Him in uniform always made her a little uneasy.

“What are you doing here, petal?” asked Cassian.

“I asked Elain to join us,” explained Rhys. Perhaps for her sake, he went behind the desk and sat down. Crowded by three enormous Illyrians, she looked like a tiny flower in a dark forest. Azriel and Cassian were the same height and she only reached under Azriel’s armpit with the top of her head. Rhys was only just a tad shorter than the two. Or maybe he sat down to assert dominance and remind everyone who was the High Lord. Either way, Elain did not care. She and Rhys played these little power games all the time. She, for example, wore blue exclusively since Solstice. Every shade, every hue, but always blue. Just so he’d be reminded whom she loved. Gone were the pink and pale gowns of her human life, now replaced by her Fae wardrobe, which spoke volumes about where her allegiance lay. 

Cassian and Azriel exchanged somewhat confused glances, but did not say anything, waiting for Rhys to explain.

“You are aware that Feyre and I are leaving for Winter Court later today.”

She nodded.

“Mor is coming along.”

He tapped his fingers on the shiny mahogany surface and then stated,

“You are the only remaining person with...power,” 

Both males whipped their heads at him, then at her.

“What do you mean ‘power’?” asked Cassian.

Shadows wafted around Azriel, his face inscrutable, but his posture tense. 

“Elain is the only one who still possesses Cauldron-given powers. Nesta’s have been considerably diminished, and Amren doesn’t have anything of significance left. Unless one of you wishes to escort us to Winter, and leave Mor here, Elain is the only remaining Fae with extraordinary powers. Hence, I’d like to ask you,” he looked at Elain, “to consider protecting Velaris should the need arise.”

“Rhys,” began Azriel, but Elain interrupted him and nodded, “Of course. I’ll do whatever needs to be done, though I hope we have no need for it.”

Cassian glared at her, “What kind of powers you got, El?”

“And how do you know that she has powers?” challenged Azriel, his face darkening, hazel eyes boring into Rhys.

“We had a conversation,” said Rhys calmly, “and Elain chose to...showcase her powers.”

“Showcase them?” repeated Azriel. “Wonder what sort of conversation the two of you were having?”

“That’s between my sister-in-law and myself,” began Rhysand, but Cassian stepped in and said, “cut the horseshit, everyone. What is going on? How do you know that she has powers? She never demonstrated them,”

“He pressured her,” Azriel gritted out. His siphons came to life, flickering and filling with their cobalt life, and in response, Rhys’s power woke up, slithering around him and then extending into the rest of the office like a dark beast. Azriel took a step towards Elain. She, in turn, remained unfazed by the display, her icy Archeron flame blazing in her brown eyes.

“I did not pressure her,” corrected Rhysand, “I simply made a request as her High Lord and she did not take kindly to it,”

“I reminded Rhysand that he is not my High Lord,” Elain chimed in coolly.

“It seems that I am,”

Azriel raised his hand and ordered, “Back off, Rhys.”

“You shouldn’t force her to reveal her power, Rhys,” Cassian said, all amusement and humour gone from his voice. “Especially alone--it’s unchecked. Do you recall what happened with Nesta?”

Rhysand shrugged, “I wasn’t asking Elain to scry.”

“Rhysand,” Azriel’s voice was grave and so cold, it sent an actual chill down Elain’s spine. “You want to ask something of me, go ahead. Hells, if you want to order me and pull rank,”

“I don’t pull rank,”

“You pull rank all the fucking time,” growled Azriel. “But I swore an oath to you and I will serve you to the best of my abilities. She,” he jerked his chin in Elain’s direction, “is off limits.”

“Not when it concerns the stability and safety of my court,” parried Rhysand.

Elain glanced at him with disdain and almost wrung her fingers, before stopping and simply dropping her arms at her sides. Somehow, the movement centered her. 

“I have never jeopardized the stability of your court,” she almost snarled, but stood still and tall. “If I may be so bold, but I remind you that without me, you wouldn’t have won the war. I was the one who found the Suriel for Feyre, which resulted in turning the tide of the war. I stabbed the King of Hybern. Because of my vision, my mate located Vassa and forged alliances with the humans,”

At the word ‘mate’ Azriel flinched. It did not escape Cassian’s attention.

“And,” she stopped abruptly, pursing her lips. “I’ve said enough,”

“What else did you do?” asked Cassian, turning fully to her, his eyes narrowing.

Elain felt herself bursting with strange, tingling energy. The males’ wings twitched, almost flaring, as they all glared at each other and it felt stifling in the room, despite its vast size.

“Nothing, Cassian,” she snapped at him. “Think!”

Power rumbled. The air filled the scent of jasmine. Siphons flared, just as shadows swarmed. Elain barely felt Lex’s cool touch against her hand, as it tried to calm her and bring her back. Lex did not lunge to protect her, only fluttered about, serving as a diffuser. Azriel’s shadows went wild, concealing him almost entirely. He remained steady, but she noticed his thumb stroking the hilt of Truth-Teller.

“Aright!” Cassian stepped forth, arms raised, “alright. That’s enough. From you, Cauldron Princess,”

At that, Azriel snarled and Elain rolled her eyes. 

“And you, Your Darkness,” Cassian glared at Rhys. “Settle the fuck down everybody. You want to take it outside and have a go at it,”

“No,” snarled Azriel. “You wait with Elain outside. And I will have a talk with my High Lord.”

Cassian chewed his lip, but made to take Elain’s hand, following Azriel’s order. Yet, she did not budge.

“I am not a girl to be ordered around,” she shrugged Cassian’s hand off her shoulder. “I am a woman, and you’ll all treat me with the same deference that you afford your mates. As I promised,” she looked at Rhys, “I will protect and defend Velaris and its people to the best of my abilities, if I am called upon to do so. You,” she turned to Azriel, her gaze unflinching, “are not asked to fight my battles for me. I am perfectly capable of making my own decisions and standing by them. And yes, I know that my power is untapped and largely undiscovered, but I don’t need to be provoked into displaying it. I am not a wild beast to be poked and prodded in order for me to unleash. Now,” she glanced at the clock, “I am late for my children. Have a nice trip.”

“I’ll fly you,” offered Cassian softly, gently stroking her shoulder.

“Thank you, but no need. I’d rather walk.”

Without a second look at both Rhys and Azriel, she turned around and left the room.

Azriel’s face remained impassive and he made no move to follow her, but Cassian saw it--Elain’s cold indifference would torment his brother for the rest of the day. Elain’s rejection, however small, her denial of Azriel’s protection, her calling Lucien her ‘mate’ would grate on Azriel’s psyche with relentless self-flagellation. They all had their demons to fight, but Azriel, perhaps, had the most. 

Elain grabbed her jacket, so riled up that she couldn’t get her arms into the sleeves. A sleepy Feyre appeared at the top of the stairs, but before she could ask, Elain walked out the door and into the cold. She shivered. Her body felt hot, still brimming with that energy, the anger and whatever else floated inside of her. Unlike Nesta, she didn’t hate her power, for it gave her a measure of self-control, or protection, even if she wasn’t entirely sure how to use it just yet. Sooner or later, she’d have to learn.

“You’ve upset the master,” announced Lex. It trailed her faithfully, sort of latched onto her shoulder.

“I am not discussing this with you,” she snarled.

“The General is also upset,”

“Alright, wonderful, everyone is upset with me. Great. You happy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Mind your own business.”

But Elain was upset. She didn’t mean to lash out at Azriel. She didn’t mean to call Lucien her ‘mate’. But, like all Fae males, Azriel was over-protective and became aggressive when she was challenged, instinctively standing up for her, as she was his female. But she did have powers and she could handle Rhys herself, and didn’t need Azriel’s involvement. Especially if it created bad blood between him and Rhys--Mother above there was already plenty of it.

She walked quickly, cooling off with every step, her emotions running high, and 

feeling both sad and cold, as she huddled in her jacket. She forgot her scarf. She’d upset Azriel. She sort of fought with Rhys. She was hungry. She didn’t feed Nyx, leaving him behind with the nanny. So far, this was a fantastic morning!

The children greeted her happily, hugs and kisses, and for a moment, she forgot everything, lost in the sense of familiarity and joy, the loud tales of their petty squabbles, the who did what, what they had for breakfast, and much more. She forgot everything, until Temal bounded and wrapped her around the legs in his usual fashion.

“Good morning, love,” she smiled at him, trying to smooth his thick, black hair. He looked at her with his perpetually eager enthusiasm and quickly asked, “Lain! Where is Az? You know, Lain, I read so much myself and I have to show him, because I have to read with him. And then we go fly. Where is Az?” he kept looking around, holding her hand, chewing his lip, his eyes darting about the hallway. He was used to having Elain come with Az every morning now, and Azriel’s absence perplexed him.

He tugged on her hand and demanded impatiently, “Where is Az, Lain?”

“Good morning to you too,” she said softly. “Let’s all go outside for our morning,”

“Where is Az?” he asked again, concern-lacing his voice now, his eyes dimming.

He kept looking around.

“Is he coming?” he asked impatiently, still hopeful.

But Elain’s slight hesitation was all that Temal needed to murmur sorrowfully,

 “He don’t want to come no more?”

“No, he does,” Elain began, but he interrupted her, angrily, throwing her hand off his shoulder,

“No he doesn't! He doesn’t want to fly no more. He doesn’t like us,” his eyes were instantly brimming with tears.

Now other children were overhearing them and their faces were showing the same disappointment as Temal’s, though there was something like devastation written on his.

“Go get your jacket,” she told him, and he let go of her entirely, head hanging low, shuffling to the coat racks. 

Other children came over to her, asking the same question, looking concerned and upset. Elain felt terrible, hating how this made them feel, being abandoned and feeling unimportant, again. She didn’t know what to say to them. How to explain.

“Azriel will come back,” she assured them, but he wasn’t here, and her assurances fell on deaf ears.

Slowly, the children shuffled outside, the mood subdued. It was quiet, as they meandered along the courtyard, some of them climbing and others getting on the swings, swinging halfheartedly.

Temal went all the way to the back of the yard, towards the wall, and absently dragged a stick in the dirt, drawing something in the mud. Elain left him be for the time being, as she sat with the younger children around the table for their lesson. But attention wasn't on her. Every time a shadow passed by the door, all heads turned that way, necks craning, and then--a wave of disappointment. While Elain helped the little ones with their tasks, Lex informed her “your boy is very upset.”

“I know, Lex,” she sighed.

“He thinks that the master’s abandoned him.”

Elain did not respond.

Lex offered, “do you want me to go and play with him?”

“No, I’ll go and talk to him,” she got up and walked over to Temal.

“Temal,” she called out to him, but he wouldn’t face her and just mumbled, “I don’t wanna talk, Lain.”

“Why not?” she asked gently. 

“I don’t want to,” he shrugged, digging deeper into the mud with his stick.

“Is it about Azriel?”

Silence.

“Tem-,”

He turned to her, his face stained with tears.

“Why he don’t come, Lain? Why?”

Temal, like all Illyrians, was not much of a crier. Whether hurt, in a fight, or upset, he never cried, and simply walked away and dusted himself off. This much emotion was completely foreign to him, yet tears ran down his sharp cheekbones. 

“I don’t know why he leave me, Lain,” he sniffled. “Everybody leave me…” he added. “My ma--I don't know her. Maybe she was good, but she leave me,”

“Your mother did not leave you, Temal,” 

“She did,” he argued. “But you know, I am happy with my mali. We have a good life, and then my mali go away and he...He go to Vallahalla, and I never see him again. He leave me too,”

She paled, not knowing what to say. 

“Your mama and mali loved you though,” she said softly, “so much,”

He wiped his tears with his palm and said, “why they leave then? They don’t love me,”

“My mama and mali also left me,” she told him, “but I know that they loved me,”

“I like Az and I think he like me too, but now he doesn’t even come,” Temal shrugged. “And I think that Sunni is sad too, because she likes him, and she don’t even talk.”

“Temal,” Elain said firmly, “Azriel never goes back on his world. If he said he will come, then he will,”

She sounded so confident that Temal looked up at her, at last. 

And then, his face broke into a thousand smiles or pure joy and awe. Sprinting past Elain, he rushed to the other side of the yard. She was smiling, even without looking, sensing the commotion. 

“Well, hello Illyrians!” bellowed Cassian, “and the rest of you, future warriors! Are you ready to train?”

A deafening scream of ‘yes!’ was the response.

Elain turned around. The two gigantic Illyrians swaggered through the doors, and stood, arms folded, observing the mass of children before them.

The children stared. Stared in awe. Stared at the Commander General. In front of them, in the flesh. Even these orphans knew who he was, recognised him immediately, and now gawked, unable to tear their eyes from him, from his colossal, towering presence. 

“Elain here said that some of you want to learn how to fight?” he asked breezily.

Eyes lit up and waves of eager nods rippled across the gathered children.

“Well then,” he decided, “I guess you got yourself a teacher. Az and I are going to be teaching you how to fly and how to fight. Is that good?”

Oh, it was good.

And then Elain snorted a laugh, when Sanaai came upfront, ignoring Cassian completely, as she raised her arms in silent command before Azriel. He picked her up and she immediately found her place against his chest. 

Cassian began commandeering at once, while Azriel quietly made his way to Elain.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” she looked at him and then there was an uncomfortable pause. Then he reached into his jacket and withdrew her scarf that she’d left behind in the house, when she was so eager to escape. Wordlessly, he draped it over her neck and then wrapped it around carefully, watching her the entire time. She shuddered from the warmth. From his thumb brushing against her jaw.

“Az!” Temal wrapped around Azriel’s legs, “you came!”

“Of course I came,” said Azriel, surveying the boy’s face. “Were you crying?”

“No!” Temal flushed. “I don’t cry. But I happy. You came.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” assured him Azriel. “Now run and get in the formation.”

Once Temal was gone, Azriel looked at Elain and asked her seriously. “Why was he crying?”

She brushed her fingers against his own and said, “He thought that you would not be coming.”

Sanaai shifted in his arm and looked up at him, indicating that she, perhaps, thought the same.

“And you?” he asked.

“I’ve never doubted you. In anything.”

Elain stopped at the Palace of Bone and Salt after she’d left the orphanage.

Feyre informed her that everyone was in Winter, that it was beautiful and there were ice castles and sleds and ice rinks everywhere, and that Nyx took well to his first winnowing and was now ogling polar bears and eating a cinnamon and cranberry scone. 

It all sounded very nice, but Elain secretly winced--she hated winter. She didn’t like the cold, and no amount of mulled wine, snowmen, pine decorations or spice cakes could ever change her mind. Winter always harkened back to the days of their poverty, the freezing cold in the hovel, the dark, dreary evening, endless, endless nights spent in silence or bickering. 

No, Elain loved the light, the sun, the warmth of spring and summer. She loved the scent of flowers, the regeneration of earth, the waking of all life. She dreamt of visiting a beach one day, especially after Feyre had described Adriata to her. So polar bears and roasted chestnuts could stay forever in Winter Court for all she cared.

“What are you going to buy?” asked Lex, flitting and gliding nosily the produce stands.

“Ingredients for dinner obviously.”

“What are you going to make?”

“Shouldn’t you know? Isn’t it your job?”

“No, I don’t know. But once you select something, then I will know.”

Dealing with Lex was often akin to talking to Temal, yet Elain enjoyed it. She came to depend on her gossipy, opinionated shadow in the past few days and somehow, having it near her brought her a sense of camaraderie, almost a friendship. She began understanding how Azriel felt with his shadows, how they took him out of his unbearable loneliness once he learned their language, and how something similar was happening to her right now. Because she’s been lonely, so lonely and hopeless, and solitary, and if it weren’t for the twins, she didn't know what she’d do. Perhaps, the male who’s been just as lonely most of his life knew how to recognise the signs, knew how to read her and her emotions and saw inside. He was always the only one who saw. When nothing made sense in her life, he was able to offer a semblance of peace, or normalcy. Even something as simple as treating her respectfully and kindly, without looking at her with confused concern was sometimes enough to bring her out of her emotional stupor.

Elain’s made her decision as soon as Feyre told her about the trip to Winter Court.

So, as she loaded her basket with chicken, rosemary, lemons, bread, apples and pears, her resolve only grew. Once she paid, she told Lex ‘take me home’. 

“You don’t know where your home is?”

She sighed and clarified, “Your master’s home’.

“Oh good, let’s go,” Lex perked up at once. “Master will be happy if you are there. He always wants you to be there, you know.”

She didn’t know. She didn’t know if Azriel, in fact, wanted her there. Yes, he gave her the key, but was it appropriate for her to just barge in and make herself comfortable? She didn’t know. Elain was a polite and proper person, with good manners, who always behaved appropriately in all situations. She wasn’t the snarling Nesta, or, at times, incomprehensible Feyre. She was Elain, who’d let the three Fae males into her house, who cleared it for them to conduct their business and who convinced Nesta to host the queens. She even managed to charm the Cauldron--whatever that meant. She could do many things, but this step was something entirely different. She was taking it for herself. 

She vaguely recalled where the building was located, but Lex led her along the streets with confidence, yakking away the way only it could, while she barely paid attention, growing more and more nervous the closer they came. And then, at last, behind a little square, she eyed the building decorated with etched jasmine and moonflowers. She stopped and looked up. It was a long way up to the….she counted...twelfth floor. This must have been one of the tallest buildings in Velaris. 

“Let’s go,” urged her Lex.

Elain swallowed and then crossed the little square and opened the door into the building’s foyer. There was a wide, winding marble staircase. She sighed, bracing herself for the climb. With her basket it was going to be a trek. 

When she climbed to the fourth floor, Elain stopped, panting. Was she out of shape? Probably. Perhaps Cassian was right, and she needed to come to her senses and do some exercises, but she was never going to tell that to him. Admitting any kind of defeat to Cassian meant a lifetime of taunts.

“Are you going to go all the way up on your own two feet?” asked Lex casually. 

She was huffing, and waved him off, muttering, “whose feet am I going to be going on?”

“I can just take you there,” Lex suggested.

She looked at its dark form, floating playfully around her. When it was just the two of them, Lex did whatever it wanted and didn’t stay true to the laws of physics, so it bobbed and bounced however it wished.

“You can?”

“Yeah,”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier and made me,”

“You didn’t ask,” it reminded her.

“I really hate you sometimes,” she groaned, while it enveloped her in its dark mist and the next moment, they were upstairs, standing by the door.

“Thanks,” she said. “Why didn’t you just take me inside the apartment?”

“I can’t,” Lex admitted. “Only you and the master can enter. No one else, without your permission. Even us.”

“Oh,” Elain didn’t know if she was surprised, flattered or proud, or maybe all of the above, as she opened the door and entered.

Azriel and she only exchanged a few words today, after the children’s training, when they were all moaning and groaning from their aches and pains. Elain pulled Cassian and Az aside and warned them to be gentler and more careful, and that this wasn’t an actual Illyrian training camp. Cassian tried to argue, but she gave him a brief ‘Archeron stare’ and that was the end of the conversation. Luckily, the two did bring two bags full of balms and salves with them, for all the scratches and tender muscles. They had stopped at the apothecary and that is why they were late coming in the morning. 

Azriel only said that he’d see her ‘later’, and that he was going to work. No indication of when and where he’d see her, and considering that he was in uniform, with at least four siphons, ‘work’ didn’t sound like a relaxing endeavour. But she didn’t ask, and only smiled and hid her worry inside. 

So she hung her jacket, removed her boots and her scarf that Azriel always insisted on, because she ‘could get a cold’ without it, according to him. She wasn’t even sure if Fae got colds, but his obsessive protectiveness was still adorably endearing. 

“Lex, can Nuala or Cerridwen understand you?” she asked as she walked to the back of the spacious apartment and stopped in the bedroom. 

“Yes. Why?”

“Can you go and ask them to bring me my clothes?”

“No.”

She whipped her head and stared at the dark stain in the corner of the room. “Why not?” she demanded. 

“Because I am not permitted to leave you,” Lex explained. 

“Even if I order you?”

“You can order me to do other things, but I can’t leave you.”

She gave an exasperated snort, but Lex announced in his usual, non-chalant way “If you need clothes, they are already here.” It flew to the closet and Elain followed, and when she opened the door to the impressively enormous wardrobe, there they were--a rack hung with some of her dresses and skirts, and inside a glass lined cabinet, there were personal items, stockings and hose and tights and underthings. Everything was arranged simply and precisely, in a way that implied that she was expected, wanted and belonged here. It somehow made her belly soft and warm, like a cluster of butterflies skidded over her skin, though she ordered herself to think rationally. This was hardly different from when Nesta moved into the House of Wind and began living with Cassian and Azriel. It was probably just as,

Oh, gods, who was she kidding?

Of course it was different!

Nesta didn’t move into Cassian’s room. 

Cauldron, was she really about to live with a man? well, a male? Just...live with him? Sleep with him in the same bed? She had no idea what she was doing! She’d never lived with a man...and, and, surely he had expectations. What were her own expectations? She certainly, well, she certainly desired him. Wanted him. But beyond her mild fantasies, she didn’t even know what she wanted precisely. A part of her yearned to live that wild, unbridled passion that she saw with her sisters, but her sisters were more experienced by the time they’d met their mates and then there was the damn mate bond. Theirs, surely, worked very differently from hers. Yet all that screaming, and panting, and moaning -- she truly had no idea where it came from with them. Whatever she felt with Greyson was reasonably pleasant, especially the second time around, but it certainly didn’t inspire any groaning or panting from her. She’d seen Cassian’s lacerated back, raked over with Nesta’s nails. What could inspire such passionate violence? Besides, she didn’t even have nails--hers were trimmed rather short, though she at least put varnish on them. 

And now she was here. Awkwardly taking off her skirt and cardigan, to change into something...well, he liked her in his shirt, so she searched to locate a stack of plain, informal shirts, which were all kind of the same and took one. Paired with leggings, to which she grew rather accustomed lately, taking after Feyre’s penchant for them, she figured that she looked decent. She’d never worn trousers or pants outside, or when she knew that there would be visitors, but alone with Nyx, or when it was just Feyre and Rhys and her, she didn’t care. Rhys cared even less. Three nights ago, she noticed Azriel’s utter shock, mixed with such obvious desire when he saw her in her tights, for the first time. She didn’t think that he even tried to hide it. So if that is what made him happy, then she was going to wear it.

She didn’t dwell in the bedroom for much longer, lest it made her too nervous and bombard her with unwanted thoughts.

Without Azriel’s perfectly distracting perfection to scramble her brain as it always happened when he was around, she took the time to look around, though she still didn’t allow herself to touch anything. Back in the kitchen--her domain--she began unloading her purchases on the sleek marble counter, and then spotted a familiar item on one of the side tables--a Symphonia. She turned it on and as she began preparing dinner, the music selection came as a surprise to her, an interesting insight into Azriel’s mind. 

The Symphonia wasn’t filled with waltzes and minuets of Nesta’s preference, but with lots of dance music--not something she’d expect from the quiet, solemn Azriel. There was folk music, and fast, melodious songs, as well as music from what Elain assumed were other courts. Curiously, she definitely heard songs and dances of Human Lands, some of which she used to sing as a girl, as well as Illyrian melodies--haunting and glorious. Lex, as it turned out, liked music as well, as it informed her ‘I like stars and music and flowers!’ Lex, apparently, was a romantic and a dancer to boot, because the faster the musical numbers, the more Lex bounced around the kitchen. “You dance well!” Elain complimented it, as Lex swooshed and bobbed and floated, wrapping itself around Elain’s hips, as she ground and writhed against the counter, waving her knife and her tasting spoons in the air. It was probably a good thing that Lex was a shadow.

‘Master doesn’t dance like you!’ Lex half-complained, half-praised.

“We’ll get him to dance with us,” promised Elain.

Behind them, a male cleared his throat and Elain and Lex halted their dancing abruptly.

Azriel was standing, propped against the wall, arms folded on his chest, a smile on his lips.

Elain flushed. Happy.

“Glad to hear that the two of you are conspiring against me,” he chuckled.

“You are home,” she whispered.

“You are home as well,” he said, peeling away from the wall. He extended his hand and she came over to him and took it, and he pulled her to him. Elain slipped into his embrace and he murmured into her hair ‘dance with me?” His jacket was still cold from the flight and she shivered when she wrapped her arms around his torso. He pushed her head into his chest and they swayed to the music, he leading her into a slow, languid spin across the room. The melody switched to something slower and more sensual just in time, and he smiled against her head that smelled so delicately of jasmine. Perhaps the gods were smiling upon him today, after all.

“Are you tired?” she asked, her voice muffled by the press of her face into his chest.

She held him so tightly, so desperately, it was as if he’d just returned from war, and not a day of work. Granted, he had to make a quick trip to the human lands and back, but she didn't even know that. 

“No, love,” he said, “not tired at all. Especially not when you are here.”

It did not escape him that Elain had called this place ‘home’.

“I am just glad to see you here,” he admitted, and then finally pulled her face away from his chest and gently grasped her chin in his scarred fingers, making her look up.

