#your art smells like cushions that have been in the sun for JUST the right amount of time

[lemonyinks]

All the ways Bart Allen is loved.

Bart Allen oneshot accompanied by art from the wonderful @bamboozled-and-alone for the @flashfambigbang

6,565 words

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1.

Bart trudged inside after Helen, bag dragging along the floor and shoulders slumped. 

It had just been one of those days; the ones where even friendly contact made your skin buzz in a not so pleasant way and simply getting out from under your thick blankets felt like medieval torture. He tried to make it through the day, he really had, but even Carol and Preston could tell that he wasn’t his usual self, being more easily frustrated, shying away from touch, and quick to snapping at the smallest  of things. It was a surprise to no one when he inevitably caved part way through the day. He told his teacher he wasn’t feeling well and then called Max using the phone in the nurse's office.

It was Helen that answered, and she had told him that Max was out but she would gladly come get him. He knew she was a busy person and that this was probably the only free time to herself that she was going to get this week, and he felt bad for taking that away from her, but he was so tired that he all but begged her to come get him. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn’t just run home. The school wouldn’t release him without a guardian present and just up and leaving would cause more problems than it was worth. Stupid school and its stupid rules.

It felt like hours before her familiar car rolled up to the school and she came inside to sign him out and collect him. Even though Helen was the type of person to blast music when she drove, the ride home had been blissfully silent. Bart was so thankful for it.

He flopped onto the sofa after carelessly throwing his bag down near the hallway entrance. He buried his face in the corner of the cushions and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt wrung out and tense. Maybe he just needed a nap and he would feel better. At least, that is what he was hoping.

“Are you hungry, hun?” Helen asked from the doorway of the kitchen. Bart felt vaguely nauseous but he had to admit that he was a little bit hungry, so he muttered a tired “sure” and listened to the sound of Helen's retreating steps. He closed his eyes and tried to stave off the headache that threatened to expand behind his eyes. Yeah, that nap sounded good right about now.

He unknowingly drifted into a restless sleep and woke to the pink and orange hues of a setting sun in the open window. He rolled over onto his back and admired the pastel clouds as they drifted by. A breeze cooled his skin and caused the curtains to flutter gently. The beauty of the sky was one of the only things VR had never been able to replicate perfectly. He inhaled deeply, taking in the delicious smell of something cooking in the room over. He leaped to his feet and dashed into the kitchen as he recognized the smell as Helen’s Beef Stew.

“You, like, never make this, Helen. What’s the occasion?” He asked, mouth water at the sight and smell as she stirred the large pot on the stove. It was something that was tedious to make in quantities large enough to satisfy the speedster metabolism, making it a rarity in the Mercury household. 

“I just felt like it.” Helen said, ruffling his hair as she headed towards the cupboard to grab one of Max’s big bowls, the ones that looked like oversized mugs with the handles that got too hot to hold. She scooped him several large spoonfuls before handing the bowl off to him and pointing him over to the table. She handed him a bread roll from a bag sitting on the counter that Bart knew hadn’t been there that morning.

“Thank you, Helen.” He said, excitedly dipping his spoon into the heavenly meal and digging in, humming at the as the unbeatable tastes exploded across his taste buds.

“No problem, kiddo.” She said, taking a seat beside him with her own bowl.

I love you

2.

Bart was tired, which wasn’t something that happened to him very often. He was known to have an infuriating inability to grow tired, actually. It was something that drove Max crazy in the beginning, and left Bart feeling restless and agitated. But today, he was well and truly tired.

His shoulders had an exhausted slump to them and he had to shuffle to keep himself awake as he stood behind Max. He gave a tired blink, eyes absently staring up at the starry night sky while he tuned out the boring run down the old man was giving the police officers who had come to collect the small-time villain they had just taken out.

“You look pretty tired there, Bart.” Max said as they finally, finally walked away from the police officer. It felt like they had been standing there for hours! How did Max even find the words to have a conversation so slow?

“Yeah, a little bit, I guess.” Bart said with a yawn. No use in lying about it, really. He was tired, after all.

“Why don’t you go ahead and hop up onto my back then? I'll give you a lift home.” Max suggested, halting their walk. Bart perked up slightly, his eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline,

“Really?” He asked, maybe a touch too excited. He loved piggyback rides, you see.

“Why not?” Max asked rhetorically as he moved to crouched in front of Bart, arms extended back in preparation to hold Bart’s legs. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He moved at the speed of light, practically throwing himself onto the older man’s back with a newfound energy and wrapping his arms around his neck in an near choke hold. Max choked and teetered forward, almost being thrown off balance before righting himself and standing up straight. He hoisted Bart further up his back, grip firm and secure on the underside of his knees.

“Are you sure I’m not too heavy for your brittle old man bones?” Bart asked, swinging his feet back and forth in an excited manner. He knew his weight was nothing for Max, but he couldn’t resist the urge to rib him whenever he could.

“Don’t make me regret this, Bart.” Max grumbled with a sigh, though there was a smile on his lips.

Bart just laughed and hugged him tighter, resting his head against Max's and letting his eyes slip shut as he started back up their journey home for the night.

I love you

3.

“Bart!” Preston’s voice called out to him from somewhere to his left. 

Bart turned towards the sound and found Preston rushing towards where he was sitting on the bleachers watching Carol run through her cheer routine. His steps were loud and thunderous on the rickety structure. He threw himself down onto the heated metal of the bench beside him, side pressing into Bart’s and elbow digging into his ribs.

“Where’s the fire?” Bart joked, unconsciously leaning into the weight of Preston.

“That is not a funny joke to make when it is well over 102 degrees outside.” Preston said, giving Bart a disapproving look, his face already blotchy and red from the heat.

And he made a fair point, to be honest. It was so hot outside that Bart was convinced he’d managed to sweat off more than two times his body weight by now. He would have surely passed out if not for the constant water breaks the teachers had been begrudgingly allowing them. Even the shorts he’d borrowed from Cissie and the light tank top he stole from Wally weren’t doing very much to help him from overheating in the sweltering August heat.

“My bad,” He laughed, “But seriously, what's the rush?”

If it was even possible, Bart could have sworn that he saw Preston’s face flush even deeper. The heat must really be getting to him, huh?

“I-um-well, I wanted to give you something.” Preston said. He pulled his backpack up into his lap and then rooted around in it before producing a small cassette tape case. It was see-through and without any indication that it was by a specific band so Bart deduced that it must be homemade.

“What’s this?” Bart asked, reaching out to pull it from Preston’s slightly shaky grasp. Upon closer inspection he realized there was a piece of scrap paper with his name written in red pen taped to the cassette itself.

" It's a cassette tape.  I recorded some stuff I thought you might like onto it.” Preston said. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, a small tremble noticeable to it. 

“Oh, wow, thank you.” Bart said. He reached into his own bag, digging around for the walkman that Max and Helen got him for his birthday.

“Are you going to listen to it now?!” Preston asked, sounding almost panicked. Bart turned back to him and raised an eyebrow.

“Am I not supposed to..?” He asked.

“I mean, I’m not stopping you. It’s just- well um, I though that- No, nevermind. Go ahead and listen to it.” Preston stuttered out, turning his bright red face away from Bart, who shrugged in response before finally pulling his walkman out from where it was crushed between several trashed spiral notebooks and borrowed textbooks. He rooted around some more until he found the headphones that went with it, half-heartedly untangling the wire before plugging them in and then poking Preston in the shoulder.

“Listen together?” He questioned, holding the headphones out between them.

Preston pursed his lips and looked between Bart and the device several times before his expression softened into a smile and he said, “Why not.”

Bart twisted the headphones a bit until he was able to press one of the speakers to his ear, cupping his hand over it to keep it in place. Preston did the same. This position forced them to lean into each other, their sweaty shoulder’s stuck together, knuckles brushing against each other, and knees knocking together. Preston leaned back, forcing Bart to follow until they were both leaning against the bleacher bench behind them, heads leaning back against the hot metal and faces upturned to the shimmering sun. Bart closed his eyes and let the lyrics to Some Kind Of Wonderful fill one ear, the sounds of the activity on the field and Preston’s steady breathing in the other.

I love you

4.

The rest of Young Justice dispersed throughout the base as the meeting and debrief came to an end. Bart shoved his chair back and flew to his feet, ready to go tearing back home to Manchester. Those meetings were always soooo boring, and he was more than ready to go running with Max or hang out with Preston and Carol. It was the weekend, so he didn't even have homework to worry about. Well, no homework that he was going to worry about anyway.

He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He paused and turned to make eye contact with Tim. Oh no, what had Bart done? Was he in trouble or-

“Hey, here's a list of all the rogues - active or otherwise -  in your area. Let me know if anything is missing, kay?” Tim said before handing him a laminated piece of paper that he confirmed with a glance was indeed a list of rouges, with both names he recognized and a few he didn't.

What?

“Thank you?” Bart questioned, raising an eyebrow. Tim patted him on the shoulder one more time before walking away without another word.

He didn’t know why Tim felt the need to give this to him, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with it. For now, he decided to hand it off to Max and hope to forget about the weird experience.

Execpt Tim did it again. And again. And again. Every weekend like clockwork Tim would bring him a new updated list with more and more information on it each time, and again and again Bart would give him a confused look before going home and handing it off to Max. It was like Tim didn’t think he could do his own job!  The nerve of this guy!

...But that wasn’t it, was it? The more he paid attention, the more he began to realize that it wasn’t just him that Tim did this to. No, he did it with everyone. He even did it with Cassie, who Bart knew Tim had absolute faith in. So it wasn’t done out of a lack of faith in his ability. It was done out of…concern? Or at least something similar to it.

Tim wanted them, wanted Bart, to be prepared for anything. He wanted him to be safe. And honestly, it had been helpful, he wouldn't lie. More than once it had clued him and Max in on some suspicious activity that they would have been otherwise too busy to notice. It was nice, Bart thought, to have someone on the outside help out every once in a while, even if it was from someone weird enough to alphabetize and colour code the information. 

Bart smiled widely at Tim the next time he came to hand him an updated list. Tim smiled back, the lenses of his domino scrunching up and his dimples appearing at the corners of his mouth. He patted Bart on the shoulder like always and left to carry on with his tasks.

I love you

5.

Cassie Sandsmark was an extremely tactile person. This was a well known and inescapable truth that the entirety of Young Justice have come to know over the course of their time together. Whether it be a casual arm around your shoulders or a spine cracking hug lifting you from the ground, Cassie couldn’t go longer than a few minutes without being in contact with one of her friends.

And Bart loved this fact.

He was just as touchy as Cassie, if not more so. Hugs, high fives, pats on the back or shoulder, and even holding hands, you name it and Bart Allen loved it. This simple fact made the two of them the perfect victims to the others' affection.

“Hey, Bart.” Cassie’s voice called from the sitting space as he made his way to the kitchen for a quick snack.

He paused and peaked his head into the doorway. “Yeah?” He called back.

“I’m going to watch Wendy. Want to join?” She called back, unnecessarily loud considering he was only a few feet away from her. He considered her offer and then shrugged. He didn’t have anything else to do, he was just going to go back to his room and play video games.

“Sure, why not. Let me grab a snack real quick.” He said, ducking back into the kitchen.

“Grab me a pop while you’re in there, would you?” She yelled from the other room. He didn’t answer, and instead got to work poking around for something to eat.

He returned to the sitting room a few minutes later with a family sized bag of crisps in one hand and a soda for Cassie in the other. She was laying across the sofa when he got there, one leg lazily hanging over the edge and the other bent at the knee and leaning against the back. Her head was cushioned by the armrest.

He didn’t even consider the other furniture in the room before immediately going to lay himself directly on top of her, setting the drink and the snack on the floor in front of them. He laid his head on her muscular chest and she wrapped her arms around his waist, locking her hands together and setting them on the small of his back. He tucked his hands underneath her, warming them with the heat of her back.

He listened to her heartbeat as they watched the show, his head rising and falling in time with her breath. Eventually she began to run her fingers through his thick hair, and even he had to admit it made him just a little bit sleepy. He felt content to lay there forever.

I love you

6.

Bart leaned back against Anita’s legs behind him, shifting impatiently as she ran a brush through his unruly, static-y locks.

It was getting longer, annoyingly so. It would not stop fall in front of his face unless he was constantly pushing it behind his ear or blowing it out of the way. It drove him crazy. It also seemed to drive Anita crazy, because she had wasted no time in coming up to him after the day's mission was over with a wrist full of hairties and a brush in her hands. He didn’t think twice before following as she wordlessly led him to one of the long couches, allowing himself to be sat on the floor in front of her.

“How is school going?” Anita asked, setting aside the brush to run her skilled fingers through his thick hair.

Bart couldn’t help but snort at the ice breaker. It was something Wally or Barry would awkwardly ask him when they didn’t know how to start a conversation. However, whereas they would say it with this weird, stilted energy, Anita said it casually.

“It’s been good. I joined my school's conservation club recently. It’s really easy to clean up all the waste around the city with my speed, but something about working as a team and slowly making somewhere look nice and clean is really…rewarding I guess.” He replied. Anita hummed.

“Any friends in that club?” She asked, fingers deftly dividing his hair into sections.

“I joined with Rolly and Carol. Preston was going to join too, but then the school started up this film club that runs at the same time, and he couldn’t miss the opportunity.” Bart said, rolling his eyes at the reminder of Preston’s betrayal.

“How are Max and Helen?” Anita asked. 

“They’re doing great actually. They’ve both had more free time than usual recently so we’ve been spending more time together. It is honestly a little painful playing board games with them, though. It feels like it takes them both an eternity to take their turns.” He admitted, frowning at the memory. Behind him, Anita giggled as she tugged the strands of hair into place.

“I understand that. It’s a nightmare when my family plays card games. They’re way too strategic about it, especially with Uno. I swear it takes hours before even a single card is played!” She exclaimed, pulling a laugh from Bart in turn.

“We tried to play Uno once, but Max got so angry he refused to talk to me and Helen for the rest of the night. Poor Matt, he got the cold shoulder for nearly a whole week! All because he hit Max with a draw six.” Bart lamented. Anita gently, but firmly, righted his head when he went to shake it in mock disappointment at  his guardian's petty grudge.

“That sounds about right,” She said, “We had to remove those cards from our deck to get uncle Maad to play.”

“No way!” He laughed incredulously.

“Yes way!” She laughed along, fingers pausing in Bart’s hair for a moment so she wouldn’t pull at it while she tried to calm her giggles.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence a few moments later, cheeks hurting from all the smiling and laughter. Not too long later, Anita slid a yellow hairtie with a star charm on it down her wrist and pulled the end of the braid into it. She gently patted him on the head to let him know she was done and he took it as an invitation to give her a big hug, which she returned.

He thanked her and they went their separate ways, both in a hurry now to get home after the long day. On his way out, Bart caught sight of the beautiful French braid Anita had done for him in the reflection of one of the big glass windows. He stopped to turn his head from side to side, admiring her work with a wide grin. It looked beautiful.

I love you 

7.

One of the Ken’ts cows was due to give birth soon, which meant that Ma Kent was stressed, which meant she was stress baking, which meant lots and lots of baked goods to go around. When she inevitably made too much for the family to finish on their own, it was only natural that she would load up a foil pan to the brim with fresh Brownies and hand them off to Kon on his way to a Young Justice meetup. Being the perpetually hungry teenagers they were, the team swarmed the baked goods like a shiver of hungry sharks that got a whiff of blood in the water. The previously full pan only had a handful of squares remaining in a matter of seconds.

“Kon these are heavenly.” Bart moaned around a mouthful of warm, fudgy brownie. “You’re Ma needs a reward for these or something, I could eat them every day for the rest of my life.”

A bit dramatic, yes; but, hey, they were really good brownies. Kon looked thoughtful at that, a tilt to his head as he studied Bart like a specimen under a microscope. Bart smiled at the attention, uncaring of the mess of brownie that was probably clinging to his teeth as he did so. Kon raised his eyebrow in amusement and slid the rest of the brownies over to him.

Bart didn’t need to be told twice before he was polishing the rest of them off in one go, the foil pan empty in the blink of an eye; literally. Kon laughed at the display while the others all whined in unison, chastising him for not saving any for the rest of them.

Somehow, the stream of sweets didn’t stop, even after the calf had been born (it came out healthy and adorable, for the record). Different sweets and baked goods, all courtesy of Ma Kent, would show up to their meetings and hangouts without fail. Which was awesome. What teenager wouldn't love being brought homemade desserts all the time? However, Bart began to notice something was up. Sometimes the sweets would taste different, too different to be a mishap in the kitchen, and Bart knew Ma Kent was too skilled a baker to make mistakes on a recipe at all. They would also be a little more sloppy, a little misshapen or  varying widely in size. Not that he cared. Sweets are sweets, after all. It was just something he had taken notice of.

He came to the conclusion that Kon had started baking them himself, and so he did the only thing natural in this situation. He brought it up.

“Hey, did you make this one?” Bart asked around a mouthful of blueberry pie. Kon seemed to flush a bright red. Bart had to stop himself from laughing at the mental image of Kon with the head of a tomato.

“Is it that bad?” Kon asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Bart tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“No? It tastes awesome.” He said incredulously. What a stupid thing for Kon to say.

“How could you tell then?” He questioned.

“Well, it just looks a little less…” He thought of his words carefully, “neat? I guess?”

At that, Kon laughed.

“I can’t deny that. I’m still new to all of this. I still haven’t gotten the presentation down to a T just yet. Ma is still worlds better at it than I am.” He admitted. He cut another slice of the pie and put it on Bart’s plate. Bart kept eating as if he didn’t notice.

“How come you started baking? New hobby?” He asked, taking another large bite, licking the blueberry syrup from the fork, something he couldn’t get away with doing around Max, lest he spend the next hour or two getting lectured on table manners.

“Ma is a busy woman and I know you like sweets, so I thought, hey why not give it a shot? I get practice in the kitchen and my best bud gets an endless supply of sweets. Win, win.” Kon explained. He refused to meet Bart’s eyes and his cheeks were still red. For some reason, Bart felt his own face grow warm. Weird.

“Hhm. . . Well, I’m not going to complain. You’re the best!” Bart said before returning his attention to destroying the pie as fast as he could.

I love you 

8.

Bart hated shopping. He could usually do a full sweep of a store four times over and find everything he needed by the time the others were done looking at one rack of clothes. It was so slow and incredibly boring, so he rarely ever tagged along when his friends went to the mall. They understood his reasons and didn’t push him to join, though he could tell that they were sad every time he said no when they still asked to make sure he hadn’t changed his mind. That alone was enough to make him feel warm inside, to be honest, that his presence was missed. It made him feel like he belonged. 

He was currently playing his Gameboy on Cassie’s bed, waiting for the others to return from one such shopping spree. He was technically early - Cassie had invited him to a movie marathon that was planned for when they got home - but her mom had let him in when he knocked so he figured there wasn’t a problem. Cassie probably wouldn’t care anyway.

He didn’t look up as the door opened and his friends all piled into the cramped room, only raising his hand to give a short wave before returning to his game. His high score on Tetris wasn’t going to beat itself.

“Bart! Why are you in my room?” Cassie said, her annoyance all fake and played up.

“Your mom let me in like an hour ago or something.” He answered. He cursed under his breath and set the handheld down as his stack got too high, the Game Over screen flashing mockingly at him only a few clears away from beating his score. He glared at it. Stupid thing.

Kon and Tim were dropping a bunch of bags on the floor as Greta impatiently waited to go through them off to the side. Bart thinks the mall trip might have been for her since she needed new clothes, but he didn’t quite remember. 

“Oh, Bart, hi. I’m glad you’re here.” Cissie said, appearing in the doorway and shouldering past Tim, who halfheartedly grumbled in annoyance as he gave her a playful glare. She stuck her tongue out at him before rooting around in one of the bags hanging off of her arms.

She gave a triumphant yell as she pulled out something small from one of the bags. She made her way over to him and held the object out with a closed fist, hiding it from his view.

“A present? For moi?” Bart asked, batting his eyelashes at her. He sat up properly in Cassie’s bed and held his hand out to receive the gift. Cissie rolled her eyes and dropped it into his ready palm.

“I saw it while we were in line and thought of you.” She explained before going over to where Greta was happily digging through her new clothes and dropping down beside the younger girl with the other bags.

Bart looked down at his open hand and examined the gift. It was a small keychain no bigger than his thumb in the shape of Cherub from After-Life Avenger. Cissie must have seen him reading the comic during one of their hangouts. The sidekick was in his iconic fighting pose. The paint was poorly applied and his smile was wonky, likely from some kind of factory error. It was hideous, and it was perfect.

A wide grin spread across his face, a warmth in his chest. He pocketed the keychain and jumped off the bed to join his friends on the floor, ready to help Greta organize some outfits. 

I love you

9.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to make it?” Carol pestered, shoving the flyer into his hands. “It would really mean a lot to me if you came to this.”

Bart stared down at the poster, the font bond and in his face. “New Hampshire Cheer Competition!! Finals this Saturday 11/15 Don’t miss it! Be there, or be square!” He blinked at it and then looked back up at Carol’s anticipatory face, her eyes shining behind her glasses. 

“Sure, I’ll be there.” He promised.

And that was how Bart found himself pressed in between Preston and Rolly on a set of tiny bleacher benches in the gym of a school two towns over. He had wanted to run here when he heard the distance, but Preston had insisted on carpooling with his dad, so Bart was pressured into sitting through the agonizing hour and a half long drive over here.

He grumbled and elbowed Rolly in the ribs when the other scooted way too close to him in order to make room for an elderly man who was very intent on sitting on the same bench as them. He regretted his choice to wear a thick flannel today. Despite it being cold outside, it was way too hot in this cramped gym. Why did they choose this school to do their competition at? Their gym was way bigger than this one! Stupid…

His sour mood quickly dissipated when Carol and her team walked into the gym, however. He watched his best friend scan the crowd with squinted eyes, a hand shielding her face from the fluorescent lights up above. He decided to make it easier for her to spot them, raising his hand high as it would go and giving a big, dramatic wave. He definitely got way too into Rolly and Preston’s personal space as he did so, but honestly? It was revenge for making him sit in the middle. Take that. 

Carol spotted him immediately, a grin stretching across her face as she waved back just as dramatically, hitting one of her teammates in the head with her elbow in the process. She immediately withdrew her attention from her friends to apologize to the laughing girl, who waved her off before gesturing towards their team, who were leaving both of them behind. Carol gave one more small before moving to join back up with her team.

Bart had to admit, the competition was impressive. He didn’t even know many heroes who could do some of the flips that Carol and her team were doing, and even less who had the communication skills to work so in sync without even uttering a word. 

Carol’s team didn’t win, but they came in third place, which wasn’t too bad. Bart would admit that he did start to zone out at this point, bored to pieces by the long winded award ceremony. He cheered when everyone else did, but counted ceiling tiles with his chin resting on his closed fist in the meantime.

Eventually the competition was over and the crowd began emptying out of the double doors at the back of the gym. Bart followed his group out and to Preston’s dad’s car with his hands in his pockets, idly chatting with Preston and Wade as he went. Suddenly there was one arm thrown around Bart’s shoulder, another around Preston’s, forcing them both to bend over slightly.

“Hey, boys!” Carol’s excited voice shouted into their ears. Her hair was disheveled and frizzy, her face flushed from both the past hours of physical activity and the biting cold weather. Her smile was as bright as the sun, happiness radiating off of her in waves despite the fact that she hadn’t won.

“Carol! Hey! You did amazing out there!” Preston exclaimed, throwing his arm around her waist and giving her a sort of side hug.

“Aw, thanks. You’re sweet. My team did most of the work though.” She said, leaning away from Bart to return the semi-hug.

“Sorry you guys didn’t win,” Bart said, “You really did do awesome.”

“Psh, who cares about winning. I’m just really glad you guys are here.” She said, giving him a similar side hug as Preston. And Bart could tell that she really meant it.

I love you

10 .

Bart felt a little silly if he was being entirely honest. He had been in louder, more crowded situations than this before. Hell, he had been to concerts in the past, performed in them even! This shouldn't be affecting him in the slightest. And yet, for some reason, as he stood in the mosh pit of some concert Cissie had convinced them all to go to with her, he felt more overwhelmed than he had in probably his whole life. Or, at least that is what it felt like.

The pulsing lights, the roaring cheers, the incomprehensible lyrics screamed into a crackling mic, the pressure of a million sweaty bodies crowding up against his own; it was all too much.

In the blink of an eye, he was zipping through the crowd and out of the door of the concert hall. He doesn’t know where he went or how he got there, but he found himself pressed up against a cold, concrete wall, shivering slightly in the chilly air. There was a cold sweat breaking out across his overly warm body, leaving him feeling even more uncomfortable. His breath came out in short pants as it crystalized in front of him. He tried to get control of his rapidly beating heart, pressing a fist firmly into the underside of his ribs and feeling it pound against his sternum like it was trying to burst free.

He took deep breaths through his nose and exhaled out of his mouth, just like Max had taught him. It didn’t seem to be doing much, though. He squeezed his eyes closed and leaned his head against the concrete, uncaring of the way the action pulled on his hair.

He let out a gasp when a frigid hand suddenly slipped into his own. He opened his eyes and found Greta sitting right beside him, her legs pulled up to her chest. One arm was resting on her knees so as to cushion her chin, and the other was pressed between the two of them where she was holding his hand. She was making a point to not look at him.

He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. She didn’t say a word, but she didn’t have to. Her actions and presence alone were enough to say I'm here for you. She just sat there with him in silence until Bart finally got his breathing under control. Then, she leaned her head against his shoulder and her thumb rubbed circles into his knuckles. Bart took one more deep breath, now comforted by the presence of his friend, and he never felt lighter. He leaned his head against hers and closed his eyes a second time.

I love you

11.

