#About got stuck on foot in the dark up a hill tonight without a working flashlight. woohoo

[lastmurianwarrior]

((Been the wildest couple of weeks. The animals I mentioned in the last ooc post have all either found forever homes or been taken in by a rescue.))

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Fourteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: my quickest AND longest update to date?? who am i??

merry christmas for real this time. thank you sm for reading i never voice my appreciation for yall but it’s there i swear

tw: abuse mention

***

Cassian’s plan to grab his stuff and get the hell back home is intercepted by Feyre, who pulls him aside and proceeds to spill everything about her fight with Nesta to him.

His heart hurts for Feyre—he of all people knows what it’s like to feel unwanted by your biological family. But what did she really think would happen? Their entire friend group is about placing chosen bonds over blood bonds. Feyre can’t be that offended if Nesta prefers the company of her friends over her little sisters. And trying to talk to Nesta about her therapy? Jesus.

But Cassian has a feeling it’ll take both Feyre and Elain a long spelling out of things before they can begin to understand Nesta the way he does, and he doesn’t have time for that right now. He’s too distracted to even provide the comfort Feyre came to him for.

Somehow, he makes up an excuse and detaches himself from the conversation, leaving to find his coat and keys. Azriel spies him on the way to the door and gives him a look.

“Not a fucking word,” Cassian growls as he passes. Everyone else is engrossed in a game of poker and getting progressively more drunk. Feyre now sits on Rhys’s lap, once again content. Azriel only smirks but shakes his head, letting Cassian slip out of the penthouse unnoticed.

He takes the long way home, needing the night air and flashing headlights to clear his head. Once he gets off the freeway leading to town, though, he picks up his phone and calls Nesta.

She doesn’t pick up.

On the fourth call that goes unanswered, Cassian gives up. Fine. She doesn’t want to talk to him tonight. But still he finds himself driving past her neighborhood, once, twice, as if he’s listless without being able to talk to her. He has too many feelings he needs to get off his chest, and she’s the first person he always goes to for those things.

Try to consider her feelings.

It’s that thought that forces him to turn around and drive back to the cabin. They’ll both feel better in the morning, anyway. He can find her and talk as soon as the day starts.

It’s past midnight when he finally pulls up to the driveway, and still he’s disappointed to not see Nesta’s car there. Still he’s disappointed to enter an empty cabin.

The Christmas tree they decorated together sits unlit in the corner of the living room, their presents untouched under the fir leaves. Without turning the lights on, Cassian trudges upstairs and heads straight to bed.

Any sleep he finds is short and restless. His eyes shut sometime around three in the morning, and when they next open, early dawn light is streaming in through the windows. Snow flurries gently against the glass.

Giving up on the prospect of genuine rest, Cassian accepts that he’ll have to seek out Nesta with dark circles and a half-functioning brain today.

He already has a list in his mind as he heads downstairs: get coffee and breakfast for Nesta, get dressed, be at her door by the time she wakes at nine.

Then he reaches the foot of the stairs, and realizes none of that is necessary.

Straight out of his dreams, Nesta is sitting cross-legged on the ground before the coffee table, inspecting a puzzle piece in the cutest sweater he’s ever seen.

Cassian freezes with his hand on the banister, wondering if he’s still asleep. He watches her bite her lip intently, trying to fit the puzzle piece into a corner of the puzzle. It doesn’t fit.

“Fuck,” she swears softly, tossing the piece aside. Cassian clears his throat.

Nesta’s head shoots up, her focus broken. “You’re awake.”

“You’re in my house,” he says dumbly.

“That’s what the key you gave me is for, isn’t it?”

Hesitantly, like he’s approaching a wounded bear, Cassian walks farther into the living room. “Are you—I mean, are we…?”

“Use your words, baby.”

He breathes a sigh of relief. She doesn’t seem upset. There’s so much he wants to ask her: did she sleep well? Where did she get her Christmas sweater from, and does it mean she’s secretly been a fan of Christmas all along? Does she want hot chocolate or coffee with her breakfast?

“How was your night?” he settles on. He moves to sit across from her at the coffee table.

“Find where this goes,” Nesta demands, handing him a new puzzle piece and pointing to their nearly finished puzzle.

Cassian obeys, and Nesta talks while he works. “I was pretty pissed when I got home last night,” she says. “I wanted to tell you all about this stupid fight I had with my boyfriend, and how I knew he was right but I was still furious at him, until I remembered that you were my boyfriend, and I didn’t want to see you.”

Cassian pretends to focus on the puzzle, letting Nesta get her words out.

“So Gwyn called to say thank you for her present—you were right, by the way, she loves it—and then we ended up talking the whole night, and I told her everything about my sisters and,” she waves a hand, “the other shit.

“And at one point I realized that I was telling her the stuff I needed to be telling you. So I came here as soon as I hung up with Gwyn.”

Cassian looks up. “When was that?”

Nesta shrugs. “Five in the morning?”

“Nesta,” he scolds. “You’ll fuck up your sleep cycle.”

“Will you let me get to my point, damn it?”

Cassian shuts up and sits back.

Nesta is staring down at the puzzle, fiddling with her fingernails. Carefully selecting her next words like an attorney would. “I wanted to apologize for—the things I said last night. I was projecting my insecurities onto you, and I’m sure you already know it, but that doesn’t make it okay.” She looks up, face serious. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other. We always have. But I let that affect how I treated you when you had nothing to do with it.”