“Is it alright?” she asked, unsure. “That I am here?”

“Is there any other place you’d rather be?” he challenged, his eyes twinkling with a teasing delight. “Is this not the place where you belong?”

“With you,” she gasped, reaching up and stroking his cheek in her warm hand that smelled of apples. “Only with you.”

He kissed the inside of her palm and concurred, “only with me.”

“I only want to be with you,” she nodded. Whatever happened between them in the morning seemed to have been forgotten. Azriel didn’t forget, but he was going to bring it up later.

He slung his arm around her shoulders, knowing that she would not be happy if he released her. 

Gods, he was leashed! This golden pink girl with her chocolate-brown eyes wrapped him and wrung him and remade him into something utterly new. With her, he was a man reforged. A sharp, brutal edge that  always lived inside of him, that cut deep and unflinching, was somehow dulled by her, as if she managed to tame the cruelest parts of him, at least when they were together.

“So, what smells so fantastically?” 

Her soft small hand was stroking his back continuously, and Azriel wondered if it was to remind him that she was with him, and that she was his. Or, perhaps, to reassure herself that he was with her. 

“Chicken!” she announced, burying her face in his arm, smelling the delectable scent of him, mixed with cold air and wind. He began unbuttoning his jacket, as they made their way into the kitchen but she swept his fingers aside and took over the task. She wouldn’t release him, and Azriel...well, he never wanted to be released. She was soft and warm under his arm, fitting into him with some inexplicable, magical precision, as if she was wrestled out of his body once and now they were put together again. He, who detested human touch with such vicious dislike, he, who did not enjoy the feel of anyone’s hands on him, often not even in the bedroom, he couldn’t get enough. 

She pulled his jacket off at last, while he stroked her petal-tender cheek with the backs of his fingers, “Chicken?”

She nodded, and then kissed his cheek. “It’s the best chicken you’ll eat!” she promised.

“I bet,”

“No, it’s so good, you’ll want to marry me!”

He laughed, amused by her excitement and this self-praise that was unlike her, “Well, I’ll still marry you, regardless of the merits of this chicken,”

Elain’s eyes shot up and she looked at him, biting her lower lip. 

It was the second time in just as many days that he said that he’d marry her. The words fell from his lips with ease and confidence. As if he really wanted to do just that. As it was inevitable. He looked down at her, reading her question, the hopeful expectation in her eyes. 

He gently pressed his thumb to her lower lip and pulled it down from under her teeth.

“Just say the words,” he murmured, kissing her forehead.

She snorted and said, “I am not marrying a man who hasn’t even kissed me yet!”

Azriel laughed and nodded his agreement. “I wouldn’t either,” he said, taking her hand and leading them to the bedroom. 

She plopped on the bed, tucking her legs under and watched him chuck off his layers. The shadows swarmed and picked everything up, with each item disappearing in the dark smoke. 

“They are useful,” she noted, somewhat amazed at what she was observing.

“They are indeed,” he nodded, and then asked, “how’s Lex? Is it,”

“I am good!” interjected Lex.

“Really. And was I asking you or Elain?” 

“I am good,” repeated Lex, with even more conviction. “You can ask her, but I am very good and nice too.”

“Nice and good,” hummed Azriel, while Elain was trying to stifle her laugh.

“So, is Lex nice and good?” Azriel asked at last.

She could almost sense the shadow’s nervousness and therefore, said, 

“Lex has its moments.”

Hiding his smirk, Azriel proposed, “You want another one?” 

“No!” Lex whirled right in front of them, jumping back and forth between the two. “Elain likes me!” it insisted. “Elain, tell the master that you want only me.”

She sighed and nodded, “Yes, Lex, I only want you. We are good friends.”

Placated and smug, Lex calmed down and rested on Elain’s lap.

Azriel was laughing softly.

“So how did this wearing of my shirts come about?” he inquired, watching her watch him. He undressed slower than usual, for her benefit. But secretly, he couldn’t get enough of those huge innocent eyes looking him up and down, glaring at every bit of revealed skin, raking him with a hungry gaze. Her lower lip was clamped between her teeth again, and it drove him insane...to be watched like this, with those brown eyes so filled with desire and that plump, pink lip. Perhaps he should just pull that lip with his teeth, kiss it, lick it, bite it...marry that plump lip and its owner, everything be damned.

Elain shrugged, “It wasn’t anything romantic, if that’s what you are hoping for,”

“Oh, you wound me,” he clutched at his chest dramatically. “And here I thought that you were so starved for my scent that you hunted down my shirt,”

“Pfff,” she rolled her eyes, “dream on, batboy!”

Azriel couldn’t remember when he laughed so hard. Her pure, absolutely delectable dismissal of him was just precious. And ‘batboy’?

Once he finally stopped hollering, and she snickering, Elain said, “Nyx puked on my dress one time, so as I was carrying him, while he was screaming, and we were both covered in vomit,”

“Yes, that is not a romantic story,” he agreed.

“I saw your shirt on the chair, and grabbed it, and since it’s long enough to basically be a dress, I just changed into it and that’s how it came about. Also,” she ran her fingers over the sleeve, “you have very nice shirts,”

“Yeah?”

“Soft and well-made. Such fine material, even for this simple shirt.”

“Small pleasures,” he shrugged, now completely undressed, save for his black undershorts. His wings fluttered loosely behind his back, relaxed. 

Elain cocked her head, watching him.

“I’ll go wash up,” he said, though didn’t move, enjoying her unblinking, intense scrutiny. “Care to join?” It didn’t hurt to offer. One day, she might just surprise him.

“I would,” she whispered, her throat bobbing at the sight of him, “but my chicken says otherwise.”

“Ahh, well, the chicken,” he nodded. “It needs more tending to than Nyx.”

Once Elain returned to the kitchen, she let out a long, ragged breath. Watching Azriel--an almost naked Azriel--was the best, and the worst experience. He was almost criminally handsome, and when he extended his casual invitations to her to join him she fought the urge with every fibre of her being. She had to still her breathing, recalling every detail of his bronze body; the dangerous cut of all his muscles, that powerful chest, arms so thick with muscle and sinew that back in the human lands someone would call them ‘tree trunks’. The tapered waist, and that vee that slid smoothly away from his narrow hips...gods...And that gorgeous nonchalance of his entire bearing--who ever thought that Azriel was bashful and demure? But perhaps, it was just for her. All of it was just for her. His relaxed easy confidence was reserved only for the person that he felt utterly comfortable with, which was her. He never hid from her, never pulled his hands away, never shied away from his scars in front of her. 

She really needed to pull herself together, yet a dull, but pleasant ache blossomed inside of her and she shifted and pressed her legs together, as she attempted to busy herself at the stove. But when Azriel was around, all rational thought left her and all she wanted to do was sit and stare at him like a fool. How could she have thought that Greyson was the epitome of manliness? She chuckled to herself, slightly shaking her head at the preposterous thought. Greyson. A boy. A boy full of hot air and exaggerated self-importance. What a fool she’s been. What a fool.

She gasped with surprise when strong, warm hands squeezed her hips. Azriel’s walk was so soft, he was almost entirely soundless. Even her new, acute Fae hearing couldn’t pick up his movement. He turned her around slowly and she found him on his knees in front of her, his face pressed into her stomach. 

“I am sorry,” he whispered, kissing her belly through the fabric of the shirt. His hair was damp, and he was wearing his usual black and gray, a short-sleeved shirt that revealed all of his musculature, as well as the black ink of his tattoos, and soft slacks that he usually favoured at home. 

His hands stroked her sides, her ribs and then landed back on her hips, stroking and squeezing, until he looked up at her and cupped her bottom, not in any sort of playful manner, but intimately, tightly. 

“Sorry for what?” she gulped, as she caressed his face with her thin, calloused fingers.

“For earlier today,” he explained, kissing her stomach again, his lips finding skin beneath the shirt and brushing over her navel. Those large, brazen hands kneaded her behind, unrestrained, cupping and massaging, and Elain’s breath hitched in her throat, as she felt her breasts grow heavy and aching. “It’s very difficult for me to stay calm when I feel like you are being placed in an uncomfortable situation and Rhys,”

She pressed her finger to his lips and said, “I can deal with Rhys,”

“He has no right to force you to reveal your powers or use them,” Azriel insisted, looking her over with a serious, displeased expression. “And you should’ve told me that he,”

“When we initially had that conversation,” she recalled, “I was angry with you anyway,”

“Which I hate,” he interrupted, his look stern.

“That’s in the past.” She shrugged. “It didn’t last long, I’ll have you know. I don't think that I am capable of staying angry with you for a long time,”

“That’s a relief at least,”

 “But he forbade me from seeing you,”

His handsome face darkened even further at her words, but she added, 

“And that made me very...let’s just say that I was much angrier with him than I was with you. I understood then what had happened. That you didn't stop seeing me on your own volition and that the order came from him. I couldn’t control my temper,”

He smiled softly at her and teased, “you have a temper?”

She chuckled and nodded, “I do have a temper. But when I lost it, I revealed my hand,”

He kissed her knuckles. 

“Not that I was hiding it, but the power, it rumbled. It resurfaced and it faced his power. And both--fought.”

“Who won?” he inquired, genuinely curious. His arms were banded around her, hands still on her behind, still stroking and squeezing, and she grew hotter and more heavy-lidded by the minute. 

“We didn’t challenge each other to a fight,” she snorted. “But my power felt strong. Like it could respond to him. It didn’t like the challenge, if I am being honest.”

“Hmmm,”

“What?” she took his face between her hands and made him look at her. “And why are you still kneeling?”

He grinned and kissed the inside of her palm, “I like it here. You feel nice in my arms.”

He pulled down the waistband of her tights, just until it reached her hip bone and kissed her there. Then he pulled the other side, and kissed her other hip bone. She swayed on her feet and he held her up, those strong hands holding her bottom, supporting her. 

“Feels good?” he teased, winking at her and she let out a soft moan, as he trailed kisses down her bare belly, burrowing under the shirt.

“No!” she moaned at last. “It feels terrible...because I want more,”

“I can give more,” he offered with a twinkle in his eyes.

This was nothing but light kisses. Not sensual, open mouthed kisses. No. Just soft little pecks and nips on her skin. Both of them were completely dressed. Yet Elain felt as if she was melting in his arms, as if his lips were branding her skin and his closeness slithered over her flesh in a silken caress and an invitation.

“Az,” she gasped.

“Yes, love?” he sounded innocent. As if he wasn't driving her veritably insane with his every touch, as if she wasn’t yearning to have him spread her right here, on this cold tiled floor and plunge into her, quickly and roughly.

He tsked and shook his head, flicking her nose playfully, “what are you thinking about?”

“How I am annoyed with you right now,” she gritted her teeth and he laughed in response. 

“I rather like keeping you a little on edge,” he confessed and then finally rose to his feet. He leaned over her, his hand gently squeezing her throat. His warm breath caressed her ear and he whispered, “I should love to hear some of your naughty thoughts,”

Elain flushed, shifting against him, breath uneven and heavy. 

“Will I?” he pressed, his thumb stroking her neck slowly, his face at her ear.

“Will you what?” she managed.

“Hear them?”

She swallowed. 

He did not release. His thumb swept against her tender skin, and he remained stooped over her, waiting. 

Gods...he expected an answer.

“I…” she babbled, not knowing what to tell him. Yet she wanted to tell him everything. Every, undoubtedly, juvenile, uninteresting fantasy that she had. 

He kissed her ear and waited, patiently. 

“Yes,” she breathed at last. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said simply and then kissed her ear again, the new, elongated tip, to which she was still unaccustomed. 

“Will you?” she asked suddenly. She didn’t expect to ask this, but here it was. He watched her intently, and she clarified, “Will you tell me? of your...needs?”

He gave her his usual amused look and then, “Yes”.

Simple. No arguments.

“You will?” she stuttered.

“Do you not want me to?” He sat at the table, and crossed his long legs in front of him, feet bare.

She flushed a deep, lovely pink--Cauldron damn him, but he loved making her blush--and then murmured, 

“I do. But,” she swallowed, “I am very nervous. Is that alright for me to admit?”

In one long, graceful swoop, he tugged her to him, and made her stand between his legs.

“You know you should never worry, right?” he asked, squeezing her hips in his hand. “Never. I will never,”

“I am not worried about that,” she waved him off. “Never you.”

“Then what?” his brow furrowed.

She licked her lip and her blush deepened, “I don’t know anything,”

He waited for her to speak her mind, without interrupting.

Centuries of conducting interrogations taught him patience, taught him when to push, and when to pull back. Eventually, everyone broke. And it didn’t always involve pain. In fact, using Truth-teller or any other methods of ‘enhanced interrogation’ was the last resort, typically utilized in most stubborn, or desperate cases. Azriel did not resort to torturing anyone unless he absolutely saw no other option. Not due to any sort of kindness or mercy--it was not his job to be merciful or emotional--but because allowing someone to simply speak and unburden yielded better, more truthful results. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” she murmured, her voice hoarse.

His thumbs only brushed against her hips, soothing and encouraging, his hands still holding her tightly.

“Do what, baby?” he asked at last.

“You,” she sighed. “This...I want this,” her voice fell even lower, “more than anything. I want us--you and me and everything that comes with it. But,” she shook her head in frustration.

“But you are inexperienced,” he offered.

“Utterly,” she confirmed. A deep blush flooded her cheeks, “It’s embarrassing, but I’ve never even seen a naked man,”

His brow lifted just a tad in surprise.

“But…” he stumbled, “aren’t you...are you a maid?”

“No,” she muttered, “I am not. But I didn’t see it. We...we weren’t naked.”

Azriel whooshed a breath and swore softly. “You mean to tell me that that fool had you to himself and didn’t even manage to get you naked?”

She smiled shyly.

“I know that I am awkward and probably too proper, and you are gloriously beautiful and desired by everyone. So, I would understand,” and her voice broke at this, “if you don’t want to take this further. I would...I don’t want to burden you with my inexperience. My complexes, which I am sure that I have,”

“Shhhh,” he bubbled his lips and shook his head in admonishment, “shhh. No. No. You,” he looked her up and down, slowly, measured, “are everything I’d ever wanted. Beautiful beyond words, yes, but so much more than that. If it was only your beauty that enticed me so, that would be one thing, but all of you makes me...crave. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything before. Elain, you are magnificent and exquisite in every possible way. Loving you is no burden,”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, as she stroked and stroked his face nervously,

“I worry...that I won’t be enough,”

She almost-

Almost.

Almost wrung her fingers, but he tracked the movement and she just dropped her hands onto his shoulders.

Azriel was absolutely fine with the idea of doing whatever Elain was partial to. He was perfectly aware that she was an innocent, not that he’d compare her to his own experiences, which would be laughable, but even in human terms, she was barely touched. It didn’t stop him from imagining how he’d love to teach her in the ways of love and pleasure, slowly, patiently, but thoroughly. Until she came into her own. And he understood her hesitation, the undercurrent of fear and uncertainty that he tasted in her scent. Which would simply not do. But the gods knew--Azriel was a patient male.

He pressed his cheek to her hand and gently stroked the sides of her torso.

“Will you trust me?” 

She nodded.

“You will always be more than enough. Just remember--take whatever you want from me, take away bread and water, take my peace, just never take yourself away from me. And,” he paused for a moment, as if hesitating, but she stroked the back of his neck and he whispered, “don’t...please, don’t call him your mate. Even if he is.”

She made a move, to step back, but he held her tightly, his hands almost spanning the width of her hips, and looked at her. 

“I can handle your anger,” he assured her. “And I can attempt to be less,”

“Territorial?”

“Hmmm.”

“Domineering?”

“Hmmm.”

“Over-protective?”

“Hmmm.”

He chewed his lip and then said, “No. None of those things will happen, I was just joking.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, for he was completely serious, and deep down, she knew that he wasn't going to change. If this was the path she was taking, she needed to accept him the way that he was, and that she was always going to be his primary concern.

“I don’t know why it slipped out,” she admitted, and bowed to kiss his head, laying her cheek on top of his skull, in his soft, thick hair. “I am sorry,” she begged.

He was quiet.

She pulled him closer, wrapping her arms around his solid, thick shoulders, pushing his face into her chest. 

“I never think of him that way,” she continued. “I think I wanted to snap at Rhys. Stand my ground to him, but it came out so wrong,”

“But it’s true,” Azriel sighed.

“I don’t think so,” she argued. 

“It is. I’ve come to accept it. That you will never be fully mine,”

“That’s not true,” she interrupted him and then tipped his chin up, looking down at him with her luminous amber eyes. “I will  never be his. Yours, it's a different story. I will always be yours. In every way.”

She cupped his face and added, her voice urgent, “The thing is that, I’ve always wanted to be yours. I think from the time I ever laid my eyes on you. It seemed like an impossibility back then, but you were breathtaking… Nesta was smitten with Cassian. And I was smitten with you, and now I am free to declare it.”

She kissed his forehead and added, “And I am sorry. I know I hurt you, unintentionally, but I know it was the wrong thing to say. You are right, I don't ever want us to fight.”

He smiled, relieved. This morning’s tension sat in the pit of his stomach, even after he’d seen her again, during training. Even after they were done, he was still thinking about it, about her calling Lucien her ‘mate’, and about her ignoring him. When he and the too-excited Cassian left the orphanage and Cassian was in the throes of planning entire training sessions for the children, Azriel still couldn't concentrate, turning the morning’s events over and over in his head. Only when Cassian interrupted his brooding contemplation with a ridiculous question, did he manage to snap out of it. 

“So, is he yours?” asked Cassian. 

“Is what mine?” 

Cassian sized him up and then jerked his chin, “The boy. Temal. Is he yours?”

Azriel couldn't help, but roll his eyes. “Are you insane? What are you even talking about?” Cassian shrugged. 

“You can’t deny that the resemblance is uncanny.” 

“He is an Illyrian,” Azriel snapped. “I am an Illyrian. He had parents.”

“Alright. If you say so. Elain sure is doting on him like he is yours.”

“She just likes him,”

“She doesn’t like anyone else like that,” observed Cassian. And then, added, “It’s alright. I get it. But it would be funny if he was yours.”

“I don’t fuck Illyrian females,” reminded him Azriel. “We, don’t fuck Illyrian females.”

“True,” Cassian  nodded and smiled. “But I’ll be damned! Does she love you or what….She even got a youngling who looks like you.”

“Fuck off.”

Azriel got up and kissed her head, while he began setting the table, and she busied herself with her famed chicken. It was the first time ever he was having dinner with someone here, in his house, and for some reason, it made him both uneasy and so excited, it felt like when he was a youngin, with his first kiss. 

The chicken, Elain’s presence in the kitchen, his shadows resting, except for the ever-present Lex--this was home. Never before, ever, did he feel at home. Even here, in this house of his, which he loved, he always felt a visitor. Now, there was something grounding him, making him stop and savour the moment, live in the now, enjoy every scent, and touch and sound. Even the clinking of dishes. 

“Can you please sit down,” she ordered him. 

“But I want to help,”

“You are here to relax and...adore me,” she shrugged and he grinned. 

“I do adore you,” Azriel sat down compliantly and propped his chin, watching her intently, his one siphon slumbering on his wrist. His lovely, darling girl. He truly was a fool for her, but he didn’t care. He smiled to himself, thinking what an obedient, good hound he was now. 

She finally arranged the dishes on platters and delivered them to the table. 

“Oh,” he inhaled the delicious blend of spices, of lemon and herbs and Elain watched his eyes close with delight. A whiff of something familiar and dear washed over him. Home. Childhood. But not his childhood and not his home. This--this is how he imagined home, with these smells and with this female. 

“So,” she sat down and began to serve him, “I know you don’t like Illyria,”

“But this is Illyrian food,” he said quickly, recognising the dishes. 

“Butuzuli,” she said, her accent pretty and precise when she pronounced the Illyrian word. A glorious concoction of crispy, golden rice studded with pistachios, Illyrian spices and dried apricots. 

“How did you know?” he wondered, amazed. The look of the dish was exactly the same as if it came from the cook in his father’s keep. 

“Shashlama,” she gave him a heaping pile of roasted eggplant that was smothered in parsley sauce. Then, he began carving the gorgeous, brown-skinned chicken and the smell of lemon and rosemary was intoxicating. 

“I’ve been learning,” she said, pleased by his reaction to the food. 

“From who? How?”

He tucked into the rice and the vegetables and barely stifled a moan. This was divine.

“Alright, I am going for the chicken!” he warned and Elain giggled, watching him.

The meat was perfumed with garlic, the woodsy scent of rosemary, the fruity, tangy addition of lemon and it truly was the best chicken Azriel’s ever tasted. He was normally a polite, elegant eater, with good manners, who was able to pace himself, but tonight, he wanted to gobble everything down like Cassian.

“Baby, this is…” he could barely string coherent words together. “May I curse?”

She burst out laughing, almost choking on the wine that he’d poured, but nodded.

“This is fucking delicious!” he groaned. 

“Good chicken?” she was laughing merrily.

“Magnificent chicken!” he looked at her and then winked, “I might very well have to marry you after all,”

“Told you!”

As they settled comfortably over their plates, the Symphonia still playing something softly in the background, Azriel asked,

“So you’ve been learning to cook?”

“I know how to cook,” she tore a piece of flatbread, and popped it in her mouth, 

“Well, I know,”

“but I’ve been reading up and learning about Illyrian cuisine. The cook in the orphanage is Illyrian, so she’s been offering me recipes and showing techniques,”

“But this is not just Illyrian,” he noted, “this is,”

“Bagratian?” 

“Yes.”

She smiled at him.

“Well, here is what I figured--I have a brother, and a brother-in-law, who are Illyrian, and my child and the man who is my whole world are both Illyrians from Bagratia, and my children will be Illyrians with Bagratian blood, so how could I not learn of their culture? Their food? The language? Histories?”

He put his utensils down and stared at her, “You know that I am from Bagarat?”

She shrugged, “I guess I do. Does that surprise you?”

“You surprise me every day,” he bit his lip, awed. “But...Did Cassian tell you?”

She placed more rice on his plate, since it was something that disappeared almost immediately, and said, “No. But Temal looks like you,”

So she knew. And noticed.

“I read up on the Iron Eagle camp,” she continued her explanation, “where he is from, and then learned that it was in the province of Bagratia, and then Rhys confirmed that you are indeed from there. Are you impressed with my investigative initiatives?”

Very few people knew of Azriel’s background, of where he came from, which House, what province, and it struck a different note in him that Elain was interested, and that she took the time and effort to learn about his roots. Illyrian history and traditions, even its geography were not easy to come by. Illyria was a world of its own, with little written lore or documents, therefore, it couldn't have been just a simple book that she picked up to read up on Illyria. She must have gone to the Library for additional research. 

“I truly am,” he nodded, and then took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it. 

“The cook’s husband is from Bagratia, so she learned about the foods once she married him. She explained that Bagratia is different from the rest of Illyria--more open, with more trade, hence the varied and spiced cuisine, and different customs as well.”

“Culturally, it’s much more diverse than the rest of Illyria,” he suppressed something dark inside of him at the memories, willing himself to separate his own history from the actual place. 

Elain paused for a long time, watching his darkening expression, the recollection of whatever was plaguing him. 

“Will you tell me?” she finally braved the question.

He didn’t require an explanation of what she was asking.

“Tell me the good things,” she offered.

He scowled and shrugged, “very few good things to tell, if I am being honest.”

She waited, allowing him to make the final decision.

“Bagratia,” he said at last, his voice even lower and more gravelly than usual, “is the one province in Illyria that could be considered ‘wealthy’. There is even a capital city--Bagarat. Most of the Illyrian Lords come from there and the breeding of Illyrians for Killing Power originated there,”

“Why?”

“Well, a smart and cunning Illyrian lord, millennia ago, spun a crafty tale,”

He chuckled and helped himself to more eggplant. 

“Honestly, this is so good,” he muttered, as if the food was a welcome distraction from the tale he was telling. 

Elain smiled and then, to his utter delight, she stretched her legs out and placed them on his lap, as per his previous request. She said nothing, as she relaxed against the back of the Illyrian chair, which was probably less than comfortable for her, and played with her food.

“I am glad you are enjoying it,” she said sincerely. 

He gently stroked her calves and perhaps it gave him some internal stability, but he continued,

“That lord, he spun a wild, but believable tale of Enalius being from Bagratia. You know who Enalius was?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I’ve read about him...Cassian gave me a book,”

“Cassian gave you a book?”

“It surprises you?” she chuckled.

“A little. What book?”

“The Histories of Illyria. He said that if I learn Illyrian, he’ll give me the original, written in Illyrian.”

“That’s Cassian,” Azriel sighed. “Always trying to drum up support for his favourite cause.”

Now fully satiated, Azriel allowed his wings to droop around him, as he stretched his legs out and absently played with Elain’s bare feet. 

“So naturally, an entire profitable industry was created out of the lore of Enalius, and suddenly there were all these markers, conveniently found around Bagratia.” He snorted, waving his hand and announcing, “This is the cave where Enalius spent the night before the battle! This is the stone upon which Enalius sharpened his sword! This embankment was where Enalius and his followers feasted on roasted goats!”