Bart lay on the hood of Cissie’s car with his hands folded over his stomach, Greta on one side of him and Cassie on the other. Greta was fast asleep under a pink and yellow star print blanket, head cushioned by her arms, while Cassie was chatting up a storm with Cissie, who was sitting on the roof above them. Tim was next to her, pointing a camera up at the sky and meticulously taking pictures of the stars. Kon and Slobo were playing with Krypto somewhere off to the side. Anita was watching them from where she sat in one of the car's open doors, her laughter quiet but still loud enough to be heard.

They had come out to watch the stars, but most of them had lost interest in that a long time ago. Now they were just enjoying each other's company. 

Bart lazily blinked up at the cosmos as the drone of his friends talking and laughter filled his ears. He wasn’t tired, really; it was more of a content drowsiness that was washing over him, brought on by a feeling of utter safety and comfort. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to get lost in it.

He didn’t even notice he had begun to shiver a little until something warm and heavy was tossed over his body. He cracked his eyes open just enough to see Slobo standing on the bumper of Cissie’s car, hands planted on his boney hips and a disapproving look on his face as he glared down at Bart's half asleep body. Bart further saw that it was the other teen’s insulated leather jacket that was now draped over Bart like a blanket. 

“Idiot, I told him to bring a fraggin’ coat of his own.” Slobo said to no one in particular, shaking his head in what was clearly meant to be disappointment.

“You know, we had spare blankets in the trunk, Slobo. You could have given him one of those.” Cissie said, amused. 

“That’s too much fraggin’ work, scrounging up one of those. Nah, this is just fine. He can use that for now.” Slobo said before hopping off the bumper to go back to where Kon and Krypto were waiting for him. Bart slipped his eyes shut once more, snuggling into the warmth of the jacket.

I love you

+1  

Bart  had been thinking a lot lately; about love and what it meant. 

He couldn’t claim to know exactly what it meant to love or be loved, but, really, who did? There were a million different ways to say I love you. It was near impossible to even try to comprehend the true extent of the word. 

Love was the heavy weight of a warm meal sitting in your stomach after a hard day. It was fingers weaving beautiful patterns into your hair while you talked and talked about anything and everything. It’s the sticky residue of homemade blueberry pie on your fingers, staining the corner of your mouth as you clean your plate and go in for more. It was a lovingly crafted cassette with wearing tape that you listen to almost everyday, a flush on your cheeks as you absorbed the true intentions behind each carefully selected song. 

Love was a small gift to say “I’m thinking of you”. It was a detailed report looking out for your safety. An invitation to watch someone do what they enjoy so that you may share in their happiness. A cold hand holding your own when your heart won’t seem to slow down. It’s a jacket draped over you like a blanket as you drift off to sleep to the sounds of laughter. 

Love was all of this and so, so much more.

So, while he may never know just what that four letter word meant by definition, he didn’t need to. He was already certain of one thing; he is beyond loved and he is full of it. That simple knowledge was more than enough for him.

[neonponders]

Okay okay okay, just another quick one ~

Part 32 for @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse 🍦🐺🧚🏻‍♀️🦇

Part 31 (werewolf!Billy pt. 1 haha)

( pt. 7′s art 🎩 ) ( pt. 9′s art 👀 ) ( pt. 14′s art 💨 ) ( pt. 19′s art 🦇 ) ( pt. 20′s art 🍳) ( pt. 27’s art 🦦 )

~ on ao3 ~

• • •

The full moon blended into a full day. Between two overeager werewolves and keeping track of little Steve, big Steve wasn’t able to track down Robin until the sun was up. It worked out, at least, that even in with his furry ears and fluffy tail, small Billy wanted to dance to the jazzercise, allowing Steve and Robin the time to repair the front doors.

“I guess we should’ve expected this, given little Munson’s wings,” she conversed while Steve mixed an old paint can from the garage. By some stroke of luck, Billy’s damage to the door could be glued back together. With that done, Steve calked over the cracks, Robin sanded it down, and they both rolled some small paint rollers in a paint tray.

“Eddie doesn’t have wings,” Steve countered and then paused. “Does he?”

Robin shrugged, only for her eyes to light up with epiphany. “Maybe he’s fae.”

“Yeah, let’s just pretend I totally know what that means.”

Robin ignored his tone and explained, “Fae, like fairies. They come out during the full moon too.”

“Then why does little Eds have his wings all the time?”

“The full moon is fun for fae people but they don’t, like, disappear the rest of the month.”

Steve finished the base of the door and used the newel post behind him to stand up. “Whatever he’s got, it’s Chrissy’s fun problem. I’ve got wolves in my house.”

“Well,” Robin countered as she dipped her roller for some more paint, “one and a tiny half.”

Steve had to huff a laugh and offered, “Do you want a drink?”

“Yes, please.”

Steve made a lap through the living room to check on the littles: Billy was having the time of his life on the coffee table while a large wolf lay curled up on the floor, near enough as if to cushion his landing if Billy leapt off the table again. On big Billy’s fur, lay small Steve, chatting away like a small king on a palatial rug or bed.

Big Steve had no idea what the little guy was talking about, but the wolf didn’t seem to mind as his blue eyes followed Steve around. On his way back from the kitchen, Steve set down some bottle caps of drinks, fruit cubes, and a dish of water for Billy, next to a plated sandwich.

Billy made a blunt sound of disapproval at him and Steve only shrugged. “Sucks to lose your thumbs. How you doing, little man?”

“Good,” little Steve chimed, unconsciously swaying in Billy’s warm fur, little legs crossed.

“You’re going for a swim soon, B-Man,” Steve announced on his way out. He got an enthusiastic Awooo! in return. Steve didn’t know how successful a bath would be during the full moon.

No sooner did he hand Robin a glass of water, that a familiar van turned into his driveway. The whole vehicle rocked with his brakes as Steve and Robin glanced at each other when the guy swung himself out of his car. Robin simply sighed at the absence of wings, whereas Steve waved to Chrissy stepping down from the passenger seat.

“Hey! Oh my god, what happened?”

“Depends, are you afraid of big dogs?” Steve asked.

“No? I’ve wanted a dog for years, but my parents have too many expensive rugs for a dog. Say hi, guys.”

Little Eddie sat happily on her head, bat wings fluttering behind him contently while the smaller Chrissy sat on her shoulder. He waved and little Chrissy greeted, “Hi, Stevie. Hi, Wobin.” 

Robin moved aside and waved an arm to gesture Chrissy inside. “Billy’s lost for words this weekend, but his little one bites more than ever.”

Chrissy stepped over the threshold, her body sending a breeze right into Steve and Robin’s face. They both recoiled as if they had been struck by a powerful wind. A wind that smelled like fresh rain, charred flowers, and strawberry brownies.

“Woah,” Robin blurted, lifting a hand to her nose.

“Wow,” Steve agreed, a bit too wistfully.

Eddie arrive at the doors, chuckling around a cigarette before he exhaled smoke. “We just got back from a show. Haven’t slept. Chrissy had a great time.”

Robin looked at Steve, doing the math a second faster than he could. When his large brown eyes stayed a little too vacant, she swatted his chest and murmured, “Eds might have wings, but she’s fully moon-charged.”

His mouth went slack as he exhaled a soft, “Ooh...”

Eddie started to step on the threshold, but Steve barred his path. “Finish outside.”

“Really?” Eddie huffed, and retreated. “When did King Steve stop smoking? Billy’s a goddamn chain smoker.”

Robin answered, in a tone that immediately warranted Eddie furrowing his brows in concern. “Speak of the wolf. What about Billy?”

Eddie stared down the foyer hallway at the large wolf that took up half the height of the walls. “Oh. So,” he swallowed. “You’ve had an eventful night too?”

Steve’s head whirled around at his little’s voice calling from where he rode on Billy’s scruff, “Hi, Eddie! Hi, Chwissy! Eddie, pwease bweathe fire outside. It’s dang’wous.”

Steve pressed his mouth in a tired, resigned line as he nodded his head. “I’ll open the backdoor. Take your time by the pool.”

Eddie nodded once and tapped his cigarette as he pivoted to go toward the backyard. Steve and Robin had to leave the doors open for the paint to dry, as well as to ventilate the smell around the wolves. Meanwhile, Chrissy squeezed past Billy with a hand petting over one of his ears. “Scuse me, Billy.”

He made a soft growl in acknowledgement and turned back into the living room. Little Eddie made quick work of taking flight and drifting down over the coffee table. “WOW! You look so cool! Can you crow like a wock star?”

The living room filled with Eddie and Billy trying to out-howl each other. The real race became how fast Steve could fill up the Barbie pool and scoop Billy off the table. “Okay, you. Pool time and then tacos for lunch.”

“Awoo! ” Billy answered, tail wagging between Steve’s fingers. Wolf Billy tread into the kitchen, pressing his large body against the island and allowing little Steve to slide off his neck right onto the counter. Then he slotted his narrow face right in between Steve’s legs.

“Guh-ack! Hey!” A warm, wet tongue laved the inside of his thigh. “Not now!--oh MY GOD.”

Billy transformed, taking Steve with him so he sat on top of human Billy’s shoulders. His voice was still a bit rough as he ordered, “Robin. Lifeguard.”

“Aye, captain,” she snorted, “if I can burn your ass off of my retinas.”

Unbothered, Billy strolled out of the room with Steve on his shoulders, the latter warning as he dodged doorframes, “I have ceilings. Billy - I have ceilings! ”

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: xiao x gn reader

req: no | wc: 1.3k | cw: mention of dead parent | modern au

a/n: writing my desires. also this fic is not very romantic. req a part two, maybe?

Chinese streetwear is far from ‘normal’. People are free to wear whatever they want, so that means there are plenty of people wearing different clothes.

Techwear is not strange in streetwear, in fact, it’s a frequent sight.

So, when your eyes spot him, why do they stay on him?

He wears techwear, black as always, but largely accented with a sort of turquoise-green you can’t describe. Aside from that, his outfit isn’t following any type of color scheme. His pearl necklace is accented by fuchsia tassels, his belt is lilac, and his bag is a pinkish purple. Yet, amidst all that, he manages to squeeze a few red tassels around his belt and bag. And his hair, god, his hair, is highlighted by the same turquoise-green.

All this paired together is somehow beautiful. The concept sounds like an assault to your eyes, but for some reason they suit him.

The mysterious man catches your eyes. His eyes are a piercing gold, a color you’ve never seen in anybody else’s eyes. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him, but thankfully he does it for you.

Before you know it, he’s slipped into an alleyway and away from your prying gaze.

You’d like to say you never thought of him after that, that he was just another beautiful individual in the fashion-filled streets of China. Though if you were to say that, you’d be lying.

The man was at the forefront of your mind. He stood out amongst the crowd, in a way that other people didn’t - even those wearing full monarch outfits or revealing clothes.

He was simple and outstanding at the same time.

The second time you see him is at an abandoned building, one far from the first time. Abandoned buildings were few and far between in China. They were thrilling to explore, giving you an opportunity to learn about its history and abandonment.

This particular building has no story. It is merely abandoned, windows broken, floors entirely emptied, and walls vastly painted. The only reason you stayed was to admire the graffiti, and perhaps paint some of your own.

But, as you neared an empty spot, you heard the familiar sound of compressed air from spray paint cans.

The closer you got, the more it smelled of toxicity, though you were used to it.

When you finally find the source, it’s him again. The man that recently plagued your mind. Upon hearing footsteps, he turns, and you spot a mask over his face.

Just as you thought he couldn’t get more interesting.

Its bulging eyes, sharp horns, and attention catching horns would be scary if you hadn’t seen the face behind the cover. Still, his silence is what’s most intimidating to you.

“He-” Right as you’re about to greet him, his phone rings.

He uses it as an excuse to take his exit, leaving behind an unfinished masterpiece. As he walks farther from you, you only catch a small tidbit of his conversation, “What is it that you need, Zhongli?”

You know of a man with that name, an old yet youthful Funeral Consultant. Except the man you knew as Zhongli was immensely different from the one you just saw.

Zhongli was full of conversations, compared to the one that’s only been followed by silence. His style resembled his career, scholarly and tranquil. You don’t know why two people on polar ends would be related to each other, so you brushed it off as a coincidence.

You finally focus on the art he left behind. For some reason, he signs his masterpieces before finishing them, but it’s quite lucky for you.

“Xiao.” You read as you trace over the signature. “Demon.”

The third, and final time you see each other as strangers, is quite conveniently at the convenience store.

It’s 3 am, you can’t sleep; and from the deep bags under his eyes, you conclude that he can’t either.

The bond between two strangers inside a convenience store at the most ungodly hours of night is odd. The fact you’re both there, with seemingly no objective, forms bonds between you two. You end up talking about your troubles on the curb, sitting on your car’s trunk, or perhaps some other place.

Between the two of you, it’s the latter option.

He speaks up first as the cashier checks out his items. “Xiao, you?”

“(y/n), got any hideouts?” He nods, you nod, it’s a silent agreement to hang out somewhere, wherever his hideout is.

When you leave the establishment, walking close to each other like you’ve known each other for ages, he gestures to the turquoise-green motorcycle. “Let’s go.”

You don’t know why you follow him. He’s a stranger, the only detail you know about him is his name. Yet, even with his scary mask and piercing golden eyes, he feels trustworthy.

His hideout is a roof whose stairwell door needs to be lock picked. Xiao, however, is prepared; he opens the door as if he’s done so a million times before, a speculation you can’t rule out.

The building is tall, tall enough that it is not overshadowed by any other building. The moonlight bathes over your figures, and despite the light pollution, the night sky is wonderful. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Xiao seems so comfortable here. A smile graces his face, though it’s wiped off as quick as it forms.

“Yeah.”

He sits on a sleeping bag and offers you the spot next to him.

He’s close, awfully close, as you both begin to dig into your recently bought goods. He opens his can of monster, you open yours, you clink the drinks together and begin to sip.

Despite the fact it feels as if you know everything about each other, you clearly don’t, so you grasp the only subject you can think of; the only subject that you think you might have in common. “You know a Zhongli?”

“Yes,” He doesn’t know what possesses him to reveal details of his personal life. “my adoptive father. Funeral consultant.”

"Yeah, I know him." He takes note of how… sad you sound. "He comforted me when my parent died." Whatever was making him open up was doing the same thing to you.

He raises his can for you to clink it again. When you do, he can see it lightens your mood.

"I saw you at that abandoned building, very far from here. Why were you there?"

He nods, "I like exploring. There's barely anything to explore in the heart of the city, so nothing's stopping me from going elsewhere. I hotel hop but I always seem to come back to Wangshu Hotel, it feels like home."

You nod solemnly, he has a feeling he knows what you're about to say. I don't have a home. Before you can, he clears his throat. "What about you?"

"I like exploring too." You don't elaborate further but he doesn't push.

When he looks at you again, you take his breath away. The moonlight accentuates your best features, making you part of its beautiful landscape. Thank God you were looking at the sky, or else you would've caught his awestruck look. Finally, he notices the bare skin and shudder of your shoulders.

When you look at him again, it's because he taps your shoulder. In his gloved hand is his coat, fortunately he still wears a jacket.

"Thanks." His coat is warm, as warm as you imagine his embrace would be.

You talk about many things that night, topics that strangers shouldn't talk about. But, as 3 am 7/11 relationships go, you're not strangers for long.

3 am turns into 4, then 5, then the sun rises. By that time, you’re extremely tired. The sleeping bag no longer cushions your seat and your back becomes terribly aware of the concrete wall it rests on.

You’re exhausted, though the caffeine still pumps through your system. Sleep is far from the horizon, but a comfortable environment wouldn’t hurt.

“Do you want to.. come to my hotel room? Wangshu Hotel?” Xiao’s room would feel far closer to a home than your own apartment did.

“Sure.”

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: I Got You** {One-Shot}

Lewis Tan x Reader

Warning: Mild Cursing, Fluff, Mild to Moderate NSFW, Mild to Moderate Smut

Words: 3.1k

Summary: Lewis takes notice that you’re having a hard day, so he pushes everything to the side to make it easier.

Note: This is for @munteanhorewrites I hope this make you feel all fluffy, doll.  💜💜