“But you were right.” Cassian can’t stay quiet anymore. “I mean, a lot of what you said was wrong, but at the heart of your point you were right.” It took Cassian all night to sift through what Nesta had said, to separate the truth from the meaningless words of hurt. He finally sees it now.

“I should have watched out for you last night, even if I couldn’t claim you as my girlfriend. I know how you are in new environments with new people and I left you to the wolves.” The wolves are his most trusted friends, sure, but they aren’t Nesta’s. And he was an idiot to forget it.

Nesta fixes another puzzle piece into place, and for the first time this morning, true regret passes over her face. “I didn’t enjoy hurting you. I hated every second of it while I was doing it. So as long as you know I didn’t mean any of it, I’ll be fine.”

We were good distractions for each other in your lonely little cabin, but deep down you know we wouldn’t last a day in the real world.

You were sad and desperate for acknowledgement when we first met, and you’re the same way now.

Cassian nods once. “I know,” he says softly. “You could never lie to me.” Even if some of her words had struck a little truer than they should have. Cassian realizes bitterly it’s because her insecurities are the same as his.

“So are you going to tell me about what the real problem was yesterday?” He dares to broach the elephant in the room.

Nesta stiffens, refocusing on the puzzle to avoid his gaze. “I already told you,” she says. “My sisters and I bring out the worst in each other.”

“There’s more to it than that, though.” When Nesta doesn’t respond, he adds, “Feyre told me her side of the story. It probably wasn’t all of it, but if it makes you feel better, I agreed with you.”

Nesta snorts derisively. “She was being unreasonable, but I made it worse. You know that, don’t you?” She raises a brow. “You know how I am.”

Cassian remembers their screaming match from the time he tried to get her a doctor’s appointment, and oddly enough, smiles. “I know you hate it,” he says, “and I know it’s frustrating as hell, but people stop taking your arguments seriously when you start flinging insults. It probably isn’t fair, but you’ve been in a courtroom. You know how it works.”

Nesta grimaces. “Believe me, the future lawyer in me is not proud of how I held up in last night’s fight.”

“Right there.” Cassian slides a section of green pieces over to himself and fits them into place, completing the rolling hills of the landscape scene. There’s only a handful of pieces left, all in the sky area. He waits for Nesta to be ready to speak.

After several moments of working in silence, she says, “My sisters have never really accepted me the way I am. I used to think Elain did back when we were kids, but then I stopped prioritizing her and she stopped understanding.”

Cassian knows Elain is pissed that her once-closest sister no longer cares to talk to her. But what he wants to know is why Nesta stopped answering her calls. Why she pulled away and went into isolation, and wouldn’t come out for anyone until a few short months ago.

Nesta clears her throat. “I was not a well-adjusted kid. I’m not a well-adjusted adult, either, but—I was even worse in my youth. I had a deadbeat dad, who I hated while my sisters adored him. I hated the life we had to live because of him, and I let that hate seep everywhere. Into everything and everyone else.” She blows out a breath and shakes her head. “There was no place closer to hell than that fucking one-bedroom apartment. I hated the person I was in that place—like I had no control over my emotions, my tantrums, my entire self. I was stuck in this childlike state of rage and I couldn’t move on, couldn’t grow up.

“No one could figure out what was wrong with me, so I had to take care of my issues myself. I read more books, I went out more often, I always had headphones in—I learned how to escape. I learned how to limit the destruction. Once I did that, I could care for Elain more openly. I could have civil conversations with Feyre, too. That’s where we went wrong, I think. I gave Feyre hope that I could be a better person, and once she latched onto it, she refused to let go.” Nesta picks at the sleeves of her knit sweater. “She never understood that I was cold and removed just because I was. She always had this belief that deep down, I secretly had a heart of gold and a shit ton of love to give. I never bothered telling her she was wrong, so her expectations of me grew. And so did Elain’s. And then I graduated high school.” She shrugs.

Cassian frowns. “That’s when you left your family and moved here?”

She nods. “The distance helped. For a short time, I thought I was free. No responsibilities or people to answer to. But then I met Tomas—my ex—and Feyre and Elain followed me to Colorado not long after my dad died. And even then I stayed optimistic, because most people would be lucky to have their sisters and boyfriend all in the same place. I thought I could finally have all the relationships a normal person my age was supposed to have if I just put in the effort.” She meets Cassian’s eyes. “I never told you much about Tomas, did I?”

His stomach sinks, but he shakes his head.

“It was not a fun first love. But the only reason I didn’t tell you about it earlier was because I didn’t know how to describe it myself.” She rubs her palms down her thighs, but it isn’t enough to hide their tremble.

“I know what to call it now,” Nesta says. “It was abusive.”

Cassian says nothing. He can’t. But his hands curl into hard fists under the coffee table.

“Lana made me work up to using that word.” She rolls her eyes, like the whole thing annoys and embarrasses her. “He was abusive: physically, verbally, emotionally. I’m not going to go into the details or anything, but it’s what was happening to me during those college years that my sisters needed me to be there for them.”

Cassian would never in a thousand years ask Nesta for information she isn’t ready to give, but in that moment he’s overwhelmed with the need to know everything—every little thing that’s ever been done to her, so he can draw up a list and exact calculated revenge for all of it. His voice is rough against the lump in his throat, out of fury or despair he doesn’t know. “Nesta…”

“I promise I’m almost done.” She holds up a hand.