Elain laughed at his performative demonstration. 

“But, eventually, it led to the honing of power that Illyrians became famous for. Unsurprisingly, Bagratian lords tried to usurp most of it, and breed it into their lines. That’s how the siphons came about--the breeding pool was too limited, too narrow and the power couldn't be controlled anymore. The siphons managed to direct the power output through magic, though it took a while to perfect the system and the usage. When an Illyrian male comes of age, fully comes into his power, there is a period of trial and error with the siphons--too few, and you can destroy everything around you, break the siphons, unleash the power incorrectly and sloppily. Too many siphons, and they put a damper on your strength and might, essentially tying your hands.”

“And you have seven…” it wasn’t a question, but Elain stared at his brown, scarred arm with its leather band around the wrist and the dully glimmering cobalt stone. 

“Yeah,” he glanced at the siphon. “Seven.”

He smiled, recalling, “I kept breaking them, because they couldn’t contain the power. I received two right away, because the Commanders saw that one would never be enough, but I broke them. They added another, and another, and I broke all four. Finally, landed on five. It lasted for a bit, but the five broke during a battle in the first War, which really wasn't ideal,” he said mildly. Elain couldn’t even imagine. No siphons meant no shields, no protection, no ability to heal, and no actual power, beyond the physical prowess. 

“So you fought?”

“Hand to hand combat…” he nodded, “for over four hours. Took me ten days to recover the use of my arms afterwards.”

He stretched his arms in front of him, flexing his fingers. Elain was probably the only person in the world, except for Cassian, in front of whom Azriel felt secure enough to do that.

“So, you were born in Bagratia,” Elain began, but he interrupted, shaking his head, 

“Not only born. I am half Bagratian,”

Her brow furrowed in confusion.

“You are an Illyrian,”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “For all intents and purposes, I am. I winged, dark-skinned Illyrian. But to Illyrians themselves, I am not only a bastard-born, but also a half-breed. Cassian, for example, is fully Illyrian. Devlon, whom you've met, too. Emerie. Me--I am a little different.”

“So what does it mean?”

Azriel drew his scarred thumb over the rim of his wine glass and then said, his gaze flitting absently about the open space of the apartment,

“My mother, she is unusually beautiful,”

Elain looked at him, as if a mystery was solved—the mystery of his own unbelievable handsomeness. Because Azriel was just that beautiful. Rhysand might have preened and claimed the title of the ‘Most Handsome High Lord’, but Azriel was indisputably the more classically, elegantly handsome one.

“In Bagratia, besides its claim to Enalius and a high concentration of power and Illyrian wealth, there are a number of other people that have settled there over the centuries. Some just comprise small settlements, but others have entire subcultures, because their numbers are quite large. My mother—she came from such a people—they call themselves Hiberions—who claim to have escaped a great cataclysm, back millennia ago. No one really knows where they came from, as they had no written record, but whatever did happen, it caused this nation to disperse around what is now the Night Court. Some settled in and around the coast, but many ended up in Illyria. 

There are speculations that Hiberions were invited by an ancient High Lord to the Night Court, and offered sanctuary. Hiberions themselves claim a different story, and say that they were the original founders of the Night Court, and that they allowed others to settle on the land, but over time, they were weakened due to internal struggles and were pushed out of the seat of power. Kier, Mor’s father, claims that he is a descendant of the Hiberions, and that Hewn City was their original capital,”

Elain’s eyes flew wide open, but Azriel shrugged with his usual nonchalance.

“What?” she murmured. “Is it true?”

He scratched his chin and said, “Hard to say. I haven’t investigated it very closely. But rumour has it that the ability to wield shadows and that shadowsingers as a phenomenon originated from the Hiberions. Because they might have been the inhabitants of the Dusk Court,”

“What is Dusk Court?”

“A Court that perished, they say. A great Court, but….it doesn’t exist anymore. Don’t you find it strange that there is a Night, Day and Dawn, but no Dusk?”

“I’ve thought about it,” she admitted truthfully. “But I wasn’t sure what to make of it.”

He drew his palm over her foot, and she squirmed a little, giggling.

“So, your mother?” she reminded him, wanting to hear the rest of the story.

“My mother is a Hiberion. Well, mixed—Illyrian and Hiberion,” he tugged on his lip for a moment and then said, “if you think that Illyrians are horrible and treat their own like shit, then you should only see how they treat those who aren’t pureblooded Illyrians. Less than nothing. Therefore, Hiberions who live in Illyria usually keep the most menial jobs, and live in great poverty, with almost no rights at all.”

Elain bit her lips, but did not say anything, wanting him to continue.

“The one thing that Hiberions have is that they can breed with Illyrians, and that they are, generally speaking, very good looking. Hence the women are prized and valued, and typically can obtain employment in a Lord’s keep. Unfortunately, their beauty is usually their downfall as well—they attract unwanted attention.”

Elain swallowed, understanding perfectly well what he was implying.

“Is that what happened to your mother?”

He nodded.

“My father was a Bagratian Lord, wealthy, with a training camp located on his lands. That always brought him steady income. He was married to a female—an arranged marriage—and they had two sons.

“My mother was engaged to be married to a hunter, also a Bagratian, who traded in pelts. She worked in the training camp, and that’s where she’d met Rhys’s mother. Because my mother was a half-breed, she had wings, but they were lame, and did not develop as quickly as normal wings do. Therefore, flying was always very difficult for her, and that’s how she avoided being clipped. They didn’t bother with her, seeing that she couldn’t fly away anyway. 

The hunter, he was wounded the winter before they were set to get married, and couldn’t support himself or her, while also needing a healer, at least for a period of time. So they decided that she would seek employment at the Keep…my father’s Keep, just for that winter, until the hunter recovered. She was hired as a maid, and all was well for a while, but that was until my father saw her and became smitten at once.”

Azriel cleared his throat and considered for a moment, before continuing,

“I don’t know if ‘smitten’ is the right word. Infatuated? Obsessed? Enthralled? I don’t know…But whatever it was, he pursued her relentlessly, spurned even further by the fact that she had no interest in him and was in love with the hunter. 

“But my father was a Lord and she was a poor half-breed in his employ, with nothing to her name and no protection. The hunter tried to come and take her away, but my father hid her and wouldn’t release her.”

“He forced her?” Elain sounded broken, her face paling. 

He nodded.

“Surely. Perhaps he wasn’t violent, but it was not her intention or desire to be with him. The wife might not have cared, for it was common enough occurrence for a lord to keep women available for sexual pleasure, but then my mother became pregnant.”

“With you?”

“No.”

Elain sensed that he was about to tell her something horrible, and she didn’t want to hear it, yet she knew that she had to. That this was something that he probably didn’t share with anyone. He was trusting her with his family lore, broken and terrible as it was, filled with pain and suffering, but she felt a sense of kinship, as it was an honour to hear his story. 

“The wife beat that babe out of my mother.”

Elain sucked in her breath as her hand instinctively went to her stomach. He tracked the movement, but didn’t comment.

“Hiberions aren’t like the Fae,” he explained. “They are Fae, but like Illyrians, they are a separate race. So certain common traits of the Fae don’t apply to them—females get pregnant easily, or at least at the same rate as humans.

“So, within months, my mother was pregnant again—this time with me. The wife threatened my mother again, but the Lord overheard and broke the wife’s arm in a fit of rage. So, she, more or less, left my mother alone after that.”

He stopped speaking and looked out the floor-length window in front of which they were sitting.

“And then?” Elain asked softly.

“And then it became a different story…mine.”

Which meant that he didn’t feel like discussing himself or his childhood. She understood and did not push.

But she did ask,

“What happened to the hunter?”

“I found him,” Azriel said, still looking out the window, his jowls working hard.

“And?”

“And he was still alone, waiting for my mother. He knew that somehow, he’d get her back, and one day, she’d return to him and they’d be together. It was after the War and I had my seven siphons by then. Rhys, who was very gravely injured, and almost lost his wings in the war, had recovered, and so we went together, back to my father’s Keep. Cassian and Rhys and myself, and the hunter.”

“Your mother was alive?”

“She was. We let the hunter take her away…”

Elain didn’t need details about what had happened afterwards. 

Nesta had mentioned what the three brothers did to Cassian’s village and the males who had destroyed his mother’s life. How they laid waste to the entire settlement, barely sparing the females and children. She imagined that something very similar took place at Azriel’s father’s Keep. 

So, she bypassed the question and the details.

“And your mother?” she asked instead.

“She and her husband, the hunter, live together to this day.”

Elain’s face sparkled with genuine happiness, and somehow, that made all the difference. 

Azriel wasn’t sure if he should share his background, and even as they started to discuss Bagratia, he didn’t think that he’d veer off so deeply and completely into his family history. Now, he felt like some weight had been lifted off his shoulders. There was lightness, even despite the topic of the conversation and all the memories that it brought up. Perhaps, it was Elain’s gentle, contemplative acceptance, or the sorrow written on her soft, flower-like face, or this happiness that she was displaying right now that made his tale tolerable and worthwhile. She reached and grabbed his hand and asked, “Your mother lives?”

“She does. And it pleases me that she is happy. She deserves it.”

Elain threaded her fingers with his and then, quietly, inquired, “Will I be able to meet her? Not now, of course, but,”

“I think she’d love to meet you as well. I think she’d love to meet you anytime. You have similar qualities, even similar interests,”

“Like what?”

“She is an accomplished baker—actually, that’s what she does. She has a pastry shop in the town where they live. It’s very popular,”

“Is that where you got your sweet tooth?” she joked.

“Probably. Even if I’d never eat anything sweet until I was an adult.”

“Why?”

“My childhood did not allow for sweets,” he answered blandly, not wanting to return to that place in his head.

Instead, Elain asked, “what else?”

“She likes flowers, like you. They have a lovely garden.”

He smirked then, and made a wide gesture with his hand,

“And speaking of flowers...I see we have all these weeds now in the house,”

“Weeds?” she shrieked indignantly, while he nodded and laughed. 

“Weeds?”

“Yeah, weeds...I’ve never had flowers in this house,”

“That’s weird but also untrue,” she cut him off.

“Is it?” he was laughing.

“I saw two jasmine plants--in the bedroom and in your study. Are they weeds that you allow?”

He got up so swiftly, she barely registered it with her own eyes. And then he was on his knees in front of her, cupping her face between his rough palms. She slid towards him, wrapping her legs loosely around his torso, just under the wings. She smiled at him, and nudged her face to kiss the inside of his palm.

“What?”

He looked at her long and hard, as if trying to drink in her loveliness, memorise every line of her face.

“I must have jasmine,” he said at last, leaning in and kissing her cheek. Then the other cheek. Then her temple. And then tenderly, slowly, each eye. 

“Az,” she breathed, wrapping her hands over his thick, strong wrists. His thumbs brushed along her face, and he said, “you are my jasmine, my beautiful flower. The scent is you. The day I returned from the human lands, from your estate, after meeting you for the first time, I had to go to Hewn City and perform some unpleasant tasks.”

Elain guessed, but did not question what those tasks might have been.

“And then I went and bought a jasmine plant, because all I wanted to do was think about you.”

Her breath halted and she stared at him.

He sighed apologetically, “I didn’t have anything of you, so I figured that maybe I could have your scent,”

“I smell of jasmine?”

“You don’t know?” he seemed surprised.

She shook her head.

“Jasmine and honey. You are a cross between a flower and a pastry,” he smiled and kissed her face again. “My favourite scent. So whenever I slept here, I’d always wake up to your scent and it made for a good day…”

He reached behind her and then scooped her in his arms.

“I am proud of myself, because I managed to keep these plants alive this whole time!”

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his neck, while he rose to his feet.

“What about dessert? And the dishes?” she protested unconvincingly.

He nuzzled at her neck and growled, “You are my dessert.”

She shivered with pleasure, and he added, “and dishes...that’s what I have the shadows for. They’ll take care of it. Lex,” he barked. “Make yourself useful and clear the table.”

“I don’t know how,” Lex immediately protested. 

“Then learn,” Azriel suggested, as Elain laughed into his neck.

“I don’t want to. Don’t you have others to do the dishes?” Lex argued.

“How about doing what I tell you?” Azriel proposed.

Lex floated to the table, apparently surveyed it and then declared,

“I am tired.”

“That’s the shadow you gave me?” Elain whispered into his ear. “A shadow that is lazy and that gets tired?”

“I can hear you, Elain,” Lex pointed out.

“If you are so tired, go to sleep,” she told it.

“I don’t want to. I am not so tired.”

“Lex is only so tired when it comes to clearing the dishes,” Azriel huffed and released a cloud of his own, less problematic and temperamental, shadows. “You can do whatever you want, but don’t bother us until the morning.”

Elain stroked and scratched the back of his neck, laying her head on his shoulder, as he carried her slowly to the bedroom, his face buried in her hair.

“Did you like dinner?” she asked, sighing softly and happily.

“It was perfect. Perfect. But, one request, if I may?”

She looked up and smiled, “you may?”

“Raisins in the rice...lots of raisins,” he requested.

“A little side of rice with a mountain of raisins?” she laughed and nodded. “Raisins it is.”

He kissed her cheek and she pouted, “But I really wanted you to have my dessert!”

“Breakfast? Dessert pastry for breakfast?” he offered, giving her a conciliatory kiss.

“I suppose.”

They finally made it to the bedroom, and Azriel closed the door behind them with his foot.

There was a sleek, comfortable leather chair in the bedroom that stood by the wall of windows, and Azriel headed straight for it, sprawling easily, his wings splaying against the wide back. He did not release her, but sat her on top of him, so she straddled his hips. His large, warm hands immediately migrated to her lush bottom, perhaps his favourite feature of hers, at least so far. He was hoping that he could explore many, many more parts of her, slowly and thoroughly, and soon.

She looked at him, her face soft and rosy, that delicious blush of her spreading slowly over her cheeks. Gods, he thought that he’d never get enough of that blush, would never want to stop making her blush like that, because of how his proximity made her feel.

She placed her hands on his shoulders and he tugged on the silk ribbon that tied her long, thick braid. 

“You haven’t called me ‘baby’ today,” she reminded him, her voice warm and husky, and the sound of it made him shift beneath her. 

“No?” 

She shook her head, his tongue slowly brushing her lower lip, before she clamped it in her teeth, watching him from under her lashes. Slowly he released the thick golden strands of her hair from the plait and it fell like a silky curtain around her shoulders and her face.

His finger lightly pulled at the collar of his shirt that she was wearing and he leaned and kissed her collarbone.

“Well, that’s my fault then,” he breathed against her neck, and kissed the other collarbone, before he unbuttoned the top button. “Will my baby forgive me?” he then kissed between the collarbones and proceeded to unbutton another button.

“I don’t know,” she gasped, “what will you do?”

“As penance?” he smiled, watching her pulse quicken, and the vein under her pale skin fill with blood.

“Let’s hear it,” she welcomed coyly.

He smiled, amused and secretly entertained. It was adorable when she took a little bit of charge, and decided to be in control. He liked it. She was quiet and unobtrusive, but she knew when to stand up and be heard and when to step back. She wasn’t as shy and retiring as everyone assumed she was, but that was probably because very few actually paid attention and learned about who she was. She did. He paid attention to everything.

“I undress you?” he proposed simply.

She squirmed just a bit, but then gave a single nod.

He found the buttons for the back slats of the shirt and then asked casually, as he worked them with his fingers,

“Tell me what you want, my darling girl.”

His voice was soft, but there was something imperative in his tone, which left little room for debate. 

“I-I...what do you mean?” she stammered.

He was cool and steady, as he pulled the shirt off her shoulders and repeated, “Just tell me what you want?”

“You?”

He smiled,

“Are you unsure?”

“No! I am very sure. I just don't know what you are asking,”

“I think that you do,” he said evenly. 

“What do you want?” she then asked in turn.

He sighed and placed a soft, chaste kiss on her lips. She gasped, but he pulled away before she could even react.

“You, emani,” he said simply. “I want you, just as well. But I also think that I want more…I think that I want everything. Everything you can give me, anything you are willing to share with me. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I think that I want to be greedy this time around. For the first time in my life, I want a woman, a female,”

“A woman,” she murmured.

“A woman,” he agreed easily, “to give me all of her.” He cupped her cheek, his eyes bright and almost entirely green in the dim light of the bedroom. “Body--yes,” he looked down at her, and almost groaned, “gods yes, I want this body. But so much more. I don't want to sound like a feral Fae male,”

At that, Elain smiled softly, wordlessly giving him permission to be just that.

His hands grabbed her hips, grounding her on his thighs and he said, “But I don’t care. I want you to be mine. I want to know every day, every moment that you are mine and that you feel something for me. Because I want to be yours. I don’t give a fuck about your bond, the lack of our own,”

“We don’t need a bond,”

“We don’t,” he nodded, “because you are mine and I'm yours.”

“And that’s more than enough for me. Also, you are already quite feral, so I don’t think I need any more ferocity.”

At that, Azriel laughed openly and she giggled, liking when her jokes made him laugh. Then, more seriously, he added, “I think that after 500 years, I am ready for something new. This nomadic existence is nice, but honestly, I think that I am tired of wanting...of hoping. I have you--if you’d have me--and I am ready to,”

“Oh, no, am I making my shadowsinger settle?” she mused.

“I think the shadowsinger doesn’t mind settling at all. When I built this apartment,” and he jerked his chin, “it was the first thing that was my own. I’d always shack up in the House of Wind, or at Rhys’s, and it was fine. I felt busy, and I didn’t feel like….” he stumbled. “Like I deserved good things. Any things, really. But then Rhys was Under the Mountain, and we protected the city, kept everything running, and I started thinking that there had to be a reason for all of this sadness and when I looked at the people who lived, who had families and some semblance of happiness, who found joy in the very day, I thought that maybe I should try to strive for the same. It took me another half a century to meet you,” he chuckled tensely, and stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “But here we are. And honestly,” he tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “coming home tonight, and finding you here,”

For the first time, perhaps ever, Elain watched him being emotional about something. Or at least as emotional as he ever got. 

“It was the best feeling,” he concluded at last. This was also probably the most Azriel’s said in his entire life--tonight, when he told her of his mother, when he was making this confession to her right now, was the most verbose that Azriel’s ever allowed himself to be. 

“I like being here. With you,” she said simply and sweetly. And then she leaned in and kissed his eyes softly. “Cooking for us. Being in this house…”

Azriel knew that Elain’s nature was domestic, nurturing, and she was happiest when she had control over her life, over her domicile, over her surroundings. He wasn't the only one who needed control in his life--in their desire for planning and order, they matched very well. The upheavals of the past decade certainly pushed her to crave a sense of stability and ownership, and he accepted that. Liked it, since that’s what he was lacking in his own past.

For her, he’d wrestle and wrangle the peace and tranquility that they both craved. 

“Now...will you undress me already?” she ordered impatiently and he grinned. 

“It’s your turn,” he reminded her, “I’ve said more words in the last fifteen minutes than I’ve in the past century.”

As he slipped his shirt down her torso, baring her pale skin, so in contrast with the dark bronze of his own, she said quietly, barely looking at him, 

“I like it when you tell me what to do.”

He did not press, waiting for her to speak. His heart lurched with secret satisfaction at her words, but he tried to keep his excitement muted.

“Not in everything,” she continued, her head inclined towards her chest, watching her breasts, covered with a lacy wrap.

The Fae, as she quickly learned, did not wear corsets. And thank the Mother for that. Their clothes were practical. No petticoats, no unnecessary shifts, no hooped skirts, no scarfs or flounces to cover the bodice. No issues with females wearing trousers or pants either. The Night Court fashions were on a more scandalous side, so much so that Elain and Nesta often bucked at some of the dresses that were presented to them. Feyre and Mor favoured scraps of translucent fabric and some strategically placed belts and straps and that’s about all. Elain still wore dresses, but none required half an hour of cinching and tying to get into them. Undergarments were simple as well, elegant and well-made, for the Fae took pride and care in their immortal bodies and their underthings. She grew to love the uncomplicated breast wraps, that supported everything quite well, but allowed for easy movement and only needed a satin tie or a few pearl buttons to stay put. 

“But I don’t want to even pretend like I know anything,” she lay her hands on her lap, to prevent herself from squeezing her fingers. “And I…” she licked her luscious lip, “I think that you would enjoy telling me what to do.”

Her gaze fell on his mouth, the sensuous line of it.

“I would.”

His throat bobbed just a bit, excitement coursing through his veins. 

“So you’ll have to tell me,” she decided. “And I will listen.”

“You’ve been listening to me already,” Azriel noted, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, as he stroked the nape lightly. “I’ve noticed you are not wringing your fingers anymore.”

“I don’t,” she nodded. “Thank you for that. I didn’t think much of it when you told me, but now I understand. Surprisingly, it centers me. My mind doesn’t race when I do it.”

“A concentration technique,” he smiled. 

“But also a test, I think. To see if I would listen?” she cocked her head at him.

He didn’t want to lie, so he nodded.

Softly, she wondered, “Is that what you like?”

“Control? Yes.”

“Pain?” she blinked nervously.

“No. Not pain. I certainly prefer pleasure to pain, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t indulged in both. With you,” he ran his thumb over her mouth, “I think pleasure is the way to go.”

She kissed the pad of this thumb, its rough skin and decided, “I trust you. I think that I would like to listen to you and do what you tell me.”

“Thank you, my sweet,” he unbuttoned the rest of the buttons with his available hand and tossed the shirt on the floor. Without breaking eye contact, he said, “open up” and Elain, a little unsure, parted her lips. “Lick.”

She made to reach for his wrist, but he only moved his head and guided her, “Mouth only.”

She acquiesced, and slowly pulled the thumb inside her mouth, swirling her tongue over it, watching him watch her with a content, pleased expression on his granite-hewn, perfect face. 

“Lick,” he said again, without any further prompting. She licked. She dragged her tongue up and down his thumb, secretly marveling at the fact that his hand was the first thing that he allowed her to touch so intimately. Despite the intricate network of thick, mottled scars that covered his hands, snaked up all the way to his forearm on his left arm and reached his bicep on his right, his hands were beautiful, like the rest of him. The fingers were long and strong, with well-cared for nails, and the palm itself wide and large and powerful, his fist frighteningly enormous. 

Elain licked, as thoroughly as she could, finding that it made her pant a little, squirm atop of him, and she didn’t understand why. She hoped that he was enjoying it, because she certainly was. 

“My good girl,” he stroked her hair, dragging his other hand over her head, and at the name, she felt her nipples strain against the silk and lace of her wrap, “suck now…”

Barely giving her time to pause, he fed two fingers in her mouth, index and middle, and she gulped on air, sucking them inside. “Nice and slow,” he coached softly, rubbing them against her soft, wet tongue, “show me, how much you like it.”

She liked it. Even if the fingers took up most of her mouth, there was something sensual and primal, having his hand in her mouth. It was daringly intimate, and while she dreamed of kisses and caresses, somehow, with this one gesture, he brought her into a different realm. It was a place where she yearned to step into, and explore the possibilities that she hadn’t even imagined yet. 

She sucked, slowly, as instructed, acquainting herself with the feel and the taste, watching him prod her mouth rhythmically, in and out, while she met the shallow thrusts with her tongue and lips.

“Good,” he approved, and she loved the praise on his lips, and how he watched her, her face, the workings of her tongue, and the even, languorous bobbing of her breasts within the confines of the wrap. She propped herself on his shoulders, as his arm wrapped around her waist and he squeezed her behind. He increased the speed ever so slightly, reaching almost all the way to her throat, and she dripped on her chin, but as she attempted to wipe the saliva, he shook his head and she stopped. 

“Messy is good,” he whispered into her ear, leaning closer, so that her breasts slid and bounced against his chest, and the brush of her nipples over the silk became almost painful. A wave of heat rolled over her entire body, and for the first time in her life, she felt an ache. An ache deep inside of her, a ravenous hunger, which remained unsatisfied.

“Keep sucking,” he muttered into her cheek, his lips pressed to it tightly, as he lightly bit the hollowed spot, the teeth scraping over her skin. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, probably more strongly than she anticipated, perhaps even hurting him, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to stop, but gods, the ache inside of her was horrible.

Azriel felt the powerful drip of her arousal against his thigh, as she writhed against him, warm and wet and panting in his arms. He loved watching her become this excited, offering him her mouth, giving him pleasure, her swift little tongue working tirelessly and hurriedly over his fingers. His sweet, beautiful girl. It wasn’t particularly difficult to keep himself in check right now, though he definitely considered taking this a bit further...perhaps undressing her more. But then he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to remain so composed if she was naked. Perhaps tomorrow. 

He allowed her to suck for a bit longer, until, without warning, pulled his fingers out of her mouth.

She was taken aback at the loss, and stared at him, looking alarmed.

“Baby, was that good?” he smiled at her, and seeing that he wasn’t upset, she nodded eagerly.

“I can suck more, if you’d like,” she offered.