 ***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

 ***Mildly Interactive***

~~~~~~~~

The way you kissed him goodbye this morning was weighing heavily on his mind. He was so in tune with you that it was easy for him to decipher how you felt. Depending on the kiss he got, he could determine if you were happy, feeling flirtatious, sad, angry, or even annoyed. This morning’s kiss was a detached one that left the taste of melancholy on his lips. He’d wanted to pull you back to him and badger you until you told him what was wrong, but time was once again against him.

 Four hours into this shoot, and he was still at it. He’d never had more than fifteen minutes to himself, and even then, he was still working. Either it was doing small interviews and web appearances, or it was answering emails. He always tried to find a balance in his life. A balance to give you the attention you deserved, but the last few months had been difficult because his name was coming up more and more for potential roles, which meant many more meetings.

 Finally, with some time for himself, he dialed you. After three rings, you picked up.

 “Hi babe,” you said, your voice low and dejected.

 “Hi, princess. How are you?”

“Eh--,” you began on a sigh. “I’m okay. I’m just sitting on the balcony with Bear.”

 “Is she keep you good company until daddy comes home?”

 “Yeah, she’s always so sweet to me.”

 Even your voice now didn’t sound like your usual self. He could feel something was off.

 “What’s wrong, princess?”

 Again, you sighed, but you didn’t speak right away. Instead of speaking, he patiently waited for you to be ready to talk about it. He knew better than to force you to open up. You’d do it in your own time. After almost a minute, you spoke.

 “It’s just one of those days, I guess.”

 “Yeah? Tell me about it,” he coaxed on.

 “I just feel at a crossroads, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it. I feel all over the place, but like I’m standing still. I don’t even know if that made any sense.”

 He could hear the struggle in your voice and even felt the chaos going on in your head. His heart sunk, and just like that, his decision was made.

 “It made sense. How about we talk about it when I get in?”

 “Sure, baby, I’m sorry I don’t mean to bring you down while you’re working,” you began before he quickly shut you down.

 “I don’t wanna hear you say that again. You never bring me down. You’re the reason I’m always on cloud ten.”

 You snorted. “Babe, you mean, cloud nine.”

 “Nah, I said what I meant, princess. Cloud ten. You got me walking in the sky on a whole different level than anyone else. They wish they were me.”

 “You’re so silly. Get back to work,” you teased.

 “Y/N.”

 “Yes, baby.”

 “I love you. You know that, right.”

 “I know, babe,” you began to brush off.

 “No, I don’t think you do, but you will by the end of the day,” he finished.

 Once he ended the call, he got on the phone with his people to cancel the rest of his day. He didn’t care what it took. He had no intention of working for the rest of the day. It was strictly for you.

 Once the photo shoot was finished, he made a few quick stops to pick up things he would need. Plenty of your favorite candles. An overflow of your bath and body products from Lush. Your favorite order from the Japanese restaurant you always craved. Several servings of your favorite dessert and a few gifts. When he made it home, it almost six. Before bringing in the bags, he tracked you down, finding you still on the balcony in the bedroom.

 “Hey, baby.”

 Your smile was bright, but it never reached your eyes. “Hi.”

 He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “You smell like cotton candy, vanilla, and sugar. Where’ve you been?”

 Trying not to seem suspicious, he shrugged. “I just picked up a few things from the store. Have you eaten today?”

 You leaned back and hugged Bear closer, who was trying to reach him. Bending down closer, he allowed her to lick along his jaw.

 “Hi Bear, how are you? Have you been taking care of our lil’ mama? Yes, you have. Such a good girl.”

 For a few moments, both of you snuggled and scratched behind Bear’s ears, showering her with the same affection she always showed both of you.

 “So, did you?”

 “I had some tea and a muffin earlier.”

 “Princess,” he began scolding before you sighed then pouted those perfect lips.

 “Don’t be mad at me,” I couldn’t take that too.”

 “No baby, I’m not mad. I just don’t like it when you don’t take care of yourself. You mean everything to me, and I need you around.”

 You felt your heart swell from his words. You knew you meant a lot to him, but hearing him voice it always made your heart skip a beat. Turning around with the chair back between you, you flung your arms around his neck, holding him closer.

 “I love you.”

 “I love you too, princess,” Lewis whispered back.

 That was when you let everything out. You told him about the sleepless night you’d had, which he wasn’t even aware of. You told him about your worries, your fears, the anxieties that had reared their ugly heads, and held you captive all day. You held nothing back. The deepness of your anxieties and pain had him pulling you out of the chair, so you straddled him on the floor. He held you as you cried and let you use him as your teddy bear for as long as you needed.

 Once your sobs subsided, he proceeded to tell you all the things he loved about you, beginning with your kind and giving heart, the one he fell in love with first. He told you how much he loved your sense of humor and intelligence and loyalty to those you love. He even revealed a few secrets he’d held on to since the beginning of your relationship that would have told you how completely wrapped around your finger you had him. Nothing was off limits. He let it all out.

 By the time the sun had set over the horizon, you were staring at each other, neither in a rush to move or do anything else. He almost forgot about the night he’d planned—almost.

 “Give me ten minutes. I’ll be right back,” he said, kissing your nose and placing you on the floor.

 He rushed around your home to gather the bath products he’d bought and brought them into the bathroom to fill the tub. As he filled it, he didn’t think much of what ingredients were meant for what; all he cared about was the scent. He knew which scents would help with stress and mood, and those were the ones he focused on. As the water filled and the bath bombs fizzed out, he placed the candles around the bathroom and lit each one.

 Once he was sure everything was perfect, he went back to your bedroom and found you right where he left you, again with Bear in your arms. She loved the attention. Slowly he covered your eyes and led you to the bathroom, all the while you softly giggled.

 “What are you up to?”

 “Nothing. I just want tonight to be all about you. I want you to truly feel loved, taken care of, and safe.”

 “Aw, babe.”

 When he lowered his hands from your eyes, you gasped and brought yours to your mouth.

 “Oh my god, Lewis.”

 Before you was such a lovely sight, it brought tears to your eyes. The soft glow of the plethora of candles that were decorated around bathed the room in a romantic aura that had butterflies filling your belly. When your eyes dropped to the tiled floors, you found red and white rose petals leading to the back of the bathroom, where the dark bamboo colored flooring held the white porcelain tub.

 “Babe.”

 The tears in your eyes welled to capacity. Lewis dragged the pads of his thumbs just underneath your eyes to sweep them away.

 “Come on.”

 He led you along the flower path to the tub. The scent of plumeria, gardenia, vanilla, brown sugar, and a few other scents wrapped around you, making you moan.

 “Babe, this is so sweet,” you whined. When he smiled and showed off those adorable dimples, you playfully dug your pointer into them, deepening them.

 “Come on. Let’s get you in.”

Lewis stepped behind you, undid your robe, and helped you into the tub. As you sank down, you sighed out, relishing the feel of the hot water on your skin. Once you sat, you stretched and dipped your back to rest your neck against the cushion there.

 “Is it good?”

 “Yes, baby, thank you.”

 Instead of leaving, Lewis went behind you, sat on the raised portion of the floor, and picked up your bath gloves.  When you felt him begin to bathe you, you melted.

 “You’re going to give me a bath?”

 “Yep,” he replied.

 “Sure, you can handle that?”

 His smile was wide before he bit his bottom lip. “You know how focused I can be when I have a goal.”

 “And what’s the goal, baby?”

 Your eyes met. “The goal is to have the love of my life feel like the queen she is. So turn around, lay back, and let daddy do all the work.”

 You did as you were told, and Lewis did as he promised—he did all the work. Lewis rubbed your muscles and massaged out all the kinks and lumps your body held with expertise. You always knew he was good with his hands. He could handle every weapon with ease and skill. That skill didn’t stop there; it stretched far beyond martial arts and weaponry. By the time he’d drained the tub and rinsed your body off, you could have floated away from how lite you felt.

 He left you for a few minutes leaving you to wrap in a towel and make it back to your bedroom where you found your stock of body products replenished with a sweet note and gift box. Inside the gift box were a new robe and a sexy cami and short set. After lathering your skin with the lotion that smelled like coconuts, roses, and cocoa butter, you put the items on. When you turned around there, Lewis stood leaning on the door jamb, just quietly watching you.

 “How long have you been there?”

 “Since you popped that delectable thigh up there,” he said, nodding to the bed.

Smiling, you tried not to feel embarrassed. He’d been watching since the very beginning and hadn’t made one sound.

 “How many times have I told you not to used your creepy martial arts stealth against me,” you teased as you walked across to him.

 “Once or twice, but I get the best shows when you don’t know I’m there,” he cooed into your ear before he placed and kiss on your neck.

 “Mmm, you smell so good,” Lewis added, biting your shoulder, making you moan and melt against him. His hand slid down the curve of your back to grip your backside, again making you moan.

 “I like this,” he huskily mentioned.

 “Not sure who you bought it for, me or you.”

 Lewis’s grip tightened on your flesh, pulling you closer so you could feel the beginning stirs of his arousal.

 “Mmm, is that also for me?”

 You lifted a leg and wrapped it around him, making his grip change, so his fingertips gently brushed your sex. The action made both of you groan. When you felt his member thicken even more, you slipped your hand between you to rub your hand against his crotch. Lewis sucked in a breath, then grunted.

 “Behave, princess,” he said before you felt him pinch your clit, sending a hot red blaze of desire through your body.

 Lewis lowered your leg, turned, and led you out of the bedroom and down the stairs. When he brought you into the living room, you stopped in your tracks to find the biggest pillow and blanket fort you’d ever seen. Excitement bubbled in you, which had you jumping and screeching as Bear scurried by your feet.

 “Oh my god, baby. A pillow fort? Aaah!”

With that, you ran around the living room, looking at everything he’d managed to do. It was a small thing, but he knew how much you loved cheesy things like this. When you rounded to him, you leaped into his arms, wrapping your legs around him.

 “Oh, baby, thank you. I love it,” you said, kissing all over his face.

 “I’m glad you like it. It’s gonna stay up the whole week. It took forever.” Your smile was wide before you kissed him once, then twice. On the third kiss, you delved your tongue into his mouth and took control of a kiss you hoped showed him how much this and he meant to you. Lewis moaned on your mouth before his hands dropped to cup your ass. As if unconsciously, he angled you against his need, and in seconds you were making out and moaning. Lewis was the one to abruptly pull away and groan.

 “Let’s eat.”

 Dinner was amazing and perfect. While you ate, Lewis gave you complete control over what you watched. Not wanting to make him sit through some super sappy romance movie, you chose something with a good mix of action and romance. By the time you moved on to the second movie, dinner was finished, and you’d moved on to dessert. Again you melted when you saw just how much trouble he’d gone through for you today. The second gift he gave you was a gold bracelet with a heart with your first initial and his together, and the mandarin word forever etched on the back. That was when stray tears rolled down your face, to which Lewis whispered nothing but words of love, infatuation, and desire.

 Halfway through their third movie, your hands began their search for the warmth of his flesh. It didn’t take long for your search to go from innocent to complete debauchery.  You could tell your touch was having an effect when Lewis’s breathing sounded more and more labored, and the speed of his heartbeat increased underneath your cheek. The way his slim limbs looked in his boxer briefs had your teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Slipping your hand down his abdomen and over every ab, you slinked your hand unto his underwear. Lewis groaned.

 “What’re you doing, princess?”

 “What does it feel like, daddy?”

 He groaned, bit his bottom lip, then slightly arched when you gently gripped his shaft.

 “This is supposed to be a calm night for you. it’s not supposed to be about--.”

 His words paused, and breath hitched as your hand traveled lower to caress the balls of his manhood.

 “God, you’re killing me, baby.”

 “What am I doing?”

 When he looked at you, the innocence in your eyes hid his member visibly pulsate. The helplessness you saw in his eyes had you instantly wet. You swung your leg over him and straddled him, letting the heat from your core sear his hardness, branding him as yours all over again. Lewis sucked in a breath and leaned back on one of the mountains of pillows.

 “We don’t—you don’t have to—I just wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to show you how much I love you,” Lewis rushed out with great effort.

 “I love you so much for everything you did today. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it and you more than you’ll ever know,” you began.

 You then leaned closer to him so your face was right in front of his. He was close enough to kiss. All he had to do was take it.

 “It’s my turn to do something for you to show you how much I love you.”

 Once the words came out, Lewis’s lips were on yours. He kissed you intensely and passionately. It was a kiss that stole your breath. In no time, everything had flipped, including your body. You were now underneath him with your legs spread. As Lewis kissed you, he rocked his body against you, fanning the flames of your desire.

 “I love you,” Lewis whispered as you peeled his underwear off his hips. Lewis assisted you in sliding them lower until he’d kicked them off.

 Once you felt the heaviness of his need rest on your pubis, you moaned and wrapped a leg around his back. Lewis didn’t wait. In seconds he’d managed to pull off the shorts you wore and fling them somewhere in the room. From then, there was no need to go slowly.

 “Make love to me,” you whispered.

 Lewis locked eyes with yours and thrust forward, connecting your bodies. Both of you sighed out as if you’d found your sanctuary after a long day.

 “I love you,” you whispered on a strangled breath.

 His response was a kiss that spoke of nothing but languid need, while his thrusts said he needed you and needed you now. His thrusts were swift but deep, and they worked to drive you insane. Within minutes you were clinging to him, sinking your nails into his back. Every connection you clenched around him while panting his name. On every retreat, he whimpered yours.

 “You’re my world, Y/N.”

 You could see the truth of what he spoke in his eyes, and it brought you closer to the edge. Lewis sensed it and doubled down on his efforts to make you come undone.

 “Do you love me, princess?”

 “So much, baby,” you whispered before you gasped loudly.

 Your back arched, and seconds later, you were clenching around him as your orgasm tore through you. It was so powerful it dragged Lewis down with you. The two of you laid on the soft blankets of your fort, catching your breath. Lewis traced lazy patterns into your skin before he shifted onto his side, taking you with him. As you gazed into each other eyes, you fell in love with him all over again.

 “Thank you, baby.”

 “I’d do anything for you. Remember, I’m always here for you. You win, I win. You’re happy; I’m over the moon. You’re unhappy; my world is dark. Confide in me. I got you.”

 He kissed your nose and pulled you closer. It didn’t take long for you both to doze off completely exhausted.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 12 - Hidden City

Summary: The turtles go off in search of a new rift in the Hidden City

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Leo hated every part of this. The sun was up, so they should be down, and out of sight. He had known his counterparts long enough to know how loose they often played with the rules his family followed so diligently, but to take to the streets under the danger of daylight for something that could easily wait for the blanket of night was absurd! In his two decades of life, Leo could count the amount of daylight explorations he had taken on two hands; the risk was hardly ever worth it. Despite the prickling insecurities inside him, Leo pushed himself onward to follow Raphael’s lead. This city was so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. So easy to get lost in. Leo found himself picking out familiar buildings to assure that this place was still New York, even in this toony world so colorful that he could almost believe a pallet of paint had been spilled over it. This was New York and New York would always be home, even if home was a whole dimension away.

Raphael’s guidance brought the group of anxious turtles to an alleyway. They dropped down from above; Leo felt a shutter go through his body, a cold chill seizing his senses and stealing away his breath as he passed through something that seemed almost… green. The sudden shock made him stutter, his balance unsteady enough to knock over a trash can upon landing. With a clutter and a clang the silver bin fell and rolled, several more loud crashes sounding off each time it hit something. The eyes of Donnie and Raph turned to the shock-stricken Leo, who could only stare with his wide, cerulean eyes. The people walking past in the streets to either side, just feet away from what they’d see as monsters, didn’t stopped. Leo let himself breathe and the three brothers, muscles still tensed and ready to hide at the slightest sign of trouble, moved back into a tight formation around their younger counterparts.

“What are we doing here?” Leo couldn’t contain it anymore and he had to ask. His voice was a low whisper. “We could be seen!”

“Relax.” Leonardo laughed, and his voice wasn’t at all soft. He was met with three sets of shhhhh from the Splintersons, but laughed each of them off, “This alleyway has a mystic shimmer. We can see them.” He cleared his throat, “BUT THEY CAN’T SEE OR HEAR US!”

True to his word, the people in the street kept on their way as if the turtles didn't even exist. So that was what Leo felt! What had made him stumble!  The cautious tension in Donnie was immediately replaced by heart-fluttering curiosity. He couldn’t resist a high-pitched whistle, striding away from the group before Leo could say a word to stop him; he went as close as he dared to the end of the alleyway, waving and laughing and calling out to the streets with, to his utter joy, no response.

“This is so cool this is so cool this is so cool!” Donnie’s voice got higher with each repeat, flapping his wrists, “W-what is it, some type of four-lensed blind spot? O-or something using metamaterials or—?”

“Noooo, it’s mystic.” Leonardo said, and with a snap of his fingers Michelangelo perked up. He removed a small item that had been hidden in the rainbow pouch around his neck, the artifact attached to him by a slim golden collar; it was almost like a keychain he hung around his neck. “And so is this.”

Leo eyed the little trinket curiously; in shape, it was similar to Donatello’s gift, except with greens and golds instead of orange and reds. He could have mistaken it for an oddly colored compass with kanji if he hadn’t seen that familiar, lop-sided M in the middle. The compass itself was pointing directly at the wall, glowing the most vibrant neon and pulsing slightly. Leo could feel the energy radiating.

With a hand as steady as a seasoned artist, Michelangelo traced the trinket across the wall using the M as a guiding map. Before the astonished eyes of the Splinterson brothers, the compass left what looked almost like a trail of paint in its wake, except it didn't drip, and when Michelangelo had completed his work it began to glow. It was green at first, then shifted into a soft baby blue, and then into white as the faux paint finally started to drip and melt into a doorway. Leo felt an immediate draw toward it, like the force that would try to lasso them into Leonardo’s rift except not as strong. Raph gave a simple hiss in response, pulling back and shaking his head while Donnie did the exact opposite, reaching for the rift as if it were the most precious treasure. 

“I thought only your Leo could make rifts…” Leo said.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Leonardo asked, dancing over to stand proud at Leo’s side, “Portals are the only way into the Hidden City!”

“Hidden City?” Raph breathed through his teeth, eyes still fixed on the rift.

“Yeah!” Raphael said unhelpfully, “You three should stay close to us; the mystic types can be pretty jarring for first timers.”

Raph started to say, “I think I can handle them” before he felt a gentle tug at his hand. Raph looked to see Michelangelo holding his hand, resting his full weight against Raphael’s arm without the older mutant so much as flinching. Michelangelo’s eyes were wide, the colors flowing in them like a warm sunset as he beamed up at his friend.

“Don’t be scared, Raphie! You can hold my hand if you want to!”

“Uh…” Looking down at this tiny, vibrant young shinobi that barely came up to his stomach in height, Raph couldn’t say anything except, “Y-yeah, sure. Thanks kid…”

Michelangelo have a happy giggle and wiggled his joy. He snatched Donnie with his other hand before the tallest box turtle could get very far.

“You can hold my hand too, Donna!”

“Donna?” Raph breathed through his nose, then laughed, “Hell yeah. Down with the patriarchy.”

Donnie, upon being grabbed by Michelangelo, had much the same reaction as Raph. He didn't know what to do, and then he fell to soft adoration as he realized he would do anything for this kid.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Can I hold your hand too?” Leo asked brightly

Michelangelo’s expression flattened. “Only got two hands, Leon.”

Donatello cleared his throat and stepped forward to motion the first group through the rift. “Please keep your hands and feet inside the mystic rift until the ride has ended, keep all personals close as we will not be liable for any limbs or items that may turn up missing. Keep your shells on, your heads low, and watch out for portal jackers as we take this small voyage to Run-Of-The-Mill pizza.”

With that, Michelangelo and the two other box turtles that had to crouch to be able to hold his hand went through the rift without fear. Leo, his mouth still hanging open, turned to look at Raphael, who could only shrug before going through the rift himself. 

“Lady’s first~” Leonardo gave what could have resembled a polite bow if not for the mocking tone, motioning Leo through first.

Leo sucked in a breath, shaking the nervous jitters like water off a duck's back before he stepped through. The pull was very much so like the rift he and his family had taken to wind up in this world to begin with, except less painful. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in… a restaurant?

The smell of cumin and Chili filled the air. The feeling of the polished floor under Leo’s feet was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Like ice, except not cold; soft, but hard at the same time if that was possible. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building and more details were quick to come to him; wooden booths with dark brown cushions and tables clean enough to shine under the candlelight that filled the restaurant; the candles, it seemed, were held up by nothing at all! They were shaped almost like they were living; Leo thought it nothing more than a cool design before he realized they actually were living! Living candles with curves and form almost like human women, their hair the flaming candle wicks and the bottom of their shafts flowing out like a ball gown! Closer still and Leo could even begin to make out tiny, detailed faces!

“You want your normal seats I presume?” 

Leo blinked and shook his head as the familiar voice brought him back down to earth. Though he hadn’t seen Hueso in just over two years, the skeleton man had hardly changed at all. The calaca’s white pupils danced across the group with a curious hum.

“And shall I double your usual then?” Hueso queried.

“Bone man!” Leonardo explained, scooping Hueso up in a hug before the older yokai could make his escape. “Good to see ya!”

“Wish I could say the same.” Hueso grumbled, then added bitterly, “Problem child…”

“And that’s why you love me!” Leonardo blew a kiss, “Now Hueso, you remember the other us’s, right?”

“Unfortunately, it’s a pleasure to remake your acquaintance.”

Hueso was met with three half-hearted mutters of greeting; none of the Splintersons were even looking at him! Why would they when there were so many different creatures to see? In most every booth and table and barstool were mutants out of a fantasy book; beings even Donnie couldn’t single out as anything familiar! Some of them had characteristics that could have been compared to more natural animals— tentacles and fangs and frills. Creatures as big as an elephant or small as a shrew, with varying table sizes to accommodate all in between.

“Hey, listen bone man.” Leonardo tried to whisk Hueso away for a private conversation, but Hueso ducked to avoid the fate. His eyes and Leonardo’s were locked until Leonardo backed down, “We need a favor.”

“Don’t you always?” Hueso asked, “Seems every time you come to pay a visit it is for your own gain.”

“What? Noooo! Me? Noo!” Leonardo scoffed, waving a dismissive hand and laughing before quickly giving up the ruse, “It’s important this time. We need to find a yokai who sells decent rifts at an affordable price, and we need it like yesterday if we want to get these boys home.”

Hueso hummed, bringing his fingers to his mouth as he considered. “Define affordable.”

“Somewhere in the price range of… eight hundred US dollars or nine thousand Japanese yen.” Donatello said.

Hueso hissed through his teeth. “You won’t get any that cheap. Cheapest I know of would be Monroe, but quality rifters at his place run upward to three million pesos.”

Donatello took out his phone and ran some quick calculations. “Okay guess we’re not eating this month.”

“Wish I could be of more help pepino.” Hueso said, turning to leave while he was still talking, “I’ll go get you directions to Monroe.”

~~~

“This looks like the place…” Donatello said, and he indicated a small sliver of alleyway squeezed between two tall buildings.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Raph huffed; Michelangelo still had a tight hold on his and Donnie’s hands for support.

“But it is discrete though.” Donnie pointed out; his mind was still wandering, trying its best to soak up the tangled stimuli from the buildings and the mutants that looked almost like something out of a cartoon! Like a child had drawn these characters and these structures and planted them together in a bright, yet disorienting, array of flashing colors. “I’d hate to be an epileptic in this place…”

“Are we… gonna be able to fit through there?” Leo asked, his question directed toward Leonardo.

Leonardo flashed Leo a warning glare before saying, “Raph, are you and the guys gonna be able to fit?”

Raphael gave a low whine. His beak crinkled in concentration as his first idea was to simply walk forward, which proved him too wide. Then he huffed and turned sideways, but was still too bulky. It seemed Raphael ran out of ideas, so Donatello cleared his throat.

“If I could direct everyone’s attention slightly upwaaaard~”

Following his motion, they found what could have resembled a bell hanging above the alleyway. It looked as if it were made of slime with little chunks of something floating inside. Raph cringed at the sight of it, but Raphael gave a far too curious ooo and reached to touch it. Leonardo quickly stepped between Raphael and the slime-bell.

“No no no no, no no. No.” Leonardo said, forcing Raphael back, “Bad Raph.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat it.” Raphael pouted.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. Raphael stuck out his bottom lip and tapped his fingers. 

“Okay I was gonna eat it. You can ring it.”

“Eh… not sure if I want to…” Despite his words, Leonardo reached up and took the slimy rope of the bell, a texture not unlike a worm, and yanked on it. Instead of ringing, it gave off a sound like a foghorn blowing that made every turtle cover their ears, though Leonardo removed his hands from his head just as quickly when he realized it was still covered in slime. “Ew ew ew ew—“

There was a pop and they were swallowed by a slimy, green bubble. What followed was mixed reactions of terror and disgust as they moved into a tighter group, shell to shell with the bigger ones surrounding the smaller. The bubble lifted then off their feet and through the wall like they had no matter at all, carried past the narrow door and lowered to the ground on the other side before the slime bubble popped and left them confused and disgruntled.

“What is this place?” Donnie was the first to separate from the group to look around. The space around them was not unlike an auction house, filled with all sorts of items on display. They filled shelf after shelf after shelf, placed around with no true order. Looking up would reveal several more floors, all just as filled with artifacts and creatures for purchase, with a convenient opening through the middle of each floor.

“Looks like some sort of witchy auction place…” Raph commented. Not to be outdone by his younger brother, Raph separated and started to investigate the place for himself, “How does a grimy grifter get a place like this?”

“Wait a minute…” Leonardo frowned as he looked around, “Wait— I know this place.”

Raph picked up a gem-encrusted chalice, turning it around curiously. “Huh. Fancy.”

“Raph, don’t touch anything.” Leo groaned.

“What?” Raph scoffed, “Guess you don’t want me to do this either, huh?”

He began to juggle the chalice with surprising style.

“Raph, stop that!” Leo tried to intervene, but that only seemed to egg Raph on. He danced out of Leo’s reach, laughing as he pretended to drop the decor before catching it at the last second, “I’m serious!”

Raph only laughed. At least, he was laughing until he actually did drop it— right on the head of a small, purple yokai who had been observing the scene, as still as one of his statues. Raph swore, trying to recover the drop but it was too late. It sank into the yokai’s head as if he were made of pure gelatin, and they could still see the gold through the flesh and skin. The purple yokai blinked, and Raph screamed.

The purple yokai’s skin shifted into flowing rings of yellow and orange that forced the chalice up and out of his head, into his hand. He didn't look like much— something akin to a slug if anything— with a soft beak and a snaggle tooth like Raphael’s only smaller. He breathed onto the chalice and wiped it off with his sleeve before placing it back on the shelf.

“Please don’t touch.”

“YOU!” Leonardo pointed accusingly, “You’re that slug guy who sold me wallet-stealing hair! You’re Monroe?!”

“That’s a talking slug—” Raph withdrew back into the crowd of his brothers, eyes wide. 

Donnie gasped, pulling his goggles down over his eyes and advancing as quickly as Raph had retreated. The slug drew into himself, his entire body constricting like a squeezed stress ball. Leo visibly cringed, while Raphael and his brothers didn't seem all that bothered beyond a few yawns or comforting pats for Raph.

“This is incredible— there’s compounds in him that fail to be isolated or traced!” Donnie picked up one of the slugs arms to investigate every inch of him. “He doesn’t even seem to be carbon based at all; there’s elements I can’t even identify— what…?” Donnie pulled up his goggles as the astonishment gave way to a confused frown, “Is— is he a mutant?”

“No.” Donatello scoffed.

That was met with three very confused box turtles casting side glances. 

“Are… are any of them mutants?” Leo asked.

Leonardo laughed, “What? You though every yokai in the Hidden City was mutated by Draxum and his army of mutant mosquitoes? Ha! W-what dumb idiots would think that?” Leonardo was visibly sweating.

“Not these dumb idiots, that’s for sure.” Donatello tried to brush past, scratching his neck.

“W-wait, so none’a them guys we passed were mutants?” Raph asked, pointing back at the door.

“Well, some of them might have been, but the majority? No; they’re yokai and cryptids.”

“Yokai…” Donnie breathed, and that astonished look returned to his face as he continued to circle Monroe, “They exist in your world? Oh my kama this just keeps getting better—“

“Don.” Raph whistled as if Donnie was a dog, “Buy first, geek later.”

Monroe’s eyes lit up at that and he pulled himself away from Donnie to give a polite bow to the rest of the group. “If sales you wants, sales I’s gots! I gots artifacts from all around the world, from the tombs of Giza to the ancient Amazons. If you needs it, I gots it!”

“Great!” Raphael clapped. “Cause we need a high quality rifter.”

Monroe sank into himself. “Not that’s I don’t gots…”

A visible vein twitched in Leo. “What?”

“I solds out…” He frowned, tapping his nubby hands together.

“WHEN?”

“Like ten minutes ago, don’t yell at me.” The slug quivered, his eyes like saucers.

Leonardo sucked in a slow, deep breath, “Who bought them, Monroe?”

“Oh, an andoroido with a nice voice ands such manners. He’s having buying all my rifters. He’s very rich.”

“All of them?” Raphael whimpered, “Y-you don’t even got a… a small busted one in the back?”

Monroe shook his head. “Not one! He was be very insistent he gets alls of them. But I do has a very special hover pod with your name witten all over it if you—“

“Not interested.” Leonardo quickly dismissed, pulling on his face in his frustration, “Great. We— we’ll find somewhere else to look.”

“But I is to be assuring you that no other shop has rifters worth your while…” Monroe said.

“That's what every illegal rifter peddler would say!”

“Not this illegal rifter peddler, I swearing it to you!”

“And I swear I’ll bust your teeth in if you’re lying…” Leonardo seized Monroe by the collar and lifted him up.

“Leo.” Raphael was quick to correct. His eyes met Leonardo’s for just a moment. That was all it took for Leonardo to relent and release the Yokai. Raphael made a quick point to help Monroe fix his shirt. “Sorry ‘bout that. If you happen to find a rifter you missed, could you give us a call?”

Without having to be asked, Donatello had already written up his phone number and placed it in Monroe’s hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any more contacts, do you Don?”

Donatello took a long, slow breath. “I’ll see what I can find.”

[what-the--curtains]

Not a Piece of Art

Part 1/4 - A Grudge Like No Other

(Javier Peña x f!reader)

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Summary: You’re tasked with an impossible mission and an even more impossible partner to complete it with.

Authors note: I have never not once seen narcos all I know if based on other fics I’ve read so pls be kind but let me know if anything’s wildly out of character! Also I’m aware forensics wasn’t a solid discipline (especially DNA fingerprinting) but we’re gonna pretend it is. Lemme know if you’d like to be tagged (or untagged) 😊

Tw: Mentions of fake parental death, swearing, mentions of sex

Word count: 4.1k

Tagged list: @agingerindenial @diogodxlot

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The morning sun radiates down on your shoulders as you lock the door to your apartment complex behind you. Despite the early hour it was already far too hot, but at least the humidity wouldn’t kick in until the afternoon. You’d been working in Colombia for a few months now, but the heat wasn’t something you’d ever get used to. You weren’t complaining, most days you preferred it to the frigid temperatures that painted your childhood. The frost bitten noses, wool socks and thick snow falls coating tree branches seemed all but a distant memory now. You’d settled on Columbia after your long time best friend Connie convinced you to take the universities offer. She had recently made the move down south and was eager to have you there with her.

She’d told you about the job and honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if she had marched down to the university herself and dropped off your resume. She’d flown up to Brown and helped you pack up your life and then unpack it after your arrival to the terraced apartment Connie had picked out for you both to live in. It was a decent size and the balcony was south facing which gave you all day access to the sun. When you weren't working you spent your time out there soaking up the sun and watering the small garden you had been tending to since your arrival. Your days were primarily spent at the university working out the finer details of the forensics lab you were hired to set up. Your PhD in forensic anthropology has left you with various laboratory based skills, including DNA analysis, making you a coveted asset to the campus. Whilst in school you had also completed an art certificate which came in handy when facial reconstructions were needed.

After everything was in place you began running samples, processing unidentified remains by working on dental ID’s and facial reconstructions, as well as testing for drug residue. Despite being run by the University your job wasn’t as research based as you would have hoped with your work often falling under the DEA’s jurisdiction. You weren't involved in their day to day protocols. You mainly just ran the tests, or identified bodies recovered from the crime scene only conversing with them when it was absolutely necessary. Police work wasn’t in your wheelhouse, and it wasn’t a profession you supported or believed in.

Many faces passed through your workspace all demanding your utmost attention claiming their projects to be the most important. One frequent flyer through the lab was Steve Murphy, who Connie had met down in Miami a few years back. His relationship to your friend was the only reason you had bothered to make an effort with him. A friendship was established between the two of you faster than you had expected, due in part to his easy southern charm, but mainly because he and Connie evidently had feelings for eachother. You always found it easier to get along with men who weren't trying to get into your pants which was, unfortunately, a frequent occurrence in the male dominated discipline you worked in. There was only one flaw you could attribute to Steve, his work wife, the other half of the DEAs “dynamic duo”, agent Javier Peña. You’d never been formally introduced to the man, but his reputation preceded him. His was a face that also made frequent appearances in your lab but you'd never spoken more than three words to each other which was, probably for the best. You had what some might deem a confrontational personality and from what you understood Peña was, to put it nicely, an asshole.

He always came in sporting a more casual look and sunglasses which he kept on despite being indoors, a habit that drove you up the wall. He’d tap the file on the glass to get your attention always making you walk the five extra steps to get to him. You didn’t bother to look up when he passed the beige folders to you just grabbed the file from his hands and added it to the pile on your desk. He’d started attaching yellow sticky notes with “put a rush on” scrawled across them in impatient handwriting, as if his case was more important than the remains you were currently working on identifying. Not talking was a strategic move on your part, you’d heard he was quite the charmer when he needed something done, and you weren't going to let him get away with that. You ran this lab, not Javier Peña. Was your dismissal of him warranted? Maybe not, but your gut instinct was usually right and the rumour mill had painted Peña in a very specific manner. You weren't about to let yet another hot headed alpha male who took “too much male energy” to an entirely new level into your life.

Unfortunately, your knack for avoiding him became nearly impossible when you were called out to work on a crime scene. Despite your refusal to work in the field, the remains couldn’t be moved so you had to go to them. The site was just far enough away that a daily commute would have been tedious so you, along with the dynamic duo and your forensic team were booked into a nearby hotel. You weren't sure what you'd done in your past life to piss off the gods but somehow you’d ended up sandwiched between Steve and Peña. Steve wasn’t the issue, apart from the TV which you’d hear blare spanish dubbed reruns of Miami Vice between 4 and 8 PM, he was a quiet, considerate neighbour. Peña, on the other hand, was neither considerate or quiet particularly during the late hours of the night while you were trying to sleep. Sharing a wall with the agent proved to be an issue, so much so that by the third day just looking at him filled you with such intense rage that you'd given yourself lockjaw.

Every night without fail you laid awake as the exaggerated, bordering on ridiculous, moans coming from whoever he'd enticed into bed that night reverberated through your shared wall. You'd tried it all, earplugs, pillows so forcefully wrapped around your head you were essentially smothering yourself, but the sounds still permeated through the plaster and into your head. On the fourth night when you heard the talking start you knew what you had to do. You furiously wriggle free from your sheets and make your way out into the hallway. You walk one door over and inhale deeply before aggressively pounding your fist on the door.

“Hey” you say, through gritted teeth.

“Hey?” a slightly disheveled Steve murmurs eyes squirting into the hallway’s bright lights as his arms cross clumsily over his bare chest.

“Look I hate to ask but can I sleep on your couch, the walls are thin and...”

“And Peña has a thing for loud women '' he finishes for you, shoulders relaxing as he opens the door up for you “surprised you lasted this long, come in i'll grab you some pillows”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here, I think I may have killed him in the field tomorrow if I didn't get at least an hour of sleep. Also this isn’t some tactic to get you to bed so you can stop trying to cover your modesty” You say wiping your eyes, as Steve drops his arms to his side laughing.