Take your time. Tell me everything.

“This isn’t about him,” Nesta says. “This is about my sisters. Because even if I hadn’t been stupid enough to let that man waste almost four years of my life, I would have ended up in the same place with Feyre and Elain. They’d still be disappointed when they realized I couldn’t be what they wanted me to be.” She wraps her arms around herself in a hug, and Cassian wishes he’d sat beside her so those could be his arms.

She shakes her head. “I did my best so I wouldn’t be cooped up with them, wouldn’t be lashing out at them… and it still wasn’t enough. They wanted me to be nice, friendly, talkative. So I tried doing that too, even though I hated it. But around the same time things with Tomas started to get unbearable, Feyre found Rhysand and you guys. So now I had to hang out with my sister while she had a group of strangers constantly surrounding her, and go back home to a man who hated me at the end of the day.” She looks up at Cassian then, and her blue-gray gaze hits him with the force of a truck. “As soon as Feyre moved away to Velaris, I saw my way out. I finally broke up with Tomas. I gave up on all my relationships and I let go, and I don’t care if you or anyone else thinks it’s pathetic, or the bare minimum. It’s all I had to give.”

Cassian swallows roughly, unable to find his words. “It’s not pathetic, Nesta,” he finally says. “There’s nothing pathetic about doing what doesn’t come easily to you.”

There’s a million other things he needs to say to her, to make sure that she knows she isn’t stupid, or embarrassing, or not enough. But it all floats right out of his head when she heaves a big, dramatic sigh, as if a great weight has been lifted off her chest. As if Cassian’s measly words were all she needed to hear to feel alright.

She snatches up the final remaining puzzle piece and clicks it into place. “And we’re done,” she declares.

Cassian looks down at the table between them, which is now fully lit by the beaming morning sun outside. His eyes land on an empty space near the corner of the landscape, and his face falls. “There’s a piece missing,” he says.

“No way, where?” Nesta leans closer.

Cassian is already on his hands and knees, checking under and around the table for the missing piece.

“This is all your fault,” Nesta is saying above him. “You bumped into the table that time we were making out and all those pieces went flying.”

“Well, how fucking far could it have gone? Help me find it.” He’s serious now, searching the floor with intent. They can’t leave the puzzle unfinished. It was the only thing he could find in his garage all those months ago that could distract Nesta from anticipating her MRI results. And after the diagnosis, it had been a way to lift her mood, to give the two of them an excuse to spend every evening together—

“Sweetheart, it’s just a puzzle.”

Cassian sits up straight at that. “Just a puzzle?” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Well, it’s either that or an overextended metaphor for our relationship—are you crying?”

“No.” He blinks quickly. If there’s wetness there, he doesn’t know how Nesta glimpsed it.

He’s had a hard twelve hours. Nesta even more so. “I just feel really bad, about last night and everything else.” Because even if she acts like what she just spilled to him isn’t a big deal, he’ll never forget it.

He looks up to find Nesta laughing. Hand-over-her-mouth cackling. Before he can ask what’s wrong with her, she’s climbing up onto the coffee table, breaking up the puzzle and sending pieces scattering as she crawls across it. “Nesta—” he starts to protest.

She drops into his lap, winding her arms and legs around his powerful body. And she leans in and kisses him, long and deep and sweet. His hands settle into the curve of her hips, where they’ve always fit perfectly.

She breaks the kiss to fit her palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she says. She never says that. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.” Her lips quirk up teasingly, but real guilt from the night before lingers in her eyes. Cassian realizes in that moment that Nesta could never hurt anybody more than she hurts herself.

“Don’t waste your apologies on me.” He nudges her nose with his. “Save them for people who’ll actually need to hear them.”

A real smile starts to bloom on her face. “I’ll try.”

Pride and love take his breath away, but he manages to say, “Thank you. For sharing so much of yourself with me.”

She makes an embarrassed noise and waves him off, but emotion shines in her eyes. Just to spare her, Cassian changes the subject. “Now what in the world are you wearing?”

She glances down at herself, frowning. “You don’t like it?”

“I love it.” The sweater looks hand knit, bright red with a green Christmas tree in the center. Balls of colorful fuzz decorate the tree as ornaments. “I want you to wear it every day,” he says.

“Over my dead body. I’d rather you help me take it off.”

Nesta’s hips feel especially snug against his as heat rushes to his crotch. She smirks like she caught him on a hook and leans in to whisper, “You look tired. Did you stay up thinking about my dress last night?”

Cassian swallows roughly. It might have crossed his mind a few times—not just the dress, but the fact that she had picked it out for him. He didn’t know that Nesta cared about things like that.

She rubs a thumb under his weary and reddened eyes. “After your anger faded, did you think about all the make-up sex we were going to have? Because I did.”

“Nesta,” he groans, dropping his head to rest against her chest. Either she plays him too well or he’s too easy to play, because Cassian is half a second away from damning everything to hell and dragging her to the living room carpet.

Until Nesta’s stomach growls loudly.

That’s when he remembers: it’s Christmas morning, he’s with the love of his life, and they’re both starving and sleep-deprived.

He looks up to find her eyes screwed shut in frustration. Before she can protest, he warns, “Don’t even think about it.” He pats her thighs. “Let’s get some food in you.”