He wiped her wet chin and then brought his fingers to his mouth and licked them. The gesture caused her to bloom with a delectable blush that he loved so much. 

“Did you...did you like it?” she almost whispered, and he teased her,

“Why are you whispering?”

She chuckled, wiping her chin.

“But yes, I absolutely loved it,” he said, relaxing back in the chair. “You did so well.”

She smoothed her hair and then straightened out, a small smile on her full lips, and watched him easily, but assuredly slide his palm between her legs.

She was warm and damp, and he brushed a knuckle along the seam of her sex, soliciting a little yelp of surprise and enjoyment from her. 

“I am wet,” she blurted, and then stopped, eyes wide.

“You are,” he said simply, approval lacing his voice. “Have you not been wet before?”

He cupped her, holding his palm against her leaking core, but did not press further. He wanted her to open up to him, and somewhat surprisingly, she did,

“I don’t think I have. Not like this.”

It pleased him to hear that he’d made her this wet, but a question gnawed on him nevertheless,

“But when you gave him your maidenhead, you must have,”

“Not like this,” she said shyly, shaking her head. 

“It hurt then?”

She nodded.

Annoyance rippled over his face, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Usually, he was not this expressive of his feelings, whatever they were, but with her, it was different. He cupped her cheek and then pulled her to him, so she sprawled on his chest, her head tucked under his chin.

“It’s a shame that he didn’t make the experience better…”

“They say it always hurts,”

“It doesn’t have to,” he argued. “It has to be pleasurable.”

“I guess I was expecting it,” she shrugged. “It was...alright.”

“Alright should never be the experience, especially not the first one,” he sniped, but didn’t push.

She ran her fingers over his chest, feeling the thick, hard mass of his pectorals beneath the thin knit fabric of his shirt. Azriel stroked her bare back, walking his fingers along the spine.

Suddenly, she murmured, “I want to shout.” 

He waited, wondering when she meant. 

She didn’t move, didn’t look at him, but remained tucked into his chest.

“I want to shout,” she repeated at last. “From pleasure. I’ve heard them...Nesta and Feyre. They scream.”

“And you haven't?” even though he posed it as a question, it was more of a statement. It did not particularly surprise him that she hadn’t had a climax, but internally, he felt a twinge of sadness. Yet, there was also a hopeful feeling of anticipation fluttering in his chest--for he’d be the one to provide her with her pleasure. He’d be the one who’d make her ‘shout’. 

A plan was already forming in his head. Even when it came to sexual matters, Azriel preferred to plan ahead, have a path to follow, but then again, most of his encounters were pre-arranged in some way, so it was easier to accomplish. With Elain though--his Elain was special. She was his heart’s desire, and for her he felt many things, including passion. Passion was not something he dabbled in frequently, since he was not one to be quickly overcome by it, and never did he lose himself or his senses in a female. Sure, there was an occasional tumble against the wall with a panting, willing, nameless female, but it was an itch to be scratched, and nothing more. 

“No,” she ground briefly against his hand, pushing into him. “But I want to. I think it would be nice to let go...to feel that free. So unburdened.”

She fell quiet and then, after a lengthy silence added, “With you. I want it to be with you only.”

“I should hope so,” he smiled. “Now, I would like to take you to bed and sleep in your arms. The entire night. Because I am fucking tired!”

Elain laughed and sat up, before jumping off him and tugging him off the chair.

“I want you to sleep in my arms as well!”

Elain loved getting ready for bed alongside him. 

Needless to say that she’d never done that before. Even back in their hovel, she tried to carve a few minutes to herself, in privacy, even with her sisters banging on the privy door. But she never felt uncomfortable with Azriel, and even now as she washed her face, combed through her tangled hair, brushed her teeth, she watched him do the same next to her, and it felt inexplicably normal. 

“I’ll finish undressing you,” he warned, before she headed into the closet. She paused, and sensing her hesitation, he added lightly, “You know, I can undress a female without baring her.”

“Is that a shadowsinging ability?” she joked, picking out a nightgown from the stack that one of the twins had delivered.

“No,” he called out from the bathing room. “It’s a male’s ability.”

When she emerged, he was standing by the bed, reading some document which he somehow fished out of somewhere. He was naked, save for his black undershorts, which contoured everything with egregious explicitness. Elain glanced down his torso. Those well-defined hip muscles, as well as the ridged abdomen were nothing but a mouthwatering temptation. But then she snagged another look,

And he caught it.

A smirk appeared on his lips and he said,

“You can look, you know.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she declared primly, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You are right, not at all,” he jerked his head to have her come to him. He sat down on the bed and she approached, stopping in front of him.

“This will be my job, from now on,” his voice was heavy with promise, “to undress you. Every night.”

“Alright,” she agreed. “What if I want to undress you?”

“Then you should.”

He easily rolled her tights down her thighs and legs, until she stepped out of them and stood in front of him, almost nude, in only her silk underwear. 

Elain was more supple, more voluptuous than her sisters. Nesta was rail thin, with surprisingly large breasts, a ramrod straight back and long, skinny legs. Feyre was both feminine and boyish at once, pretty, lithe, but unremarkable, at least to Azriel. 

Elain, his Elain, was a delicious pastry incarnate. She was correct, he did have a sweet tooth. And she satisfied all his aesthetic cravings, and possessed all the qualities that he enjoyed. Contrary to what others thought, Elain was not small or petite--she was as tall as Feyre, and both were just a tad shorter than Nesta. But compared to an Illyian, these girls were small and delicate. 

He couldn’t stop himself, and placed his hands on her hips, drawing a scrutinising gaze over her luscious body. Then, he placed a soft kiss on her belly, before rubbing his cheek over her soft, full breast. She stroked the back of his neck, down his spine and sighed with enjoyment.

“I have a proposal,” he looked up at her, and then drew a naughty finger along the cleft of her cleavage. She rolled her eyes slightly and he laughed at the reaction. “Don’t trust me?”

She did. And she was always intrigued by his ‘proposals’.

“Every night this week,” he began, punctuating his words with mellow, light kisses up and down her chest and the valley between her breasts, “you’ll show me a new piece of yourself...What do you think?”

“Naked?” she breathed.

“Yes, baby, naked.”

He pressed his lips to her nipple, suddenly biting it through the silk of her wrap. Her nipples were thick and plump and he easily caught one between his teeth, considering how overstimulated she already was. She hissed softly, when he bit. He bit. Not particularly painfully, but he bit and tugged the nipple with his teeth, watching her the entire time.

She gasped a mewling ‘oy’, and he released, but only slightly.

“A little bit every night, until nothing is left. Until you are bared to me in all your loveliness.”

“Yes,” she groaned, as he nibbled and tugged on her nipple. “Yes.”

“Good girl.”

“Is this what you want to wear,” he went to take the nightgown from her hands, but she dropped it on the floor and said, “I don’t want to wear anything. Just this.”

He scooted back and pulled the covers and the blankets for her.

“I won’t argue. Come here.”

She slid in bed beside him and he moved on his stomach, which was his preferred sleeping position. His wings draped over the two of them, and he pulled her closer.

She kissed his shoulder, and settled under his arm. 

His breath evened out, and she thought that he fell asleep, until

“No one’s made dinner for me before,” he murmured. 

She stroked his forearm and then kissed his shoulder again.

He was warm and solid next to her, a veritable wall of muscle and she never felt more comfortable and content in her life. He slipped his heavy, large leg between hers, and her thighs wrapped around him instinctively.

“No one?”

He tucked his face atop of her head and kissed her face.

“No.”

“I will cook for you,” she offered, “and we’ll cook together. And you’ll cook for me. Because no one’s cooked for me either.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.”

Elain smiled and then asked,

“What’s your mother’s name?”

“Gulchatai.”

“Now I feel like I know something about you...something personal. It’s nice.”

“Elain, wake up!”

A cool whiff of air bounced up and down her face, and Elain swiped Lex away, only to have it come back momentarily. “Wake up!”

“Leave her alone,” she heard Azriel’s hiss. “Right now.”

“Why can’t she wake up?” complained Lex. “I am bored!”

“She doesn’t exist to entertain you.”

“I am awake, I am awake,” she moaned. “Stop sitting on my face.”

Eyes still half closed, she made her way to the bathing room, took care of her needs and appearance, and splashed her face with cold water. 

She glanced at herself in the large mirror. She couldn't say what it was, but she looked different. Confident? Perhaps. But more like ripe. Ripe for the taking.

As always, Azriel was propped against the headboard, swarmed with shadows, wearing his glasses and reading pages of reports.

“Come here, baby,” he called, “morning kisses.”

She smiled and bounded towards the bed, immediately giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“My gorgeous girl,” his hand swiped over her bare stomach, then her naked thigh. “Did you sleep well?”

“I always sleep well with you,” she kissed him again. He wrapped his arm around her and pushed her head into his chest. 

“Morning news?” she smiled, watching the swirling mass of dark shadows around him. He nodded.

“Lex, do you have any news for me?” she then inquired.

“I don’t know anything!” 

“How come everyone else knows something and you don’t know anything?”

A pause, and then Lex sat on her chest and asked, “what do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the children,” she proposed.

Azriel was listening to them absently, smiling.

Shadows, just like horses or puppies, had to be trained and cultivated. Elain was learning that lesson right now. 

“Temal’s got into a fight,” reported Lex. Elain rolled her eyes. “Is he hurt?”

“No. But he was put on time-out.”

“What about the other boy?”

“He has two back eyes. Temal has one. And then Kira ate a big slice of cake before dinner.”

Then Lex rattled off her schedule for today, and asked, “You like this news?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aziel was stuck dealing with some issue, already sending his shadows on some investigative mission when Elain threw on his shirt from yesterday--the first thing she found--and padded to the kitchen. Lex, as alway, was now yapping nonstop, giving her unnecessary gossip about the Fae that she barely even heard of. But as it was the case everywhere, there were famous Fae, scandalous Fae, notorious Fae. There was Anselma, a very popular singer, who was married, but her husband has been seen with another singer, Gunda, who was also sporting a pregnant belly. Whose babe do you think it is? pressed Lex busily. 

“Well, I don’t know!” Elain shrugged, as she began preparing coffee. She didn’t bother with tea, because she actually grew to like coffee quite a lot. Azriel had the best, finest variety, all the way from Day Court, where the soil produced the best coffee crops.

“How can you not care?” exclaimed Lex, “everyone is talking about it! It’s news.”

“I think the babe is Coast’s,” she humoured the shadow, even if she didn’t care.

“I think so too!” Lex agreed immediately.

Elain set the table, when Azriel entered quickly, shaking his head, looking at the clock.

He, nevertheless, slowed down, and came behind her, sliding his hand under her shirt and pulling her to him.

“I am sorry I am not helping,” he murmured, kissing her neck tenderly. 

“It’s fine,” she smiled.

“I’ll cook dinner tonight?” he offered.

“I’d like that.”

“Or would you like to go out?”

She pointed to the table and said, “How could I forget--you are supposed to be courting me.”

“I am courting you,” he reminded her and poured them both coffee.

“Human courting is all about balls and being seen in society, and picnics and Tea,”

“Do you want to go on a picnic?” he teased. “It’s late autumn? But, if you insist,”

She laughed and took a sip of her drink. “I like this courting more.”

“Oh thank the gods.”

He dug into the pear tart that she’d baked yesterday, and groaned with delight and pleasure, as he polished off the first slice and then moved on to the second right away.

“This is glorious,” he grumbled and Elain smiled a soft, secret smile, watching him enjoy himself.

“Why didn’t we eat this last night?”

“You took me to bed!” she exclaimed, indignant.

“You should’ve insisted.”

“Oh, so it's my fault?”

“I feel like it kind of is,”

She threatened, “I will take it away!”

“Fine, try,” he challenged. “But don’t think that I won’t fight you for it! Just because you are a girl and I like you. And I’ll win.”

She bubbled her lips and parried, incredulous, “I have Cauldron powers! You are just some little Illyrian soldier…”

He burst out laughing and then grabbed her hand and kissed it. “We’ll have to have a discussion about your powers later. But, baby, there is nothing little in this Illyrian soldier.”

She immediately glanced at his wings that were peaking behind him. 

“Now he is Cassian,” she muttered.

He laughed, but then tipped her chin and tsked, “no, no, no. You won't weasel out of this that easily. You’ve been eyeing my wings since last night. Don’t think I didn’t notice. You’ve never paid them that much attention before.”

“I did no such thing!”

“Hmmm.”

“You are the one saying that you are huge!” she threw.

“I never said any such thing,” he took a slow sip and raised his brow at her. “But tell me...you and the twins have been gossiping about the wings?”

“No,” she lied.

“Hmmm.”

“Stop humming!”

“What did Cerridwen say?” he inquired. Cauldron damn him. Was there something he didn’t know?

“She said absolutely nothing. Other than that you are...well-endowed.”

Elain blushed at his amused smirk.

He looked her over, lazily, seemingly forgetting that he was in a hurry.

“The tart was delectable,” he said.

“Thank you.”

Then, he tugged on his lower lip and mused, almost to himself.

“But I am still hungry.”

“I can make you eggs,” she proposed.”Toast,”

He ran his finger along her arm and murmured, “I have something else in mind. A Bagratian breakfast.”

But if Elain expected him to move and prepare this breakfast, he didn’t shift from his chair.

He thought and then moved his plate and patted the spot that the plate vacated.

“Come here, baby. My beautiful sweetheart,” he urged her off her chair, until she sat, a little stiffly on the table in front of him. “Let’s spread your legs a little, so we are both comfortable,” and he parted her thighs, while pushing himself closer to her, settling between her legs. 

“May I have my breakfast?” he asked her, kissing her cheek softly, watching her sink and melt against him. 

“Yes,” she gasped.

“This breakfast,” he whispered against her skin, placing slow, open-mouthed kisses on her neck, as he undid the few buttons in the back of the knit shirt, “is very, very popular…”

Elain could barely breathe, let alone pay attention to his explanation. Not when he tugged the shirt down her body, not when his scent washed over her, and not...oh, gods…

Azriel didn’t take his intense gaze off her when he pulled on the silk string of her breast wrap and it parted easily for him. Elain stopped breathing, pink and gorgeously hot in front of him, her hair a halo of dark gold around her, her knuckles white, as she gripped the edge of the table. He smiled and kissed her neck again. 

“Why are you so tense?”

“I...I don’t know,” she panted softly, her breasts rising and falling, just barely covered by the silk. “I, Az...oh...I just want you so badly,” she admitted nervously. 

“Good.”

And then he flipped the flaps of the wrap off her breasts, baring her completely for himself.

“Why are you so beautiful?” he muttered wholeheartedly, looking at the lovely pink nipples that swell before his eyes, at the soft, generous roundness of her breasts. 

Her back arched just a bit, as she displayed herself fully for him, no longer shy, once he laid his eyes on her and took her in with such unabashed hunger in his eyes.

“Taste,” she breathed and at once, he was a male unleashed. He brought her breast to his lips and bit her fat pink nipple, like he did last night. But there was no silk barrier between them today, and she felt his hot breath and the sharp clamp of his teeth over the nipple, as he pulled it deep in his mouth.

She almost tumbled on top of him, but he held her still, threading his fingers with hers, pressing her hands into the table. 

“Oh gods,” she moaned, “Az...gods…”

“You are so delicious,” he vowed, working his tongue over the nipple, wrapping it over the little knob, licking and licking with relentless determination. Elain squirmed and panted next to him, but he kept her hands firmly in his grasp, not allowing her to touch him. Her arousal hit him like a wave of pure ambrosia, the scent indescribable, her whole body melding into him. He wished he could adjust himself within his pants, but that would mean releasing her hands and he didn’t want to do that. So he bit the soft flesh of her breast again, sucking on the tender skin and watching tiny purple marks bloom along the trail of his teeth, until he returned to the nipple and sucked it deep into his mouth. She buckled and cried out, babbling something, and grasping his fingers painfully, while he sucked harshly, feeling the nipple grow and firm up in his mouth, lapping on it with ravenous determination.

“Fuck, Elain, baby,” he grunted, licking the underside of her breast, before covering the whole globe with kisses.The kisses were not soft or gentle, but candidly lustful, his mouth possessive, claiming, marking her. “Feels good, my sweet?”

“Az, my love, I need to…” she whined, almost in tears of frustration, especially as he pulled on her nipple with his teeth again, offering her the sweet, lacerating pain that she was craving so much. “Let me touch you,” she begged.

“Right now, it’s for me,” he declined. “If you're touching me, I can’t concentrate on you. Or what I want from you. And your tits are magnificent!”

“Suck more,” she begged, “please…”

“Good fucking girl,” he groaned, and then ordered, “don’t touch,” when he released the grip of one of her hands. Obediently, she pushed her hand under her thigh, so as not to be tempted. He cupped her other breast, squeezing it tightly, quickly learning that gentleness was not something Elain needed. In all his previous fantasies, his assumption was that she’d like a sweet, tender approach. And truth be told, he didn’t expect to unleash on her quite so ferociously right now, surprising even himself. But she took it all, and she wanted more. So when he dug his scarred, strong fingers into her supple flesh, and when he brought the two glorious globes together, to suck her swollen tight nipples at once, he knew that she wanted him to do just that. 

He loved breasts. He especially loved Elain’s breasts. But as he worked his mouth on her, sucking both of her lovely nipples, he also loved her response. She almost fell back on the table, and he caught her just in time, before her head landed on the hard surface. He cupped the back of her head, and stretched over her, kissing each swelling breast, and dragging his tongue thoroughly over each nipple, while she leaked and trembled under him.

“Good?”

“Oh good,” she admitted breathlessly. “Why didn’t you do this to me before?”

A smile touched his lips and he tongued her nipples leisurely, watching her, as he reminded her, “This is a forbidden romance, my love.”

“Oh yeah...I forgot,”

“I think that our High Lord doesn’t want me to do anything to you.”

He winked at her and she grimaced. She was ridiculously wet between her legs, but she no longer cared. Actually, she lost all inhibitions and all sense of propriety. She didn’t care about anything, other than his beautiful, demanding mouth on her breasts, his tongue working magic on her nipples. 

Before she could do anything, he pulled her up, so she sat back up in front of him.

“I haven't forgotten my breakfast,” he winked at her again, and then, unexpectedly, dipped his fingers in the butter jar, and smeared a generous layer of fatty, creamy sludge over her breast, his thumb teasing her aching nipple inexorably. 

“Oh,” she gushed, as he settled on the chair, between her legs, and held the breast in one palm, while concocting something enticing.

“The Bagarat Breakfast Bun,” he explained casually, as if he wasn’t sprinkling her buttered tit with a dash of cinnamon, and then a pinch of sugar. “Who needs pastries, right?” he pondered, and then gobbled her whole breast up, swallowing a good part of it, licking off the sugary spiced butter with his tongue, scraping his teeth over the skin, the nipple.

Elain almost fainted. Her vision darkened and were it not for the support of his massive arm, she surely would have fallen over.

“Sit still, baby, and let me enjoy,” he commanded with pretend sternness, as he treated her other breast with the same care and also added a dash of cream, which leaked obscenely into his mouth off her nipple.

“Oh, I think I like this version more,” he concluded, dribbling more cream over her breast and sucking it off her nipple, along with the butter.

“It’s a lot of fat, this early in the morning,” she protested, “you will have a heart attack!”

“I am immortal,” he reminded her. Then, he ordered, “hold your titties for me, please. So I can enjoy them in peace.”

She smirked, but cupped both of her breasts and presented them to him, as he dipped her nipples in even more cream and sucked hungrily. 

“My love,” she cooed to him, after she dipped her nipple into the cream herself and sprinkled it with sugar, “I think that I like your Bagarat pastry.”

“Bun,” he pinched her behind, “Bagarat Bun.”

He sucked a little more.

The little jar of cream was empty.

“Tomorrow, we’ll share it,” he promised, but did not elaborate.

She nodded. She’d agree to anything right now. 

“By the end of the week, you’ll be feeding me yourself,” he added and then softly kissed her lips, securing his promise with his mouth. 

He straightened and got up, brushing his thumb over her lips and popping it inside, for her to suck. She sucked, willingly, eagerly, watching him.

“And you will be naked,” he concluded, running his hand over her head. 

She nodded. 

“Would you like that, my good girl?”

She nodded again. 

She looked ravaged and he loved it. Swollen tits, dripping with sugar and cream, and coated in the remnants of butter, her hair a mess, her mouth wrapped around his thumb, sucking noisily. 

The idea of his cock in that glorious mouth, sucking just as noisily made his unbearably hard. He was already hard as granite, his cock aching and demanding, but when she sucked his fingers, it released a beast within him.

Reluctantly, he pulled out and bent to kiss her.

“Thank you, my love,” she murmured, her brown eyes looking at him with complete adoration.

“It was a perfect breakfast, Lainey,” Azriel smiled. “Thank you. I’ve got to go, but I will see you later?”

“Of course. But I have a request for you to mull over,” she jumped off the table, not bothering to cover up.

“I am listening.”

“I’d like for you to teach me how to handle a dagger.”

[tennessoui]

omgggg yes number 45 gimme some number 45 obikin PLEASE

ok,,,,,,this is no. 1 Soulmates + no.45 in love with best friend's partner but it kinda got away from me so it's almost 2k and also like there's world-building im awful at snippets. This is obikin but also mentions of qui-gon/anakin BUT it's a fake relationship. it's not in the story, but the premise obi-wan doesn't know is that anakin needed coruscanti citizenship to get their healthcare for his mom, and qui-gon decides to help him out by marrying him to give him automatic citizenship i uh might continue this if people like it because it was fun to write whoops

“We met at the spaceport three days ago,” Anakin says with a demure little smile, curling further into Qui-Gon’s outstretched arm. The soft lamplight glints off the golden band Anakin’s wearing on his finger. Obi-Wan has had a hard time looking anywhere else since arriving in his old master’s quarters, has had a hard time thinking of anything else except that he’d always imagined Anakin wearing a more bronzed shade of gold.

It had been a shock to hear that while Obi-Wan had been out on a mission, Qui-Gon had returned to Coruscant with a husband in tow. Yes, alright, short courtships aren’t rare anywhere in the galaxy, especially between soulmates.

But Obi-Wan knows intimately well--better than anyone else in this room--that Anakin and Qui-Gon aren’t, in fact, soulmates.

Mace seems to be thinking the same thing because he states, with a slight question in his voice, “I was under the impression that your soulmate had passed into the Force, Qui-Gon.”

“We’re not soulmates,” Qui-Gon corrects placidly, arm moving away from Anakin’s shoulders--Obi-Wan can breathe again--so he can fiddle with the cuff around his wrist, which hides the faded name of his mate. “But now that the Jedi Order has lifted its marriage ban for non-Soulmate couples, I thought, why spend the rest of my life alone?”

Anakin catches Qui-Gon’s hand and places a kiss on the back of his fingers. Obi-Wan is going to scream.

When Anakin looks up to the assembled Jedi watching, he doesn’t look at Obi-Wan once. It’s the worst thing in the galaxy, the fact that other than very briefly an hour ago, Anakin hasn’t looked at him at all. It’s been five years. “And I’ve met my soulmate, but they…decided they didn’t want to stay with me, that they didn’t want me.”

Obi-Wan inhales sharply at this and forgets to bite his tongue. “Maybe your soulmate had other obligations that they had to fulfill,” Obi-Wan bites out.

He’d thought Anakin ignoring him had been awful, but that’s nothing compared to the pain of having him look at him with eyes as cold as Hoth. “I think I’d know more about my soulmate than you would, master Jedi. Ah, I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Obi-Wan almost tells him to check his wrist if he needs a reminder about Obi-Wan’s name, but the words get stuck in his throat.

It’s probably for the best.

Obi-Wan’s spent five years and the duration of a war hiding the name of his soulmate from the Jedi Order, and he can’t say it now. His other half has made it quite clear that he can’t say it now.

“Excuse me,” Obi-Wan says, standing suddenly. He knows he should stay, should sit through the rest of the intake interview the Council gives to all non-Jedi sentients that marry a Jedi, soulmates or no, but he can’t. He’s the youngest person to sit on the Council in written history, he’s survived a war, trained the stubbornest Padawan of her generation, and this--this--looking across the table at Anakin Skywalker, dolled up and petty and full of hatred for him as he wears another man’s ring, Obi-Wan’s former master’s ring--this is going to be the thing that kills him.

Luckily, no one tries to stop him as he leaves. Maybe they think he’s just reacting to the fact that his fifty-eight year old master came home with a twenty-five year old husband. Maybe everything he’s feeling is written out on his face. Maybe he should never have tried to hide Anakin away. Maybe he should have called for extraction from his deep cover mission as soon as their hands had touched and their soulmarks had appeared. Maybe these past seven years should never have happened.

Force knows Obi-Wan would sleep easier if he had never walked into that Tatooine bar. If he had never met Anakin Skywalker.

He tries to meditate in his favorite spot in the Room of A Thousand Fountains, but it’s an impossible task. Mostly, he sits in a classic lotus position and broods.