“I know, believe me, besides i'm sure you're aware I’m only interested in one person.” So he did have a thing for Connie.

“You should go for it, I think she'd say yes” you offer, even in your sleep deprived state you were still a pretty solid wingwoman.

“You think?” His eyes light up, further cementing your belief that Steve, despite being friends with Peña, was a good guy.

“Thanks” you murmur as he hands you some pillows and a light sheet. It's not long before the AC’s quiet hum draws you into a deep sleep.

The alarm blaring out from Steve’s room pulls you from your dreaming state, groaning as you squeeze a pillow over your head. Why was it that you always felt worse after getting a good night's sleep? You briefly doze off again only waking as the smell of burnt toast convinces your brain that either a fire has started, or you were having a stroke.

“Tryna burn this place down?” you mumble, relaxing back into the couch cushions as you watch Steve scrape the burnt bits off into the garbage before buttering it and taking a bite.

“You think you got enough sleep to not kill my partner this morning?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“No, but I did get enough to realize if I killed him in the field there'd be witnesses” you remark pouring coffee into a cracked mug. “Thank you for letting me sleep here “

“Anytime, though Javi should be the one thanking me considering I basically saved his life. Lucky were leaving today or I’d have to put him into protective custody.”

“And I'll never have to hear him ever again” you say suddenly feeling a bit better. You were glad for Steve being so accommodating to your needs, especially considering he didn't really know you that well. “Well I should go get ready for the day ahead what it's supposed to be out?”

“A balmy 40” Steve offers, as he washes your cup up in the sink.

“Wow I should have packed my snow pants when I moved down here.” you dead pan, the delivery causing Steve to snort as you exit the room. As you exit, Javier opens his door kissing the woman he’d spent the night with one last time watching as she strides off down the hallway. You don’t see him, but he sees you. Specifically, he sees you leaving his partner's room, and in nothing more than an oversized t-shirt, he raised his eyebrows. Good for Steve from what he’d heard half the department had been trying to get your attention to no avail. Your head was always buried in paperwork and your ears were always donning headphones blocking out small talk, maybe he should take a page from your book. He didn’t say anything to Steve in the field, but he did watch you interact with one another. Paying specific attention to how you'd made Steve laugh while photographing the murder weapon. Javi watched as you meticulously gathered up a few finger bones that he'd overheard you saying would be used for DNA fingerprinting. He'd tried to talk to you a few times this trip, but the second he'd stepped in your direction he noticed your jaw clench and your body tense up, not wanting to upset you he decided it was best to back off. After getting what you need you packed up your things and headed back home, with no intentions of ever having to interact with Peña for more than 5 minutes ever again.

Several months later

Your lab was now contracted out full time by the DEA which meant you still got to do research but you didn’t have to teach any teenagers which was quite frankly a dream. Unfortunately, the contract meant you'd now be spending time in two male-dominated fields. The boys club offered little that would qualify as genuine friendship. Turns out the ones brave enough to approach you were only nice to you because they wanted to sleep with you. Something you’d found out after overhearing a less than true story about you from one of the guy’s you’d hooked up with. After that you’d stopped sleeping where you work and started looking elsewhere. Your few short lived romances were mainly found in dive bars only going home with people that had been thoroughly vetted (and vaguely threatened) by yourself, Connie and Steve. Who was now a relatively permanent fixture in your life after finally asking Connie out, and you really didn’t mind it. He was good to Connie and he never minded being excluded when you needed a girls' night without him. You also assumed the decrease in misogynistic talk amongst the agents was Steves doing, you made a mental note to thank him later, as you took another swig of the beer you’d been nursing for the past hour.

Steve was still inseparable from Peña and where he went Javi was sure to follow. Your inability to not become enraged by him meant you often found yourself leaving the room as soon as he showed up, subsequently cutting your Connie time in half. Devastating both you and her.

“You know he’s not really as insufferable as he acts” Connie states, Javi was due to show up any minute which meant it was just about time for you to leave.

“ You're not gonna sell me on this” you say, chewing on a stale nacho chip from food you’d ordered hours ago.

“Seriously, he's almost nice sometimes” your pointed look tells her to drop it. Connie was nothing if not resilient and you were constantly amazed by her. You don’t know how she worked as a nurse. You had a hard enough time with the dead, how she also dealt with the living as well was beyond you. She was a quantifiable saint which was probably why she saw the good in Peña.

“Remind me to never make you mad” Steve says.

“No one holds a grudge quite like her” Connie exclaims

“Awe you say the sweetest things about me” you retort after finishing the last of your beer.

“Alright well I’ve got an early morning shift so we should be heading out, tell Javi I say hi” Connie says kissing Steve before the two of you exit the bar.

“Are you really going to keep up this affront against Javi?” Connie asks, interlinking your arms together as you exit the bar.

“Yes, now please and can we stop talking about Peña even thinking about him gets me riled up”

“I thought you said you hated him” she teases causing you to roll your eyes.

“Please don't make me gag” you say pulling a face that causes you both to break into a giggle fit.

“What up her ass? Seriously, am I infectious or something?” Javi asks, slumping down across from Steve who's filling out paperwork at his desk.

“Well considering your history, probability is pretty high” Steve quips back earning him a thwack to the head with a folder you’d dropped on Peña’s desk earlier that morning.

“You know her, what's her deal, why does she hate me?”

“Everyone hates you Javi, it’s a fundamental part of your personality” Steve laughs.

Javier usually wasn’t one to concern himself with how others perceived him, but his work frequently overligned with yours and he figured his life would be made infinitely easier if he could get into your good books. Sure, at first his intrigue in getting to know you was purely physical. He knew looks aren't everything, but for what he wanted, they played a fundamental part. He wasn’t the only person to have noticed you the day you showed up, all eyes were on you as you walked through the DEA embassy for the first time. Your arrival had sparked a competitive energy amongst the men with the agents often vying over who got the honour of dropping off case files to you. A few were apparently even so lucky to have actually spent the night, at least that's what he’d overheard some agents proclaiming loudly, making him doubt their validity.

He’d cracked down on what some would call “locker room talk” when he thought you and Steve were sleeping together, after seeing you leave his room early that one morning. Though if Steve had been spending nights with you he’d never brought it up to Javi, and after he started dating Connie there never seemed a right time to ask about you, so he let it go. He’d gotten more proactive with stopping it once you’d been hired on full time. He’d upped his guard when he’d caught one trying to cop a feel of your ass the day you had been called in on your day off. You’d come in wearing a skirt shorter than what would be considered workplace appropriate gaining you more attention than usual. He noticed the guys hand drop down low, but any contact was stopped when Javi smashed the guys arm back into the wall behind him. In most cases a move like that would have earned him a swift punch to the face but a simple raise of his eyebrows was enough to get the pervert to sit back down.

Despite the scene playing out a few feet from you, you never noticed carrying on about your day as if nothing had happened, headphones on, paperwork in your arms and various scrawlings across your hand, reminders of meetings he knew you'd be late to anyways. He assumes your chronic lateness was a tactic to spend as little time around him as possible. Your hatred for him was palpable, he wondered if it was as obvious to everyone else as it was to him. He'd noticed how you would stand in meetings when the only seat available was next to him. It was starting to get to his ego. He wanted to know what he possibly could have done to be treated like the scum of the earth by you. He’d heard from Connie that you didn’t like cops, but you got on fine with Steve. Your lives continued on with minimal interaction until the day you were called into the head of the DEA’s office.

“Office now!” your boss shouts from the door. Fuck. What have you done now?

“Hey you need something?” you ask, lips parted and forehead wrinkled, feeling like a child who’d just been called to the principal's office. Your head snaps to the left when you feel eyes boring into you, eyes belonging to Peña. He shifts around in the chair to escape your violent gaze. You turn to Steve who's gazing up at the ceiling.

“I have the dental results here for the missing persons from the case last week, it’s a match, I know it's late but...”

“It's not that,” he gestures his hand to the chair beside Peña and you sit, placing the documents down on the table. Javi cranes his neck slightly, eyes darting over the various statistics strewn across the page surprised you were able to piece it all together.

“You have an art degree right?”

“I have an art certificate” you correct

“and you paint”

“A bit”

“She was featured in local galleries back in the States” Steve pipes up.

“ Good, we need you to go undercover” you snort before laughing aloud. Your amusement quickly fades when you realize no one else was laughing with you.

“Wait you're serious? You want me... to go undercover? I'm not an agent, I can’t use a gun, I don’t think I've even held one before” you say, tearing through all the excuses you could think of.

“You can shoot a bow and arrow,” Steve pipes up.

“Ya very different instrument Steve, also does Connie tell you everything about me” he shrugs his shoulders.

“You won’t need a gun anyways, you'll have a trained agent with you at all times.” Your boss reassures.

“No. No way! Im sorry but this… this is beyond the scope of my work and my skill set” you assert, not budging.

“You’ve been to crime scenes before, you’ve been in dangerous scenarios, excavated mass graves, we need you you’re the only one who can help with this”

“Why? You have multiple agents out there who would kill to go undercover, why me?” you push

“ Your background, and relative anonymity. There's been an increase in art dealing amongst the sicarios.”

“So what? Maybe they just really like art.” you offer

“Does anyone really like art” Peña pipes up

“ Yes, the whole world actually” you shoot back, successfully shutting him up.

“We think they're using convincing fakes to smuggle drugs without suspicion” Steve offered, helping to clear up the situation.

“Okay... then hire an art expert to go in and see if the paintings are real”

“We need you to test for residue on the paintings, and to recreate one in time for the next move”

“Okay im good, but I am not good enough to recreate a painting worth thousands of dollars.”

“From what I’ve seen you are,” Steve says further cementing your fate.

“What if I say no?” you ask, exhaling deeply.

“Then you're fired” Javier pipes up, once again causing your head to turn to him.

“And who, pray tell, made you judge, jury and executioner” you spit “last time I check Javier Peña wasn’t the one signing my paychecks”

“No, but I am, and you will do this” Your boss's backing of Peñas statement makes the smirk on his face even more aggravating.

“Fine, but just know I will be personally mentioning you all in my will so everyone knows exactly who got me killed, and I'm gonna want a raise, more vacation time and a new piece of lab equipment if I make it out alive. ”

“Fine” you smile feeling slightly vindicated.

“So what's my story? Who am I to have a million dollar painting in my possession?” you ask, as your boss pulls up a document on his computer.

“You’ll go by Melanie Alverez nee Smith, you were born in London England to parents Maria and Calvin who passed in a car accident four weeks after your nineteenth birthday”

“Shit” you mutter, thinking about your own parents who were very much alive.

“You dropped out of Oxford where you were undertaking a degree in chemistry and moved to New York where you began painting. You were a struggling artist for the first two years but received funding to attend Julliard. After graduation your first major piece was accepted by a local gallery and put up for auction. It sold for 10,000$. The buyer wanted to meet you after seeing your photo. He’d sent thousands of flowers to your gallery before showing up and asking you on a date.

“Must be nice” you murmur

“After a whirlwind romance you eloped and moved down to Columbia where you continue to work as an artist.”

“Alright easy enough, short live romance is a good call that can be used to explain why we don’t know certain information about each other.”

“You'll be staying here” A huge spanish style house appears on the screen. Its prestige was only overshadowed by the mansion looming over it from across the private beach. Must be the target's house, you think.

“It was built by the target, he lives there with his fourth wife. He’s rich, sources claims from drug smuggling, they think he may even have direct links to Escobar

“Like, as in Pablo?” you ask, eyes widening.

“Apparently he’s his art dealer. We need you to go in and see what he knows, if it's not enough then test the paintings in their homes”

“And if they trace?”

“You'll give them the fake implemented with a tracking device so we can target its route.”

“Okay well I'd say easy enough but the threat of being murdered isn’t lost on me. Who's my husband anyways? Obviously he’s rich but did he tragically fall down the stairs and die, did I kill him?” you ask, smiling as Steve laughs.

“What?” you say looking up

“What...” you say as Steve refuses to meet your eyes as he chokes on his laugh.

“Well you haven’t killed him yet but I give it a week.” He responds.

“Who's my husband” you ask, again suddenly afraid and very aware that there were two men in this room, and one was currently laughing at you.

“Your lucky day sweetheart.” Your head turns comically slow to face Javi, the effect only causes Steve to snicker more.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” you whisper.

“This mission is anything, but a joke.” your boss interjects “If we can trace the arts movement it brings us one step closer to catching Escobar. I don’t know why there's animosity between you two and frankly I do not care. You two must work together. If you are to succeed you have to be believable. Study up on each others aliases the target hasn’t made it this far without being killed by being stupid. We’ve tried to get to him before with no success, he will be on high alert. You two will have to convince him, and his wife, that you’re sincere.”

[ohmygodtheywereparabatai]

CONTINUED FROM!!

Nose is back to the Zhaang grindstone! @theboyfrommakapu let me borrow their tough little nut Mizuki, and as 2021 can and should be the year of Dad!Zhao (and Flame was instrumental in the effort ✨)... 

—

Aang bent the cord around his finger, waiting, in much moroseness, for the line to answer.

“Chief Beifong speaking.” A soft chuckle peppered the other end. “Did you know I’ve started tapping into the wires? Copper, silver - they run all over the place, tingle a little when someone flips a switch. I can almost tell you’re nervous, Twinkle Toes. Quit fiddling with the cord.”

How did she...?

Nevermind. Toph’s abnormally dense interconnection with the world would prove useful another time.

“I...” Aang cut to brass tacks. “I lost him.”

“What?” -a creaking desk, then a stern officer folding over the cheeky old- “When? His bending’s diddly-squat in the surface world. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I know, I know. It was-”

“Don’t expect my men to find your prized fossil and return it to the Zei Museum. You’re the one who begged me to keep this under wraps.”

He squeezed in a smile, hoping to feign confidence. “I wouldn’t pain you with the paperwork, Toph. Besides, it’s out of our hands. Bumi’s handling it. Well, he worded it differently, but... he promised the search would be short. In the meantime, just - keep an eye out, will you?”

“Aang.” The voice turned from scratchy to uncomfortably firm, clear as if she were right behind him. “You said he wasn’t dangerous. Now you’ve got top-notch eel hounds on his scent.”

You had better expect a visit, were her last regards. The line snapped shut, leaving him with a limp cord and heavier phone than when he’d dailed.

Aang shifted, lips tightly pursed before the air was sucked out of him in a groan. “Monkey feathers...”

—

Trees.

For a handful of miles offshore where he’d dragged his weight off a humble boat, lower half caked, gritty, and buried to the soles in sand - trees.

It was a relief.

The city was a noose. Like he could sense its tailspin out of trajectory as the safe haven of the world risen from the four nations… now a reeking, hot swamp.

Not of smell - of lost souls. The indebted, distressed, heartbroken, restless. Even a switch sent ripples. He heard enough from his own mind.

Climbing over a rock as the wind rustled and sun warmed his hands (oh, how the sun felt on his skin) Zhao found his urgency suddenly depleted. He was well inland, well surrounded to muffle the thick of civilization.

The sun’s touch grew cooler by the time he sorted out the dissonance; someone had been weeping - the lights were too bright - traffic had blared and their shrieking carried over. It was a noise he expected to see printed in the… called the… newspaper, if Zhao could be so bothered.

He finally stirred when a faint ringing sharpened to a painful, yet balanced point - smoothed to exude an artful control. In the whirlwind settled one thought:

Fire.

He fumbled out of the way (apparently so inert that a mistaken frog squirrel scampered off his chest) just as an arrow planted in his sleeve.

Zhao yanked it out on the third tug. Before his senses were aligned he was sprinting for cover, because if nothing kicked in, training did - the fletching provided the revered accuracy and spin of the fire swan… to the extent of his years, found nowhere else.

If only training brokered with his physical state and found some hidden reservoir of adrenaline. Compared to feet gracing the treetops and sailing within range in seconds, he was a leaf trying to escape a stone. His shoes dunked in creek water, turned nonsense corners to bewilder the immovable upon him. Arrows plunged in Zhao’s trail - the first one hadn’t pierced him.

It could have, easily.

So, at least one person in the world preferred him alive-

The denounced admiral lost his head start; his ears pricked at the ripping of a seam before his back lodged to a tree. “No—!” He was their pin cushion before he could recognize the grate of bark.

A group of less than dozen descended from the canopy, their focus as deathly still as Zhao was forced to hold - nocked like the bow, even now. Then the leader swung down in front of him, ten steps short of her squad.

Lithe. Tightly bound hair. Unsettlingly familiar eyes.

“Pathetic. No wonder you were the last candidate for the Natural Leadership Award.” The what? “It went to Admiral Tung - he couldn’t start a fire without his hands.”

He must have stared in a way that made their distance transparent. Her frown aged her, too much.

“What’s the blue smear on your forehead?”

No answer. The archer struck him over the temple, hard; the resulting darkness wasn’t as merciful as to be dreamless.

—

… Two hours before the commander made landfall, he served (against his will) as a conduit for the last ten decades, lobes picked clean.

The encampment was secluded, scattered in the trees with stuffed straw rooted in rows. Arrows that had pierced already split targets, embers in the dark where game was strung over pits. Somewhere over the treetops was the crash of indolent waves.

Zhao would have made his peace with the circumstances if it weren’t for the rope affixing him to a tent’s post and the incessant girl.

An ambush squad; the leader seemed to be convinced Zhao was so ancient that he hailed from Szeto’s time. Or she was mocking him. At this point, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t as well-preserved as the Avatar led him to believe. The Spirit World reject’s head pounded. How was he tracked this far?

“Were you eligible for the land grants after Minister Szeto’s relief fund was exceeded by thousands of ban? Did you move to the islands? Do you have family there still?”

“I’ve never-”

Her brows settled knowingly. “Ah, so you were one of the needy who joined the warring clans to survive. Did Szeto show you mercy? Did he use Firelord Yosor’s stamp and feed your hungry for months?”

“No! I was-”

“You’ve never stood in his presence?”

“I haven’t, I don’t plan to, and unless you have some sort of incentive I’ll resist throwing myself at the Avatar’s feet and begging him to contact his however-many-past-lives so you’ll shut your mouth.”

“Ai,” her lip twitched, “Grandfather Zuko did that already. Szeto was busy tallying entries in the spirit world on his famous abacus. Did you know? It was carved from-”

“I did not!” He snapped, and until his thoughts caught up with him, Zhao was just short of fuming. He heard it then - and balked.

“G… Grandfather?” His eyes flickered, the weight of the crown steeping the room like a tea prepared with lead. The archer blinked innocently, folded forward on her stoop. “Who are you?” Zhao demanded.

“I think you know.” She stood up, stretching idly. He was no threat - not to the Yuyan, not to a princess. “You talk in your sleep. Almost confessed to putting thorns in Uncle Aang’s shoes. Other than that, dragons, Firelords… my father. How do you know so much?” The archer muttered to the side, “and so little…”

Maybe he should run from the island more often. Next time he could shake hands with the president. “I didn’t- wasn’t aware… you were…”

But he did see things, didn’t he? For the same reason he’d fled the city, and the Avatar’s tour of the park backfired before he could point out his favorite birds in the trees.

Zhao, at least, could figure where he’d seen those eyes.

The same boy who reached out when he could have let him fall - the same old man who’d tried to guide him from a spiraling path. Wise in ways the all-powerful Firelord was not. Strangely, his lips moved on their own.

“He does care.” Zhao’s arms were chafed and mosquitos had taken to vintage blood like a honeypot - what did he care, for one? “You don’t have to believe me. I’m not the Knowledge Spirit - now that one was a pain in the ass - but you heard it from me, and I know what I know. He… is fond. Of you.”

Finally… a moment of quiet. Though it pressed like a blunt tip to his pulse.

Her resemblance wasn’t striking, not in the sense of royalty Zhao had known. The girl’s hair was lighter, her features sharp to a gentler fault - and no one capable of the royals’ level of skill would choose a bow over raw fists.

“Who?” The princess’s voice turned severe.

The bygone soldier blinked. “I think you know.”

She looked affronted, or twice as curious - stormed from the tent with the blazing corona of esteem and shaken pride dimming like her steps. The Yuyan were rumored to be silent as the spirits… Suppose some things made you mortal, made inescapably of flesh and burden.

Ages had passed since Zhao was in such a presence. He’d forgotten the family of condensed sunlight - forgotten his mission and how low he bowed at their feet.

He almost unconsciously straightened when she re-entered later with ease, a mask pinned tightly over the face that beamed in recitation of Szeto’s legacy. What’s wrong? Zhao wanted to mouth (before recoiling at his own instinct).

A tall, middle-aged man bolstered by boots and a shining coat ducked in suit. Instead of lowering a distasteful greeting on a lowly captive, he cracked a wide smile. “Got your steps in?”

“I haven’t seen Dad in such knots to find someone since Kya lost her lop-eared bunny. Hell-raisers,” he chuckled, “what can you do but keep an eye on them?”

The princess’s eyes narrowed, twin points tensed on a bowstring by themselves. Zhao swallowed.

“Uh… your daughter - was good company.”

Commander, Firelord - he acted like neither! - slid his hands in his pockets as men brushed past, hauling Zhao off his legs as blood rushed to receive him. A sideways wink was his answer, and while it baffled the Yuyan’s catch of the day, it bounced right off his child. How couldn’t she know she was adored? The commander gave off delight in overwhelming, sunny waves.

The Avatar’s son?

… Made sense.

Zhao’s hand slipped from under the soldiers’ hold, motioning with his fingers; a short goodbye, if anything. The young archer didn’t so much as glance over.

To think he’d set out to find quiet… He wanted to seek out the loudest voice he’d met since.

[gukyi]

step by step | knj

summary: being married and being in love are not the same thing. you and namjoon would know that better than anybody. but just because you married each other for business rather than by choice doesn’t mean you’ll never be able to love each other.

{arranged marriage!au}

pairing: kim namjoon x reader genre: fluff word count: 2k warnings: being awkward even though they’re literally married a/n: this drabble was commissioned for the #blacklivesmatter movement! thank you for commissioning me and supporting the cause. i hope that you enjoy!! this drabble definitely satiated my desire for an arranged marriage fic (actually, i think it made it worse?????)

The left side of the bed is always cold by the time you wake up. 

By the time the rising sun is beginning to stream through the Venetian blinds that line the windows of the master bedroom, by the time the morning rush hour has started, by the time a new day comes barrelling into your life, it’s almost as if no one was ever there to begin with. 

For two married people, you and Namjoon hardly ever see each other. Not when you work at the highest floor of two different office buildings, not when you come back home when the workday ends at five o’clock on the dot, and certainly not while you’re both lounging around his apartment, trying in earnest to make yourselves look as busy as possible. 

Namjoon wakes up, brushes his teeth, gets dressed, and makes himself coffee all before your alarm even goes off. Before the light of a new day wakes you from your slumber. You know because when you wander into the kitchen, pristine and practically untouched, you can still smell the roast, smell the deep, rich scent wafting through the air. It’s the only hint that there was ever someone else there. 

By the time you wake up, the dip in the left side of the bed has already vanished, the duvet neatly made, pillows perfectly fluffed. 

It feels like you’re living with a ghost. One that makes particularly good coffee. 

The fact of the matter is that you and Namjoon have never felt like you were married. You’re hardly even friends, just two acquaintances forced together by a long-standing business agreement and two fathers both of you have great difficulty standing up to. But a deal is a deal, even if it comes at the expense of your future. You will never be able to divorce him, never be able to separate yourself from him. Your family has relocated to a different city, you have no friends from university out here, and a pet has always been out of the question. 

You only have him. 

And it feels like he isn’t even there. 

You tug yourself out of bed, hands smoothing over the duvet, flattening the remnants of wrinkles. The sheets are tugged taut over the mattress, the same way that housekeeping in hotels do it, so tight that you can barely stick your feet up at the foot of the bed. The door to Namjoon’s wardrobe is closed, dresser drawers shut. Not a hair out of place. Slowly, you rise, the old dress shirt from a past fling hanging down over your frame. Has Namjoon ever even seen you in it? He always goes to sleep and wakes up before you. When you see each other in the apartment, you skirt away, ordering takeout from different restaurants and watching movies in different rooms. 

The smell of coffee floats towards the living room, that sort of warm, cappuccino feeling that makes your stomach growl. You open the fridge, and its contents look untouched. You’re not even sure if Namjoon uses any of these. Sometimes, a chef will come in to make some meals, leave them wrapped in foil or tucked into tupperware containers for the two of you to help yourself to, but most days there’s nothing except ingredients, waiting to be combined into something real. 

You pour yourself a bowl of cereal and set out to sit on the leather couch, pristine, unwrinkled, uncreased, unstained. Once in a blue moon will you return home to see Namjoon sitting there, watching a movie on the flatscreen and rubbing at his chin, lost in thought. When he sees you, he immediately turns off the television and darts into his office.

The penthouse is big enough as it is, but it feels enormous with the both of you living in it, like a museum exhibit. The floors are always polished, the shelves are always dusted, the books are always away, the countertop is always clean. It’s the sort of thing you’d see on Zillow, the sort of photo that people put into folders on Instagram titled “Dream House!!!!”. You’d be shocked if anyone thought two people actually lived here. 

You make yourself some tea, get dressed, and go to work. 

You come home a couple hours later than usual. A big holdup at work concerning a client, something that you had to stick around personally to fix as opposed to letting your secretary take care of most of the receptionist work. It’s draining, but it’s life. Sometimes, you wish you could just disappear, vanish off of the face of the Earth. Create a new identity for yourself in a city far, far away, away from your work, and your family, and the man you live with who doesn’t dare speak a word to you. 

The truth is, Namjoon already sort of makes you feel like you’re invisible. 

When you return home, you find Namjoon sitting on the couch with a book in his hands, thick-rimmed glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he curls into himself, knees tucked under his chin while he reads. There’s an empty bowl that smells faintly of garlic and meat on the end table, two chopsticks resting neatly on top. He’s so absorbed in the book, so deep within his own head, that he doesn’t notice you come in. 