***

Cassian makes them chocolate chip pancakes, and Nesta, feeling clingier than usual today, hangs piggyback off his body the entire time he cooks. She hasn’t slept in almost twenty-four hours, yet she feels like she was born anew this morning.

In the middle of breakfast, Cassian’s phone vibrates. He hardly even glances at it before turning it over.

“Who was it?” Nesta asks through a mouthful of pancakes. She hasn’t asked him about how his own night went, but she expects that his friends will want to call and talk to him at some point today.

“Feyre,” he says without looking at her. “She asked where I went last night.”

“Why’re you ignoring her?” She raises a brow.

Cassian looks a little surprised. “I thought we were mad at her.”

“No.” Nesta sets her fork down. “I’m mad at her. What’s your excuse?”

He shrugs. “Solidarity. I’m mad that you had your Christmas Eve ruined. I know what it took you just to show up there.”

“You’re the only one that knows.” Nesta supposes that not everything has been cleared up with Cassian after all. “Listen,” she tries to soften her blunt tone. “Whatever is between me and my sisters… you don’t need to concern yourself with it. You’ll never have to choose sides between us.”

He watches her closely, carefully. “Even if I want to defend my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flutters at that inconsequential word, but she doesn’t show it. “Even then. Feyre looks at you like an older brother. I’m sure Elain does too, a little bit. Don’t let me get in the way of that.” He probably feels guilty every time he texts Feyre, the loyal bastard.

Cassian looks at his plate, then nods resolutely. “I can do that.” He adds a moment later, “For what it’s worth, I do get where the girls are coming from. Even if they had a shit way of going about it.” His eyes darken as he remembers.

Nesta doesn’t know what he was told about the fight, but she chuckles at his moody face anyway. “I expected you to. You’ve always loved spending time with your family, and you’ve never known anything different. But the reality is this: the closeness you have between you and your brothers isn’t something that can be forced onto every group of siblings. And the more Feyre and Elain try to force it, the more I push against it.”

“It sounds stifling.” His face is open, understanding. “To feel like you’re always too much but never enough.”

Nesta pauses, stunned. Cassian is almost too empathetic sometimes, like he carries a thousand past lives within him. Maybe he spent his time learning Nesta by heart in those lives.

Or maybe she’s getting too damn sentimental. She chokes out a dismissive laugh, going back to her pancakes. “Just text Feyre back. Then we can have the rest of the day to ourselves.”

***

Late morning brings heavy snowfall and a chill that infiltrates the walls of the cabin. The Christmas tree in the living room is lit—something Cassian didn’t notice earlier when he came downstairs to find Nesta in his house. Realizing that she’s the one who lit it up first thing in the morning does something to his chest, but he pushes the feeling down where it can’t scare Nesta away.

The weight of the past day must finally catch up to her, though, because by the time Cassian finishes lighting the fireplace, she’s knocked out asleep on the couch.

“No makeup sex then, Nes?” he says softly. Getting up from the hearth, he goes to pull the fur couch throw over her body. Cassian settles at the end of the couch near her feet, taking care so she doesn’t wake, and picks up his laptop from the coffee table. He’s been slacking with his work ever since he got with Nesta, and he might as well catch up on it now before Rhysand takes notice.

The first email that pops up in his inbox is a corporate reminder about the annual New Year’s Eve fundraiser gala, hosted in some high-class hotel in Denver this year. Cassian reads the email once, twice, three times before reaching for his phone.

Rhys answers on the first ring. “Oh, so you don’t hate us,” he drawls.

“What?” Cassian is confused.

“Because with the way you’ve been acting at family events lately, one would have reason to think you don’t want to be around your family much.”

“Oh—no, this isn’t about that.” Cassian refuses to let Rhys linger on this topic. “I called about the New Year’s party.”

“What about it?” he says. “Other than that tacky hotel.”

Cassian decides to spit it out. “I’m not coming.”

Rhys is stunned silent over the line for a moment. “What do you mean, you’re not coming?” Cassian never misses company events, no matter how much he hates dressing up and driving out to the city to schmooze with donors.

But too many of his holidays have gone to Rhys instead of Nesta this year, and he finds himself unwilling to give more.

“I’ve been stressed as hell lately,” he lies, trying to stay quiet for Nesta. “I’m always the one driving hours to see everyone else, and I can’t go all the way out to Denver for another party. I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit,” Rhys responds. “You have nothing going on at work and nothing going on outside of it. What could you be stressed about?”

Cassian makes a mental note to find a hobby that doesn’t include his brothers, if only so he can use it as an excuse to spend time with his secret girlfriend in the future. For now, he has to settle with the truth. “I can’t tell you.”

It’s a petty card to play, but it’s a valid one. No matter how nosy his family might be, they know how to back off when a line is drawn, no explanation required.

Rhys’s voice softens. “Is it serious? Is it a health issue?”

Cassian nearly laughs, even though he feels bad for making Rhys worry. “No, nothing like that. But I still can’t come.”

“What can I do to make it easier for you?” Rhys tries again. “New Year’s isn’t the same without all of my family in one place.”

Cassian snorts. “Come over to my place then.” He says it half-jokingly, but then Rhys doesn’t answer, as if he’s thinking.

“The gala guest list is too big to fit in the cabin…” he ponders. “But I guess I could have it narrowed down at the last minute. The Mayfairs certainly won’t be happy about it, though.”

Cassian’s eyes widen, and he looks over at Nesta’s sleeping form. “Uh…” He scrambles for something to get him out of this.