A few hours later, when Obi-Wan thinks he’s recovered some of his composure, the person who’s always been able to ruin it sits himself down in front of him with a lot of unnecessary noise.

“When you talked about this place, I thought it sounded like the biggest waste of water in the entire galaxy,” Anakin’s voice sounds...normal. Like they’re picking up the thread of a conversation they had just dropped a moment ago, as if five years and a wedding and a war don’t stretch between them.

But if Anakin wants to talk to Obi-Wan like they had before, he’ll try his hardest to meet him there. Slowly, he opens his eyes. Anakin’s lounging back, still wearing the ceremonial robes of a Jedi’s bride, the loose blue silk barely hanging onto one of his shoulders. Obi-Wan wants to close his eyes again, immediately. “The greenery wouldn’t be able to survive without the water.”

Anakin nods, looking around as if slightly disinterested by it all. When he’d been eighteen, he’d soaked up every story Obi-Wan could tell him about the Temple, about the Jedi. Those piercing blue eyes find him again. It’s as if he knows Obi-Wan’s thoughts, because he smiles in the most humorless way. “I used to think I’d live here, and then I could see for myself if the beauty was worth the excess.”

“And?” Obi-Wan asks. It’s all he can get out of his throat. It’s very clear what Anakin isn’t saying. That he used to think he’d live here with Obi-Wan. That they'd be--that they'd be.

“Now I understand that there’s no winning that argument. What one man sees as a waste, another might see as a treasure.”

Obi-Wan can’t do this. He thought--maybe he could--but. He can’t. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, moving to stand on his feet. “I hate to leave, but I must attend to--”

Anakin scrambles to his feet and latches onto Obi-Wan’s covered wrist. “Do you?” he asks intently, his hold tightening. “Did you?”

“This--this is most inappropriate, Chosen Skywalker, please remove yourself from my person.”

Anakin, blast him, moves even closer. Obi-Wan wonders if he can hear his heartbeat from that far away or if it’s just in Obi-Wan’s ears. “You have to tell me,” he demands. He’s always demanded things from Obi-Wan. Stories, and kisses, and comfort, and promises. Obi-Wan had given him everything he’d asked for, up until the very end.

Unsurprisingly, nothing has changed.

“Tell you what,” Obi-Wan snaps, yanking his wrist away from Anakin’s touch. Even through the covering, his skin feels burned. “Tell you that I hated having to leave you? Tell you that I’ve thought about you every night since then? Tell you that there was a war, that I had to fight, that I didn’t choose to go? That I had a duty to the galaxy, to the Jedi, to my family?”

“You had a duty to me!” Anakin snarls back, squaring his shoulders and shoving forward into Obi-Wan’s space. “I was your soulmate and you left me and I waited and you never once called me, never once tried to visit! And then the war ended and you never came back!” His voice breaks and the flood of words Obi-Wan desperately does not want to hear breaks with it for just a second. “Why didn’t you come back? I don’t...I don’t care that you had to fight. I knew I couldn’t leave with you, not until I had freed my mom. But you just. You left.”

“I’m not the same man I was, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says softly. His voice shakes and he has to turn his head away from his soulmate’s watery blue eyes. “The war--it changed me. It hurt, to fight and kill and strategize on how to more effectively fight and kill the next day. Four years of that, and I knew at the end I wasn’t fit to be anyone’s soulmate, least of all yours.”

When Obi-Wan had first met him, Anakin had been laughing. His head had been tipped back, curls falling over his shoulders. The noise had been loud and honest. He’d been radiant in the Force. It had taken weeks for Obi-Wan to really believe something so bright could be the other half of his soul.

“I wanted to,” Obi-Wan whispers. “Every night I wanted to, and it only got harder after the war ended. I never stopped wanting to. Wanting you.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Anakin asks. Obi-Wan wants to ask him why it matters if he believes him or not, but Anakin’s words from earlier float back to him. They decided they didn’t want to stay with me, that they didn’t want me. He can’t let Anakin continue to think Obi-Wan didn’t want him, not when he wanted him so badly he ached from it.

With shaking fingers, he moves to pull down the collar of his robes, just far enough that he can pull out the japor snippet he’s worn around his neck since the day Anakin gave it to him. He slowly lifts it over his head and presents it to his soulmate. Anakin’s eyes are wide with wonder as he stares down at the necklace, worm almost smooth by how often Obi-Wan had rubbed the carving with his thumb. “Always, Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmurs, reaching out to grab Anakin’s hand and dropping the wood carving into his palm. He carefully folds the man’s lax fingers around the necklace.

Hating himself for doing it, but needing to do it anyway, he brushes his lips over his fingers in a ghost of a kiss. Beneath his mouth, the wedding band feels warm from Anakin’s body heat. It’s a shockingly cold reminder.

“May the Force bless you and your Chosen, and reunite you at every end of your every day,” Obi-Wan whispers the Council’s official blessings for newly-wed couples into Anakin’s skin.This is the last time he’s ever going to touch him. He doesn’t want to let go.

He must. He does.

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 31

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: it’s going down now!! hope you enjoy it xx

NEXT CHAPTER

   - Barnes. - he answered.

   - Mr. Barnes, it’s Agent Cox. We have an assignment for you. - his grip almost loosened on his coffee cup. - If you could meet with us tod ...

  - I don’t do that anymore.

  - I’m sorry Mr. Barnes, but I don’t make the rules. 1 o’clock, you know where.

  - Wait. - before he could even say a thing, the phone line went dead. Fuck. Fucking assholes. 

He threw the mug onto the sink, the sheer force of the movement making the porcelain shatter against the spotless aluminium which made the sleeping Y/N on the couch, perk up wide awake. Through the temporary blurry vision of the first look after sleeping, Y/N got up from the couch and rushed towards the kitchen. Bucky had his back turned to the tiled wall, hands on the marbled kitchen top with his head looking down at the sink. She padded lightly, coming up on his left rather than behind him, placing her hand on top of his which quickly got a reaction from him.  

    - What’s wrong? - she was smart enough to know when something was wrong despite the fact he had learned to hide it from her. Bucky sighed, turning around to lean against the kitchen top. - Bucky?

Bucky remained locked inside his mind, fighting something which Y/N couldn’t really understand. It quickly passed her mind it could’ve been due to her actions last night but that thought quickly left as the overwhelming feeling of wanting to comfort him. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his chest. Bucky was still much too lost in his own mind. He should’ve be enjoying retirement, or at least his version of retirement and he definitely should not be leaving his bride-to-be who was being harassed by some maniac stalker. Yet, here he was once again. He guessed when they said don’t hurt anyone, it obviously did not include him. 

    - Talk to me, Bucky.  What’s wrong, love?

    - What ... what ring cut do you want? - he tried to change the topic but she was much too smart to know he hadn’t broken a mug over deciding what cut she wanted for her engagement ring. - Princess cut? Heart? Marquise?

     - Barnes! - she interrupted him before he decided to switch careers and become an engagement ring adviser. - What is it?

     - I ... I have to go, Y/N. I have an assignment.

     - What do you mean? 

     - It’s complicated.- he rested his hand on his neck. How does one even start to explain it? Bucky wanted her to see him as a regular man, he did not want the Winter Soldier, HYDRA, SHIELD or even the Avengers being part of his history with him. Maybe it was wrong of him to want to divide those two parts of him, but he wanted her to see whatever good was left in him. How would he even explain it to her when he can barely explain it to himself?

     - Well then explain to me. Make it uncomplicated.

     - I .. it’s part of my plea deal, princess.

     - What plea deal? - she followed him into the living room, where he sat in the couch. - Bucky, talk to me, please. Let me help you. 

     - You think the government would let me walk around as if nothing had happened? - he meant for it to sound playful however it came out filled  with resentment and why wouldn’t he resent them? It wasn’t freedom, it was constantly being kept on the leash by a government which was everything but capable of taking care of homeland security. - I had a list of people associated with HYDRA, it started with that then ... then after I was done they started calling me whenever they thought someone had HYDRA connections so I could bring them in and make amends.

     - Makes amends? What is that supposed to mean? 

     - It means what you think it means, princess. 

     - Bu ...

      - I have to meet with the agents to get the details today. - he interrupted before she could delve deeper into what he was sure she wanted to discuss. Bucky knew what he had to do and he knew there was no use crying and whining about it. - At one but I’ll be ba ...

     - I’m going with you. 

     - What? No, you’re not going. You’re staying here, god knows the papers already know you skipped the party and will be starting with their theories. 

     - I did not ask for you opinion, I said I am going. 

     - Princess, they’re not gonna let you inside the room and you’ll be probably waiting outside for an hour. Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable here?

     - No. I am going, Bucky. End of story.

     - So you’re calling the shots now?

     - Yes. - she looked over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom to finally get rid of the dress that was starting too feel way too uncomfortable. 

Bucky was not happy. The last thing he needed was the government to know he was dating, much less the officers and agents which normally assigned him tasks. Those were two worlds he did not want connected, he didn’t want Y/N mixed with his past, much less mixed with active ex-HYDRA members but he also knew there was no stopping her and the two of them left his flat just half to one, arriving at a mostly regular building which she would’ve mistaken for an office. Bucky parked the car in front of him, stare frozen onto the building as if it were a person which had hurt him. She felt powerless, she couldn’t help him. All she could do was be the first one off the car, eyes shielded by oversized sunglasses as he opened his door as he normally would do for her. He snapped out of it, exiting the car only to give the building that look again which was broken by her holding his hand. He’d done this so many times before and it had always been hard but now, now walking in that building meant he’d be leaving her just in the midst of a crazy person who was stalking her. He shouldn’t be tying up HYDRA’s loose ends, he should be throwing whomever that stalker was inside a cell.

     - Wait here, okay? - Bucky instructed Y/N just before he entered the room to have the meeting. - I’ll be back.

     - You’re gonna be fine. - she thanked heaven she had decided to take up acting because all she wanted to do now was break down. He kissed her forehead before leaving.

Everything looked so normal, almost like an office’s reception but she had quickly learned to dislike it. She disliked the pale blue colour of the walls, the sound of the coffee machine, the dark blue seats, she hated all of it. She did not need to know exactly why, she knew whatever it was, it was something Bucky deeply disliked and she did not know what to do. She should know what to do, say something more supportive. However, there was someone who knew what to do, who would know how to be better at helping him than she could. Y/N fished through her purse, a mess of stuff coming out before she could even get to her phone. 

     - Hello?

     - Steve, you need to come. Hum ... I don’t know where I am but I need your help.

     - Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Where’s Bucky?

     - I don’t know what’s going on. - she sighed, leaning her head against the palm of her hand. - He didn’t explain it to me but it’s about assignments and the government.

     - I’ll be there as fast as I can, Y/N. 

     - Thank you. 

All eyes in the room were on her, as if she was a circus attraction. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, she had grown up surrounded by an audience either it being her family or the audience of the plays she had been so she knew when people were staring at her. This look however, it was almost as of surprise and shock. She curled up against her own self, lip between her teeth as her fingers pulled at the pearls wrapped around her neck. She should’ve insisted to go in, to be by his side so he wasn’t alone.

     - Y/N, are you okay? - she looked up to see Sam and Steve. - Sam, take her to the car.

     - I don’t need to be in the car. I’m staying here to support him and one of you is gonna explain me to me what the heck is happening.

     - I’m going to check on Cox and Buck. - Steve left Y/N alone with Sam, the two of them sat in probably the most uncomfortable seats ever created. 

     - Sam, are they gonna hurt him?

     - Bucky’s gonna be fine, Y/N. This is part of “effort” to make amends.

     - Make amends for what, Sam? For being the Winter Soldier? For being a persona forced upon him by HYDRA which was undercover in the government for years? This can’t ... it can’t be possibly legal. 

     - Try to tell that to a jury of people who see him as the guy who fought Captain America in Washington and threw a guy into traffic. It’s not as simple but he’ll be fine. He’s done it several times and they always tell him no one gets hurt.

     - What about him? What are the rules about hurting him? - the two of them remained silent. There was nothing else to be said because both of them knew there were no rules. It was as uncertain as it came, it didn’t matter if he was “retired” from avenging or from being called the Winter Soldier. It did not matter. 

Time went by slowly and it felt as if Bucky and Steve had been in there for hours, when in reality the clock only marked 30 minutes and 40 minutes when the two of them stepped out of the room. Y/N scrambled to her feet, despite the sleepy state she had been in, fast walking towards her fiance. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could, standing on her tips of her sneakers to try and convey she was there for him. 

     - Seriously? Steve? - he whispered against her ear but Y/N shook it off.

     - Was it bad? - she turned to Steve, knowing Bucky would just try to shield her from it. 

     - Nothing far from usual. We’ll be standing by if you need it.

     - Thanks. - Bucky put his arm on over her shoulder, pushing her close to him while he could.

     - Next time call, Buck. If you don’t know how to use your phone ask your girlfriend. - Sam perked up before both him and Steve left. 

She looked up at him, knowing she’d definitely get a scolding for calling Steve but instead he just leaned down to kiss her before holding her tight. She was left stunned, wondering why he was yet to say something. Y/N could not know much about her boyfriend’s former life with HYDRA, but she knew him. She knew Bucky hated to bring Steve into things, specially after their relationship had slightly strained and despite that she still called Steve in. Steve knew his HYDRA life, she did not. Yet, Bucky always seemed to either let out a sarcastic remark or at least roll his eyes at her. Not today though. He acted as if the two of them had just came out of a date, holding her by her waist as they walked into the car.

She remained suspicious, looking to the side as he drove to his Brooklyn apartment. No. He had to be thinking about something, he had to be wondering about how to make his discontent about her calling Steve known. But he didn’t. He just had the radio playing, his hand on her thigh but she was still suspicious. Her suspicion grew stronger as they entered his flat and he held her flush against him, lowering to kiss her as if he hadn’t seen her in years. It was soft, filled with passion and slow. The type of kiss which if long enough would lead to more unsavoury things. 

     - I have to leave tomorrow. - his voice came out meek and soft as his lips parted from hers. 

     - What? - now it made sense. 

     - I have to leave tomorrow for my assignment. I don’t know when I’m going to be back but I have made arrangements for someone to watch over you. No one will hurt you while I’m gone.

     - Bucky, this is ridiculous. - she sighed. - Can’t we fight this? Can’t Steve help? You shouldn’t have to do this. 

     - I have to do this, Y/N. It’s my ... amends. 

     - Amends? Seriously? - she bit harshly onto her lip as not to start crying. She knew the moment she started to cry, he’d change the conversation to be about her and this was not about her. - You have to make amends?

     - Y/N...

     - No. - she interrupted. - You enlisted of a war caused by lack of government action, you were presumed dead only to be found by people who then seeped into the organisation which was meant to protect the country. They cut off whatever was left of your arm from a fall caused by them and brainwashed you. You are 106, you were 28 when you feel from that train. That’s 78 years, James. That’s more than average life expectancy for a man in the USA. You’re telling me they had you unwillingly under their control during their dirty deeds for more than a man’s life expectancy and you have to make amends? 

     - That’s the plea deal I accepted, Y/N. What do you want me to do? What do you want to do?

    - I just want them to see you the way that I see you, not the way they made you out to be. - Bucky took a step forward to hold her but she stepped back. - How can you accept it? Having them do this to you?

    - It’s just like the things your agency makes you do, princess. You get used to it overtime. 

    - It’s not the same. I chose to sign that contract, whatever comes of it is my fault. You did not chose to be used by someone and how is that fair? It’s not fair.

    - Life’s not fair. - he took a test step, testing if she would once again walk back but she did not. She stood there, arms crossed and head low and it broke him to see her like that but he did not know how to react. He’d never had someone say that to him and had he been less shaken by the sudden call, he would’ve probably had a different reaction. Yet, right now, all he wanted was to hold her. He wanted to hold her for as long as he could until he had to leave. 

Bucky fully approached her, wrapping his arms around her and resting her head against his shoulder. He kissed the top of her forehead, trying to hide his own emotions and trying to think of how he’d get that ex general down fast enough to return to her. To return to her little nose scrunch whenever she smiled with intent. 

    - I need you to do something for me, princess. You’re not gonna like it but I need you to do it. - he whispered, those words only for her. - Don’t make me say goodbye to you.

    - What do you mean?

    - Let me leave while you’re asleep. We go to bed just like we always do and you wake up tomorrow and I’m not here. 

    - Bucky, no. 

    - No, princess. Please. I was never good with goodbyes and if I don’t say goodbye to you, we never said it, so it never happened.

    - Bucky ...

    - Besides if I leave my dog tags with you, I can’t die. - he tried to lighten up the mood.

    - That’s not how it works.

    - I’ll be fine. I’ve done this plenty of times and no one has gotten hurt.

    - Not one has gotten hurt yet.

She didn’t want to let go of him and even as night approached and they laid down to sleep, she couldn’t sleep. Whenever she closed her eyes, the dark suffocated her and it made it hard to fall asleep. She looked at him the whole night, his hand holding hers until the heaviness of her lids eventually won the war against her yet it wasn’t that she was tired. She was just lying unconscious in darkness, feeling the tragedy in the air. He too had barely slept, awaking up up when he had to and finding it even harder to leave her. She was laying on his bed, her hair framing her face, chest slowly rising up and down. She was alive, she was no fantasy, she was his dream come true and he was leaving her. He guessed that was the price of freedom.

He took a final look at his bride to be, her fluttering lashes making her look ethereal against the white sheets. Oh, he’d be back. He’d be back for her. Bucky took his tags off, leaning down to place them across her slightly opened palm and to kiss her temple before he took off into the early dawn. 

Y/N woke up when the sun was high in the sky, the light contrasting the cold of her bed. She didn’t need to look at his side of the bed to know he was gone. She couldn’t feel him, she couldn’t hear him. The flowers by the bedside had gone brown, the dead petals falling on her palm like teardrops against his dogs tags. She clinged onto the shiny material, bringing it up to her chest before she allowed herself to cry finally. No sounds came, no whimpers of sadness, no moans of grief. Nothing. Tears just streamed down her face in silent rivers falling onto the sheets as she tried to convince herself it would be okay. Things were gonna be okay.

Just as she managed to calm herself down, she realised the moment she opened that bedroom door, the lack of the smell of coffee, the lack of the smell of oil from his fried eggs. It would all just come back in big flashes and she would be back to where she had just been. She couldn’t be in his flat anymore, it was too painful. She needed to go, she just didn’t know where yet as she opened the door, there was indeed someone in her kitchen.

    - Sharon?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @bbabysbaby @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers @nsfwsebbie @sarge-barnes-sir @niki-is-a-thing​ @cynic-spirit​ 

[whiterosebrian]

Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

In the Arms of the Anus

Fandom: Spider-Man, Thor Pairing: Roger Harrington/Grandmaster Rating: T Word Count: 8883

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, @spiderman-homecomeme!!!

Summary: While people all over the world are finding their soulmates, Roger Harrington can barely find time to grab a sandwich. Clumsy, anxious, and stagnating in a mediocre marriage, it's a miracle that he still believes in love.

Today's the day the universe rewards that belief.

Three things about Roger Harrington: he’d just tripped on the sidewalk, he worried daily that he was developing a bald spot, and, at the age of 36, he felt he still believed in love as strongly as did the little girl in his building who’d made all the residents Valentine’s Day cards the year before.

The cards—which Roger had found endearing while his wife had been baffled to the point of annoyance—had been wedged into everyone’s mailbox sometime on the afternoon of last May 19th, and maybe that was why he thought of them today, exactly a year later.

It was helpful, he found, to consider love in markers of time passing, or just numbers. The anniversary of those Valentine’s cards would always be 271 days early, leap year or not. Roger had been married twice, longer the second time. He had zero children, and that was alright with him because he wasn’t totally sure that he did want kids and, anyway, he was too profoundly stressed about the welfare of the teenagers he taught at Midtown to comfortably imagine himself as a fulltime parent.

His wife was cool. Significantly cooler than he was. She drove out of the city to hike every other weekend (he had never joined her and hoped to never be called upon for woodsy companionship), had once performed an emergency tracheotomy on a friend at a dinner party, and had a tattoo on her hip that predated their relationship, which made it consequently, eternally, enigmatic, no matter how many times she told the objectively trite story of its acquisition. Also, she was a casual shoplifter, which made him very, very nervous in a way that he found difficult to differentiate from how he felt when he was turned on.

He was the kind of person who consistently forgot to take his glasses off before stepping into the shower. She was the kind of person who would run into and recognize a famous race car driver at Whole Foods (that had happened) or fake her own death (that had not happened—knock on wood!). Essentially, what and who his second wife was was the natural successor to his first wife (the reckless young bride to his insomniac young groom), who had in turn been the natural successor to the only other romantic encounter of his life worth mentioning: a kiss on the cheek at a birthday party on the day the Berlin Wall fell. Roger had been seven.

So his romantic history was speckled and, in two out of three cases, spoke a little too loudly of a need for legally-recognized codependence. So he didn’t feel like a man anyone would ever get a tattoo in honour of. So his wife had been a little unkind in the long pause before her negative when he’d asked her if she thought he was getting a bald spot. Roger still felt that love was going to happen for him. Hopefully sustained in his current marriage, but if not, there was always what Julius Dell had taken to (highly unscientifically) calling the Love Wave.

If Roger decided to be really delusional, he could pretend that the Love Wave was to blame for his stumble over uneven concrete on his way to grab lunch. That he was finally feeling its cosmic tug. Not that he would be the last to sense it—the inexplicable force that had lately begun guiding people the world over to their new partners—but every day that he didn’t, he feared his wife would feel it first and go careening out of their life together in a Thelma and Louise-style launch that somehow left her intact and him feeling like he’d plummeted to his death at the bottom of a canyon. Sometimes, when he thought about it, he imagined feeling that impulse to go to this destined soulmate and pictured it leading him home. Not in some metaphorical way, but literally home, to the apartment he shared with his wife, to find her arriving at the same time, the two of them matched up, the universe endorsing their marriage.

The reality was that he was a man with clumsy feet (and knees and elbows) who’d forgotten to pack himself a lunch and had just enough self-awareness (though probably not dignity) not to believe that eating in the cafeteria with his students was something he would be able to socially recover from.

He thought about a poorly-cut-out pink heart glued to a fold of red craft paper. He went to buy a sandwich.

At the deli, Roger waited in line and didn’t so much allow his mind to wander—like a dog off-leash in a dog park—as feel his mind jerk insistently away—like a dog on-leash, trying to snap a dropped slice of pizza off the sidewalk. He was violently not present as his thoughts migrated from Valentine’s Day cards to lesson plans to the anxiety he always felt over the fact of never seeming to have enough power to go with the tremendous sense of responsibility he felt for all situations in which he was even remotely involved. He would have, should have, continued to shuffle vacantly forward in line, except that the man ahead of him grumbled something that drew his focus.

What he grumbled was: “Even the Sorcerer Supreme should be able to spare a minute to decide what kind of sandwich he wants.”

Now, Roger Harrington was a man of science, but he was also a man who had previously enjoyed a close friendship with the Hulk (and if anyone challenged him on specific parameters within that assertion, Roger knew that he would cry). Aliens swarmed the sky like clouds of bees. There were compilation videos of Spider-Man nearly getting hit by city buses that could’ve been designed expressly to see how hard Roger could flinch. For a clumsy man with the unathletic, knock-kneed gait of Pippi Longstocking, Roger did his best to roll with the supernatural punches. Hey, this was how science worked too: just because there wasn’t a precedent yet didn’t mean there never would be. Just because he couldn’t explain something didn’t mean no one could. Sorcerers? Alright. There could be sorcerers.

“Sorcerers?” Roger blurted to the man, overeager to expel the word.

All other words had fled to the back of his mind, twitching in an agitated cluster, leaving just the one to be snatched frantically from the surface. Like fishing. (Roger had never been fishing. One of his greatest fears was having a live fish somehow jump into his shoe and stepping on it by accident.)

“Uhhh,” the man droned. He looked uneasy. If Roger knew how to make his eyes a little less wide in situations like these, he would’ve done it.

“No, yeah, sorcerers, sure,” Roger swiftly backpedaled. “I’m a teacher.”

As if being a teacher equaled knowledge of sorcerers. As if that were a normal unit of the high school curriculum. Roger’s understanding of sorcerers began and ended with Mickey Mouse in a blue wizard’s hat. He wondered if that was sort of the standard look.

The man did not appear reassured. Roger thrust his hand forward.

“Roger Harrington, Midtown Tech.”

Face still wary, his deli companion shook hands.

“Wong.”

“So, this sorcerer of yours didn’t pick a sandwich?” The line shuffled forward and, now in reach of the long glass case of food, Roger attempted to lean his elbow casually against it, misjudged the distance, and jerked back upright again before he could fall over.

“No… You heard that part too?”

“If I could hear the part about the sorcerer, why wouldn’t I be able to hear the rest?”

“I think most people would’ve been so fixated on the sorcerer thing that they wouldn’t really absorb the part about the sandwich.”

“Just got sandwiches on the brain, I guess,” Roger said.