For once, it’s nice not to see him skirt off like prey from a predator the moment he hears the lock of the door click. It almost makes it seem like the two of you really are married. 

Namjoon’s not a bad person. 

On the contrary, he’s rather endearing. He whistles when he showers (and sometimes sings if he’s feeling particularly brave) and makes sure all of the books lining the bookshelves are alphabetized. He commissions art from lesser-known artists to hang up on the walls, attaching a little placard at the bottom to make it seem like a real art exhibit. He didn’t freeze up when he found out the two of you were to be married, not like you did. He accepted his fate and told you that he swears it won’t even be like he’s there at all. 

He’s rather good at keeping promises. 

The unfortunate thing is that you figured out all of these things not from him showing you, or even telling you. You figured these out by noticing the changes in his apartment when he’s away at work, or tucked away in his office where you don’t have to meet his eyes. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder what more there is to him, what things you can only find out from him showing you. 

“What are you reading?”

Namjoon practically jumps out of his skin when he hears your voice, legs scrambling off of the couch as he slams his book shut and looks up at you, like a student caught reading in class by a teacher. He looks torn, like he can’t decide if he should just duck his head and run or actually face his fear and speak to you. 

“Oh, uh, it’s just a Korean philosophy book,” Namjoon says nervously, watching with trepidation as you sit down next to him, slow, slow, slow, until your back hits the cushion. 

“Is it good?” You ask. You’ve spoken more words to each other in the past thirty seconds than you have in the past two weeks. 

“It’s okay,” Namjoon tells you. At least he isn’t putting on a façade anymore. “I don’t really agree with this school of thought, but I thought it would be interesting to read.”

“Maybe you could tell me about it,” you suggest. It’s an open hand, an olive branch, a letter with a wax seal. It’s anything to make him feel like he doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around you. You aren’t friends, but you could be. You are married, but you can act like it, too.

“It’s kind of boring,” Namjoon tells you with a shrug. “I’ll sound like a Wikipedia article.”

“I don’t mind,” you say. You place a hand onto his lap, palm facing up. “You have a nice voice, Namjoon. I want to hear it more often.”

“Oh,” Namjoon tells you distantly, a hollow sound in the center of his chest. “I wasn’t sure—I mean, I guess I didn’t know that you didn’t mind this whole thing.”

“What whole thing?”

“Us,” Namjoon explains. “Living together. Being married. It’s okay if you think it’s weird,” he assures you, stumbling over his own words. 

“Just because I think it’s weird doesn’t mean I don’t want to make the most out of it,” you tell him honestly, because it’s true. Being married to Namjoon was not your first choice. It wasn’t even in your top ten. But it happened, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. So you might as well make it count, right? 

After all, the dream of a hopeless romantic is to only get married once. 

“I think it’s weird, too,” Namjoon says. 

“Good, I’m glad we’re in agreement on this,” you say, eliciting a soft, barely-there laugh from him. You’ve never heard Namjoon laugh before. Not at meetings, not at galas, not even when he thinks you’re not paying attention. It’s a nice, warm sound. You want to make him laugh again. “Maybe we can watch a movie later? Your choice, I’m fine with anything. Except horror, actually.”

“Oh, I hate horror movies,” Namjoon tells you. “They freak me out.”

It’s an interlocked hand. A single step. And it may be little, but a step is a step. A few more and you may actually be able to close the distance that sits between the two of you, like an impassable fog, a hazy, white mist. 

“I think we have popcorn,” you say. “I could pop some while you tee up a movie. Surprise me.”

Namjoon smiles, and it’s full and whole and real. It’s genuine, wide and toothy. He has a dimple on his left cheek. You never knew that. Namjoon dutifully turns on the television, flicking through all of the available options, as you fish through the once-untouched cabinets. Even if it’s as if everything has been organized like a supermarket, when you open the box of popcorn, it’s beginning to feel lived in. 

Three minutes later with a glass bowl of popcorn in your hands, you settle down onto the couch next to Namjoon. You aren’t close by any means, still a few inches apart, but you see the way he’s loosened up, unwound the wire in his heart. The movie begins, a foreign one that looks to be set in eighteenth-century France, and with every passing scene you feel yourself inching closer and closer to him, until your legs are touching and your shoulders knock into each other. 

As the two leads kiss on screen, you slowly let your head rest on his shoulder. He stiffens up like a statue, body running cold, and then he relaxes. Says nothing. 

Namjoon is someone you have learned about from the bits and pieces he leaves, open for the taking. But here, like this, he has become someone you want to know wholly. Want to memorize like the back of your hand. Marriage was not a choice. But what you make of it is. 

Slowly, the apartment begins to feel full. 

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

[eideticmemory]

EVER SINCE NEW YORK IV | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

Description: I was messaged saying: “If you don’t write a young Matthew enemies to lovers fic featuring an obsession with sucking on boobs then what’s the point 😔.” So, here it is, folks! The ultimate College!Matthew fic. Cover by @timey-wimey-lovi​!

PART 4! Read Part 3 here!

SOUNDTRACK:

Let Me Know - Clear Eyes.

Friends - Ed Sheeran.

Perfect Places - Lorde.

Word Count: 4,551.

Rating: M.

Warning/Includes: Sexual intercourse, drinking, recreational drug use, a bit of angst.

Fall, Junior Year.

Tisch School of the Arts, 

New York University.

New York City. 

“We’re going out tonight,” Claire said, plopping down on your bed. 

“Oh? We are?” You replied, a notebook in your lap, and your back resting against the pillows.

“Yes. There is a welcome back party on campus tonight and we’re going.”

“I don’t feel like partying,” you sighed. “We just moved back in. There’s still so much left to do, to unpack.”

“Guess what? It’ll be here when we get back. And we’ll have all of tomorrow to decorate. But right now, we’re juniors, we’re thriving, and we’re gonna party!” She did a little dance, her red hair bouncing on her head. 

You giggled, “Fine. Only until midnight! Then, we’re coming right back.”

“Geez, grandma? Midnight? Make it one!”

“Fine, one-thirty.”

“I’ll take it,” she smiled. She hopped out of bed, and turned on her heels, finger guns pointing at you. “Wear that red tube top. Step all the way out, kid. I mean it!”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

You wore the top. It looked good. Abnormally good. Insanely good. It hugged your body, and accented your breasts, little ruffles handing on the hem. You paired it with a loose pair of jeans, leather boots, and sparkly jewelry. Your hair was pulled out of your face and you applied light makeup. 

“Yes, ma’am!” Claire cheered when she saw you. “For someone who didn’t wanna party, you sure snapped.” 

“Hush,” you blushed. “I just wanna be prepared, y’know, in case we take pictures or run into people.”

Person. Singular. 

You anticipated a high chance of seeing Matthew tonight, and if it was true, it would be your first time seeing each other in person in two months. After week upon week of late night phone calls — full of dirty words, quiet moans, and soft goodnight wishes. With his timezone being three hours behind yours, the two of you set alarms on your phone to talk in the early hours of the morning. Until you fell into this routine of talking every night. First, helping each other get off — sometimes more than once. And then having a sleepy, giggle-filled conversation about anything under the sun. It regularly lasted until one of you fell asleep.

So, yeah. You were eager to see him. Even more eager to get back to his place. Get back underneath him. It’d been a week since you last spoke, both of you being too busy moving back to New York. You ached for him dearly. And you wanted his first reaction to seeing you again to be lustful, intense. The outfit was perfect.

Claire and you walked across campus, arm in arm, skin glowing under the lights, hair blowing in the breeze. The music was palpable, and you could hear it from miles away. The two of you stepped into the dorming building, giggling at the sight of familiar faces, the smell of alcohol and weed, the sound of bass. 

For most of the night it was easy to mingle. You carried a solo cup of alcohol from each room — vodka. Everytime you drank rum, you got horny. It was weird. You couldn’t turn a corner without bumping into someone you knew, be it a dancer, an actor, film student. Being a double major, and active on campus, you knew way too many people. And everyone seemed to be there that night. It took you a good hour to rotate amongst groups. 

“[y/n]?”

You turned around, a smile instantly appearing on your face. “Alex! Oh, my goodness! How are you?”

The dashing boy smiled at you, his hand on your shoulder. “Hey! I’m great, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good. I’m currently trying to have a good time despite being tired as hell.”

He laughed, “Well, I see you’ve got some good time juice there, so you’re halfway to freedom. Hey, I forgot to tell you — your performance in the nutcracker last Christmas was incredible. I, uh, I actually went to the spring ballet after that because I was so impressed.”

“Thank you,” you grinned. “I like to inspire people to experience ballet. It’s cool.”

“I was very inspired,” he nodded. “Hopefully we’ll have some more classes together this semester.” 

“Yeah! If not, you know how to reach me.” You bit down on your lip to keep from smiling too wide. He gave you a quick wink, and walked away. 

You instantly began looking for Claire, rushing around the dorm for anyone resembling your friend. You noticed her in the threshold of a room, shoulder leaned against the wall, her arms crossed. You walked up to her, “Claire! Claire, you’re not gonna believe who I just ran into. It was definitely not the reunion I was expecting tonight.” 

Claire was dazed, staring in front of her with a face solid as stone. You very rarely saw her like this, and it freaked you out right away. “Claire? Claire, dude, what’s wrong?” You turned your head to follow her gaze, and your eyes landed on the couch. 

People lined the cushions, and dead in the center was Matthew. His hair had grown out a lot, and he dressed differently. All button down shirts and khaki shorts. With that damn chain tucked in his collar. And beside him was a girl. Hair jet black, a matching black mini dress, paired with sandals. They were kissing. Hot. Heavy. His hand gripping her hair, the other on his thigh. When they seperated, she touched his lips and you felt yourself having a stroke. The giggled at each other and Matthew kissed her cheek. 

“It’s about one-thirty, right?” Claire asked you, her sight not moving. 

You gulped. There was an ache in your chest that made it hard to speak. But you took a deep breath, and release the words, “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

Claire walked around you, heading towards the exit, and you followed. The two of you walked home, silent, arms over each other’s shoulders. In the room, Claire dropped her stuff to the floor,  kicked her shoes off and sat on her bed. You rushed into the space, approached your nightstand and rummaged through it. 

“What are you doing, [y/n]?”

“I’m packing a bowl,” you replied, grabbing your herbs, a lighter and the bowl. 

“Right now? In here?” She gasped.

“Is that okay?”

She sighed, “Yeah. Come share.”

The two of you sat on her bed, thirty minutes later, laying against the wall with your heads staring at the ceiling. Your eyelids were lowered, red, and your breathing was slow. 

“I’m hungry,” Claire said, texting on her phone. “Do we have gummy bears? I want gummy bears. But haribo gummy bears. Not those knocks off we used to buy. And some soda. Soda would be so good right now. My mouth is so dry.”

You stayed quiet, eyes focused on the lights overhead. You couldn’t get the image out of your mind. Matthew. And that girl. Kissing. Touching. 

“Her name is Veronica,” Claire said. 

You turned your hear to her, “Huh?”

“Her name is Veronica,” she repeated. “Or Roni for short.” She rolled her eyes. “She, uh, she’s from Vegas. She went to school with...Gube, actually. They dated.”

“Oh...” you nodded. “Are you...are you okay?”

“I — I, yeah, I’m fine,” she shrugged. “It’s just...really inconvenient of him to go back to her right now.”

“Back to her?”

“They’re together. They’re dating. Apparently they got back together this summer.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows together, a thousand thoughts running through your mind at once. “What do you think about that?” Claire asked. 

“Uh...” You shrugged. “I’m surprised anyone actually touches that boy,” you laughed, the sound coming out broken and sad. 

“Yeah...well...Misty says Roni is a big one for Gube. That, um, necklace he wears? She gave it to him years ago. He never took it off.” 

You nodded, “Yeah,” your voice cracked. “Well, that’s...that’s some heavy fixation there.” 

“[y/n]...”

“I should shower. I’m gonna shower.” You went to get off the bed, but Claire grabbed your wrist. You turned to her, and she pushed your hair out of your face. 

“I’m really upset about this, kid,” she said. “Can you...can you just lay with me for a bit?” 

You sighed, gave her a small smile and leaned in to hug her. She held you close, placing one hand on your head and the other on your rest. And she let you rest your head on her chest, as you let silent tears roll down your cheeks. 

Monday morning, you got up at 5 in the morning. You spent 2 hours in the ballet studio, twirling and dancing until your feet went numb. When you returned home, Claire was still asleep and you took a quick shower. You tried on ten different outfits, applied makeup, spent a long time on your hair. You made breakfast, checked for any assignments, surfed social media. And still had an hour before class. 

You chose to walk around campus, locate all your classes, grab some coffee, and then you headed to your first class. Walking through the building, you sipped on your drink, moving absentmindedly roaming the halls. Suddenly, a hand reached out and pulled you into a storage closet. Your scream was cut short, and you jumped as the door closed behind you.

You looked up at see Matthew staring at you, a soft smile on his face. “Hey.”

“I’m going to class,” you muttered, turning to exit the room. But Matthew put his hand on the door knob to stop you.

“Wait, wait,” he pleaded. “Um, do I see you at the party —“

“Yep,” you nodded, not making eye contact with him. 

“So...then, you saw me at the party with—“

“Yep.”

“Okay...[y/n]...”

“I really have to go to class, so, thanks for the detour, but I’m leaving now.” You removed his hand from the knob and left the closet, not looking back. 

You walked into your classroom, swallowing to get rid of the weird feeling in your throat. You set your bag down and took a seat. You attempted to shake Matthew out of your mind, the smell of him, the sight of him, the tension of being so close to him. But it was hard. It may have been the hardest thing ever. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice called to you. “Guess I got lucky, huh?”

You looked up to see Alex, giving you a toothy grin and a look of pure joy. “Alex,” you breathed. “Hi. This is awesome, you’re in here?”

“Yeah,” he took a seat beside you. “Haven’t seen you much since freshman year. This is nice.”

“It sure is.”

So. 

Remember number eight on your list of atrocities against Matthew Gubler? 

Fucked his friend. While said friend was supposed to help Matthew with his project. 

Alex would be the friend. He was gorgeous and kind and so good in bed. You first met in a cinematography class freshman year, where he very boldly asked if you wanted to hang out some time. You smiled, said yes, and that led to the aforementioned sexual encounter. It only happened a handful of times, until the semester was over. Then you didn’t see each other as often.

But he was here now. He was here and he was flirting with you. You were flirting back. You were hurt and upset and confused and so fucking horny, you could burst. So, after classes, you reached out to him and asked if he could help you with a pre class assignment. He told you to come over. You did. 

You didn’t work on the assignment though. 

Starting off pretty hot and heavy, it was a few weeks of meaningless sex until he asked you out. Claire cheered when she heard the news, causing you to give her a confused look. “Why are you so happy that I have a date?” You giggled. 

“Oh...I just — Alex is cute! He’s great, I always wondered what happened to him. You said he was good in the sack and he was always sweet to you. I’m just, so glad you’re happy.”

You gave her a faux smile, “Yeah. I’m happy.” 

Alex’s friend was having a birthday party at his apartment, and Alex insisted you come. Said it was the only way he’d be able to have any fun when everyone got too drunk. You agreed, and when he picked you up that night, you were dressed in a purple romper and diamond earrings. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled. “You look beautiful, too.” 

He held your hand as he drove to the apartment, as you got out the car, walked up the stairs, entered the living space. He introduced you to everyone you met, his arm around you proudly and your head nuzzled into his chest. 

Watching you across the room was a very irritated Matthew Gubler, who sat with Veronica on his lap and a beer in his hand. You didn’t notice Matthew’s presence for a long time, considering the fact that he was avoiding you, and you were more focused on Alex. 

While talking to Alex’s friends, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. You strolled down the hallway, searching for the restroom. 

“[y/n]!”

You turned around, confused. Matthew marched up to you, his hands in his pocket, his face determined. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you told him, and continued to walk. 

He followed you. “So, you dating Alex now?”

“That’s not really your business, now is it?”

He grabbed onto your arm and pulled your body into his, hiding you two behind a corner. “No, but it bugs me.”

“It bugs you?”

“It bugs me. I don’t want you with Alex. Alex is a dick.” 

“Well, not to me—“

Matthew leaned down and kissed you, his hands tightened on your waist. He kissed you like he was starving, mouth open, breath heavy. 

You pushed him away, your eyes closed in shock and ecstasy. No, no, you thought. “Matthew—“

“Let’s leave,” he interjected.

“Huh?”

“Let’s leave. Me and you. Let’s go.”

“No,” you snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because, I’m here with Alex! And you’re here with...her, so, no. I’m staying here, with the guy I came with.”

“C’mon—“

“Matthew, no! No! Are you deaf? Are you dumb? Leave me alone, and go back to your girlfriend.” You suddenly didn’t have to pee anymore, so you returned to Alex and his group of friends. Matthew watched as you took a seat in Alex’s lap, and you pretended not to notice. 

There was radio silence for months. Matthew even removed you on snapchat, and for your sanity, you ignored it. You continued a casual relationship with Alex, and he continued to worship the ground you walked on. A vast change in pace from Matthew. Claire pushed for the Alex relationship hardcore, saying hi to him when came over, giving you guys time alone, tagging alone with you two to parties. 

But every once in a while, you thought about Matthew. When you saw a particular movie, or heard one of his favorite bands, right after you would have sex. And especially on Halloween. Over the summer, he told you all about his costume plans, party plans, and movie marathons he was going to have. And for some reason, like a clown, you just assumed you’d be with him when it happened.

By the time final exams were over, you and Alex considered yourselves exclusive. You strolled into the end of the year party, holding hands and laughing. You’d fallen into a good groove with his friends. They all liked you, you liked them, and you enjoyed their company. While sitting with them, one pulled out a joint, lit it and began to pass it around.

“Want a hit?” Alex asked.

“She’s pretty tiny. Can she handle it?” A friend said. 

You glared at her and took the paper between your lips, inhaling and holding a large amount of smoke. She watched in amazement as you exhaled through your nose, “Well...I stand corrected, princess.”

You took in a sharp breath of air.

And that was just the beginning of the spiral. 

You stayed in rotation of the weed for a long time, until your thoughts were nothing but a mess of words racing everywhere. Your eyes felt heavy, so did your body. And you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

You were wondering was there ever really a connection or were you just highly sexually compatible? Did Matthew ever have feelings for you or did he just want one thing? Why does kissing him and fucking him and just talking to him feel so different? How come when everything falls apart, you want Matthew? How come when everything is going well, you want Matthew? Need to talk to Matthew. Where’s Matthew? Where’s Matthew? 

“[y/n]!” Alex called. “You’re high as fuck,” he laughed. “What are you thinking about?”

Matthew. 

“Come here,” and he pulled you into a kiss. And when you pulled away, feeling nothing, nothing at all, you realized you needed Matthew. You needed to feel something. But Matthew wasn’t here. And you wish he was here. Where’s Matthew? 

Tears were springing to your eyes, but you quickly began to cough, distracting yourself with a new sensation. You rose to your feet, and exited the room, much to Alex’s disapproval. He watched you rush past him, his face laced with confusion.

Everyone you passed by looked like Matthew. Why did everyone look like Matthew? You missed Matthew. And this was unfair. You wiped at the tears in your eyes, but they were already gliding down your cheeks. They burned your skin and it made you cry more. You were blinded. And way too high to notice Matthew - the real Matthew - entering the hallway. 

His eyes were redder than red, a lot like yours. His movements were slow. But something told him to reach out for you. Like a magnet. And you fell into his arms. It took him a whole second to realize it was you, but he did. 

“[y/n]?” he whispered. “Oh, my God, [y/n]. What’s wrong? What happened?” His hands moved to cup your face, his thumbs wiping the tears on your cheek. 

“[y/n]!” Oh, no. Alex. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” 

At that point, you looked up at Matthew. Focused in on him. Said his name. But his attention had turned to Alex. And he was pissed. You could tell. 

“Wait, wait, Matthew, wait,” you pleaded. 

“What the hell did you do to her?” He shouted, holding you close. 

“Wait, Matthew, he didn’t—“

“Gube, let her go, dude!.” Alex snapped, reaching for your arm. 

And that sent Matthew through the roof. He released you from his arms and moved towards Alex, delivering a swift punch to his face. You’d never seen Matthew so much as cuss someone out, so this. This. This was hard to register. Nonetheless, you screamed his name, attempting to push both of them away from the brawl. But it was useless. 

Two guys had to step in and separate Alex and Matthew, pulling them to opposing sides of the hallway. And you had to decide who to follow. It wasn’t a hard decision to make. 

You kept a good 100 feet behind Matthew the whole time, watching him stomp his way to his residence hall. You knew exactly how to get into the building, but weren’t sure you should. You’d never seen him so angry. So red. So primal. 

But, Matthew. 

Oh, God, Matthew. What would you say? What would you do? Did he want to see you? Did he want to be alone? Was his roommate there? You paced for 20 minutes, freezing your ass off outside the dormitory. Your mind was made up when you found the side entrance and let yourself in, marching up the steps. Now or never. Now or never. And you needed to see Matthew now. 

You perched yourself in front of his door, paused, and proceeded to knock with full force. “Be home, be home, be home,” you whispered. 

He was home.

He came to the door, shirtless, his face bruised, his hair tasseled, and that stupid, ridiculous gold chain around his neck. And you’d never wanted to suck a dick so badly in your entire life. You instantly imagined grabbing him, kissing him, pulling him close. But you didn’t do that. You stood there, looking like an idiot, until he spoke. 

“What are you doing here, [y/n]?”

You hadn’t even thought about it. It just felt right to follow him. “I—I wanted...I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

He shrugged, “I’m alright.” His face was stern. Stoic. No emotion showed on his features and it made you sick.

“Oh,” you said. “Okay.” 

You stared at each other for a long time. You just wanted him to say it. Ask you to stay. Ask you to come in. To admit it. But he wouldn’t. So you had to walk away. 

“Okay,” you nodded, sadly, and ducked your head as you headed towards the exit. “Okay.” You sniffled, patting at your eyes as they watered. 

Matthew watched you go. His bottom lip caught between his teeth, his shoulders relaxing as he exhaled. “[y/n],” he called. 

You’d stopped in your tracks.

“You...you were pretty stoned at the party,” he told you. “Are you sober?” 

You turned your body to face him. You thought about his eyes. How red they were. How slow he moved. How you had both been utterly and totally high as hell. “I’m sober,” you said. Honestly. After all of tonight’s events, and the sheer shock of seeing Matthew, being so close to him again, you had sobered up. “Believe me, I’m sober. Are you?”

Matthew licked him lips, nodding as he sighed. He stepped out into the hallway, and pushed the door to his dorm open. He signaled for you to enter. 

You gave him a quick and sad smile, and you avoided eye contact with him as you stepped into the empty room. He led the way to his private room, and let you in, closing the door behind you. You kept your back to him, arms crossed over your chest. 

He sighed, “I’m—Veronica and I broke up. Actually, she broke up with me...again. So, y’know, it wasn’t much of a surprise, but—“

“Matthew,” you cut him off, turning to him. “I need a favor.”

He hesitated, then his voice was strong, “Anything.”

“I leave for home next week for Christmas break. And since, I can’t seem to figure out what the hell about you is driving me insane, Matthew Gubler, I’m going to need time. Space. If you need time and space. So, you need to make that decision.”

“Okay.”

“But right now, take your clothes off,” you ordered. 

“Okay.”

He stared at you lustfully, just like you wanted, his body moving on autopilot to remove his shorts and boxers. You mirrored his movements, and took off your dress, subsequently tossing your bra and panties onto the floor. He grabbed onto your body and kissed you, one hand tangled in your hair and the other gripping your waist. He pushed you back onto his bed, falling on top of you and kissing your neck. You held onto his torso as he made way to your collarbone, nibbling on it lightly. He pulled away and gropped your breasts, massaging them with his fingers. 

He was practically drooling over them, his eyes focused solely on your boobs. He leaned down and sucked on your nipple, while his hand slid down between your legs. He felt around your core, and slowly slid two fingers into you. You threw your head back, and moaned. 

Matthew kissed a trail from your breast to your hips. He began to kiss your inner thighs, kneeling down in front of you and pulling you up to his face. He pressed his tongue against  your clit, working his muscle in an up and down motion. You moved your hips against his face and his fingers, gasping weakly. You forgot how good his mouth felt, but this was huge, huge reminder. You gripped onto his hair and swore under your breath. 

He noticed your thighs tightening around his face, and increased his intensity and speed. Your back arched off of the mattress, you whimpered into your mouth, and your chest was heaving. You let out a long groan as you came on his face, your entire body tensing up. He withdrew his fingers from you, and licked up from your core to your navel to your breasts. He kissed your neck, then your lips. And he sucked his fingers clean, holding eye contact with you.

Overwhelmed, you pulled him in by his face and kissed him passionately. He grunted against your lips, rubbing his cock on your core. He pushed into you, his jaw dropping and his forehead against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and this encouraged him to thrust into you. Matthew held you in his arms, moaning into your ear as he moved his hips. 

You kissed his jaw, sucking on the skin until you felt it pulse between your lips. You could feel his muscles moving under your palms, and his cock striking a sensitive spot inside of you. It felt like you were crumbling, getting weaker by the second. But when you felt the chain hitting your chin, you wired back to life. You gripped onto the necklace and twisted it around your fingers, angrily biting your lip. 

As he slammed into you, you muttered a soft “fuck!” and yanked on the chain. It popped off of his neck, and it was cathartic. You moaned and threw it to a far corner of the room. You reached down and rubbed your clit quickly, panting as Matthew’s body began to tremble. He kept his gaze focused on you as you let him fuck you into another orgasm, and your hips rolled against his in an eager rhythm. 

“Oh, fuck!” Matthew exclaimed, pulling out of you just in time. He released himself onto your stomach, moaning and gasping for air. 