“New Year’s at a luxury cabin, all of us reuniting at your home for the first time in months? I love it,” Rhys declares. “Better than fucking Denver, that’s for sure.”

Cassian coughs, then covers it up with a forced chuckle. “I’ll have the place ready by next week.”

The call is over before he knows it, and all he can do is stare at the phone in his hand wondering what the hell just happened.

You didn’t entirely lose, he thinks to himself. You’re spending New Year’s with Nesta.

Yeah—New Year’s with Nesta and his entire family. He drops his head back against the couch and groans quietly.

***

Nesta wakes up late in the afternoon to Cassian presenting her with a mug of eggnog and bad news about New Year’s Eve.

The idea of another party, especially one with her sisters present, so soon after the last one makes Nesta’s very bones ache. But she supposes she’ll just have to take the next week to recover and prepare, because she isn’t missing out on a holiday with Cassian for anything.

The way she’s started romanticizing simple things like the new year should probably alarm her, but it doesn’t.

They sit down to open presents with the TV playing lowly in the background. It’s nothing serious, and Nesta isn’t expecting to get anything much until she unwraps her present.

It’s a vinyl record packaged in an elaborate sleeve with the words Nesta’s Mix etched across it. She slowly pulls the record out of the sleeve, staring at it. “What’s this?”

“It’s called a vinyl.”

She spears him with a look. “I got that. What’s on it?”

Cassian turns sheepish, sprawled out across from her on the carpet. “I stalked your Spotify to figure out what you listen to. Then I made a playlist based off what I thought you’d like and got it turned into vinyl. It’s all new music…” He trails off at the look on her face. “But if you hate it, the B-side has your favorite songs on there. You can listen to it either way.”

“I don’t hate it.” Nesta blinks her burning eyes rapidly, staring down at the gift in her hands. She’s not used to receiving thoughtful gifts—or pricey ones. “Thank you,” she says plainly, trying to let her feelings speak for themselves in those two words. “I love it.” She knows she should be saying more, damn it, but what can she say?

Cassian reaches out to put a hand on her knee, his thumb stroking circles across her leg. She looks up at him and realizes she doesn’t need words. Leaning forward, she lands a kiss on his cheek and can only hope that it’s sufficient. “Where am I going to play it?” she asks.

“I was close to getting you a record player when I remembered I already have one. I’ve never used it in my life.” He looks at her more gently now. “So it’s basically yours.”

Nesta’s chest tightens painfully. Not because he’s giving the record player to her, but because he’s suggesting they own it together.

“My present is going to look so stupid next to yours,” she says quietly.

Cassian grins. “Now I really need to see it.”

Nesta buries her head in her hands in humiliation while he tears open the wrapping paper of his gift, and only looks up when she hears him laugh aloud.

He’s holding a copy of one of Nesta’s favorite romances, and the first of many of her books that he’s ever stolen from her and read. He turns the vintage paperback around in his hands. “I remember this one. I totally had a sex dream about it.” He gazes in reminiscence at the busty blonde on the cover.

Nesta snorts, but scoots closer to him eagerly. “Look inside.”

He flips it open to find dark scribbles along the margins, in every single margin.

“I annotated it,” Nesta says hesitantly. “With my thoughts and analysis on each scene. It’s probably dumb to critically analyze a ninetie’s erotica novel, but I thought you’d find it funny.”

Cassian is flipping through the pages more slowly now, taking his time to read each one. “I don’t think it’s funny,” he says after a moment, his eyes still on the book. “I think it’s more than anything I could have asked for.”

“Well, that’s a bit dramatic for a romance book—”

“Not the book.” He looks up at her with something in his eyes. “It’s all your thoughts.” He looks back at the book in wonder. “Written out for me in detail to keep.”

He starts to smirk, searching for a specific page. “I already know how you feel about the boat scene, but now I need to read about it.”

Nesta makes a noise of protest, grabbing for the book. “Don’t spoil the good parts yet.” She can hardly believe it. He finds her joke present good. “You always spoil the good parts first and get sad about it later.”

He makes a face. “True.” He lowers the book, growing serious. “Nesta.” He clears his throat, and her heart starts pounding. She can hear the words before he says them—

“You’re a really good gift giver.”

Nesta’s breath shudders out of her, in relief or disappointment she doesn’t know. Cassian is still staring at her in amazement, and she can only respond by throwing herself at him, her arms holding him tight.

He doesn’t falter under her weight, but pulls her closer. “Thank you,” he says into her ear.

She pulls back far enough to see him. His beautiful face is outlined with too many emotions for her to read, yet somehow she knows exactly what he’s feeling.

Overwhelmed, she leans in to place a soft kiss above his upper lip, then on his mouth. “Merry Christmas,” she whispers against his lips.

“Merry Christmas, Nesta.”

***

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[myfeetkeepdancing]

Saint and Sinner  |  Arvin Russell x Male!Reader

Summary: This continues where the movie ends. You pick up Arvin as you are on your way to Cincinnati. But he’s awfully quiet, haunted by his past. Not the ideal companion for a long journey, but you make most of it. 

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut

Words: 7814

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The orange glow of his cigarette illuminated the features underneath the cap for a brief moment. The cindering bud scattered across the tarmac as it parted with an almost spent cigarette. A puff of smoke blew from his lips. Carried away by the wind, into the forest beside him. Another car drove past him. A visible sigh racked his frame as he dragged his feet back into action. You spot the man from miles away. His appearance became more apparent the closer you got.