God, if Wong knew a sorcerer, odds were that he was a sorcerer too. (Roger based this on being a teacher with almost exclusively teacher friends and acquaintances.) He was making it sound like he cared more about sandwiches, he knew he was. He stared silently at Wong for a few painful seconds and wondered if the man could tell that he had worked for a sandwich shop as a teenager—the role of wearing a full-body sandwich costume and standing on the sidewalk, trying to attract people into the shop.

But Wong surprised him by nodding.

“You could get one of everything,” Roger heard himself suggest.

He was not typically one to make suggestions, but rather one to panic when other people did and he was in the position of having to choose between them. He could never decide on a restaurant for he and his wife’s now few-and-far-between date nights, or provide straightforward feedback when she asked for his opinion on her clothing choices… which movie they should see… what they should buy for her friend’s sister’s housewarming gift...

Oh god, she was probably going to fake her own death and his biggest anxiety was knowing that someone would ask him to choose the casket!

“I have like…” Wong jingled his pockets and extracted a fistful of coins that, when he opened his hand, Roger saw belonged to several different currencies. “…six bucks.”

Like a mirror with a delay, Roger patted his own pockets to locate his wallet. He flipped it open to reveal something promising and terrifying: he’d forgotten to return the school credit card after the last field trip he’d chaperoned. He shouldn’t, but… sorcerer.

“I think this’ll cover it,” Roger said. “It’s for emergency expenses.”

“Like lunch?” Wong asked doubtfully.

“I could be very hungry.”

“They sell seventeen different types of sandwiches here.”

“I could be very, very hungry.”

Wong shrugged in evident acquiescence and Roger marvelled that it was so simple for him to accept this act of generosity. Roger couldn’t recall the last time someone had been as generous towards him. Wait, yes he could. The Valentine’s Day card. Well, handing over a credit card that wasn’t technically his didn’t exactly equate to presenting his ticket at the Love Wave gates (not that there were such things—not that he’d know), but he was hoping to trade this generosity up for a different magical experience in the near future.

When they reached the front of the line for service, Roger ordered a total of eighteen sandwiches. (And received an undisguised groan of complaint from the people still in line behind himself and Wong.) While they waited, Roger buzzed like the posterchild for over-caffeination, doing his best not to let his excitement translate into erratic movements.

Of course, once the sandwiches were presented and paid for, it only made sense for Roger to help Wong carry them all. His own ham-and-Swiss was stuffed into one of the three bags and they were all bulging, threatening to spill. If one of them ripped on Wong’s journey back to wherever he had to take them, who would be there to gather the sandwiches into their arms so that Wong wouldn’t have to leave them on the ground? Roger was clearly the best (only) person for the job.

And if they talked on the way? That would be natural. If Wong stared at him with abrupt, unyielding suspicion the instant Roger attempted to negotiate a visit with this ‘Sorcerer Supreme’ in exchange for buying his lunch? Yeah. Yeah that suspicion would be fair.

“Not for my sake!” Roger defended as Wong blinked back at him. “For the kids!”

“The Sorcerer Supreme isn’t a birthday party magician.”

“No, I would never imply that! These are bright kids. They’d be there to learn, respectfully. They’ve had their own traumatic encounter with Spider-Man already so there wouldn’t be any clambering to meet another person with superhuman powers!”

“What did Spider-Man do to traumatize them?”

Wong looked interested now, in an entertained sort of way. Meanwhile, Roger was having a flashback of his life flashing before his eyes inside the Washington Monument.

“Actually, he saved us,” Roger explained. “That’s not the point. It would be purely educational. You and the Sorcerer Supreme would call the shots. As long as it wasn’t anything dangerous.”

“Dangerous? We would never put children at risk!”

Roger was about to clarify that he hadn’t meant to imply that they would when he realized Wong seemed to be taking this as a reason to prove himself, or to make the other sorcerer prove what he’d just said.

“I would hope not,” Roger said carefully, “because not all of the children I’ve taken on field trips have come back alive and that haunts me.”

“Well, what haunts me is everything I’ve seen and learned from in order to become someone who could now guarantee a safe field trip environment.”

“Well, that would be great.”

“Well, good,” Wong concluded.

Roger looked down at the bag he was holding as he dug out his sandwich. His wrist twisted and he caught the time on his watch. Oh wow, oh no, his lunch break was almost over.

“Ok, deal,” he said quickly. “We’ll come by next Tuesday!”

“I’ll be out here to let you in!” Wong agreed with a parting wave.

Roger took off running in the direction of Midtown and when that got too awful, he wheezed like an asthmatic and waited at the closest bus stop.

—

Roger had expected Principal Morita to say there was no room in their budget for this trip. That they were nearing the end of the school year, that parents and guardians would be reluctant to sign another form for an excursion that Roger could only give a vague, stammering explanation of. At the very least, he’d anticipated the journey via school bus in lurching, stop-and-start traffic to take so long that the kids would revolt; Flash Thompson would lead the complaints that they could’ve walked to their destination faster than the ride took and Roger would feel the primal horror of a confrontation with a self-possessed teenager who wielded the kind of peer influence Roger could only have dreamed of when he’d been Flash’s age.

But no.

Highly improbably (Roger didn’t like to consider it miraculous), things went smoothly. The trip cleared the budget assessment on zero notice because, besides renting the single bus to transport the students, their outing didn’t actually have any costs. Permission slips came back signed. Traffic was light. And dear, dear Flash—who usually gave Roger so much anxiety—slapped the hand Roger raised to shield his eyes from the sun as his students disembarked from the bus, rewarding him with a surprise high-five for getting them out of the classroom on a Tuesday afternoon. It almost knocked Roger’s glasses off.

They were ushered inside by Wong, who was now laying the mystical solemnity on pretty thick. He certainly wasn’t talking about sandwiches or complaining about the Supreme Sorcerer under his breath.

Before Roger could feel too good about himself though, he realized he’d had time to run through his headcount of the students three times without interruption. Normally, something would happen partway through his first count and he’d be uneasy for the rest of the day, sure that one of the kids had fallen down a manhole or been stampeded by a dog-walker’s unruly canine swarm. The universe shoved teenagers into the path of bike couriers with one hand and paired up soulmates with the other. That was just how things went! However, inside this house (or, no, Sanctum, Wong had called it), the air was still and quiet.

“Do you think he’s gonna make himself appear out of thin air?” Roger heard Ned ask at a whisper. “Or out of a wardrobe, or a trapdoor, or one of those boxes people get in to get sawed in half?”

“Those are cheap tricks,” Wong said loudly. He stared unsympathetically at Roger’s motley group, hand closed around his opposite wrist to maintain a serious pose. “The man you’ll be meeting shortly has capabilities that far outstrip those of the kind of magician-for-hire you’d find in a phonebook.”

From behind him, Roger heard Peter ask Ned what a phonebook was.

“What kind of capabilities then?” Flash demanded.

Roger sighed and was turning to reprimand his student when Wong said, “Like this!”

The man faked a sneeze of horrific volume and range, doubling over and cupping his hand around his mouth and nose. When he straightened up and presented his open palm, there was a raspberry sitting in it.

Roger closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself and his teaching career played on a fast-forwarded film reel behind his lids. The Sorcerer Supreme was a no-show; all Roger had accomplished was taking the kids to a weird building to witness a man pretend to sneeze out a raspberry. Midtown Tech was going to fire him. His wife would recognize his unemployment as a reason to leave him. Depressingly, Roger was thinking about how that would almost be a relief—an end to his incessant worrying that they were really kind of a mismatch—and he was thinking it while he blankly watched Wong eat the raspberry he’d just feigned dislodging from his nasal cavity.

He was really unprepared for a different man to come sweeping down the stairs, motion with his hand, and have a red sheet come whizzing down after him to settle itself on his shoulders. Roger blinked. He heard the mixed noises of fright and appreciation from his students.

Then Flash piped up with, “That’s just a trick. It’s wires or something.”

Roger backed into the cluster of his charges and, without taking his eyes off the obvious Magical Guy in front of him, reached over and placed his hand across Flash’s mouth.

Unfortunately, his censorship seemed to be too late. The Sorcerer’s narrowed eyes zoned in on Flash.

“Oh yeah? How ’bout this? Is this just a trick?”

Fingers splayed, the man moved his hands in a precise, practiced way and a window opened up in the middle of the room. No, not a window, but Roger was having a tough time wrapping his head around it. What this non-window showed was something that wasn’t the room, that wasn’t a view of the street, that wasn’t anyplace in New York, if he had to guess.

“You can’t just do it like that,” Wong said wearily. Roger felt himself and his students look from one of the men to the other as though watching a tennis match. “There should be a little more finesse.”

“Look,” the Sorcerer told him. “You don’t get to spring this on me and then expect me to ham it up for the kids. This isn’t a David Blaine show.”

“Maybe you should watch one. You might learn something about showmanship.”

“So, it’s fake, right?” Flash checked.

Dammit, Roger had dropped his hand, distracted as he tried to make out what he was seeing through what he was becoming increasingly comfortable with calling a ‘magic portal’ in his thoughts. He scrambled to take hold of Flash’s shoulder—yanking him back would be bad, but dealing with the fallout of him pissing off somebody who could make magic portals would be much worse—but Flash dodged him, swaggering forward to inspect the Sorcerer’s work.

“What is it? Mirrors? Greenscreen? You buy your tech from Stark?”

“Stark?” the Sorcerer spat out derisively.

Overcome with the terrible feeling that he was about to find out what it looked like when a wizard put a curse on a child, Roger sprang forward. As he did, three things happened: the Sorcerer rotated his wrist slightly, the scene on the other side of the portal changed, and Flash turned to the side.

Without a student to grab onto and pull to safety, Roger’s momentum sent him hurtling through the gateway currently connecting Midtown to parts unknown.

Of all the times to trip, he thought.

—

The world was bright and fast and bad. Actually, Roger was almost positive that what he was seeing wasn’t the world at all, but he couldn’t put a name to where he was any more than he could think of better adjectives to describe it. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme owned a magical slip ’n’ slide that operated at speeds designed to train prospective astronauts for space travel, Roger was no longer in his building.

The colour of the tunnel of light surrounding him turned from something like the intestinal track of a unicorn who ate lightning and nebulas to a dangerous, broiling red. Roger kept waiting for his skin to bubble, his face to melt off. Maybe he was the fabled frog in the pot of boiling water and had failed to notice the heat steadily increasing. Because he didn’t feel hot. He couldn’t tell whether or not he felt cold either and before he could work it out, he finally landed.

It was rough.

He curled his arms up around his head, protecting his face. He hit and tumbled, hit and tumbled, banging his shins and elbows, setting off a series of metallic clangs and thwumps like his body was playing drums made of the contents of somebody’s recycling bin. Roger could see—once, shaking, he was able to lower his arms and open his eyes—that his imagination hadn’t been far from the mark: he was lying in a heap of trash.

Trembling like a baby deer, he got to his feet and assessed his surroundings. There were piles everywhere. Piles of stuff. Roger could identify some of the battered objects, but most were utterly alien to him. This was like the time he’d found his wife’s sex toys all over again.

“Hello?” he called out, because he seemed to be alone. “Hel—”

His throat closed off abruptly when he swiveled in place and noticed the sky. His mouth fell open. Was that what he had just come through? That furious-looking, billowing, volcanic, enormous… disturbance? Weather pattern? Entrance to hell, if hell were a mountain of trash?

Oh man. Where was Spider-Man this time? Roger didn’t know which would come first, but if something distinctly reassuring didn’t happen in the next 30 seconds, he was going to either burst into tears or pee his pants. His cool wife was going to be so bummed to have to declare him dead instead of faking her own death. And his students would be traumatized, having just witnessed their teacher disappear before their eyes. He spent a frantic 17 of his 30 seconds wondering if this were Jumanji and he’d started a game without realizing it; being sucked into a board game was another of his greatest fears, ever since he’d watched the chilling horror film Jumanji in his teens.

“Hello?” Roger croaked a final time.

Some other scientist—a Tony Stark type—would thrive in this scenario, Roger knew. They would scavenge the surrounding mounds of metal, collecting and assembling pieces into some sort of technology that would either get them home or enable communication with a rescue team. Would there be a rescue team for Roger Harrington? Would anyone even try to get him back?

The cry/pee conundrum was looking more like cry with each passing second until suddenly, amongst the broken things Roger was aggrieved to consider the lone sentinels of his demise, some kind of spacecraft touched down. Based on his recent luck, whoever was at the helm was likely here to kill him, but he immediately elected to throw himself on their mercy, whether that meant rescue or just a swifter snuffing out of his life than he would otherwise experience on this sad island of garbage as he died from dehydration, starvation, and exposure to that infernal gateway in the sky.

He mouthed the word “help” more than said it as he staggered forward on legs he could hardly feel. A door in the side of the spacecraft slid smoothly open and party music blared out. Roger flinched back as though he had not heard the sounds of civilization in years.

A woman exited the craft. She wore an expression about as kind as the murderous upside-down mushroom cloud in the sky and when their eyes met, she barked, “Back!”

Roger executed an awkward reverse lunge, pleading hands raised. Ok, now that his time had come, he didn’t want a quick death. Put out of his misery? No, he would learn to live with his misery, the way he’d learned to live with his college roommates, or his wife’s collection of handmade bowls! With food and water to sustain him, he was suddenly confident that he could be successfully miserable for years if this intimidating woman would just leave him to his own pathetic devices.

But then, like a visitation from a tan, eye-liner-wearing angel of indeterminate age, a man in gold robes emerged from the vessel. He beamed like he had always been beaming, and always would be.

Just like that, Roger Harrington got it. He got what Hot Chocolate meant when they sang that they believed in miracles. He got the meaning of Kylie Jenner’s year of realizing stuff. He got why a child would send out Valentine’s Day cards in May and why his wife was so dedicated to her hiking group and why he was here.

“Now, what did I say about that before we left?” the angel seemed to be asking his companion, though he’d locked his eyes on Roger. “Did I say to harass our visitor or did I say to be nice?”

The woman narrowed her eyes at Roger, which he felt more than saw; it was possible that he was crying after all. Tears of joy.

“Harass,” she answered flatly.

The angel chuckled.

“You know, I do like having you around. Before you, I said to myself, ‘Next time, get an enforcer with a sense of humour.’” He sighed as his laughter dwindled. “But you can, uh, skedaddle back onto the ship now. That’ll be all.”

“What if you want to melt him?” she queried.

That was enough to tear Roger’s gaze away from the man and send it zipping nervously to the threatening almost-smile the woman was now directing his way. He’d preferred the murder face.

“Melt him!” the angel said, in a tone that implied her suggestion had been ridiculous. (Roger relaxed. A little.) “Topaz, don’t you realize who this is? Don’t you know?”

She shrugged.

“Trash.”

“No, he’s not trash! Do you think I would’ve left the Grand Arena to retrieve a new gladiator by hand? All those Scrappers don’t do my bidding just so I can dig through the garbage looking for fresh challengers for my champion! I wouldn’t even assign Scrapper 142 this task, and you know she’s my favourite!”

When the woman only grumbled, the man pressed, “You have an unbelievable poker face. Do you really not know why I flew all the way out here for this guy?”

“I’m his soulmate,” Roger blurted, because that was the one thing he did know.

He had no idea what a Scrapper was, or whether the man in front of him was more or less important than the ‘champion’ he’d mentioned, or how his homicidal sidekick planned to melt Roger, but he understood what was happening here. Forget the Love Wave—what had come for him had yanked him violently across solar systems, maybe galaxies. He’d been sucked under by the Love Riptide.

The angel pointed at him and proudly proclaimed, “Correctamundo!”

Then he strode forward and folded Roger into a hug. Roger thought this must be what it was like to be a piece of antique furniture, tenderly wrapped in gold leaf.

“I’m the Grandmaster,” he said.

“Roger Harrington,” Roger offered, feeling that his life was entirely surreal as he cautiously returned the hug.

“As soon as I felt you land on my humble little planet here, I came looking. My orgy guests were disappointed, naturally, but I had to put my interests first. What was I, elected? If they wanted a leader who would pretend to care about everyone equally, they should have organized themselves into a viable political party capable of rivalling my dictatorship, am I right?” He drew back slightly and laughed. “You should see your face! I’m kidding. I would’ve had anyone involved in such a thing put to death. Don’t you worry, Hairball.”

Roger cleared his throat. He’d learned so much in the last few sentences alone. Death. Dictator. Orgy. Any one of those things was a lot to confront and yet… he was calmed by the Grandmaster’s presence. He was alive and unmelted. He’d managed to find his soulmate—a man he’d been almost certain to never meet as things stood with Earth’s individually-impressive but cosmically-insignificant progress with space travel. At long last, the universe had smiled on Roger Harrington.

“Just Roger is good,” he said. If last names ever came up again, he would tactfully correct his soulmate, but with a name like ‘the Grandmaster,’ he doubted they ever would.

“Roger. Anything you say.” Gripping Roger’s shoulders, the Grandmaster leaned in and planted a sound kiss on his forehead with a loud, “Mmmwah!”

He asked Roger if he would like to go aboard his ship, apologizing that it wasn’t the one where he’d just been having the orgy and appearing to check Roger’s face for disappointment. Roger didn’t know what the Grandmaster saw in his expression, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Inside the spaceship, Roger looked around with huge eyes. He hadn’t felt this kind of wonder in a room jammed with so much beyond his understanding since the first time his mom had taken him to the New York Hall of Science as a kid. Everything was bright and white and immaculately clean, and Roger could concentrate on all of it because the Grandmaster had Topaz drop the volume of his party playlist until it was just a low pulse of background noise. Seemingly amused by his awe, the Grandmaster allowed him a peek at the controls before gently herding him into a chamber with seating arranged for socializing. A pneumatic hiss sealed them safely inside and away from the woman’s scowl.

“I really just wanna sit here and, uh, just look atcha, but that look on your face tells me you’ve got about a million questions.”

The Grandmaster settled back into the bench seating, resting his long arms along the top of the seat. Across from him, Roger fidgeted, experiencing sensory overload. Soulmate. Spaceship. Alien planet. He found it hard to decide what to ask first. Was that even polite? Was the Grandmaster just saying that Roger could ask questions when he really wanted Roger to say or do something else? There was an awfully flirtatious look in his eye, the likes of which Roger hadn’t seen directed towards himself in several years.

“What is this place?” Roger asked before he could stop himself. “Where am I?”

“Oh! This is Sakaar! Are you saying you didn’t come here on purpose? I figured you weren’t aiming for a pile of trash, but you really didn’t know where you were going at all?”

Roger shook his head so hard that he had to nudge his slipping glasses back up his nose.

“It was an accident. I fell through a wizard’s—uh, I mean, a sorcerer’s—magic portal. That kind of clumsiness must sound pretty farfetched to someone who’s so obviously…” Roger motioned spastically towards his soulmate, the dictator, with both hands. “…in control of their life.”

The Grandmaster laughed, transparently pleased and preening.

“Oh, Roger, you flatter me.”

He stretched out his leg to playfully tap his shoe (gold) against Roger’s (plain, brown, frayed shoelace). Roger jumped, giddy from an alteration in sea level, possibly, plus life-changing events.

“But it really isn’t so uncommon for people, beings, things… to end up here without meaning to,” the Grandmaster went on. “A lot of junk passes through the Anus. Not that you’re junk, obviously.”

With a winning smile, Roger’s soulmate leaned forward and patted him on the knee. He was a touchy-feely guy, it seemed, and it made Roger cognizant of how very lonely he’d been in his marriage, in the last year especially. How skittish around strangers, how unaffectionate with his friends. This was what he needed, and the universe had understood that.

It took his brain a few seconds to catch up with what his soulmate had said, distracted by the comfort he was taking in his easy warmth.

“The Anus?” Roger asked in a choked voice.

“The Devil’s Anus, to be exact. That enormous, horrifying wormhole out there in the sky!” the Grandmaster explained, gleeful. “Best I can guess, it acts as a funnel for accidental travelers, like yourself. And boy, are we ever grateful for that thing. I’ve never had to post any ‘Help Wanted’ flyers, I’ll tell ya that. We need more people serving drinks? Boom. More entertainers? Boom. More lubricators for the orgies? Boom, the Anus provides, baby.”

Roger didn’t inquire what the duties of a person with the job title ‘orgy lubricator’ entailed; it seemed sleazily self-explanatory. He just nodded.

“And now,” his perfect, golden match continued, “the portal brings me my soulmate. I love that thing. It’s really somethin’, huh?”

“It’s really something,” Roger agreed. “Really, really something.”

“You’re looking just a little stunned there, Rodge. Can I offer you something to eat? A drink? I promise, I’m usually a much better host. I feel like I’m positively, uh, bumbling right now.” He beamed.

This man was so many things at once—possibly too many—but bumbling was so far from being one of them that Roger actually laughed weaky in his state of happy, semi-delirium. He accepted the cold glass that was pressed into his hand, the brush of the Grandmaster’s warm palm across his forehead. He had moved to sit right next to Roger.

“You can get used to this place at your own pace, within reason.” His soulmate chuckled. “Heck, we can stay right here a day or two. My plans are cancelled, and when I stop, the world stops. That’s how it is, being the Grandmaster, and that’s how it’s gonna be for you too. You can give all your worries a big, wet kiss goodbye, my love. You’re living a life of luxury now. A court of sycophants, fights to the death in the evening, orgies on a lazy afternoon. I’m talkin’ a life of pure class—”

“Class!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s what I said.” The Grandmaster was wearing a languid smile as he traced the back of his fingers along Roger’s jaw.

But Roger was suddenly too alert to be lulled by welcome caresses and delicious, exotic beverages.

“I was teaching a class before I fell through the portal,” he said. “I’m a teacher. My students are probably terrified. Some of them might be messed up for life after watching me disappear right in front of them. What have I done…”

“So you gave them a cool story to tell their friends! You don’t need to think about that anymore. Now that you’re living here—”

“I can’t live here!” Roger said, seizing the Grandmaster’s hands in his as he tried desperately to explain. “I have responsibilities as an educator! Jesus Christ, I’m married!”

“Roger. Rodge. Rodge. Hey,” his soulmate said, finally disrupting Roger’s spiral of panic. “That’s all in the past. Do you know how many creatures from just, uh, every darn corner of the universe I’ve made slaughter each other for my entertainment? Thousands, Roger, ok? Thousands. And it’s taught me oodles about life. What I’ve learned is that love is the only thing that matters. What all of those poor bastards scream for in the end is their mom, their partner, their best friend. Now, that doesn’t help them, but it helps us. It helps us understand that we’ve done it—we’ve achieved the one thing in our lives that was worth a damn to achieve. I’m not gonna, gonna now be parted from you, sweetheart. You are the point of me.”

Roger felt himself growing teary at the speech. Yes, this had been a whirlwind—they’d met no more than 15 minutes ago—but he was feeling something just as deep as the love the Grandmaster described. It was a fantasy in the best way, the life his soulmate pictured for them (most of it… maybe not the part about slaughter). But it was a fantasy in the worst way too, something so impossible that Roger felt sick for getting as attached to this man as he already had.

“I can’t,” he said softly. He let his head hang down, solaced when the Grandmaster guided it onto his shoulder and wrapped a protective arm around him.

“Can’t you? For me? Roger, if I put you on a ship and send you back through the Anus, we may never meet again.”

Roger squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to be selfish, but there were people he couldn’t leave in the lurch. People who maybe didn’t care about him in a way that was equal to how he cared about them, but that was how any kind of relationship was, apart from soulmates. There were imbalances. He knew he might not be the most brilliant scientist, the most inspirational teacher, the husband a woman would prefer over the outdoorsy hunk in her hiking group, but he knew who he was: he was someone who couldn’t just walk away.

“We’ll be together again,” Roger said, clutching the Grandmaster’s robes. “After.”

Though he didn’t yet know what ‘after’ would mean.

—

It wasn’t as unexpected as it could have been—Roger had always had a feeling he’d die on a school bus.

The difference between his fears and reality was that he wasn’t departing this world in a fiery crash or zooming out of control between the steel trusses and into the East River. There was confusion, there was chaos, there were screams and the violent honking of horns, but there were elements he couldn’t have predicted. Primarily, the giant alien spacecraft hovering over the city. The ship immediately moved into first place of the most ominous rings in his life (he and his wife were not in a good place). Since its sighting, things had quickly spiraled out of control. Julius had radioed Roger from the other bus of students they were chaperoning to MoMA to report that Ned Leeds had ‘flipped his shit’ and Peter Parker was currently missing. Roger had nearly passed out. The only thing that had kept him conscious was his jittery concern for the rest of his students.

At Midtown Tech, they had drills for almost every eventuality. As of 2012, hostile outer space invasion was actually part of their repertoire, but it had always been assumed they would be at school when it happened, not out on a field trip. The most Roger had been able to think to do was get the kids to a secure location. Which meant getting the buses to a secure location. But the buses were on the bridge, and all over the bridge drivers were panicking, mindlessly stomping on the gas and attempting to swerve around the rest of the vehicles. Above the blood rushing in his ears, he’d heard crash after crash, until their bus was hemmed in and, through the smoking, crumpled hoods of their fellow commuters, the alien ship hung stationary in the sky. Disturbingly tranquil as New York City went to pieces to the tune of apocalyptic dissonance just below.