The mattress creaked as he laid down beside you, collapsing with a thud. The two of you stared at the ceiling, naked and breathy and covered in sweat. You rested your hand on Matthew’s chest, and he intertwined your fingers. 

The next week, you were headed to the train station to get home for Christmas. Not knowing what to say to each, Matthew and you hadn’t talked since last week. You sat in the back of an uber, your suitcase at your side, when your phone vibrated in your lap. You picked it up and recognized Matthew’s name flashing on your screen. 

You sighed, swiped to answer, and held the phone to your ear, “Hello?”

“I don’t want space.”

“I—“ You stuttered. 

“I want as little space as possible.”

You were stunned, quiet, “Okay.”

The line went dead, and you set your phone down. You bit down on your lip. But the smile was still clear.

[PART 5.]

[longing-and-heartache-and-lust]

the drug, the dark, the light, the flame, Ch.II

[previous] [next] [Ao3]

A second chapter for my work for this year’s @geraskierbigbang with the wonderful @gen-syz-art as my artist ✨

_________________

When Geralt wakes up in the morning, the sun is already high in the sky.

The bed is wide and comfortable, probably the most comfortable out of all the ones he'd ever slept in. The soft furs are a pleasant warmth against his bare skin and when he opens his eyes, he feels the most rested he'd been in a very long time.

It's long past breakfast and he feels a stab of guilt somewhere in his gut, seeing that he'd promised Julian he was going to join him but as it turned out, he was much more tired than he thought. The long weeks on the Path, the hunt the day before and the wounds on his shoulder have all worn him out, and it's only now that his body had finally caught on.

Geralt stretches with a soft moan, careful not to disturb his shoulder, and turns to his other side, looking around the room with heavy-lidded eyes.

In the warm light of the summer sun, it doesn't feel strange anymore.

The golds and reds of the interior make the room feel comfortable, even though it's a little too much for Geralt's taste. The room feels luxurious and Geralt can't even phantom the cost of the heavy velvet curtains or the paintings in golden frames but yet, it doesn't feel like too much .

It doesn't feel like a bedroom in a castle, where its only real purpose is showing the guests just how rich the host is. It feels like a bedroom of a home that someone loves and decorates accordingly. It just so happened that said home is an enormous mansion.

Geralt counts twelve pillows and cushions on the bed, all of them a deep ruby colour and varying in sizes, and, against his own better judgement, burrows himself deeper into them, his entire body melting into the soft silk sheets.

It's the exact opposite of what he should do, he knows it. He knows that this is not meant for him, that he's not supposed to pass the time in beds like this, burrowed in what probably are the best furs in the entire region, but somewhere deep in his bones, his body still aches with exhaustion and stress, and if he can have this, just once in his life, he's going to take it.

He just doesn't have it in him to deny himself this opportunity.

And Roach, he tells himself, needs a little more rest, too.

The forest behind the giant arc-shaped windows is tranquil, the wind a soft, calming whisper through the treetops, and Geralt doesn't even notice when he falls asleep again, warm and comfortable.

***

The second time he wakes, the sun is at its zenith, so it must be around midday.

Cursing under his breath, Geralt makes himself sit up on the bed and then get out of it completely, though very reluctantly. He'd never really had problems with getting out of bed, even when he was still an adept in Kaer Morhen and had to get up before sunrise every morning, and now this unfamiliar gravity feels strange but not unpleasant.

As he dresses, there is a knock on the door, and when he opens it, there is a tall man waiting in the hallway. Geralt can tell that he is in his fifties but the formal suit and perfect posture make him look younger.

"Master Witcher," he greets. "I hope I have not disturbed you. Master Julian asked me to take you into the dining room once you have woken up."

The majordomo, Geralt thinks.

He nods, saying that he needs a few minutes, and goes back to his armour, tightening all the straps and clasping the buckles, once again feeling a little twist of guilt for not having joined Julian in the morning, as he'd promised. It was plain rude of him, really, and though there weren't a lot of things that Geralt hated more than apologising, he knew he'd going to have to.

After all, there was only so much he could do.

He fixes the swords behind his back and looks around the room just one more time before stepping out of it and closing the door. It's almost upsetting that he'd only got to spend one night in a bed like that.

The majordomo takes him through the corridors and with the warm light streaming through the windows, they don't look ominous anymore, though the witcher still finds them absolutely endless. There are paintings, sculptures and potted plants along the walls, and though Geralt tries not to, he still finds himself looking around a little more than he should.

When they do finally reach the dining room with a big oil painting hung on one of the walls right across from the table, Julian isn't there.

"He must be outside," the butler says, turning around. "If you would follow me, master Witcher."

When the man walks past him, Geralt can feel his medallion hum against his chest but it stops just as abruptly, so he frowns but doesn't pay it much mind.

They take one of what Geralt assumes are many doors to the garden and it's only now that he realises how big it is. What he'd seen last night was but a fraction.

The trees and neatly shaped bushes surround the mansion from all sides, keeping it separated from the forest behind the gates, and it almost feels like a world of its own, independent from the one outside.

Geralt's senses immediately fill with the scent of blooming flowers and ripe fruit, the sound of bird songs and running water somewhere in the distance. A fountain, he decides.

And then, among those sounds, there's Julian's voice.

"Geralt," he smiles, appearing from somewhere behind the corner, a hand over his eyes to protect them from the sun. "I see you've already met Arthur."

"I have," the witcher nods, realising belatedly that he should've asked the majordomo's name himself.

Fuck, he thinks, I am not made for this kind of life.

"I hope you can forgive me for not having joined you for breakfast," he adds and he feels ridiculous , talking this way, but in a place like this, he can't help but feel like he's at court. "As it turns out, fighting off monsters is easier than the gravity of a bed like that."

Julian's smile shines brighter and he laughs, narrowing his eyes at the sun.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "I'm glad you've had some proper rest. But I’m afraid I cannot let you go with an empty stomach.”

It’s already past midday and Geralt knows that he should get going if he wants to get to the town he came from with no rush, get his coin and leave for the next one but he also knows that he can’t refuse.

“Come,” Julian says, brushing his hand over Geralt's arm and beckoning him deeper into the garden towards an arbour. “I’ll ask the stableman to get your horse ready while we eat.”

***

Without really realising, Geralt stays for a couple more hours.

Julian asks him about what’s led him to these regions - aside from the contract - and Geralt just… talks.

It’s easy, somehow - talking to him.

It almost feels natural and in the warm light of the day, Geralt doesn’t feel overwhelmed anymore.

He tells Julian about how he was headed to Oxenfurt when he’d heard about the contract that had led him here and then hums in agreement when, after a moment or two, Julian asks if he’s from the School of the Wolf.

“You seem to know the Schools much better than the majority of people I come across on the Path,” Geralt says, very dimly aware of how much time had passed.

Julian just shrugs with one shoulder, a smile on his lips, and gestures towards the library windows with a move of his wrist.

“I’ve read quite a lot about witchers, ever since the Academy,” he explains. “I’ve been friends with a medical student and one of her professors was rather… passionate about mutagens and the Trials. He would tell his students his thoughts on the matter every now and then, and she would then tell them to me, because we used to tell each other everything. I got interested and, before I really knew it, I’ve read everything the library could provide on the subject.”

An academic interest, Geralt thinks, watching the way Julian’s cornflower-blue eyes flick to the medallion on his chest and then back to one of the rose bushes that he’d been using as a distraction point during the entire conversation. When his gaze would linger for a little too long and he would notice, it would immediately snap to the rosebush.

It was almost… pleasant, the way he looked at Geralt with a glint in his eyes.

“And, well,” Julian goes on after a moment, meeting Geralt’s eyes again with an easy, relaxed smile. “My previous witcher guest was rather talkative. He stayed here for a couple of days and, once he learned about my interest, proposed that as a gratitude for my hospitality, he shall answer any questions that I might have about witchers. I took on the opportunity and, somehow, we stayed up until the early hours of the morning, just talking, every day that he was here.”

Geralt chuckles, reluctantly admitting to himself that maybe, if he was to stay for another day or two, they could also stay up and talk well into the night.

But, of course, that is not an option. Roach is well-rested, and his shoulder is bandaged, there are no more reasons for him to stay. After all, he was an uninvited guest, to begin with.

But even so, he almost feels sorry that he has to leave, because Julian just… talks to him.

Like they’re equals, like Geralt isn’t a result of Trials and mutations - a monster hunter, yes - but also a killer. He doubts that there is anyone in the North that has not heard of The Butcher of Blaviken, the white-haired witcher that had caused carnage in the middle of the town.

But Julian doesn’t smell of fear, doesn’t smell of hatred. He talks to him not like Blaviken had never happened, he talks to him like he knows why it happened. Like he knows he had to choose between two wrong options and not choosing at all was more than he could bear.

Don’t get lost in your illusions, Geralt has to tell himself quickly, cutting his train of thought short, He’s just abiding by the rules of hospitality, he doesn't even know about Blaviken.

“What did you say his name was?” he asks, just to drown out his own voice in his head. “Aiden?”

Julian hums an affirmative and it almost feels like that name is familiar to Geralt, but he can’t remember, how. Must’ve heard it somewhere, he decides.

“I’ve seen him a couple more times after that, actually,” Julian says. “Whenever he’s nearby, he comes to visit.”

When Geralt bites his tongue, it’s too late and the question had already been spoken:

“Just a friend?”

Fuck, he thinks, immediately.

Julian’s eyes snap to meet his, slightly widened with surprise and Geralt half-expects anger but the younger man just laughs, open and sweet, like a birdsong.

“Yes, for better or for worse,” he says. “There is another that owns his heart. Or, at least, so I’m told.”

Geralt has no idea on what he’s supposed to say to that so, instead, he chooses to stand up promptly.

“Well,” he says, controlling his voice carefully. “I’m afraid, I must leave now. The alderman must be expecting me.”

Julian stands up, as well, and, thankfully, doesn’t comment on the much more obvious reason for the witcher’s sudden desire to leave. And if he does take Geralt up and down once before stepping out of the arbour and leading his back towards the stables, Geralt admits that he deserves it.

***

“I hope the alderman pays you what he’d promised,” Julian says when they reach the gates, Geralt leading Roach by the reins.

He’s usually good at reading people’s emotions - either by smell or by the look in their eyes - but the shadow that slithers across the blue of Julian’s eyes when he looks at the forest beyond the gates is not something he can identify. His scent changes, too, an undertone of something that Geralt can’t describe in any way other than longing mixing into Julian’s own smell - something warm and almost familiar, like vanilla and dried herbs.  

This time Geralt stops himself in time and doesn’t ask.

“Thank you,” he says instead, pulling himself up into the saddle. “For everything. Last night would’ve been a hard one if it wasn’t for you.”  

Julian smiles at him, running his hand up and down Roach’s neck which, strangely, she seems to enjoy.

“My pleasure,” he replies and when he takes his hand away, Geralt has to tell himself that the way the tips of his fingers brush over his knee is accidental.

Julian opens the gates and steps aside to let Geralt and Roach through, Lucio and Asra at his side like they have always been there, even though the witcher is sure that they were absent back in the arbour.

“Travel safe,” Julian says when Geralt turns around to look at him and the mansion one last time.

It’s strange, hearing it from anyone other than his brothers or Vesemir, and though he replies with only a carefully guarded nod, it turns something over deep inside his chest.

[fereldenturnip]

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go (3)

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 3/ ?

(Parts 1, 2)

Plus @ournextdoorneighbor has done several arts for #TrustTheWolf! Go check that AMAZING stuff out! :D

Majid wakes up at 10:58 am, completely well-rested. The evidence of his stale pleasure is glued to his body hair. The odd prickling promptly jump-starts his brain straight into freak-out mode. 

The car ride. Primo’s dulcet tones. The smell of him on his skin. The pleasure of release after so long without.

Majid leaps out of bed. 

Last night was a mistake. A weakness. One Majid is embarrassed to have committed in the first place. 

What’s shocked him most is the ferocity of his swift libido. Majid’s had fantasies before, lurid wet dreams inspired by exaggerated magazine spreads. Hot chicks in nothing but lingerie and ‘come hither’ stares. He used to go through bottles of lotion and boxes of tissues like crazy before he finally started having sex for real. 

Sex with women. 

Because Majid likes women. He isn’t gay! 

…Or, is he?

Fuck! Majid squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know anymore! That tame, midnight fantasy was nothing at all compared to all his previous raunchy escapades, but it was also the most intense orgasm of his life. Primo’s very masculine body, his very manly voice, his very alpha-male presence awakens a dark need inside Majid. Hell, it knocked him unconscious for hours after emptying his balls all over himself. 

Still, Majid is confused. 

It’s the weekend. He’s off from work and that means no surprise visits from certain Mafia Dons. Hopefully. Just thinking about Primo overwhelms Majid and sends him into a wild frenzy around his flat. He spends most of his afternoon laundering his bed sheets and clothes, cleaning himself thoroughly in the shower…and then scrubbing down the tiles when he strokes out another Primo-induced orgasm. 

It’s absurd, but Majid suspects one look at him and Primo will know his shame. His cock gives a valiant twitch at that. 

Is this real life? Is Majid going to spend the rest of the weekend wanking off to Primo? He groans, flopping down on his springy mattress and hanging his head. 

What exactly is it about Primo that awakens Majid’s sexual urges when nothing else has? Objectively speaking, Primo is a handsome-looking older man. Any fool with eyes, gay or straight, can see that plain as day. After the first few encounters with the man, Majid scoured old newspaper clippings from decades past. Desperate to understand the gravitas behind the notorious Primo Nizzuto.

Gone is the ridiculous pornstache and bell-bottoms of his youth, exchanged for modern (albeit still flamboyant) facial hair and fashion. The floppy hair and thick thighs remain, plus the addition of one pierced ear that came about during the 80’s. In fact, Majid once spent an entire lunch captivated by a single teardrop-shaped pearl earring that swayed in time with Primo’s conversation.

He appears to have aged like a fine wine, hale and healthy, time only adding to his magnetic elegance. All that country air and good food is a testament to the wonders of Italian longevity. 

Add to that his influential power--and Majid isn’t that dumb not to notice the excited thrill he feels whenever Primo exercises said power on Majid’s behalf. Small, insignificant Majid, a real nobody that Primo pulls out all the stops for. Majid likes people watching? With a wave of his hand, Primo gets them a table with a stunning view for lunch. The gallery too crowded for Majid? One word and suddenly it’s just the two of them gazing at dusty old paintings. Primo could have literally anyone in the world, but instead he chooses to fill his days with Majid. 

It’s hot. 

It wasn’t like this with Hakan, who pranced around pretending to be his mentor so long as Majid continued making him money. Who coddled him while simultaneously collaring him. 

Yeah, but Hakan didn’t want to fuck your brains out, either. 

Oh, he knows exactly what Primo wants. Who he wants. Question is, is Majid willing to give it to him? 

Primo is sexually charged and aimed at Majid, ready to fire whenever he’s given permission. That the ball is even in existence and firmly in Majid’s court is pleasantly reassuring. Despite all his carnal hunger, Primo will wait patiently for his enthusiastic consent. In some small measure, Majid can exert his own special power over the man. That in and of itself is attractive.

It’s exhilarating and dramatic, daunting and intimidating. Has Majid been playing it straight this whole time because it was expected of him? 

Living in Italy only makes it easier to remove himself from the trappings of his old life and examine the bigger picture. For the first time, he’s outside of the rigid confines of tradition that mandated he be hard-boiled and repressed. Finally, Majid can breathe easy and freely explore what makes his cock throb without shame. Try as he might to abhor this “perverted” behavior, Majid not-so-secretly delights from the adventures, the conversations…the pampering. Maybe it’s alright to admit kneeling, crawling, and kissing Primo’s signet ring is exactly what he desires. 

However, if Majid capitulates to Primo’s wants and needs, what’s in store for him when he inevitably fucks up? What security is there that he won’t end up beaten into another bloody pulp, or worse--dead? Honestly, it’s the punishment that scares Majid more than the sex. He’s racked with crippling anxiety--pins and needles in his fingers and toes, air freezing inside his lungs, the memory of bone splintering while someone he trusted sits indifferent to his suffering. 

Surviving Hakan? Pure dumb luck. Surviving Primo? Not likely. Every moment spent with Primo is like lighting a matchstick around a puddle of gasoline. One wrong move and everything goes up in flames. Every nerve in his body is telling him to run, far away from Primo Nizzuto’s reach. 

Everytime he gets the itch to move, those damn captivating green eyes lure him right back again. 

You’re an idiot, Zamari.

++++

“Boss wants you to have this,” the man in the dark suit says.

It’s sunny as shit outside, enough that Majid squints an eye trying to adjust after spending so long in the auto shop. There’s a backdrop of power tools and air compressors whirring away behind him. In front, the Suit wears a thick pair of nondescript sunglasses over a neutral expression. He wiggles the package again.

Majid scrunches his face at the square box. It’s expertly wrapped in crimson paper that looks quite supple and expensive. It’s…a gift. A bloody gift, given the colour. Gulping, Majid wipes his hands off on a rag and clumsily accepts it. Suit goes absolutely nowhere, merely crosses his hands and waits patiently. Primo must have ordered him to witness Majid’s reaction and report back to him. Shit, Majid’s face burns hot and it isn’t from the sun.

The wrapping is just as buttery-soft as expected. It calms his initial, childlike instinct to rip and tear it open. Inside is a black box embossed with pale gold letters.

BVLGARI. 

Majid’s eyes widen comically. He stares at the box, then at Suit. 

Silence. Not even a shrug or head-tilt to acknowledge Majid’s turmoil. Nothing. Perfect, civil obedience. With his heart thumping loudly in his ears, Majid is almost envious of his observer’s detachment. His thumb edges the corners of the box and he immediately likens his situation to Pandora. What fresh hell is he inviting into this world by opening Primo’s gift? Just sign here on the bottom line...

Nestled on a cushion of creamy velvet is an all-black watch. The straps are a liquidy-soft metal of intertwining onyx teeth. The wide crystal face is ringed in matte black lettering (and fuck, it’s an actual Bvlgari) and tiny yellow-gold dials. Three perfect subdials catch a sunbeam and flare molten and golden, like miniature full moons in the midnight sky. 

Woof!

His brown eyes light up and dance at the superb craftsmanship. It’s edgy but sleek, confident and dangerous--whoever wears it will surely strike an intimidating figure.

Oh, who is he kidding? Majid is totally going to wear this. Already his wrist is heavy and itching with anticipation. It’s absolutely perfect and exactly to Majid’s tastes. It’s as if Primo saw inside his soul and plucked out all his wants and desires just to hand them back on a silver platter. A plume of heat rushes down his spine to settle in his extremities. 

Shivering, Majid reassembles the box and stares at the expectant Suit. He’s almost tempted to pass it back, refuse this precious (ludicrously expensive) gift, if only to gauge his reaction. The Suit wouldn’t mind, but he’d still have to deliver the news to the benevolent gifter. It’s already been well-established that Primo brushes off rejection like water off a duck. Or, in his case, a black swan. His first proffered gift was an entire damn vineyard. Dozens of meals and car rides later, a four-figure watch is innocent. 

His fingers trace the embossed logo. It’s such a thoughtful gift, too. 

“Please give Signor Nizzuto my sincerest,” apologies, “thanks.” Fuck. 

Suit nods stiffly, pivots on one polished heel, and returns to his nondescript car. 

Majid escapes the hot air outside and returns to the auto shop. The gift is tenderly tucked inside his personal locker, with the lock pulled twice just to verify it is indeed fastened. The rest of his work day is spent in a complete daze. Everything blends together--Majid can’t count how many car batteries and broken tail lights he replaces, his mind and eyes skittering back to bore holes into his locker. 

When he greets Primo outside his apartment for their usual Tuesday night dinner, Majid is clean of grease and clothed in his best black attire. There’s been an effort to tame his growing curls and trim his short beard. He looks handsome. 

The sallow streetlamp outside casts him all in shadow. Somewhere a dog barks.

This time, when the chauffeur opens the backseat door he lets Primo exit and meet Majid in the crisp night air. The two of them stand silently across from each other, only a scant few feet apart. Primo is dressed in a close-fitting red suit so dark it might as well be black. 

Beware, the devil wears red… 

Unabashed green eyes soak in his appearance, slow and sultry over all his edges and curves. Majid holds himself still, blazer tucked in the crook of his left arm. The purposeful posture highlights the gleaming watch adorning Majid’s wrist. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

Primo blinks once, tongue blatantly stroking along his bottom lip, “Do you like it, my boy?”

His husky words are a temptation, promising notes ringing in the air between them. Shuddering madly and unable to speak, all Majid does is nod. A smile carves its way onto Primo’s face, chiseling dimples in his cheeks. Those eyes of his are electric. He takes a step closer, bringing a cloud of that damn cologne with him--Majid inhales sharply--then promptly backing off to the side. A playful little dance that leaves Majid absolutely reeling. One gentlemanly sweep of his hand, Primo beckons him towards the belly of the rumbling car. 

…So tempt away, devil, Majid thinks carelessly and ducks inside. 

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

**

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

**

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

**

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

**

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

**

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic​

[rina-writes]

Tattoo

Summary: You have been thinking of getting a tattoo for sometime and inspiration strikes on a spontaneous date with your boyfriend Ethan, who supports with your tattoo from design to after care.

Warnings: The Fluffiest of Fluff

A/N: Figured it was a good time to post fluffy!E before the vid tomorrow. <3

You always went back and forth on getting a tattoo.  When you were much younger, it wasn’t your thing.  Why would you mark you body with something permanent?  You changed your clothes 15 times before going out because your shirts didn’t look right with your boobs.  How would you decide on a tattoo?

As you got older, you realized that tattoo’s shouldn’t only be viewed as something you wanted to represent you for the rest of your life.  They could be moments, like remembering a first road trip or the album art of the band of the first concert you attended. Tattoos could be used to mark the story of your life.  

Ethan, your boyfriend, was part of your inspiration to get tattoos.  You started dating around his first couple tattoos, back when you were still unsure about them.  Seeing his leg sleeve grow, especially the tattoos that represented memories you both shared, made you want to do something special. You especially enjoyed tracing his tattoos with your fingers and laying soft kisses on them during your intimate moments.  He would often play with your hair absentmindedly, enjoying the attention. You wanted to share this interaction in reverse as well.

After months of research, you couldn’t find a tattoo that spoke to you.  Ethan always urged you that sometimes you just need inspiration from the world, not from Instagram or Pinterest.  You took it with a grain of salt eyeing some of the sillier tattoos on his leg.  The fears of younger self came rushing back to you about making a mistake.

Then, one night, Ethan had this wild idea to go camping. 

Uh huh, Ethan Dolan, camping, outside, willingly, without his twin brother.  You kept checking his temperature the entire drive to the campsite. Ethan laughed, holding your wrist firmly, but not too tight as to hurt you.  He looked at you, allowing the Tesla to take over the drive and leaned in to peck your lips.

“Trust me, when we get there, you’ll understand.” He said to you.

“I dunno...” You said, hesitantly, smiling as you pulled your wrist from his grasp to hold his hand. Your fingers interlocked and he brought the back of your hand up to kiss the back of it.  He didn’t break eye contact and you chuckled.

“Now you’re just showing off.” You said, gesturing to the auto pilot with your free hand.

Ethan shrugged smugly, giving your hand another squeeze before fiddling with music playing the car.

By the time you arrived, the sun was about to set in a couple hours. You recognized the area from pictures Ethan had showed you from a video where he and Grayson went camping without technology.   Unlike Grayson, Ethan had no intention of roughing which was easy to tell thanks to his glamping setup.  Your tent was luxurious, way too big for two people and Ethan had brought enough blankets and pillows that they could be a fort all on it’s own. For dinner, he had made vegan meatballs with spaghetti and tomato sauce. He also made pancakes that he tried to pass of as crepes for dessert.

“It’s all I can make...” Ethan confessed, looking away embarrassed as he placed the pot of sauce on the logs of the campfire, next to the meatballs wrapped in aluminum fall.

“Thankfully, it’s my favorite.” You said, sitting in the spot next to him, checking on the meatballs to make sure they didn’t burn.

It was so quiet and spacious.  After eating and chatting, you took a break before dessert to explore.  Ethan led you up and down a few paths, holding your hand at the steepest points.  You watched the sunset from a high point, your breath taken away.  After taking a few nature shots and photos of each other, Ethan leaned in for kiss.  His hand rested on the back of your neck and you deepened the kiss by getting close enough to sit in his lap. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as your lips massaged his, gradually getting more rough. His tongue tapped at your lips and you parted them to grant him access, both of you now breathing deeply to keep from breaking the kiss.  While it only seemed to seconds, you could see the sky was starting to lose it’s orange hue.

“We should head down,” You said breathlessly, breaking the kiss.

Ethan pulled back only slightly, your foreheads still chuckling, his hazel eyes looking chocolate brown in the dark as he stared deeply at you.

“You’re right.” He smiled, “We can do plenty more of that later.”

You giggled and he extended his hand to help you stand up with him.  The descend was a lot scarier with less light.  You were clinging on to him, but you were also aware he was scared and clinging out to you.  It was the blind leading the blind with a chorus of “What was that?” “Where are you?” “I’m scared.” and just pure screaming.  By the time you reached the bottom, following the light and smell for the weakening fire at your campsite, you were both laughing with relief.

You enjoyed your “crepes” with fruits that Ethan had packed in a cooler along with the cold beverages you had to drink. While you were chatting, you noticed, Ethan look up at the sky.  You were about to follow suit when he grabbed your chin. He turned you to look at him and your breath caught in your throat.  Every now and then, your mind was catapulted back to when you first started dating. When your brain was still processing all of his handsome features, his cut jaw, his full brows, his large expressive eyes, his pink lips, his shinning smile, his soft, brown locks...everything that made him breathtaking.  With the campfire light shining his face, it all seemed to look brand new again and you loved it.

“Don’t look yet, I want to show you something.”  He said, and you nodded.

He could have said anything to you at that moment and you would have nodded.  Ethan chuckled.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” He asked, biting his lip softly.