His intentions didn't change; you see his hand signal coming into view again. With his cigarette almost burned up, you leave your foot off the gas, and you let the car roll to a standstill a few yards after him. His jeans were dirty, torn, and worn long last past its intended lifetime. Just like the loose shirt hanging around his frame, the collar broad and wide. Blown by the wind. Spots of grime, sweat, and soil soaked in. A few locks of brown hair protruded from beneath his cap. Worn and colors fading. His expression was tired, and features that were gaunt like. Roadworkers were common in the area. And he sure looked the part.

"Hey there, where you be headin'?" You ask as he walks up to your window.

"I… haven't figured that out yet." He said in a beaten-down tone. "I was thinking somewhere north."

"I'm heading towards Cincinnati. You can travel along that way."

You could see him pondering, looking back down the road the way you came. If something was keeping him here. Reminding him of something. Before looking back at you. "I've been meaning to get up there."

"Well, hop on in." Leaning over to unlock the door. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Thank you...." Taking the last pull of his cigarette before tossing the smoldering remains on the floor. Closing the door behind him. "I didn't think anybody was gonna pick me up." Cradling the knapsack in his lap. And sharing a glance at you, forcing a small smile. Tightening his arms around his bag. His voice is dark and heavy. Carrying a sense of grim. "I'm Arvin."

"Rough day?"

"Hmmhm." He confirmed, avoiding any further eye contact. "Yeah…" Mumbling under his voice. Locked in a cold stare, reserved and absent.

There wasn't much to talk about. He sat there beside you, staring into the distance. You put the car into gear and steer back onto the road—a two-way road dissecting the large looming forest. Tall pine trees scattered up and beyond the horizon. As far as the eye can see. In the distance, a single-car drove ahead of you. A loaded truck passed by, and that was it. And as you pick up speed, a cool breeze of air began circulating through the open rolled windows. Following into the bending road, you spot the lay of the land ahead of you. A long stretch of road, rolling over the hills and valleys of the countryside. The branched off dirt roads dotted here and there all connected to a long stretch of road—a single lane connecting the smaller settlements to the cities. The road was uneven like most of them. The journey was going to be long. With the nob on the radio, you turn the volume down, the local radio broadcasting nothing noteworthy other then news and music replayed over and over again. Trying your best to keep your eyes on the road, you can't help but notice the boy's head bobbing. He must be the same age as you. Maybe a bit younger. His features were young, yet his expression was grave. He'd been through something. The way his eye pierced through the windshield. Roughed up by the countryside.

"You can sleep if you want, I'll wake you up once we hit town."

He just shook his head, fighting to stay awake. Arvin didn't want to fall asleep beside a stranger. Things were keeping him awake. His head heavy with sleep, burdened by his thoughts and deeds, bobbing on his neck. Swaying to the bounces and rockings of the car. His mind occupied elsewhere. Taking him back to times that were.

You weren't entirely sure if he was awake or not. He breathed somewhat heavily, and his head jerked back once in a while. "You… joining me?" You ask, motioning to the diner opposite the car. You hear a few grumbles, the sleepyhead still fighting to stay awake. His eyes small and narrow. With your coat hanging on your lap, ready to go, you give him some more time. He had been dozing off for little moments during the ride. But something was keeping him away, he'd jerk back into life, awake again and again. As if his nightmares were pushing him from his sleep. You slip open the pack of cigarettes and offer him one before taking one yourself. Something he didn't decline.

"I'll wait." He grumbled, voice hoarse and dry. "I'm not hungry."

"Hmm…" You watch him with interest, slowly awakening himself from the small naps. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, you notice the long brown locks of hair as he readjusted his cap, racking his fingers through as he coughed a little. Both still seated in the car, you quietly offer him a light. He leans over to you, catching the flame with his cigarette. "Something troubling you?" The question got out before you knew it.

The small flame of the lighter gave his appearance a somber look. He looked at you briefly through his lashes before seating back up. "It's nothin', just a… busy day." Pulling a big one from his cigarette. You remain seated like that for a while. Smoking a cigarette in peace and quiet. The parking lot at the dinner was almost empty, two cars and a lorry. From the car, you both watch the few customers dine and the young server walking up and down the diner. The sun was setting on the horizon, darkness slowly creeping into the surrounding woods.

"Here." Tossing the pack of cigarettes his way. "Just make sure no one gets into the car." You say and step outside, putting on your coat as the cold breeze crept upon you. "I'll be back in a bit."

"Don't worry about me." Sinking back into the chair. Taking another cigarette between his lips as he watches you enter the diner. Drawing a long pull and releasing a plume of smoke together with a long sorrowful sigh. Arvin was all alone in this world. Sitting in a strangers car, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't help but feel pity for himself. More and more questions began flooding his mind. Where should he go? What should he do? Would they be looking for him? And most importantly, did he do right? He rolled up the windows more to block out the cold wind blowing in. Arvin was alone once again. He wanted to. It's what he choose. Trust was hard to come by. Especially after all that had happened. He couldn't trust anyone. He sank deeper into his seat. His gaze stuck in nothing but mindless thoughts.

"Shit!" Arvin cursed, jumping in his seat. His instinct kicked in, holding a charged fist at whoever tried to get to him. But as he looked better, he could see a familiar face beside the car.