In the end, the spaceship hadn’t stayed put, but Roger had. The lanes around them were crowded with smashed cars. Glass from shattered windshields glittered on the pavement. Still, more vehicles surged forward as drivers attempted to use the bridge to flee the city; this wasn’t NYC’s first alien rodeo. He hadn’t attempted to force any of his students to remain on the bus—they were some of the smartest and the best of their generation, and he trusted their survival instincts far more than his own—but he did direct the ones who fled to first climb up onto the roof of the bus instead of dropping directly down onto the street and risking injury. Yes, he worried about minor cuts and bruises. Even now.

He thought that Flash was staying with him, and was touched. But then he realized Flash was just gripping his shoulder for leverage as he jumped and grabbed for the emergency roof hatch with his free hand. Roger knew the boy was somewhat neglected by his parents, and so, for the first time, he was happy go hear ‘Hotline Bling.’ It was Flash’s ringtone and it played incessantly as his phone rang and rang until the song, and the sound of Flash running, faded into the distance. Somebody wanted to see that he was safe. Somebody cared about him.

Alone, Roger hunkered down between the seats, knees bent in front of him. He scraped one hand anxiously through his hair and gripped his phone in the other.

He should call his wife. He knew he should. Only, he was afraid that she either wouldn’t pick up or she’d answer and be with the guy from her hiking group. Roger wasn’t even upset; he was glad she had someone, if this was it.

Ever since he’d returned from Sakaar, he’d been different, he was aware that he had. In the past, his wife had been largely responsible for the sundering of their marriage, but Roger knew that he was now pulling away too. It had begun inside him—the tear. He wanted to be with two people for two different reasons. In two places, on two worlds. Commitment clashed with longing. Logical rightness fought emotional rightness. He’d been weak, persuading himself daily to tough it out with his wife (even as he slept on the couch every night because lying beside her made him unhappy), when, for once in his damn life, he wanted to be fulfilled. Somewhere out in the stars, there was a man with blue eyeliner and an entire planet at his capricious command and he was the person for Roger.

If only, he thought, picturing the face he shouldn’t have been able to recall so clearly for the brevity of their encounter months ago. Roger shut his eyes to better remember the Grandmaster, and so he wouldn’t have to see his phone clatter to the bus’s dirty floor when the hand that held it turned to dust.

—

As with his life on regular, non-apocalypse days, not much happened to Roger. Despite his paralyzing breakdown on a school bus, he wasn’t among the billions scattered to the wind like sentient dandruff. He picked himself up and went home. Sure, he was shivering almost out of his skin from the shock, but he didn’t collapse into wracking, snotty sobs until he was safely in his living room, listening to his neighbours’ wails through the condo’s walls.

Roger’s wife wasn’t there, didn’t answer when he called her, and, three weeks later, still hadn’t made contact. It took another two months to hold her wake; the funeral business was booming. Never had so many words been spoken over so many vacant graves. Some members of his wife’s hiking group attended, some had even helped him select the right music and flowers beforehand. They knew her preferences. It felt surreal to be burying a person he couldn’t prove—in any meaningful way—that he’d really known.

With a queasy sense of being very lucky, he accepted that, apart from his marital status, his life hadn’t been upended. His windows weren’t broken, his car wasn’t stolen, the few family members he was out of touch with anyway had also survived. He went back to work before anybody called him in. There weren’t any students at first, just the echo of Roger’s clumsy footsteps tripping over the rug in the staffroom, half-solved equations on the whiteboards in the math classrooms, and the unholy stench of unwashed pinnies when he poked his head into the gym storage room to see if Coach Wilson was around. One day, Roger tipped back in the chair at the front of his own empty classroom and spotted a gigantic cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. It made him think of Spider-Man. He guessed that guy was gone too.

The most important thing for keeping sane was establishing a regimen. Work was a big part of that, but Roger also traveled daily into Manhattan to visit the Sorcerer’s place. It became a kind of pilgrimage. Early on, Wong would come out to say hello, but it was eventually less about commiseration and more of a perfunctory thing. Roger knew (assumed, hoped) that if the Sorcerer ever did return, Wong would let him know and welcome him inside. And then… a portal? And then the Grandmaster? He tried not to think about it too hard. Yearning took up a lot of energy and, when his students began to come back to school in distressingly low numbers, Roger needed to reserve that energy for teaching.

Everything was the same, every day, until it wasn’t.

For a reason he couldn’t rationally explain, Roger knocked on the Sorcerer’s door. While he was waiting—just a few seconds, he planned—a man materialized on the sidewalk right next to him. He tottered and Roger reflexively said, “Whoa!” and grabbed his shoulder to keep him on his feet. Before Roger could hypothesize or ask the man any questions, a teenage girl returned to existence a few feet away. Then a woman holding a toddler tightly in her arms. A little boy. A man with a dog. A bicycle-less bike cop, still wearing his helmet. Releasing the man, Roger spun and pounded against the door with his fist.

Still, no one answered.

Fighting the urge to show up at Midtown Tech, Roger made himself stay put, right there on the Sorcerer’s doorstep.

He waited a long time. As the sun set, New York City rose around him. He watched people hugging, running home down the middle of the street. He fielded unfinished questions as the newly returned began to ask him what had happened, what time it was, what year, before jogging away, more purposeful with every step they took. Roger’s foot began to bounce on the sidewalk and his clammy hands twisted fretfully. It was still another 12 hours before the door opened.

Roger fell backwards into Wong’s shins, delirious from the sickening seesaw between urgency and exhaustion. Everywhere, people were reconnecting. He scrambled to his feet because he wanted to be one of them.

“Is he here?” Roger demanded.

Wong narrowed his eyes slightly, holding the door so it couldn’t be pushed open further.

“Might I remind you that it’s me you’ve been seeing here the last five years.”

“Yeah,” Roger agreed, trying to see past.

“I thought we had developed a rapport.”

Finally, Roger met Wong’s eyes, his own pleading.

“No, yes, you’re right, we have,” he babbled.

“We’re friends.”

“Yes, of course, we are friends. Definitely.”

“So when is my birthday?”

Roger’s mouth hung open as he searched his brain for a piece of information he knew wasn’t in there. A few seconds later, Wong turned mirthful.

“Did you spend the Blip hiding under a rock where there are no jokes? Come inside. We just got back.”

None of the thousands of times he’d come to the door mattered—Roger hadn’t been inside the Sanctum since that first time. He hoped the Sorcerer remembered him.

When he saw the man, Roger’s steps stuttered. The Sorcerer appeared grim and wiped out. He was dirty and he looked older, though Wong whispered to Roger that the Sorcerer had been among the Snapped. Roger understood that, for something to go right and bring everyone back to life, something else had gone wrong. He could dwell on that and awkwardly bow his way back out of there, or he could convince himself that things had gone wrong for him too, and that he’d like them to be righted. He remembered that his soulmate was a dictator and tried to channel that sense of entitlement.

“What do you know about the Anus?”

The Sorcerer blinked.

“What.” The word came out perfectly flat.

“The Anus.”

“I wasn’t that kind of doctor.”

Roger strode eagerly towards him, hands gesturing before his words caught up.

“When I was here about, um, five and a half years ago, I fell through your magic portal—”

The Sorcerer snapped his fingers in recognition and turned to Wong.

“Oh, that’s who this is. I always wondered what happened to that guy.” He looked at Roger again. “How did you get back to Earth?”

Roger hadn’t been prepared to answer this question, just make his demands, and he began to explain what had happened to him, all out of order. The words ‘orgy ship’ had barely left his mouth when the Sorcerer was waving him into silence. His expression told Roger he was sorry he’d asked.

“So you went through the portal…” he prompted instead.

“That’s right! And for a while, I was just falling. I don’t know where I was.”

The Sorcerer stroked his chin.

“The connection must’ve been unstable. I know—one of your students distracted me.”

“That’d be Flash,” Roger said.

“Jesus. This is why I prefer not to be a field trip destination. Normally, the portal would allow you to pass cleanly through one place and into another.”

“And instead he passed cleanly through the Anus,” Wong summarized.

“…Yeah.”

Roger glanced from one man to the other.

“So,” he said, “could you do it again?”

The Sorcerer stared at him.

“The short answer is no. The long answer is also no, but it contains a great deal of vernacular to do with the Mystic Arts, so I’ll save us both some time.”

The last time Roger had defended his intellect and qualifications had been years ago, and he was out of practice. Anyway, he didn’t want a lengthy debate.

“Can’t you just open a portal and shove me through?”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a lot going on today. I’ve only entertained you this long because you and Wong seem to be friends. I’m not just going to mess around to humour you.”

“What if you had to do it?” Roger asked quickly, beginning to feel desperate and preparing to metaphorically jam one of his clumsy feet into the closing window of opportunity.

“Uh, let me think about that,” the Sorcerer droned disinterestedly. “No.”

“What if I attacked you and you opened a portal in self-defence?”

The Sorcerer squinted at him in disbelief and befuddlement.

“What?”

But Roger was already gracelessly throwing his weight into a wild, uncoordinated punch.

For once, he didn’t think critically of himself; he told himself that the Sorcerer’s portal sparked up between them because he was intimidated by Roger’s tenacity. And that it didn’t show a clear destination because the Sorcerer’s reaction speed was no match for Roger using the element of surprise. And that he dove purposely through the portal—on a mission for love and science and the unknown—instead of tumbling into it sideways because the momentum of his unpracticed punch had gotten the better of his balance. It didn’t matter. His feet went out from under him and he was on his way.

Roger had forgotten how intense the trip was, but he completely recalled the rough landing, bouncing down through a stack of the universe’s lost garbage. He shut his eyes to the whooshing and the brightness and braced himself (probably too early, but he didn’t think he could be too careful on this reckless endeavor).

He felt his body hit open air and gasped as he fell, trying to keep his limbs tucked in. The hat he’d been wearing was torn from his head. Didn’t matter; it wouldn’t have offered much protection anyway. At any moment, his poor elbows and knees would be battered by space junk. Between his velocity and his fear of the coming impact, Roger could hardly breathe.

Music. A familiar voice singing, It’s my soulmate! made his eyes fly open. Right in time to land on his back. Whatever was beneath Roger was soft, but he’d still had the wind knocked out of him and was struggling to fill his lungs. His eyes clamped shut as he began to cough.

“I have no idea how you survived that thing twice, but I sure am glad I caught ya.”

Finally sucking in a stronger breath, Roger opened his eyes and looked up. His glasses were askew. Above him was the opening in the ceiling of a hovering spacecraft, but closer than that, leaning over him, was the face of the Grandmaster. He was beaming.

“Any trouble with the Anus?” he asked.

Roger grabbed for the hand his soulmate had rested on his shoulder and moved it to his chest, right over his heart.

“The asshole who got me here will probably be thrilled to never see me again, but the Anus treated me just fine.”

“Ha!” the Grandmaster barked. His free hand lovingly patted Roger’s windblown hair back into place. “Welcome home.”

[fairestwriting]

title: half doomed and semi-sweet

word count: 5308

summary: Idia's bad luck comes back to haunt him again, being dragged into physically showing up to class and being assigned a group project involving a student from a different year, courtesy of Mr. Trein. His... "best friend", Kero Tricarenia, sees his distress in the situation, and swoops in to save him, though that might be what actually ends him instead of the project...

commissioned by @chibichibisha  , available on ao3 here ! tysm for the commission, i hope you like it! you have no idea how excited i was to write kero asjkdfsf-

my guidelines for commissions are here, in case anyone else is interested !

Of course that in the day Idia is made to actually show up to class, something like this happens.

The fact that it’s Trein’s class just makes it somehow worse. Of course, it’s not all bad, he gets to see Lucius napping on the teacher’s desk—! ...but, he also gets to be pestered by Cater the second he’s walking in, and then the second he’s walking out, plus, just the presence of all these people… Idia shudders just thinking about it.

He pulls his hoodie closer to his face, trying to shield it in vain. He just wanted to go back to his room. Trein was the worst for making him actually show up. He’d been attending classes through the tablet for so long, what was the issue with today specifically? Why couldn’t he just do it the way he always does? He just doesn’t get it—

“Before class is dismissed,” Trein starts in that voice of his, commanding yet with a hint of a drawl that makes Idia want to delve into eternal slumber. “I have an announcement to make. Due to recent events, the headmaster has assigned the teachers the task of building… teamwork, and solidarity, between students, even the ones in different years, and I’ve been chosen to apply that, so your monthly History assignment will work somewhat differently this time.”

Great. Awesome. These were his favorite words in the whole world. As if today couldn’t get any worse.

“I’ll need you to gather a pair or trio with students from different years, to build a mockup representing a historical event of your choosing. You’re supposed to inform me of your groups until tomorrow's class, and the deadline will be held two weeks from now, on February 13th. You’ll be presenting your works the day after.”

Idia feels the clammy hands of dread on both his ankles, threatening to pull him under. Of course this would get worse somehow. He exhales a deep sigh, burying his face on his hands… he’d have to email Mr. Trein about doing the assignment by himself later. And it’d be such an unpleasant conversation, with how he insisted on having students follow all these traditional learning methods.

Really, why the hell were they getting group projects now, out of all things? They had one foot out of school, basically. Fourth year barely had any classes, most of the students’ times filled up with internships and research so what did they get out of trying to “develop teamwork skills” within their students? None of these people would be talking to each other by the time they graduate, anyways… they were wasting resources to max out a stat that didn’t matter.

He tugs the hood of his jacket over his face again as he walks out of the classroom, sneaking outside like he’s avoiding to get scolded — The blue glow of his hair insisting on sticking out, Idia feels his heart race and squeeze while he makes his way across the crowded hallways. He swears he hears Cater’s voice calling for him as he leaves, too… but maybe he’s just making it up, because of how especially cursed he feels today.

What an awful morning, really. At least locking himself up with that MMO he’s gotten hooked on recently would feel even more cathartic.

After the nerve-wracking walk, Trein’s words poking at him like imps with their tridents — Him trying to figure out how to convince that teacher to let him do everything by himself, no presentation included, without having to actually face the guy — Idia finally gets back to his dorm. Finally.

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding — Just like in the fanfics, geez — when he steps into the lounge, though even the mostly vacant blue and white space felt a little oppressive now. Sure, he cared about his dormmates, they were fine people, but they were still people, and what he really needed now, was…

“IDIA!”

...within one second of the click of his door being unlocked, Idia is reminded once again that he never will know peace.

“K-Kero!” He yelps, suddenly overwhelmed by a hug, arms around his entire body squeezing him tight, maybe too tight— It’s a second before he remembers this is in fact supposed to be his room. “W-Wait, what are you doing here? That’s my room!”

Unleashed from the mighty grip, red eyes meet Idia’s as Kero’s head tilts, a smile on his face flashing his sharp teeth.

“I know that! I was looking for you.” He just announces, following right behind with that skip on his step as Idia enters and locks the door behind them. He hadn’t seen Kero in… how long, now? It’d been a while, that much he knew. Idia had been busy lately, with… “You finished that tournament yesterday night, right? How did you do? I got you that cake from the cafeteria you like to celebrate!” His questions are rapid-fire, tail wagging as he rushes towards Idia’s unmade bed to pick up the little packaged treat he’d gotten.

“You don’t even know how it went yet, but you’re already getting your hopes up.” Idia grumbles, but the second the package is placed on his hands, he does gracefully accept it. “Well, my team did win, so…”

“Yes! I knew you would!” Kero cheers, grinning again as he sits on his bed. He’s… so full of energy it’s hard to watch, Idia would say.

But, well, that would kind of be a huge lie.

“Yeah, thanks for leaving me be for a bit so I could practice.” He mutters, moving to sit on his desk chair. The package makes a crinkling plastic noise while he messes with it, opening it to reveal a slice of strawberry shortcake — That has him glancing at Kero for a second, a fuzzy feeling taking over.

...because that’s just what his emotions do now.

It was stupid, Idia’s sighing tiredly just thinking about it — When it started was beyond him, but for some reason or another, something keeps pulling him towards Kero. It’s not exactly a big deal, some sort of soul-binding string of fate or something like that, but even when he’s not there physically, Kero lingers, flashes of sharp teeth and boisterous laughing in Idia’s mind. It’s not a big deal! But it’s like Kero had hanged around him so much he left a mark.

And Idia doesn’t really hate that. He stares at the cake in his hands, and thinks of Kero smiling as he got it for him, without any sort of request, just because he saw the cake and remembered that he liked it, and his mind stresses just how much he doesn’t hate that.

(...well, it was a sort of doomed thing, they would never move on from this strange affectionate friendship, because Idia isn’t going to… tell Kero he’s crushing on him, or anything like that. That’d just screw everything up. And what he has now isn’t actually bad at all. Really, it’s fine if Kero never understands. It’s fine. )

“Are you… good, though? Do you need anything?” Kero asks, snapping him out of the messy daydreams with another good natured tilt of his head — He’s a dog alright. “You… just look kinda gloomy and stuff.”

Idia snickers, shaking his head. “Yeah, like I ever look different.” He mumbles, and takes a bite of cake. It’s sweet, he thinks, making a surprised noise as he wonders when the last time he had it was… he licks some whipped cream off his fingers. “Mm, this time is different though. Something with a group project from Mr. Trein… tires me out just to think about it.” He sighs. But Kero’s ears perk up, pointing straight upwards.

“Oh! That, yeah. He told 2-D about it today too.”

“Yeah. This sucks. I’m just gonna… find a way to work by myself.” Idia shakes his head, sinking on his chair a little further. He bites into the cake again. “You think Mr. Trein knows how to read emails?” He snickers, but the thought of having to meet him face-to-face makes his skin crawl. “...ugh, I d-don’t wanna have to talk to him during office hours…”

Kero hums in slightly concerned acknowledgement, plopping down on his bed with attentive eyes. Idia finds himself in a weird wondering of how it felt like to sit down when you were a beastman. Did it hurt his tail or something? It’s wagging against the mattress, though. His ears point to opposite sides while he looks up vaguely. Idia muses about what he might be thinking about.

“Well, you could always do it with me! They said to get one of your underclassmen, right.” Kero suggests, and… Idia swears he sees his tail wag a little harder, but that could very well just be a trick of the light. “I can do the presentation too, and I’m good with building things, so…” He grins. “Plus, you won’t have to… talk to Mr. Trein.”

Idia hums through a mouthful of cake. Well, doing the project with Kero would certainly be better than with someone he didn’t know. However, it’s…

His eyes linger on Kero’s expectant form on his bed, smiling so cheerfully. He’s very aware of the couple feet of distance between them right now, and even like this, Kero’s presence does things to his heart… that’s bad, so bad, he thinks, it’s hard to ignore how his heartbeat is just a tad faster now, summed with this different flavor of nervousness that just seemed to simmer in his blood now… yeah, it’s no good.

“I m-mean, I guess I wouldn’t mind that.” Is what he stutters out. Kero beams.

Stupid cute Kero. This isn’t helping Idia convince himself none of this is a big deal.

“Yeah! If you’re doin’ a project you might as well do it with your best friend, right?” He says. Here he is again with the best friend talk… oh, if only he knew. “We can have fun with it too. Actually, I can have fun with everything as long as I’m with you, heh.”

Idia feels heat creeping up his neck. Stupid cute Kero! “Ugh, you d-don’t gotta be embarrassing about it.” He mumbles, eyes averted. The cake finished with one last bite, Idia places the empty package on his desk, licking leftover cream off his fingers again. “We’re just putting some annoying mockup together. It’s not a big deal. If we add some simple machines to it to make it cooler it’ll already be higher-res than everyone else’s, it’s just an easy A. Everyone else’s just gonna use magic, I bet.”

“Yeah, obviously. I mean it doesn’t have to be annoying, though.” Kero comments. “We’ve gotta choose a historical event, right? Do you have any ideas?”

“Uhhh. The industrial revolution of the Isle of Lamentation? That’s… pretty much all I paid attention to this year, anyways.” He shrugs. Trein’s classes were boring, naturally. And they were so early in the morning, too… his tablet may have been there most of the time, but Idia himself was passed out on his bed.

“I think that works! We’ll have to make a bunch of stuff for the machines. But that’ll be fun.”

Idia hums. He’s thinking about these machines, actually, the miniature factories they could put together. The blueprints begin to write themselves up rather quickly. “We’d blow their little minds if we just had some… smoke coming out of the chimneys, some gears spinning around. Fuhihi, our mockup might be the best.” With his head in the clouds — Or the laboratory, rather — he finds himself grinning, waving a finger in the air. “Hey, Kero, what do you th… huh?”

And Kero isn’t on his bed anymore. He’s right there, in front of him.

Before Idia can say anything about this (Kero right in front of him, leaning in closer, he feels so cornered, his heart might stop!) Kero leans in even further, a big hand coming up to his face and (He’s going to die, definitely, he’ll die right here.) and he wipes off some whipped cream from near Idia’s lips.

“You had some on your face! Heheh.” He chuckles, licking it off his thumb. Idia feels like his blood pressure has just plummeted, or… or maybe it just did the opposite, how is he supposed to tell? His face feels so hot there’s no way his brain is getting the proper oxygen at all, he can barely think—!

“G-Give me a warning before you do something like this!” Idia wheezes, high pitched like a squeaky toy, and Kero just laughs again, grinning with this hint of mischief. “I didn’t even see you move!”

“Yeah, ‘cause you were distracted? I’m happy you’re excited about the project, though. I think it’s cute.” He says outright, and Idia… Idia just puts his hands on his face, averting his eyes with intent. Why does Kero have to be... so... much? “C’mon, you can sit with me on the bed. We can talk better like this.” A strong hand grabs at his wrist, easily looping around it as he pulls at Idia, making him squeak again as he’s dragged towards the bed.

“This doesn’t even make any sense!” Idia complains, but Kero tugs him towards the bed with no effort at all, and he just accepts his fate, huffing like it’d ease the warmth crawling all over his face. “Ugh, a-anyway, I was talking about the factories we’d put on the mockup… I thought of having some machines with exposed insides, with the spinning gears would be good, and conveyor belts that function…”

As he launches into explanation, Kero nods, making this unbreakable eye contact. Idia has to stop and take a deep breath every couple minutes, the situation somehow overwhelming. It feels like his condition just got a little worse every day, huh.

(Well, it’s fine. He could just avoid him if things got bad. Though… he doesn’t like thinking about this, recalling the week before the game tournament even. It’s kind of stupid, if he’s just making Idia nervous why does he have this need to keep him around? As expected, emotions make little to no sense...)

“...so, basically that’s what I thought.” Idia ends the explanation. Kero still has his attentive look on his face, almost like it froze there. “Did you pay attention?”

“Nah. I was just looking at you while you talked, ‘cause you looked so pretty.” Kero leans in with a smirk (Can he please stop trying to kill Idia, he’s just gotten down to a normal-ish heart rate again!) that then turns into one of his usual friendly smiles. “Kidding! I did, yeah. Do you wanna start it tomorrow?”

“You…! Uh, um, I don’t know. I wanna play my new game.” He stumbles with speaking, but it still comes out. At least. “We could probably finish that in, what, two days at most? If you don’t mind going to the lab late at night.”

“Roger that. For Idia, I’ll go to the ends of Twisted Wonderland!” He declares, fist thumping against his chest with a proud grin. “I’ll get us your snacks too. Can’t have you going hungry. But now I gotta go to track.”

Idia blinks. Already? He remembers that club meetings do in fact exist. He’d been skipping on his lately so he ended up kind of… forgetting them. Seeing Kero go, though, it’s…

“R-Right, I hope you, uh… enjoy yourself.” He stutters. Then he wants to hit himself on the face, really, what kind of stupid farewell was that? Just say bye and go back to your games, idiot. Luckily, Kero doesn’t seem to mind it.

“Yeah, yeah, I will!” He chimes, getting up from the bed — Leaning down a little, he puts a hand over Idia’s flaming hair, ruffling it to his surprise. “I’ll see you, okay? Literally. I’m coming over again later, ‘cause after all this time I’m not leaving my best friend alone!”

Idia feels frozen in place while Kero pets him, eyes zeroed in on that grin — Before he leaves, and he exhales. Again. That breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

He doesn’t play the game yet. Instead, he lays face down on the bed and screams into the pillow, whatever feelings had been simmering while Kero was around just exploding the second he leaves. Great Seven, he was so stupid. Both of them, actually.

Kero was stupid for not seeing how much this crush was clearly consuming him, and Idia… Idia was stupid for getting involved in any of this at all, in so many ways and for so many reasons, but he just can’t bring himself to stop now.

He swears it’s not that big of a deal. But it’s a lie, obviously. Clearly.

. . .

Once he’s back into his room after practice, Kero shuts his door behind him, and he laughs.

He feels the strain on his body from the running, sure, but every bit of it is somehow also filled with so much energy — With his hands on his face like how Idia does when he’s shy, he grins so much his cheeks hurt with the pulling. His heart won’t stop racing.