“No reason...” You smiled, pecking his lips.  “So, what do you want to show me?”

“Let’s clean up first.” Ethan said, gesturing to the stuff around you both.  

You both divided and conquered cleaning up the campsite.  The final step was to put on the fire.  You decided to take on the task while Ethan got the flashlight ready to go back to your tent.  You turned off the flashlights to not attract bugs as you entered.  Despite the tent being large enough that you could stand, you both somehow managed to trip over each other.  With lots of laughs and fake bickering, you finally closed the tent and turned the flashlight on.

“No turn it off.” Ethan said, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

“Oh okay...” You said hesitantly, laying back on one of the larger cushions.  You turned off the flashlight.  “Come here and cuddle me.” 

“I will, I promise.” Ethan said, his voice at a distance that told you he was still standing up.  You heard him unzipping something and you saw that he was moving the top of the tent.  There was a plastic covering on top, similar to a sun roof on a car.  From your position, you swear you could see the whole galaxy.  The rich deep purple and blues of the sky speckled with diamonds filled you. It felt like your heart was going to burst. Ethan crouched down and gently patted the cushioned floor for you. He finally found your arm and laid down next to you pulling you closer to him.  As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, Ethan studied your face as you stared incessantly at the sky like a kid watching cartoons.

“Are you crying?” His voice had a teasing tone, but he was whispering like he does when you cuddle at home.

“A little...” You admitted, snuggling into him. “This is so beautiful. Thank you.”

“I thought this would be a great way to show you how I feel when I look at you every day.” Ethan said, unable to make direct eye contact.

“God, E that was so corny.” You teased, but still inching closer for a kiss.

“Yeah...I know.” He agreed before closing the space between you to continue you where you left off on the mountain.

A couple of weeks later and you were at the tattoo parlor.  You had decided on your tattoo based on your camping night together.  You couldn’t stop thinking about those stars, and how they looked from that little sky roof.  You wanted to get a similar view, but add to it, with some trees lining the area around the sky.  After a few consultations with the tattoo artist, you decided a rectangle shaped “frame” on the side of your ribs designed to show a starry night in a pine tree forest.   The coloring was going to be black and white, so it had a spooky element that Ethan really liked as well.  Now, was the moment of truth. 

As you signed the waiver, Taylor, your tattoo artist, smiled at you. They looked exactly how you wanted your first tattoo artist to look, friendly, edgy, and have really cool rainbow hair and even more rainbow tattoos.

“Are you sure about this?” They teased. “I mean...this is a pretty intense tattoo for your first.”

Ethan, who’s leg was bouncing up and down next to you, perked up at the words. “Taylor, is right, Y/N.  The ribs really hurt.  You should go for somewhere with more cushion.”

“I want the ribs.” You said, standing up with more confidence than you actually had. 

“Alrighty,” Taylor said, “Come over when you’re ready.  I’ll show you one final stencil and we will get this party going.”

Ethan stood up, giving your butt a light squeeze.  Your eyes widened and you looked around to make sure no one saw.

“What do you think you’re doing, mister?” You asked, turning to wrap your arms around Ethan’s neck.

“Checking which places have the nicest cushion for this tattoo.” He grinned before kissing your forehead. “Jokes aside, I’ll be here when you need me.”

“I’ll be fine.” You assured him.

You were not fine.  You were so close to crying, but your dignity wouldn’t let you.  There were certain spots that hurt more than others, and your jagged breathing always revealed which ones the tattoo gun had just hit.  Ethan was beside you the entire time.  He was constantly giving you water, wiping your forehead, holding your head, kissing the top of your head and coaching you through it.

“It looks so sick, babe.” Ethan said, as he walked over to see how the tattoo was coming along. “You’re gonna love it. I’m actually pretty jealous.” 

You let out a hum, which you had been doing for awhile now. 

“You alright, hun?” Taylor asked, looking at you.  “If you want, we can stop and finish another time.”

You shook your head quickly. “I...wanna...finish.” You huffed out.

“She’s a tough one, Tay.” Ethan grinned, making Taylor smile as well.

“I can tell.” Taylor said, before focusing back on their work.

Ethan sat down on your other side, dipping his head to look at you since your head was bent down. He rested his forehead gently on yours and you moved your head closer to him, taking in his scent.

“It really looks amazing, Y/N. Reminds me of that night.” Ethan said, his voice soft and full of nostalgia. “But, it’s also so you. I’m so proud of you, baby. Your first tat.” 

You hummed again, trying to smile.  He continued to pat your head and speak to you softly.  Soon, Taylor announced you were done.  They helped you stand up, Ethan steadying you from behind.  You turned in the mirror and your eyes started to water.  It was everything you hoped for.  It looked great with your skin tone, even with the redness for the fresh tattoo.  

“I’d hug you, but you know...” You laughed softly. 

“We can hip bump on the other side.” Taylor suggested and you left as you turned to hip bump them.  

Taylor wrapped you up and Ethan helped you to adjust your clothes.  He practically carried you to the car.  He didn’t want to hurt you, so he was very careful with you the entire time.  He convinced you to spend the first half of your healing process at his place so he could take care of you.  You agreed, mostly because you were so exhausted and the thought of sleeping in his large bed and soft sheets was appealing.  He helped you to take off your clothes and clean up before helping you into bed for a nap.

Ethan spoiled you during your recovery.  He helped you in and out of bed, waiting on you hand and foot.  You loved the attention. Even when being intimate, Ethan was incredibly careful of your tattoo.  When your tattoo was a lot more healed, you almost wished you had a bit more time with Nurse Ethan. 

“It looks amazing, babe.” Ethan said, when he walked in on you getting dressed.  You were in your bra and shorts, about to put on a t-shirt. “Come here.” He said, pulling you to the bed.  He sat down and motioned for you to lay across his lap as he traced your tattoo with his fingers.  This was exactly how you imagined it, no it was better.  Your eyes began to feel heavy and you closed them, while Ethan continued to admire your tattoo.

“I love you, baby.” Ethan said, kissing your side.

“I love you too, E.”

[frodos-bizarre-adventure]

@gingerreggg just some fluff

Heads Up- Part 12 (Joseph x Bust!Caesar)

▪▪▪▪▪▪▪▪

"Are you ready to go out?" Suzi asked Caesar, as he sat atop the kitchen table.

"Really?" he replied skeptically. "I thought you didn't want anyone to see me?"

"And that's why we've got this!" Joseph exclaimed joyfully as he pranced into the room with a small carrying crate. It was quite lightweight, and across the top of one side a narrow, horizontal slit had been cut into the hard cardboard material, to function as a viewing window.

Caesar felt uneasy, somewhat queasy to the stomach if he'd had one. This was the first time he'd see the world, beyond the confines of Joseph's apartment. Well, of course, aside from that one escapade, but he didn't really get far.

"You really mean it?" he said nervously.

"Look, if you're gonna go bouncing away at night to see the world then I thought I'd let you have in on the fun with the two of us! We picked a nice place, I bet you'll love it." Joseph smiled, as he lifted Caesar off the table and gently into the box, fitting him perfectly with just a little bit of room to spare. "Just remember to be very quiet."

"Joseph," Caesar complained, as he was laid snugly into the box. "You cut the view-hole too high."

"Aw shit," Joseph groaned. "I should have measured."

Fortunately it wasn't a problem a few layers of newspaper couldn't solve, and with some cushioning beneath his neck the peeping hole was perfectly level with Caesar's eyes.

"That should do the trick," Joseph huffed, as he gently covered Caesar with the lid.

"And now...it's time," grinned the sculptor, as he carried his created companion, tucked safely into the box, out into the warm light of late afternoon.

--------

Joseph mostly got around town, and to and from the university, in his trusty old bicycle he'd gotten as a birthday present from his uncle Speedwagon. It had seen better days, but still served him well, especially after he installed a small sidecar so he could carry his art along with him on the way.

"This is fun!" Suzi cheered, as Joseph pedaled along down toward the beach-view that he and Suzi had agreed on earlier.

"Just don't let go of me!" Caesar cried, from inside the box. He laid upon her lap as she sat in the sidecar, and each time she raised her hands in excitement the hapless bust feared he might fall off.

But at the same time, as he peeked out of the narrow slit, Caesar felt a strange elation.

He was seeing the world beyond.

Buildings, cars, streets and people rushed by, illuminated in the orange light of sunset, as Joseph came pedaling along, so quickly that Caesar couldn't keep up with seeing them all. There was just such a big, big place to see, and with a little help, Caesar was going much, much further than he could possibly hop by himself.

Caesar smiled, a hidden smile from within his box that no one could see.

Perhaps it was far nicer to see the world with friends.

Perhaps he didn't have to be alone.

And yet, at the same time, Caesar felt a hint of sorrow as he admired the sun-kissed landscape gleaming in its tangerine illumination. There was a vast world out there, full of people, full of experiences, of stories in the making waiting to be told.

And he knew he could never be a part of it.

--------

"We're here!" Joseph said excitedly, as he halted near the parkway by the beach.

"And look!" Suzi exclaimed. "We're just in time for the sunset!"

"I can't see!" Caesar complained. "Get me out of this box!"

Dismounting from the sidecar, Suzi stood up and with Joseph's help, removed Caesar from the box, after glancing around to make sure nobody was around to witness them unloading their unusual cargo.

Caesar couldn't believe his eyes. They were at a quiet little corner of the beach, with the floor a smooth, wooden viewing deck. Beyond him was a view of the ocean, stretching all the way into the horizon, and hovering just above it was a brilliant orange orb whose rays Caesar felt onto his clay skin for the first time in his newfound life.

"So, what do you think?" Joseph asked as he gently laid Caesar down onto the deck, and sat cross-legged next to him.

"It's...it's beautiful," gasped Caesar in pure amazement, as he made a few hops forward.

"Whoa, easy there, Cae," Joseph cautioned. "Try not to fall in the water, I doubt you can swim," he said with a snarky laugh.

Caesar nodded, but was too absorbed in the splendor of it all to heed Joseph's dry wit. He could smell the refreshing salty breeze, feel the warmth of the descending sun, hear the waves and the wind and the calls of the birds. Just like the one time he'd left the house, except this time, Joseph wasn't trying to stop him.

And never before, in his short existence as a bodiless sculpt of clay, had Caesar felt so free.

Joseph shifted himself forward so that he was next to Caesar again. "I thought you'd enjoy this," he said, gently cradling the bust onto his lap.

The sun's rays were fading in warmth, but Joseph's arms felt warmer.

Soon the brilliant orb began to sink into the horizon, fading away into the distant mists as the deep pinks and purples of the sky began to crowd out the oranges and yellows of the sun's final rays. Caesar was awed. It was something that happened every single day, sure, but it was no less of a glorious spectacle to behold.

It wasn't long until the stars began to appear.

A few bright points, here and there, gradually emerging from the darkening sky. There were scarcely any clouds, to Joseph's delight, and soon, the night had come: enveloping them in a calm, peaceful darkness lit by the thousands of glittering pinpricks up above.

"Caesar," Joseph said softly. "Look."

He laid down onto his back on the wooden floor, after he took the newspapers from Caesar's box and gently laid the sculpture's head onto them so that Caesar could also recline comfortably. Side by side, artist and artwork lay down gazing skyward, into the infinite vastness of the night sky above.

"You know, Cae, my grandpa Jonathan used to tell me," Joseph began. "He said that as the night comes it paints over the sky, swiftly and in a rush, leaving a few spots uncolored in its hurry. I'd always thought it was a silly story," he laughed.

Caesar chuckled. "Your grandfather?"

"Yeah..." Joseph sighed, sadly. "I miss him."

"Now it's just Granny Erina and me, and really, just me, after I came to live in my flat. Mom was always away, and I'd never met my dad. But Grandpa Jonathan...he was the best part of my childhood."

He gestured to the sky.

"I like to think he's up there where he belongs, up among the stars. We are Joestars after all," he said with a mix of a laugh and a sigh, gently running his finger over the birthmark on his neck.

One he remembered his grandpa also had, which Joseph imagined was a mark, a promise, perhaps, of where he'd since returned.

There was a moment of silence as Caesar momentarily pondered.

"Do you think I belong among the stars too?" Caesar asked, after a pause.

"Huh?" Joseph turned to look at him. "Why would you think that?"

Caesar gave a melancholy pause.

"Because...because if I really am Anthonio Zeppeli, as Suzi said...shouldn't I be up there? And yet, I am here."

That one word, that had struck Caesar earlier, hit him again.

Purpose.

"I mean, if you really think about how big the universe is, and how small we are to it, it's downright humbling, and a little bit frightening," Joseph mused.

"But we're tiny specks that simply exist, and maybe, we make our own existence worthwhile," he added, stroking Caesar's shoulder stub.

"Then I guess I don't really need a purpose, then," Caesar mumbled, watching the unimaginable vastness twinkle far beyond.

"I mean, do you?" Joseph answered. "You exist for the sake of existing, and that should be enough."

Caesar smiled.

Joseph was right. Why did he have to bother figuring out why he was alive, or who he was, or why he was where he is today?

He was alive today, even though he shouldn't be.

His existence was an unexpected blessing.

He existed for his own sake. And, looking into his sculptor's brilliant blue eyes, mesmerized at the heavens, he thought, perhaps for Joseph's sake too.

"I'm glad you made me, Joseph. Whether or not I really am Anthonio or not. I'm just glad to be here today."

"However way you created me."

Joseph chuckled. "You know what they say, Caesar. Yesterday was history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today is a gift."

"That's why they call it present."

Caesar groaned.

"Oh come on, Jojo," he grumbled. "You stole it from that turtle from the panda cartoon."

Joseph burst out a hearty laugh. "So you have been watching the movies Suzi brought, huh?"

"I was bored," Caesar said, embarassed.

Joseph was just glad for the time they were enjoying together, by the beach, under the night sky, with only the glimmer of lamp posts and the now-rising moon lighting the way. It felt peaceful, and very calming, for both weary artist and lonely creation.

He wished they could do this forever.

Just the three of them.

Oh yes, Joseph remembered, three.

"Say, where is Suzi, anyway?" wondered Joseph after a few moments. "We'd gotten too busy with our little talk there... Suzi?"

A faint snore came as the only response.

"Oh great," Caesar moaned, rocking back up into an upright position with a little help from Joseph. "She slept through the whole thing, and this whole trip was her idea."

"You can't blame her," Joseph explained. "She's pretty tired."

He couldn't help a small giggle as he saw Suzi splayed out awkwardly onto the sidecar seat, dozing away like she was on her sofa.

"I think it's time we went home." Joseph said.

Rousing Suzi to make sure she was safe throughout the ride back to Joseph's apartment, the three friends made their way back, Caesar once more tucked inside his box.

As Joseph pedaled home Caesar peeked out at the view of the city through the hole in the box. The city at night looked so different.

Thousands of brilliant lights shone through the darkness, outlining buildings, illuminating streets, marking the passage of cars.

The city's lights were like the stars on the earth.

And in a way, they were among them, after all.

A sudden halt to the gentle motion of the box indicated to Caesar that they'd reached home. Soon he felt himself being lifted back into the house, as Joseph had done the night he snuck out. Yet this time, it didn't feel like a punishment, as it was when Joseph had forced him back inside. It felt like a reward, at the end of a long, grand adventure.

And at the night, Caesar knew he could look forward to end his day with another night in bed lovingly cradled in his beloved maker's arms.

Suzi sleepily staggered her way into the house and flopped onto the couch with a yawn. "Sorry about that, I hope I didn't miss too much," she said to Joseph, a little regretfully.

"Don't worry, Caesar loved it," Joseph reassured her. "We had a little talk."

"Hmmm?" she hummed drowsily.

"Oh, just stuff, about the stars and the world and the niceness of being alive, he had a lot to say." Joseph explained. "Also he's been watching your movies, he gets references," he laughed.

Joseph felt a strange warmth to Caesar that he couldn't quite explain. His feelings had been all over the place since the handsome little piece of clay came into his life. He'd gotten to know him, and he'd come to like him.

He'd come to love him.

And Caesar, sitting close by on the floor, gazing up at his relatively-towering form, felt the same.

He loved him for granting him life. He loved him for the care and affection, and all the numerous things he'd done for him, even if he couldn't return the favor.

And he loved him for just... being Joseph.

Their gazes met, and two shy smiles crept across their faces.

Perhaps Caesar belonged with a certain star after all.

---------

(Previous Chapter)

(Next Chapter)

[lailyn]

The Way We Were

The knock on the door came late evening, so faint and hesitant Loki almost brushed it off as a product of his overactive imagination. On days like this, when the sun was low and the birds had settled to roost, Loki’s melancholy often paid him a visit. Hearing things was not unheard of. 

There was the knock again. It sounded more resolute this time. 

The banging and clanging from the kitchen ceased momentarily and Tony’s head bobbed up from behind the island counter. “Do you mind getting the door, babe? I kinda have my hands full at the moment.”

Loki rolled his eyes. He waved away their daughter’s toys and righted the cushions on the couch before trudging grudgingly to greet whoever was at the door. For some reason, the journey from the living room to the front door felt long and never-ending, his feet heavy and his heart heavier. 

His wards were holding, but he felt far from safe. He held onto the small frame tighter and closer to him. 

“Stephen.” 

“Loki.” 

“I...wasn’t expecting you.” Loki's grip around his daughter tightened. 

"Mama, is he a bad man?" He heard her whisper in his ear, and just like that, the tension drained out of Loki like water.

"No." Loki loosened his grip around her. "No, baby, he's not."

“Stephen, my man! You made it!” Out of nowhere, Tony appeared, and the trance broke instantly; Loki took an abrupt step back as his husband reached over to give their guest a hug. 

“Tony.” Stephen’s smile was warm and genuine, as was the affectionate squeeze he gave Tony’s shoulder. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, we’ve really moved out of your jurisdiction,” Tony said with a roll of his eyes. “Wellness checks probably aren't warranted as much.”

“Not when you’ve moved upstate, no, not so much,” Stephen said serenely. 

Upon realising that none of them had moved in the last thirty seconds since Loki answered the door, Tony balked, “Are we just going to stand here like a bunch of idiots? Get your ass inside!” 

“Husband,” Loki admonished him, doing his best to cover both their daughter’s ears with one hand.

“Oops.” Tony shooed them all in. He could no more bear the awkwardness than Loki could pretend that they were nothing but old friends. 

He closed the heavy mahogany doors behind them. “I’d offer to take your coat, but…” 

Much to everyone's amusement, the Cloak of Levitation had flown across the threshold to make itself at home, pretending to socialise with the other outer garments on the rack behind the door. 

The toddler in Loki's arms squealed in delight.

Stephen admired the cabin, casting an appreciative eye at the high, lofty ceiling with its great timber beams, and the great roaring fireplace. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“I didn’t think the neoclassic, minimalist luxe look was going to work but you know our dearest Loki. He always knows what he wants.” The look of pure adoration on Tony's face was something to behold. 

A soft blush coloured Loki’s cheeks, his “Stop it,” half-hearted and weak. 

Stephen's fingers hovered over the lone Japanese ceramic tea bowl on a display table. "Edo period?"

Loki’s eyes were unreadable. "I imagine so."

Stephen would recognise the rough, rustic finish anywhere; the crack that went down all the way from its rim to its bottom was unmistakable. He remembered the hours Loki had spent studying the gold lacquer with which the crack was filled, and he remembered keeping him company. 

"Wabi-sabi." Stephen nodded in approval. "The art of seeking beauty in imperfection."

Loki's stoic face gave an imperceptible spasm.

“Espérance, darling, be a dear and go upstairs for a short nap, okay?” Loki pressed a kiss to the little girl's cheek. "Daddy and I are going to talk to Uncle Stephen for a while. We'll call you once dinner's ready."

"I'll take her," Tony offered. "Why don't you take Stephen outside, babe? I've put out some hors d'oeuvre on the patio."

"She's grown so big." Stephen marvelled at the sight of his friends' eldest daughter as she climbed up the stairs one step at a time, clutching the rail in one hand, her father's hand in the other.

"That's one way of telling time." Loki said coolly. "Watching children grow."

Without another word, Loki turned and led Stephen onto the patio, where several chairs had been laid out on the deck overlooking the picturesque lake below. 

Loki had no sooner sat on the chair that offered the best view of the mountains on the other side of the house than the first hum of a familiar tune began to play from the various speakers hidden in the trees around the property. 

Tony must have tinkered with the controls inside the house, and Loki heaved a sigh, forlorn and pensive. 

He did not blame his husband for the poor choice. It had nothing to do with Barbra Streisand’s metier as a singer, as legendary as it was. 

"I could listen to this song over and over if not for the memories."

Stephen took a seat on the other side of the coffee table. It was a comfortable, yet companionable distance. "It's always been your favourite."

"The song or the film?"

Now that Stephen really thought about it, he had no idea. "You never told me."

Loki allowed himself a wistful smile. "You hated it. The ending."

"I don't understand why they couldn't be together."

"They were too different."

"They were their own person, sure. But they loved each other. They should have been able to make it work."

"Are we still talking about Barbra Streisand and Robert Redford?" Loki eyed the man sitting next to him. "Or are you talking about us?"

Stephen felt like kicking himself. This was not why he came. He was not going to ruin what was left of this fragile friendship lamenting lost loves and what-ifs. He did not have many friends left, in this world or off it. 

"We were too similar," he managed. 

Loki snorted. "Polarity has nothing to do with compatibility. What repels does not always repel. What attracts does not always last."

"That is true," Stephen agreed reluctantly.

"You Midgardians look to the stars for guidance, do you not? The alignment and such, to see if one is right for another?”

“Certain cultures do, yeah.”

“I was not born under these stars, Doctor." Loki raised his head to the heavens. "So your theory is flawed."

Stephen knew better than to challenge an idea when there was no point in winning. He had lost so much already. A wiser man would argue that losing was not the same as sacrificing; if done for the greater good, it was noble and worthwhile and who cared if he was alone? If his bed was cold every night?

As long as Loki was safe, warm and loved, Stephen cared not one damn bit. 

"It's pretty cold tonight, huh. How about a drink?"

Two steaming cups suddenly appeared on the coffee table.

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Pumpkin spice latte? You hate this stuff."

Stephen flashed him a smile, boyish and familiar. He offered no explanation for why it looked so sad. Perhaps he did not realise he was wearing it. "Not anymore."

A sudden splashing sound and a whiff of bourbon had Loki shooting out a hand to cover the rim of his cup before Stephen could offer to do the same to his drink. "I'm alright, thank you."

In his shock, Stephen nearly dropped the bottle with a fumbling gasp, and his host turned to give him a sharp look.

In profile, Loki’s looks had appeared untouched by age. But now, Stephen could see the passage of time in the seaglass eyes, how their piercing brilliance cast a sallow hue over a complexion so pale he could see the veins in Loki’s temples. 

"Does Tony know?"

Loki's forehead furrowed as though the question puzzled him, but it smoothened as he looked down at the hand he did not realise he was holding to his stomach. 

"I was planning to tell him the good news tonight."

Stephen closed his eyes. Finally he knew why he had come, and why he must now leave.

He recapped the bottle of liquor slowly. He banished it to his secret pocket dimension in exchange for another object, one he had coveted for his own but now only knew was only given to him for safekeeping. 

Slowly he stood. As if answering his silent call, the Cloak of Levitation flew through one of the open windows upstairs to settle around his shoulders. 

Loki tore his eyes away. He could not look at Stephen's majestic silhouette for too long.

"Must you leave so soon?" He asked lightly. "You'll break Tony's heart."

The foliage of red and gold here was as beautiful as the one Stephen and Loki once shared a long, long time ago. 

He pressed in Loki's hand a memento of that time, a souvenir from one of the many Shinto shrines Loki had dragged him to up and down the ancient town of Kyoto. 

"Fall has seen its share of broken hearts." 

With the return of the sad smile and a small shrug, Stephen then asked the cruelest yet kindest question of all. "What is one more?"

_____________

Loki watched the last of the autumn leaves fall one by one onto the cold, hard ground. He had never told anyone but his eyesight had become better with age, especially in the dark. Be it his Jotunn blood or his ever-growing proficiency in the practice of magic, he found it both a blessing and a curse.

Winter was coming. 

And something was burning. 

The smoke detector blared but the alarm sounded distant, unimportant. A white noise of modern living. 

There was a time when Loki would have let the world around him burn, just for one moment of peace...until he learned that solace was not a place. Tony taught him that.

The patio door slid open behind him and before his husband could speak,

"Do you need a hand, darling?" Loki said without turning his head.

"I think I burnt the turkey!" Tony said, sounding awfully stressed over an overdone poultry no one was going to eat anyway. "I need some time-turning magic! Stephen, you need to timey-wimey the turkey back to edib - "

He frowned. "Where did Strange go?"

"He had to leave."

"What? Why?"

"He didn't say."

"It's not Thanksgiving without turkey."

"I'm sure we'll manage," Loki said mildly. 

He waved a hand and the smell of smoke disappeared, the smoke detector alarm dwindling into the first chimes of the cicadas' night song.

"Think it was some kind of Sorcerer Supreme business? He left without saying goodbye."

"Must be."

Tony sank slowly into the chair Stephen had so hastily vacated. "Well, I guess protecting our reality comes first.” 

“Yeah,” Loki said softly. “I guess.”

"Are you alright?" Tony asked carefully.

“You didn’t tell me he was coming.”

“I didn’t know he was. He has never RVSP-ed before, no matter how many times we invited him over.”

“Why now? Why this year?”

“Maybe he just misses you.”

“Anthony…”

"How long has it been? Seven, eight years since you last saw each other?"

Loki had meant to leave Tony's rhetorical question unanswered but nostalgia had other ideas. "Ten."

Tony whistled. A decade, huh. "That must be why."

“Tony, don’t.”

“Look, Lokes,” Tony said haltingly as he ran a rakish hand through his hair. "Everybody has a history. You know mine. I'm lucky if I could learn half of yours before I die but what I do know of it, I'm cool with it. You're with me now and that's all that matters."