"Sorry, didn't mean to." You apologize while opening his door. "But I was wondering if you brought your jacket? Didn't see it on you, and you know, since you won't join me, you better get dressed. Gets pretty cold outside."

"Have my denim jacket with me." He said. Looking a bit puzzled by your concerns. "I'll be fine."

"Here." Slipping off your coat and handing it to him. "That denim jacket won't keep you warm. You sure you're not coming with me?"

He shrugged it off without even looking at you. You also let if go, and continue inwards. Like a typical diner, seating benches row after row. There was space for no more than fifteen to twenty people. At the end of the path cutting across the diner sat a jukebox. A nifty apparatus that was popping up everywhere. Even in small places like this. Behind the small bar with stools in flashy red and white accents all over stood the young server. She gave you a kind smile. Through a small gap in the wall, you could see the kitchen. The smell of bacon and fries welcome you—a sure pleasant one since you were in need of a good meal after such a long drive. A few seating away from the door sat an older couple, behind them, the lorry driver—just a quiet evening in the diner. You take a seat further up, close to the window to keep an eye on your car. And most importantly, your passenger. At first, he sat in the car, smoking one after the other, before finally dressing himself in your coat. Cold must be creeping into the metal.

In your mind, you couldn't understand nor figure out why he'd stay outside. He stretched his legs outside the car several times but regretted it moments later. The weather is getting a grip on him soon enough. Surprisingly enough, sleep didn't bother him anymore. Dinner alone didn't take long. The meal was good, a nice piece of tender meat with fries and a coke—a real classic. When you dine alone, you tend to finish quickly. Some small talk with the server might drag it out. But not tonight.

During your meal, you browse through the local paper. Read in upon the local and national news. Check the adverts and job offers. Ponder about work, family, and other matters. But somehow, your thoughts keep getting pulled away—more than once. And when you look up from your meal, your eyes automatically divert to your car. Catching his eye. The distance wasn't that far. But the contact was there. And feel caught nonetheless. He wasn't staring at you. But you keep catching each other's gaze—more than once. Your meal was interesting, but outside was something more worth your attention.

The red neon lights illuminated the entranceway and part of the parking lot. You were flooded by it once you stepped outside. In the small cluster of buildings on this side of the road, this one stood out the most. A local watering hole further up was the only other noteworthy building. The rest was wrapped in darkness. Two lamp posts illuminated the main street. Furthermore, no light. Just quiet and darkness. All in all, the small place was a sad display; most buildings were dilapidated, poorly maintained, and without much charm. Life went one elsewhere, but here, somehow, time seemed to stand still. A chill ran up your spine to tell you it was time for another stretch on the road.

The windows were rolled up all the way, except the one on his side—a small opening near the top, big enough to rid excess ash from his cigarette. You take a seat behind the wheel again, placing the paper bag beside him. A look of surprise shoots across his face; the smell must have caught on. "It's for you." You say while starting the car. The headlights illuminate the parking, and it's silent metal habitants.

"You didn't have to." Coughing his smoker's breath away, peaking into the bag. "But 't smells good."

"Dig in, my friend." Pushing the bag further towards him. "Can't imagine you're not hungry." A thin, forced smile softened his otherwise tired and lackluster expression. "It'll do you good."

"Thank you." He says while looking up at you. You feel the words carry their message across. The way he looks at you, straight into your eyes. "That's... real kind of you." Taking the contents from the bag. He carefully begins to unfold the wrap from the steaming hot burger on his lap. A sip from the cold milkshake seems to make him whole again. So did the first bite into the burger, leaning back as he slowly lets the flavors overwhelm him. "That's real good." He nods. "Yeah..."

"Good to hear…" Giving him a smile as you bring the car into action. The road ahead was dark and still so many miles to make. "Still got plenty of miles to go."

With the headlights of your car being the only source of light in the vicinity, driving became a tiresome experience. Staring ahead of you. No proper focal point. Just the road, two beams of light, and a pitch-black horizon. The sound coming from the radio was nothing special, pretty much the same as the jukebox from earlier. Your back began to feel sore and worn, annoying you. Small talk had been minimal. Arvin wasn't much of a talker. Not a storyteller. He kept his answers short. Therefore the whole chatter didn't have any deep subjects. Just plain chit chat about work and life. The work he did. The news. Yet, not mentioning his family. He avoided it. For a reason, you guess.

"What's there for you in Cincinnati?" He asked. For once, you were taken aback by his interest. Managing to speak a whole sentence. You chuckle to yourself lightly. Arvin noticed but didn't react.

"Home." You said, giving him a smile as he looks at you. "Been on a family visit for a couple of days."

"Hmmm…" He shifts his gaze from you back to the road. "Parents?"

"Yeah, I... used to live there. Farm life wasn't for me." You said. "Have you figured out where you're going?"

"Not yet." He sighed, sinking back further down in his seat. "Thank you for the coat. Glad the heater is back on again." Warming his hands in front of the vent. "It's cold."

"The least I can do."

The drive from the diner to the motel was a mere four-hour drive. Again in full darkness, only with a few more cars here and there. You knew the route for a certain bit. Arvin didn't pay attention to the road numbers when you tried to recall the last one. Arvin just raised his shoulder questionably. He didn't know. And it wasn't his fault, but you were trying to involve him in the process nonetheless. At least try to make the best of your company. When you stopped, he did join you looking on the map. Decked out onto the hood of the car, finding your way across the spiderweb of roads. He did look. But didn't say much. Smoking a cigarette, nothing more. In the last miles fifty or so miles, you made a stop to refuel, bought another pack of cigarettes, some small snacks, and went on for the final stretch. Arvin was said very little. Like before.