Who let him be so adorable!

He knew they’d end up doing this project together, of course. When Trein mentioned it’d involve students from different years, Idia was the first person Kero thought of! But the reality still makes him so giddy. To think he’d have a chance to do a project with him! He’s really been too lucky these days. Trein was… something else, to him, but with something like this, he might be willing to overlook the fact that the guy was absolutely terrifying.

Well, what matters is that he gets some more time with Idia — Even better, they’d be alone together! — The tournament week sucked, straight up. Kero ran some errands for him but it just wasn’t the same! Though he didn’t mind this sort of caretaking either, Idia barely took breaks. He didn’t even tell him much about the game he was playing, actually. Kero was basically crawling up the walls with how bored he’d gotten.

But that’s irrelevant now.

Still grinning and laughing to himself with all that burst of energy running through his skin, Kero hops over to his desk — With how he was, Idia would probably have some blueprints for the machines ready soon, but this was a nice chance to impress. He gathers some parts and tools, and gets to work.

...work that takes longer to complete than it usually does for him, but as expected, through the following days, Idia texts him vague guidelines on what their mockup should be like, ideas and half-baked blueprints that they discuss both through the phone and when he shows up at Idia’s place, and when the fated day of getting together at Ignihyde’s laboratory arrives, he has all those trinkets on his desk. He’s so ready.

ill see you there at 2, Idia’s text reads, bring the stuff i told u to make

Yes, yes, right away! Kero smiles bright as he gathers the miniature machines into a shoe box he’d gotten for them. He can feel his tail wag with excitement even as he carries it through the gloomy late-night corridors.

The door opened with a bang — Oops, he definitely handled it too roughly — Kero chimes as soon as he sets foot into the lab. “Idia!” He calls when he arrives. “I’m here!”

“Eek!” Idia, who was already leaned over the table, spreading scratchy blueprints and machine parts on it, is startled in a jolt. “D-Don’t sneak up on me like this! Geez…”

“Heheh, sorry, sorry.” Kero laughs, setting the box near the other items on the table, which Idia eagerly turns to inspect, complaints or not. Well, if that was the case, he’d inspect Idia for a bit too. He was looking unusual today, after all! Without that heavy jacket of his, wearing his lab wear and striped shirt. Kero’s heart leaps. “You’re looking good today, huh! ‘s unusual to see you looking like this, like… one of these R cards from your gacha games, or something.”

Kero feels proud of himself for the comment — Hey, Idia, look at me, I pay attention to your rambling! But Idia makes an offended noise instead.

“T...The R cards are the common ones, stupid.” He scoffs, giving him a narrow eyed look, but there’s still a soft flush of pink over his cheeks. “Ugh, I can’t believe I let you spend time with me when you don’t know that.”

Well. Kero tried, all he can do is laugh about it. At least he didn’t miss the compliment entirely! “Ehh, you do it ‘cause we’re best friends and you love me!” He says. “C’mon, we should get started on this already.”

“...y-yeah, yeah, whatever.” Idia shakes his head, but when he turns his face towards the table to look at their work in progress, there’s a slight smile on his blue lips that Kero couldn’t possibly miss. “Did you make the conveyor belts? I think I forgot to send you anything on these, couldn’t decide what material would be better for them…”

Moments like these are just so… so everything. Kero can’t find the words to describe how happy he is to be around Idia and be able to say things like that! Though, he feels it’s not exactly enough… even if all of this does feel nice, and he’s grateful for it.

(Well, he has a crush on Idia, that much he knows, so he guesses that’s something to be expected, in a way? He’s heard his classmates talking about the being unable to get enough related to someone so it was just part of it, probably. What they have now is good, straight out of his dreams even! Just… feelings are weird, aren’t they? He keeps wanting more, though he doesn’t know exactly what would sate this hunger.)

“Oh, I did rubber on the top and some of that light metal for the parts. I thought it’d be better if we don’t make it too heavy!” Kero replies, digging around for his own lab gear he’d brought. They might have to do some welding today, so it was always good to be careful.

(Plus, they got to match outftits!)

Idia nods, focused gaze on a miniature engine. “Ohh… huh. That’s good, actually. I think this might be easier than I thought.” He mutters. “We have all the parts to build the interior of the factory… I guess we could put that together tonight, and tomorrow we can get the rest? For the outside, I guess. If we just focus on the factory instead of the, uh, social repercussions or something like that, Trein might deduct points.”

He feels his ears deflate just a little at the teacher’s mention. “Tell me about it.” Idia passes him the engine, a silent command for him to get to work linking it with the other right parts. “Do you want me to get the stuff for the scenery from the store?”

“Yeah, sure. Would be helpful.”

Kero smiles at him, and for a single silent moment they’re putting the machine parts together. Engines and gears and a seemingly endless stretch of conveyor belts, wires and such hidden on the inferior part of the styrofoam slab the mockup was being built on.

“...hey, is that the battery?”

“Yup! Just gotta charge with magic whenever you wanna see it working.”

Idia turns it around on his hands, looking at it from every angle, making a humming noise to himself…

Huh, Kero is suddenly very aware that they’re all alone in that laboratory.

Maybe it’s because of how Idia looks at the small object, or how he touches it with this utmost care one wouldn’t think he has. It’s weirdly easy for other people to assume Idia was lazy, Kero recalls, and it was something he never really understood. He was such a diligent person, actually, but people couldn’t see it right because he didn’t put effort into things people commonly worked hard in. That makes him feel sort of bitter inside, he thinks, but also proud in a way.

He’s the only one who knows Idia this closely, it comes into Kero’s mind, and a smile sprawls across his face.

“...w-what? Why are you looking at me like that?” Of course, Idia notices. The pinkish glow on his face before turns into something more like strawberry red, and… agh, what the hell, Kero’s smile gets bigger.

“It’s ‘cause you’re so cute, of course!” He says without missing a beat. How many times has he called Idia cute now? Far too many to count. But he can’t stop, and it never feels like enough to show just how god damn adorable Idia was to him. It was such a crazy feeling, really.

“Gh… and you’re e-embarrassing, as always.” Idia responds as he averts his eyes. “We’ve gotta finish this as soon as possible, y’know, now’s not the time for...t-this.”

“What do you mean with this?” Kero asks amidst a laugh. Idia looks at him with this cranky sort of expression and his heart feels like it’s about to take off and fly, wow. “You asked me a question and I answered it!”

“Yeah, you answered it while being a jerk.” Idia mumbles, getting back to unscrewing something. Kero doesn’t get what he mean with it exactly but, well, he always says stuff like this.

“I mean it, though! I think you’re really cute.” He says, it’s so easy to say things like that, they end up just coming out on their own, even when he’s trying to put his brain cells back into work like Idia wants him to. “I tell you that all the time! D’you not think you’re cute?”

Idia glances at him with wide eyes. “I...n-no? What in the Lord of the Underworld makes you think I’m c-cute?” He asks, voice almost an octave higher.

Something about this strucks Kero differently. Is that a rhetorical question? It doesn’t matter. He wants to answer.

“Well, do you want me to tell you?” He suggests, and his heart is racing. It takes just a little bit of effort to ask something like this, it’s not quite having to hype himself up for it, but… well. What’s with this mood anyways? Idia’s hands are on his flushed cheeks, gloved fingers ready to cover up his eyes, like he usually does when he’s flustered — And here’s something to add to the list already, wow.

“I-I, um.”

“If you don’t say no I’m gonna tell you.” He looks straight into Idia’s eyes… such a nice shade of yellow, an amber-gold. Kero doesn’t always mean to tease, but now he does. He has a strong impulse to do it, a determination like he’s rushing towards the finish line in track — What sort of face would Idia show him if he told him everything? “Three, two, one…you lost your chance to say no! I’m gonna tell you.”

Idia squeaks like he got jumpscared, but he doesn’t object to any of it. Kero’s excited — He takes a step closer, and takes it upon himself to touch Idia’s hair again, because he absolutely couldn’t get enough of how it didn’t burn him.

“First of all, I know you hate it since it sticks out so much, but your hair is really cute.” He says, tucking a lock of hair behind Idia’s ear, feeling him shrink and tense under the light touch — Would he do that if Kero touched him more? If he wrapped his arms around Idia’s waist and held him close? “It’s so bright and pretty, and the bangs look so nice on you, they’re kinda messy and long but in a way that’s adorable.”

Indulging himself a little further, he lets his hand ghost over Idia’s bangs, brushing them to the side and watching them fall back into place. Idia’s face is fully red now. The hair doesn’t feel like much to the touch since it’s fire, actually, but, something about it…

“Second! You have a cute smile!” Kero chimes. He’s supposed to retract his hand now, but — It just stays on Idia’s cheek. And he finds that he really doesn’t want to take it off there. “When you talk about the things you like, and you get all excited about them and start grinning… it’s really cute, actually. I like it when I see you all full of energy.”

Idia’s eyes dart around. Are his hands shaking? Kero eyes at them briefly, before taking one into his — Unable to stop himself again — and the latex of his glove meets Idia’s, watched by wide amber eyes as he laces their fingers together. Shaking, indeed, but he was able to steady them.

“Third… related to that, how your hands move when you’re rambling. I stare at them a lot. That’s how much I love to see you all excited about stuff.”

His voice had fallen softer. The coldness of the laboratory seems to just fade. Kero’s heart feels…

“Fourth...” He starts, but no words come to him. He just stares at Idia’s face, his eyes, the blue tint of his lips. There’s more to say, obviously, but he can’t think of it, and he— “...can I kiss you?”

Somehow there’s no recoil time, no surprised noise on Idia’s part, and though he loves his shyness and how it shows through, he finds that he loves it even more when he’s expecting something like this, when he wants it. The shaky, uncertain nod is all he needs to give a name to that hunger he’d been feeling.

Ah, he was in love, everything be damned.

Kero doesn’t hesitate. One hand on his cheek and the other holding his, his lips meet Idia’s, his heart now soaring completely. If he looked back on it now he’d probably find it sort of awkward, Idia’s lips are chapped and the sharp teeth felt strange against each other, but none of this matters when he feels so euphoric, when Idia just melts into his kiss, eyes fluttering shut.

He doesn’t know how long it lasts. The brief pauses to breathe aren’t enough to actually do so, but neither of them seem to mind. The held hands unlace, Idia’s coming up to Kero’s neck to urge him closer, Kero’s on Idia’s waist like he’s dreamed.

When they pull away, both breathless, Kero is grinning, and Idia looks dazed, his eyes glossy, at least for a moment before he seems to realize what they’ve just done.

“O-Oh my...we.” He squeaks, freezing in Kero’s embrace. “W-We, we just…”

“Hey, it’s cool!” Kero assures, and he pulls him a bit closer, now causing a small shriek. “I love you, you know.”

“Y-You…” Idia stutters. How long would it be until he was able to string sentences together again? Kero doesn’t have an exact estimate, but, well, this was fine too. Especially as his tension drops, and he hides his warm face on Kero’s shoulder. “...you’re the worst? You’re so embarrassing I could die.”

“That’s a quick recovery, huh.”

“S-Shut up!” Idia whines, but he stays. He stays, and Kero holds him so close that his happiness feels like it’s overflowing, and the cravings from before are just slowly satisfied. “I… I, um.”

“Tell me.” A hand on the side of Idia’s face, he pulls his face upwards, making him look into his eyes again — Would he ever get enough of this, though? They’re so close. “Do you love me too, Idia?”

Idia hesitates, an embarrassed noise leaving him.

“I… I do.” He mutters — And he smiles. “You idiot.”

Kero smiles, his feelings actually overflowing in how he hugs Idia even tighter, and he laughs.

The project could be finished tomorrow, anyways.

[mcyt-amber-tftsmp]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐎𝐟 𝐀 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐧 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐲𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝 {𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐛 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

Request?: none

Character: Ranbob

Side Character(s): None

Story-type: Romantic

Story Length: 3285 words

AU or Not: eh it's kinda an AU like the four fishermen never came and uh he's been alone for many years on end since NO ONE actually came here. Also yeah ranbob would be a a bit OOC so no hate please!

Time Period: Future duh! Same time as the events of the Lost City of Mizu but you know what doesn't happen.

Plot Summary: Ranbob was basically alone as ever and was just wandering the halls of Mizu until he spots something. No! Someone outside who becomes his friend and later something more.

Small Info: You are a merling but can change into human as well. You are a year younger than Ranbob who is 21.

Keywords:

Y/N = Your Name L/N = Last Name H/C = Hair Color T/C = Tail Color E/C = Eye Color Y/N/N = Your Nickname

Trigger Warning: None

Normal Warning: Cringey writing with cringey plot.

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Ranbob's Point of View~

I sighed roaming the halls of the underwater city which is known as the City of Mizu. I really didn't have many things to do other than stay in my room, read books either from my shelves or the history books written and left by many people who came here before I did.

I passed the room where my idol's statue was. In case anyone is wondering my idol is Dream. Many people at first would think that my idol is Ranboo just because I am his descendant but no. That's where they were very wrong.

I don't really have anything against my ancestor I just don't see much in him that would make him my idol like how Dream is mine. I stared at the statue which was behind the glass. After a few minutes I left.

To be honest, barely anyone came down here to even visit. God knows how long I have been lonely down here. My memory is not that great to be honest but I do remember important things except for small things.

I walked down the hall towards the place I would just stand around waiting if anyone came. Why am I doing this? I am not even sure. After many walks, going up ladders and hallways I reached the place. I am mostly bored out of my mind and I have never went up the ladder to see the sky and the ocean. I sometimes even ask myself as to why I don't even go up when I have nothing to stop me.

As I was thinking I felt someone looking at me from behind. I looked behind me to see no one. I guess I was just imagining things. I looked outside the glass for a few as I mentally debated whether to go up the ladder for fresh air or not.

After a few moments I decided to go up. I took a few deep breaths and started to climb the ladder. I was practically thinking I was going to regret it but I just didn't back down and continued to go up until I reached the stone floors of the entrance.

I climbed up and stood on the stone brick floors as I looked at the opening to see the blue sky and the waves slightly crashing against the tiles. I took a deep breath and let it out. It's been a while I have been up here. I guess it was good I came up or it would have been concerning for me to stay down there for the rest of my life.

As I walked towards the entrance I heard faint humming from somewhere outside. I slowly and carefully walked outside and looked around but I found nothing but when I looked at the corner of the entrance walls I saw something that shocked me.

It was a human girl- okay no! Scratch that! A Merling! She had H/C hair and T/C tail. She had her eyes closed as she was humming to a song. To be honest, she looked pretty- Okay what?! I could feel my face slightly heat up from that thought. Without even thinking I spoke up.

"Who are you?" I blurted out.

This caused her stop humming and snap her eyes open as she looked at me with her E/C eyes. She looked slightly scared and I wouldn't really blame her since people do tend to get slightly scared of me at first.

"I-I a-am sorry i-if I d-disturbed you sir! I-I w-will go a-away now..." I heard her say as she was about to leave but I stopped her.

"Hey hey hey! It's alright. I was just surprised to someone here to be honest. Not many people come here." I said as she looked at me.

"O-oh sorry. Normally people don't like having me around." She said sitting up straight as I sat beside her but close to the water and shook my head.

"It's fine you didn't know." I sighed but it was a bit sad knowing people didn't like having her around.

"In case you are wondering, my name is Ranbob. What's yours?" I asked trying to build a conversation between us and now normally I am not the one for conversations but i didn't really have much to do.

"Oh! My name is Y/N L/N! It's nice to meet you Ranbob." She said as I nodded.

"Likewise." I said.

"So... are you like an enderman or something?" She asked as I nodded.

"Yes but actually I am a half-enderman and I am not really sure about the other half." I said as she looked at me with interest.

"That's pretty cool! I have never really met someone like you to be honest." I heard her say as I chuckled at her excitement.

"Yeah... you could say that I am a pretty uncommon species." I said as I continued. "So you are a merling?"

"I am not really a full merling! I am actually a human who can shapeshift into one." She said which made me feel a bit surprised. "I can show it to you if you like?"

"Yeah sure if it's not too much trouble." I said as she shook her head.

I saw her taking her tail out of the water and on the stone brick as she closed her eyes. After a few minutes her tail disappeared only to be replaced by legs and she was fully clothed into wearing a white T-shirt and knee-length shorts. I could feel the heat rush up on my face but I was able to make it unnoticeable.

"Interesting." I said as she smiled.

"Mhm! I am the only one in my family with this ability. They really don't know about this nor does anyone else where I live." I heard her say and to be honest I am a bit surprised she didn't tell anyone besides me about this.

"How come?" I asked.

"Well... I mean everyone knows that Merlings and shapeshifters exist here and all but no one really likes me and I have no friends there plus my parents could care less about me and doesn't really like having me around so I didn't really say anything." She said.

I felt really bad for her to be honest. I could have related to her fully since I am like alone and crap by being here but of course i haven't really met anyone else besides her and she is pretty nice and a good friend.

"Hey Ranbob? Are we... friends?" I heard her say as I looked at her.

"Yeah we can be, if you want?" I said simply as she nodded eagerly which made me smile. "Do you want me to show you around the City of Mizu?"

"Sure!" She said as she followed towards the entrance.

Third Person Point of View~

You and Ranbob explored the City of Mizu. It was a pretty fun experience as there were many interesting things such as the people who have been known to be good heroes or warriors. It was pretty interesting to learn when it came to Ranbob explaining it.

He was really good at explaining history and other things. He gave a whole tour of the place as you two talked. The place was really elegant and beautifully built. You were pretty much surprised that Ranbob lived alone down here. But now you are here so he won't be lonely anymore.

You could say the Tree Dome was your favorite place of all the other places in the city. It was very pretty and a nice place to sit and talk. It was basically one of the most nature like areas and you like nature a lot more.

After a while, you looked outside of the glass to notice how late it was becoming which meant you had to get home soon.

"Do you have to leave or something?" Ranbob asked as he noticed the girl's expression as she looked outside the glass.

"Yeah I am supposed to be home by now." You said as Ranbob nodded.

"I will escort you outside till the entrance. Come on." He said as you trailed behind him.

After a few minutes you two reached the second entrance and you climbed up the ladder as Ranbob followed behind you. As both of you reached the front entrance, it was already already evening and soon it was going to get dark soon.

"So... when will I see you again?" Ranbob asked as you turned around to look at him.

"I will be coming by tomorrow and the following days so you don't have to worry." You said as you gave him a hug.

Ranbob was slightly taken aback but gradually he hugged back your short figure. It was something he could most likely tease you about.

"Alright I will see you tomorrow shortie." He said slightly teasing you which made you puff you cheeks in embarrassment and annoyance.

"Hey! I am not that short! You are just tall!" You said as he slightly laughed at your reaction.

"Alright whatever you say." He playfully said to you as he slightly smirked. You blushed at this and gave him a quick kiss on his right cheek.

"Bye Ranbob!" You said as you changed into a merling and dove into the ocean.

Ranbob just stood there as he was blushing purple after you kissed him on the cheek. He brushed the feeling off and headed back inside. He couldn't wait for you to come back tomorrow. It was good to have someone to talk to.

Y/N's Point of View~

I swam as fast as possible towards my home. As I swam I remembered how I just kissed Ranbob on the cheek which made face go all red at the thought. Did I really think of him as just a friend? I just brushed off the feeling as I finally reached home and looked around to see of the coast was clear.

When I saw no one was around I got up on shore and shifted back into a human and sprinted towards my house. Luckily I reached home after being five minutes late. I was hoping my parents weren't going to be angry at me for this.

As I opened the door to my house, I was greeted by my parents who looked irritated. I hated that look. They don't abuse me or anything, they just don't like the idea of me being alone with anyone. One of the many reasons I couldn't even get to live on my own.

"Where were you?" My mother asked with a bit of sternness.

"I was just exploring and walking around the place. I lost track of time a bit." I partially lied which I was glad they bought.

"Alright. We will let it slide for now but be on time from now on." My father said as I nodded and went towards my room.

I don't really talk to them after my first boyfriend incident. They thought that I was lying when I told them that he was just using me but they always said that he was a sweet boy and crap and then they just started to ignore me and forbid me from going near any guys. This was six years ago and they used to care about me until this happened.

I just lie down on my bed and try to fall asleep. I don't really feel that hungry so I just sleep. It's not like they care if I eat or not. At least I am able to eat that's one thing. Though I just want to make the night go by fast so I can visit Ranbob tomorrow. The thought of him made me feel butterflies in my stomach and it hasn't even been a day that I have met him. I just let the feeling go and fell asleep.

Timeskip to Morning~

I woke up early as I usually do. I showered, dressed up and made myself breakfast. My parents were asleep as usual. Normally they don't like seeing me in the morning during breakfast so I just quickly eat and leave the house for the day either eating outside for lunch or just swim in the ocean in my merling form.

I quickly left the house and closed the door slowly and softly so they don't wake up by a huge sound and went towards the beach. As I arrived, I saw that no one was here which was good. I ran towards the ocean and when I saw how far I was form shore I quickly changed into my Merling form and went straight for Mizu.

As I came close to Mizu, I saw Ranbob already there sitting on the stone floor. I smiled and quickly headed over. As I did, Ranbob noticed me almost instantly and smiled.

"Hello." He said.

"Hey! I hope I didn't keep you waiting." I said as he shook his head.

"No. I just came over here like a few seconds ago so you are good." He said.

"That's good!" I said as we started to talk.

Third Person Point of View~

This of course went on for days. Y/N and Ranbob became very good friends and at this point they had realized that they don't like each other just as friends but more but both of them were scared thinking they were going to ruin their friendship and make it awkward.

Y/N would of course return home before curfew but she still didn't get well with her family. Plus she was planning on moving away and she didn't care if her parents didn't allow her to. She already had enough of them forcing her to stay with them when they never even cared for her after that incident six years ago with her ex.

She of course still visited Ranbob until one day, Ranbob was sitting on the stone floor as usual waiting for Y/N but he noticed that she wasn't here yet and normally she would come after a few seconds he was here waiting for her.

"Where is she...?" He muttered to himself as he waited looking around.

He didn't think of it much. It didn't really matter to him if you were a few minutes late or not. But those minutes turned into an hour. At this point he got slightly worried. He still waited till it became night time.

He could tell that you were not coming for the day which of course made him upset but he didn't blame you. He sighed and got up from the cold floor as he headed inside and down the ladder to his room. He just hoped you were okay.

Next Day~

Ranbob woke up the next day at his usual timing. She could tell that Y/N would be coming today, hopefully. After he got all dressed up and ready, he went up the ladder and outside of the entrance only to hear faint crying which made his eyes go wide as he went outside and noticed Y/N sitting outside hugging her knees as her her head was buried between them.

"Y/N...?" He spoke up which made Y/N lift her head and turn around to see it was Ranbob.

She instantly got up and hugged him still crying softly. This broke Ranbob a bit. Seeing her crying was the last thing she wanted. If this had something to do with her parents, he seriously wasn't going to hesitate to kill them off for doing this to her.

He hugged her as he rubbed her back as to comfort her. This of course helped her calm down a bit as her crying slowly stopped. At this point one part of his jacket was wet but he didn't really care much about it at all.

"I-I am sorry..." He heard her say.

"Please don't be sorry. I understand if you couldn't visit me yesterday. You don't have to tell me what happened if you don't want to." Ranbob said as Y/N shook her head.

"No... I do want to." She said to him wiping her face with her hands.

She explained how she went up to her parents saying that she was going to move out of their house which her parents didn't take too well and this lead to many disagreements and yelling and arguments until they gave up on her saying to do what she wanted to do and that they were not their daughter anymore.

Ranbob could feel the anger bubbling up but he slowly calmed himself down as he held onto Y/N. The only thing he could do right now was comfort her in anyway possible. He couldn't believe her parents right now for doing this. As he was thinking he heard Y/N speak up.

"R-Ranbob...?" He heard her say in a slight whisper.

"Yeah?" He said matching the same tone.

"C-can I ask you s-something?" She asked as she felt him nod.

"Anything." He responded.

"I-is it wrong that I... love you more than a friend...?" she asked him which left him in shock.

"She loves me...?" Ranbob thought as he looked at her.

"Why do you think it's wrong?" He asked her as she stayed silent for a bit then started to speak.

She talked about how her ex was using her and everything and because of this her parents thought she was lying and everything so this was a reason they stopped caring about her and neglected her for six years. Ranbob listened to every bit of her story.

"I just don't want to be used to be used again and-" before she could say anything else she felt a pair of lips crash against hers.

It took Y/N a few seconds to process what happened until she kiss him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss lasted for a good minute till they parted away for breath. They were both blushing messes right now. Ranbob cupped her cheeks and brought his forehead onto hers.

"Y/N/N. I want to let you know that I love you a lot and I would never use you. I love you for you and nothing can change that." Ranbob spoke out.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at these words. She happily hugged Ranbob again and said, "I Love you too Ran." which Ranbob smiled at her and hugged her back once more. Y/N was nothing more than happy to be with him.

Ranbob was her warmth. Y/N was his cure.

One things for sure.

She was finally home.

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