Loki said nothing.

"Am I wrong?" Tony pleaded when the silence went on for far too long. 

Loki rolled his eyes. "There's a little girl upstairs who has your face and your name, what do you think?"

"Seeing as she is our daughter, she's mine, sure." Tony's eyes were asking a different question altogether, Are you? 

Loki sighed, feeling sick to his stomach. The one sip of the sickly sweet drink he took sat heavy and sour, heralding the onset of nausea that would take hours to calm.

His hand slipped inside his pocket and grasped the palm-sized object, not knowing what to expect - 

The tiniest gust of wind blew against his cheek, and Loki let out a startled cry. He had not felt Stephen's magic in a long, long time.

"Loki?" he heard Tony call out, the abject concern in his husband's voice.

He picked up the pouch that had fallen out of his pocket and fisted it tightly, noticing how his nausea had completely vanished.  

"It's an Omamori charm," he said faintly. "The Japanese would gift these to expectant mothers as a good luck charm for safety in pregnancy and childbirth."

"Why would he - " Tony's eyes bulged as he gaped, "You're pregnant?"

"Yes," Loki said, painfully aware of how feathery and weak his voice sounded.

"And you told him?" Tony asked, his voice rising in pitch. "Before me?"

Loki ignored the jealousy in Tony's voice and the hurt in his husband's eyes. Not only was it unfounded, Loki was barely holding it together himself. 

He shook his head more forcefully than he intended and a few tears landed on the weather-beaten deck, darkening it in places. 

"Stephen just knew." Loki wiped his face surreptitiously. "He knows these things."

"I bet he does," Tony muttered darkly. 

Loki turned to look at his husband furiously. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"Baby, I didn't mean it like that." Tony hurriedly tried to gather Loki in his arms but his unyielding husband refused to budge so Tony slid onto the floor and surrendered himself to the mercy of Loki's lap. "I say the stupidest shit sometimes, stuff I don't even mean." 

But Loki was nothing if not persistent. "Then what did you mean?"

Tony was quiet for a time. "Bambi, I'm the coolest guy I know. I look good for my age. Did I tell you my skin age dropped from fifty to thirty after I went on that cleansing diet Bruce recommended on his podcast?"

If Loki waited long enough, Tony almost always got to the point. Eventually. 

"Hey, Fury told me that the last Sorcerer Supreme lived for hundreds of years. How crazy is that?"

“Where are you going with this?”

“Nowhere,” Tony said all too quickly. 

"You are talking to the God of Lies, Tony, or did you forget?" Loki's eyes glinted dangerously. "Try again."

“Someday...one day when I’m no longer around and if you decide that - ” Tony hesitated. His gaze shifted to the floor. “I just want you to know that I’m okay with it. I’m okay with the idea of...you. And him.”

“You would say that to me when I have given up everything to be with you. To take you as my husband." Loki's eyes welled. "To bear our children.”

His breath hitched, his chest felt tight. "After all these years, you still - "

"No, Loki. Please, don't." 

Tony could never stand to see him cry, but Loki could not help the tears streaming down his face of their own volition.

"Please don't cry…" 

Rough, calloused hands pawed at the hollow of his cheeks. 

"I just wish I could make you happy."

But Loki was not having it. "The man can see into the future, Stark. Do you honestly believe he would have let you have me if you couldn't?" 

Tony was stunned into silence.

"What ever gave you the impression that I was not happy with you?" Loki asked bitterly, his entire frame trembling under the weight of anger and some other emotion he dared not name. "You are not some charity case I picked up because you had the shorter life to live."

The silence stretched into long minutes of heartache and morose reflection.

“Are you mad at me?” Tony asked quietly.

"No." Loki shook his head. “I am thankful for you. You gave me a chance. No one else did.”

“Hey, hey. It wasn’t all me. It was mostly you. It was all you.” 

Tony grabbed Loki's hand and pressed an exceptionally fierce kiss on the bone-cold knuckles. “You gave us a chance. I just wanted someone I couldn’t have.”

“Someone you thought you couldn’t have," Loki corrected. 

Tony gazed into the icy depth of Loki's eyes, looking for an affirmation only Loki could give.

“Stephen may have come first but you are not second, Tony." 

Loki touched his fingertips to the sides of his husband's dear, sweet face. "You were never second.”

"I love you, Games."

"And I, you," Loki reassured him, stilling the quiver of Tony's lips with a brush of a thumb. "Even if you don't always believe me."

"I do." In a throwback to his overexcitement on their wedding day, Tony showered Loki's face all over with kisses, each more desperate than the one before. "I do, I do, I do!" 

"I never doubted you, Loki. I was just being an idiot. An insecure, self-centered idiot." Tony reached out a hand to touch Loki's stomach. "Are you okay?" 

"I am more than okay." Loki laced his fingers through Tony's. "Are you?"

"Are you kidding? Do you see this?" Tony gestured at the giant grin he was wearing. It was so huge he felt as if his cheeks would snap. "This is my happy face. I am super happy." Then his face contorted. "When did we -?"

"Make her?" Loki bit down on his lip. "By my calculation, probably last month on our trip to Italy."

Tony's already big eyes widened. Her? He mouthed. 

Loki thought of the pouch charm with its exquisite pink brocade and gold silk lining. 

The Sorcerer Supreme was never wrong.

"Yes, we are having another girl," Loki  said giddily. Tears of happiness did not sting as much so this time he did not bother blinking them away.

Tony's eyes danced. "Can I tweet this yet?"

"No."

"But my followers come up with the most amazing baby names!"

"No!"

Tony pouted. "Fine. But we're giving her an Italian name."

"Tony, we don't really have to name every kid we have after the place where they were conceived, you know."

"Espérance grew into hers," Tony argued. After a few seconds of heavy thinking, "I quite like Isabella."

Loki wrinkled his nose beatifically. "Too common."

"Ludovica? You thought the sculpture was beautiful."

"I am not naming our daughter after a tomb effigy!" Loki said indignantly. "Although I did meet Bernini once. Give him a slab of marble and he could breathe it to life." 

The reminiscent smile on Loki's face took on a life of its own. "You would have liked him. He was quite flashy, like you."

"God you're sexy when you name-drop famous dead people," Tony sighed.

Loki began to laugh; it started off slow, before escalating into a full, heartfelt laughter that had him grabbing Tony's face in both hands. 

Stephen chose to serve the world. Maybe in another life, he would choose Loki. 

But for now, and forever…

There was no other man for him. 

He bent down to kiss Tony on the lips, gently, deeply and fully. 

"Anthony Stark, you have my heart." For Loki too remembered his wedding vows. "Whole, healed and eternal."

And eternal indeed was their love, the former Iron Man and his Ice Prince, and healed were their hearts, conjoined as one, for as long as they both shall live.

[amazingmsme]

The Sweetest Smell is You

AN: Get ready for a lot of sweet pinning & fluff! I know the demand for Witcher fics is high so enjoy this very self indulgent fic, it’s a bit longer!

They had been walking for quite some time. Well more accurately, Jaskier had been walking for quite some time. Geralt was comfortably sat atop Roach, surveying the road ahead. Having completed a contract on the outskirts Toussaint, they were currently heading for Temeria. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on Jaskier's neck. He reached back to wipe off the sweat and flick it onto the ground. It was late spring, closer to summer but not quite there yet.

They traveled along a narrow path through the forest, beaten down by hooves and feet. A creek ran along the trail, providing a symphony of frog chirps on its banks.

"Geralt do you think we can stop soon? It's hot and my feet are killing me," he complained. Jaskier didn't complain often, knowing if he did so he would only come across as a nag and when he really needed to voice his concerns they would be shrugged off. So he normally kept his more unpleasant opinions to himself. But they had been traveling since just after sunrise and it was well past noon by now.

"As soon as we find a safe place to stop, we can take a break," he promised. "But I'd rather keep moving." Jaskier rolled his eyes.

"Yes yes, my sore feet and I are well aware," he quipped. Then he grumbled more to himself, "I swear I'll walk a hole through this pair before the seasons change." Geralt held back a snort. 

He scented the air, searching for any signs of danger and found none. A faint floral scent drifted through the air, tipping him off to a possible clearing or meadow for Jaskier to rest for a while. He knew how much he loved flowers, and it would perhaps take his mind off of his aching body. He said nothing and continued their walk through the forest. The deeper they went, the stronger the smell became. Jaskier still couldn't quite pick up on it yet.

Geralt turned Roach and guided her closer to the small stream. He stepped off and grabbed their canteens and water jugs. "We should fill these up before our supply gets too low. Don't know when we'll come across another clean water source," he said. Jaskier abided and knelt down to refill the bottles. When he stood, he sniffed the air, nose crinkling adorably as he did so.

He smiled to himself. "Mmm smells good," he commented. Geralt couldn't help the smirk that pulled at the corners of his lips, thinking of the perfect reply.

"Thanks, I farted."

Jaskier's jaw dropped in disgusted, though he mostly did it to try and hide his amusement. Which he failed at. "You dihid not!" he laughed, pointing a finger at him. "Trust me, I would know if you did because I'd be on the ground gagging!" Geralt just rolled his eyes, chuckling slightly as Jaskier continued. "And then you'd blame it on Roach, only by now I've learned that hers are only half as bad," he argued. Said horse tossed her head at the insult and stomped her hoof, knowing he was badmouthing her. He reached out and patted her neck. "Sorry girl but it's true."

Geralt interrupted them, climbing back on Roach. He gave her a gentle kick, urging her to walk across the water. Jaskier let out a huff, knowing that meant he'd have to cross as well.

"If I fall I'm blaming you," he muttered. He hopped from rock to rock, doing his best to keep his feet dry. There was nothing worse than wet shoes. He started to place a careful step on a visibly slick rock when Geralt brought the palm of his hand to his mouth and blew. A very loud, flatulent sound reverberated through the air, startling Jaskier to where he slipped on the mossy rock.

There was a loud cry of "NO!" followed by a splash. Geralt found himself laughing fully now as Jaskier sat in the shallow creek, glaring daggers at him. He extended a hand which Jaskier swatted away.

"Asshole, you're the worst," and while there was definitely anger in his tone, Geralt still picked up a slight undertone of amusement.

"C'mon I think there's a meadow or something nearby. I can smell it," he said, trying to win back his good graces.

"Yes, I can too," Jaskier started. "It's... familiar," he wondered aloud. As they continued walking, Jaskier lit up. "I know what this is, it used to grow in the woods near our estate!"

"Hm?" Geralt hummed in lieu of a question.

"It's honeysuckle," Jaskier said matter of factly. "I used to eat it all the time when I was little," he said, a distant look in his eyes. "Gods, that smell really takes me back. It's so good."

Geralt snorted, "Maybe to you, but for me it's too strong. Almost overbearing." They turned a corner deeper into the woods and saw a lush thicket of the flowering vines stretching over the ground and far into the trees above. Hundreds of tiny white and gold flowers bloomed from the rich green leaves, filling the air with the best smell Jaskier could remember.  It might've had something to do with nostalgia, but he didn't care. The scent was thick and sweet, smelling of fresh dew and flora. It was very strong, almost citrusy in a way. A bit fruity, with a hint of honey. Each breath through his nose warmed Jaskier's nostrils with memories from his childhood. He sighed in content and let himself fall to the ground.

Not many people could fall gracefully, Geralt thought, but Jaskier had it down to an art. His eyes were closed, a slight smile on his face. He spread his arms to his side like wings as his legs just, sort of gave out. He crumbled to the ground, letting the flowers cushion his fall. Geralt licked his dry lips, tearing his gaze away. He sat down beside him, watching as he picked a handful of the small flowers. When Jaskier opened his eyes he saw Geralt staring at him with a fond smile before quickly looking away.

Geralt scanned the horizon, hand coming up to pinch his nose shut.

"Hey you should be enjoying this! I bet with your enhanced senses it smells amazing!" Jaskier said. Geralt shook his head.

"It's too strong, I won't be able to detect any danger," he said. Jaskier smirked, "I'm sure your other senses will do the job just fine. And besides, I doubt anything too terrible is in these woods. We would've probably known by now."

Jaskier set his bounty in his lap, picking up one of the trumpet shaped flowers. He pinched off the end of the stalk, pulling out the string from the middle. When he got close to pulling it all the way out, a tiny drop of nectar was collected on the string. He touched it to his tongue, relishing in the sweet taste. He held one out to Geralt.

"Try it."

"I'll pass. It's bad enough having to smell it," he said. Jaskier scoffed, as though offended.

"Excuse you, it smells lovely." He leaned back on his hands, kicking off his boots and tossed them aside before peeling off his wet socks and chucking them as well. Jaskier burrowed his feet into the soft ground. "Much better," he commented.

"Mm."

Jaskier glanced at him from the side before offering another flower. Geralt shoved his hand away, and Jaskier smacked him back.

"Not for you, you oaf!" Roach was now leaning over Geralt and gently took the offering from his open palm. Geralt watched her incredulously. Damnit now he kind of wanted one. He turned back to see Jaskier holding another flower his way. He eyed it, raising a skeptical brow. He still had to keep up appearances.

"It's childish."

Jaskier gasped, placing a hand over his chest. "Are you calling me childish then too?" he questioned. Geralt only tilted his head. That was answer enough. "It's called having fun Geralt, maybe you should try it sometime." The man only grunted. Jaskier leaned forward, batting his eyelashes pleadingly. Damnit.

"Okay fine," he snatched the small yellow bloom from his hands, doing the same as he had seen Jaskier do. It was sweet, light and sugary with only a hint of a floral aftertaste. Much more pleasant than the thick, over powering smell that plagued the air around him. The pungent aroma lingered everywhere, blocking everything else out.

"What do you think?" Jaskier asked. Geralt hummed.

"It's pleasant. The smell is still too strong though. I can't even smell you anymore, and you're right in front of me," he said casually. Jaskier had an odd look on his face that Geralt couldn't quite place. It soon morphed into a wide grin, and Geralt knew that look meant trouble. At least for him.

"So you can smell me?" he asked, scooting closer.

"Not anymore," Geralt deadpanned.

"Ah yes, so you've said. But you are capable of smelling me, and from the sounds of it you're familiar with my scent," he reasoned. There was an... almost dreamy look in Jaskier's eyes, Geralt was sure of it.

"Of course I have, you've been following me for years."

Jaskier propped his elbow on his knee, resting his chin in his palm. "What do I smell like," he asked in a teasing tone. It was almost flirtatious, but that's just Jaskier being Jaskier. Besides, what does he know about flirting anyway? He just made the bard fall in the river because he didn't know what else to do. Geralt looked away.

"I don't remember," he lied.

"That's bullshit if I've ever heard it," Jaskier called him out. "C'mon, just tell me? Unless I stink, then definitely lie to me. But I doubt that I would stink because I do pride myself on my hygiene," he rambled. "So do tell," he eagerly awaited his answer.

Geralt shrugged his shoulders, trying to hide a slight smirk. "Sorry. Honeysuckle's clouding my memory." Jaskier let out an annoyed huff, hands on his hips.

"You know, you're really getting on my nerves today."

"Now you know how I feel," Geralt taunted. Jaskier narrowed his eyes.

"I would advise you tread lightly," he warned.

"Yeah okay," Geralt said dismissively. Jaskier pointed at him.

"I'm serious! I don't know why you're being so damn stubborn," he said.

Because you're cute when you're exasperated, Geralt didn't say. Instead he just hummed. Jaskier huffed in annoyance, puffing out his cheeks slightly as he blew a lock of hair out of his face. Fuck that shouldn't have looked as hot as it did. Jaskier's attention was back on him, and to his shock his throat went dry.

He had a mischievous gleam in his eye with a smirk to match. He crawled closer to him as he spoke. "Tell me, or else you'll regret it." Geralt was not so easily swayed.

He tilted his head. "Oh really? How do you suppose that?" Jaskier gave an experimental poke to his side, making him jerk away from the touch.

"Y'know, I'm still a bit upset about my impromptu swim," he started, and pushed Geralt to the ground. Both hands rested on each side of his chest as he straddled his waist. He leaned in close to Geralt face, and he could feel a heat spread through his entire body as he felt the bard's weight rest on him. "So I won't feel too bad about what I'm about to do."

Geralt was going to ask what he meant by that, but Jaskier's deft fingers dug under his arms. His entire body went stiff, and his face scrunched with the effort to hold in his laughter. The occasional chuckle slipped out with a puff of air, but he eventually caved to the feeling. His arms slammed down, effectively trapping Jaskier's hands.

"Wow Geralt, I don't think I've ever heard you laugh this hard before! Or laugh in general! Who knew it was such a nice sound?" he said, drilling his thumbs into the hollows. Despite all the rumors and lies told about witchers, they had once been human. And many of their human traits are able to shine through at times. Which is why, upon hearing those words, a blush began to creep onto his face. Jaskier's mouth dropped open in amazement.

"Oh my god, are you actually blushing?" he asked. "This is too good! Where else are you ticklish?" He asked.

"Ihihi dohon't knohohohow!" he laughed. It wasn't technically a lie, it had been over a century since he had played with his brothers like this, and he couldn't quite remember all of his spots. Jaskier tsked, "Well that just wont do."

He shifted his attack and began playing his ribs. Geralt's laughter was loud and unabashed as he squirmed underneath Jaskier's body. His hands were skilled from years of musical talent, and he easily dug in between each rib. He thought he was about to be thrown to the side once Geralt's hands latched onto his wrists, but instead of shoving him off, they just... stayed there. Interesting.

He traveled down to his sides, quickly moving over his stomach. He placed quick, sporadic pokes all over, leaving him a jumpy, twitchy mess. His laughter was higher pitched, more frantic. But he still hadn't asked Jaskier to stop, and so he didn't.

"Which is worse? Stomach, or ribs?" he asked, one hand tickling each spot, causing his laughter to kick up a notch.

"Jahahaskier, noho," he pleaded. Jaskier smirked and tilted his head to the side.

"No what? You really have to be more specific Geralt," he teased, not stopping the onslaught.

"Nohot answering!" Geralt cried. Jaskier mock pouted.

"Aw why not? Is it too embarrassing to admit? Well you have my word I won't tell a soul," Jaskier promised. "It's our little secret."

"Stomach," Geralt admitted through his laughter. Jaskier grinned so wide he thought his face might split in two. He slipped his hands underneath his clothes to massage the flesh there. Geralt threw his head back and pounded against the ground with his fists in an effort to not toss Jaskier aside. He raked his blunt nails over the taught skin, resulting in a shiver that ran throughout Geralt's whole body. Jaskier took his time exploring all over the muscled torso before him. When he scratched inside his bellybutton, he let out a scream as he arched his back before falling back to the ground.

"Ohohoho, bad spot?" Jaskier asked with a wolffish grin. Geralt closed his eyes, not able to stand the look Jaskier was giving him. He definitely noticed this and a gentle warmth filled his heart.

"Yehehes!" he admitted. Jaskier was amused with his honesty.

"Hmmm good to know," he said. He had never seen Geralt look so... happy. So genuinely happy. He shook himself out of the slight daze he was in. His hands journeyed over to his hips and touching the tops of his thighs.

"Fuck! Jaskier nohot thehere!" Geralt most certainly did not plead. Said man only raised an eyebrow.

"And why not? Judging from your reaction I would say I've struck a goldmine," he said rather smugly. Geralt finally met his eyes, and Jaskier could tell how much fun he was having. He didn't know much about how he was raised as a witcher, but from what he'd picked up they didn't have much time to play around and be kids. He did know that Geralt and the other witchers enjoyed roughhousing, so this was probably up his alley.

Geralt's eyes shone bright with childlike joy and barely concealed mischief. He wiggled slightly, testing how well he was pinned. Though it didn't really matter all that much, he could stop this if he really wanted to.

Jaskier drummed his fingers ever so lightly on his hips. Geralt grunted, trying to hold back his laughter. "So why would I stop now?" he asked, fingers still at work. His laughs were breathy huffs of air at the softer touch that began to grow more powerful as his fingers sank deeper in the skin.

While he could still talk, he said, "Do your worst then." And then he winked. Jaskier's mouth fell open and he felt his tongue go dry. He quickly recovered, drilling his thumbs into his hips to distract himself.

"Oh you are asking for it mister!" he exclaimed. And he really was. His words were a dare in themselves, the wink an open invitation. So Jaskier took it. He squeezed from his hips down his thighs, deciding to stay there upon seeing his reaction. Geralt thrashed from side to side, his legs drumming the thick plants beneath them.

"Fuhuhuhuck! Shit shit shit!" He grappled for a hold on Jaskier's hands, but ultimately failed, and succumbed to his fate. His laughter was deep and frantic now. It was a nice sound that resonated in your chest when you heard it. Geralt looked truly beautiful like this. His hair fanned out among the foliage, the white was a stark contrast to the rich green. A few of the blooms had fallen out due to all of his squirming, and were now gently tangled in his hair. His eyes seemed more vibrant, at least when they weren't squinted shut. His mouth hung open in a wide smile, the biggest Jaskier had ever seen him wear. And there, carved into his cheeks were bright, shining dimples. Jaskier couldn't help but coo.

"Oh my gods, how have I never noticed that you have dimples?" he cheered. He continued his work with one hand and brought the other up to poke at his cheek. Geralt tried to turn his head away, and the pink color on his face turned a shade darker. "Probably because you never even smile," Jaskier said in answer to his own question.

"Thahat's nohot true!" Geralt defended. Jaskier brought his hand back to the task at hand.

"Of course not, it's called teasing Geralt. Maybe you should try it sometime," he mused. He continued squeezing down his legs, eliciting a stream of loud snorts mixed in with the rich laughter. Jaskier couldn't help but to stare at him with amused shock.

"You fucking snort when you laugh this hard? I need to do this more often then," he said mostly to himself.

"You cahahahan't!" Geralt tried to reason, knowing the bard was probably telling the truth. Jaskier raked his nails slowly over the muscles in his thighs, making him buck once more with a strangled cry of mirth.

"Actually I can. I don't see you trying too hard to stop me," he pointed out. Geralt immediately yelled for him to shut up.

"Alright I'll grant you mercy, but only if you promise to tell me what I smell like." Geralt nodded, willing to do just about anything to get him to stop. Jaskier shot him a half evil grin, "Okay just one more spot first."

Before Geralt could even question him he brought his hands up to gently rake his nails across his neck. He immediately scrunched his shoulders and let out a string of giggles. His fingers worked swiftly along the skin, effectively turning the man to mush. He slowly stopped squirming as much and just melted. Oh this was wonderful.

He tossed his head from side to side, trying to dislodge his attack. Then he moved to rake his blunt nails right behind his ears. Geralt let out a strangled screech, eyes widening at the sound as he moved to cover his mouth.

"Oh no you don't," Jaskier said as he pulled his hand away. God, he had never seen the witcher look so, so giddy before.

"Jahaskier," he said through a laugh. Then their eyes locked and everything froze. Suddenly, he felt himself being pulled in. He kept leaning lower. Geralt seemed to be frozen beneath him. He kept leaning forward until he was mere inches away from Geralt's face; he flashed him a dazzling smile and a wink to go with it before he dove down to his neck. His lips connected with the tender skin as he blew out a large breath.

"NOHOHO!" Geralt yelled as he arched his back, not able to take it any longer. Jaskier rolled off of him, chuckling as he did so. He propped his head in his palm, laying on his side. He stared at him, and a whiff of smugness greeted Geralt's nostrils through the flowers.

Jaskier batted his eyes down at Geralt and asked, "So, what do I smell like?"

"Right now smug as hell." This only seemed to make him beam more.

"Well I have reason to be. I just took down a witcher with my bare hands," he bragged. Geralt rolled his eyes and nudged him with his knee.

"Alright don't be too cocky," he warned, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier settled deeper into the vines, "What else?"

Geralt hummed in thought, "Like sandalwood and lavender."

"I smell good," Jaskier nodded, seemingly proud of himself. This made Geralt smile even more.  He hummed once more.

There was a still beat, before Geralt pounced. He easily grabbed Jaskier's wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. He looked dazed and flushed, a nervous smile already plastered across his face.

"Now Geralt, maybe we can drop this?" he asked.

He only chuckled, maybe intentionally adding a sadistic tone. "You wish." His hands rested atop his stomach as he slowly began drumming his fingers. Jaskier's legs kicked out behind his back.

"Plehehease, Ihi'm sorry!" He was already lost to giggles at the gentle touch. Geralt smirked and wiggled his fingers a little deeper into the flesh. Jaskier's laugh kicked up a notch, as did the squirming. Geralt slipped his hands underneath his shirt, getting at the bare skin. Jaskier snorted and tugged at his arms.

"Shihihit! Nonono!" he squealed once he started squeezing up and down his sides, all the way down to the hips. Then he walked his fingers up each rib, scratching at the space between each one.

"Geralt please!" he managed to gasp out between laughs. Geralt just said, "Almost done."

He slowly began circling his armpit with one finger. Jaskier was already giggling like a fool.

"You cahahan't do thihis to mehe," he said even though he knew that he could and absolutely would.

"Hm, watch me," he said. He formed a claw and started scratching at the hollow. Jaskier squealed and hid his face in his arm. Geralt snickered at the reaction. He let him regain his breath for a moment.

"Can't let the other side feel left out. Then you'd be off balance," he teased, stroking his hand down his other pit. Jaskier couldn't help but squirm away.

"I'm pretty sure that's not how that wohohorks! Nohohoho!" Geralt interrupted him. He dug into the muscle, alighting his nerves. No matter which way Jaskier twisted, he couldn't lose those dreaded fingers. He knew his only choice was to succumb.

Geralt backed off and let him free. Jaskier didn't bother to pull his arms down. Not even when Geralt scratched at the center. That had earned him a beautiful yelp at the feeling.

They both leaned back into the thick flowers, allowing themselves to rest knowing they were protected by the several wards Geralt had cast. Jaskier snuggled a bit closer to his side. Geralt placed a hesitant arm over his shoulder. They spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the clouds before setting up their camp for the night, and cloud gazing turned to star gazing.