"Alright... so." You said, waiting for Arvin to catch up. "I've booked a room for the night here, perh-"

"I better go." He nodded, with a notion of defeat in posture. Adjusting his cap over his long curls again. With his gaze to the floor, he throws the knapsack over his shoulder.

"That's not what I meant." You chuckle out laughter, scratching yourself behind your ear. His eyes widen as he looks up, you see the grip on the strap tighten. "It's not that late." You say. "How about a beer? I know a bar further up. On me."

His pursed lips and a downcast glance told you enough. One hand on the strap of his bag, he tucked the other away in his pocket. A sigh followed that was louder than even he expected. The shadow created underneath his cap by the lamppost was enough to be unable to read in expression. Or see his eyes.

From what you have seen from this man, this Arvin. The words he spoke were few. Very few. But the eyes didn't. Once you looked into those eyes, they didn't deceive. They tell you more than his words could make out. He removed the last cigarette from the package you gave him. "Got a light?" He asked with a heavy voice. From your pocket, you flip open your lighter. Before giving you one more look. "Thank you (Y/N)." And with that, he starts walking away from you.

"Arvin." His steps slowed down before glancing back in your direction. Not at you. "Take good care of yourself."

He simply nodded, blew the smoke from his lips, and walked away. You try to shake it off and continue to check-in. The small room was furnished like any other. A small room centered around the bed, a tiny bathroom in the back, a wardrobe to one side, a chair to the other. Colors were near the same throughout the rooms. This was simple, dark, and drab greens. An old model of a television stood on a wooden counter near the wall. You seat yourself into the chair and tune into the first channel of only six. There wasn't much time that went by as sleep began to creep in. Eyelids heavy with sleep. Thoughts turned to none. Gazing mindlessly at the black and white images dancing on the screen.

You veer up in your seat, completely awake—two knocks on your door, loud and powerful, resonated through the room. You didn't have a bad conscience, as some would suggest. But this was far from expected. With your eyes wide open, heart beating in your chest, you approach the little spyhole in the door. Focusing one eye on…

"Arvin?" You pull open the door with a more than a surprised look. "How' d-... W-...?"

He'd clearly been beaten up by the weather. His breath fanned out before him like a small cloud, the cold from outside, riding up against you. Bringing your senses back to life again. It must have been more than an hour since you last saw him. Outside was cold, like before, windy and above all dark as the night could be. He reeled from the cold. Shaking to his very core. "Can I come back on that offer?"

"Of course." Taking a step back and holding the door open to him. "C'mon in."

"Thank you." He said, rubbing his hands together feverishly. "Tis damn cold outside." Standing uncomfortably in the room. Rocking on his heels, trying to warm himself up.

"It is…" Closing the door behind him, you don't know what to expect. But a sense of relief did surface for a brief moment. Something about him made your heart flutter. "So... what happened?"

Arvin didn't look pleased with himself. Sighing deeply, forcing his gaze to the floor if he was about to confess something. "Nothin' happened. That's the problem. I..." He shook his head, as if conflicted by his train of thought. Embarrassed to admit something.

"I'm just curious, Arvin. No more."

"I... didn't know where else to go..." He confessed, shoulders sinking, head hanging low.

"It's ok." Feeling pity for the man. What you didn't know was that Arvin had been standing there, in the darkness, for a long time. He'd walked the streets alone. Trains weren't there. Money he didn't have. Nor any family. Lost in his thoughts. Alone and cold. Without anything but a knapsack filled with old belongings. What was he going to do? He was a lost cause either way.

What he needed was hope. A light at the end of the tunnel. So he returned, standing in the distance, shivering from the cold in some alleyway. Catching the last glimpse of you as you unloaded your suitcase. Arvin had wondered for how long he should stay there. Was ten minutes long enough? Half an hour, maybe? He troubled himself with all sorts of thoughts, as he observed the small window which a little bit of light shone through.

"You mind if I...?" Pointing at the glass and bottle of liquor beside the chair—another reason for you why sleep began to set in earlier than usual.

"No, not at all." He handed you the glass with your remaining bit, downing it in one go. "It helps me sleep from time to time." Releasing a small hiss as is burned down your throat. Watching Arvin putting his lips to the bottle. Downing a few good swigs. "Might help you as well."

"Hmmm... I sure could use it." He looked at you with dreary eyes. "Sure could use it..." Wiping the drool from his lips with the back of his hand. His whole body was still shaking and shuddering on his legs. The glass trembling in his hand. You could see the pale white skin of his fingers gripping the glass. They were whiter than his grime stained shirt.

"So, what's your plan?" You ask, taking a comfortable position leaning against the wall.

Arvin had thought about the question beforehand. If he was going to escape the former life, he needed to go far away. Somewhere where he couldn't be found easily. The city was a good start. "Could I… travel with you… to Cincinnati?" He asked with a slight hint of hesitation in his voice. "If you don't I…"

"No problem." You said, cutting him off. He might not have been the perfect companion from the start. But you have to start somewhere. Not everyone earns their trust as quickly. "If all goes well, we'll hit Cincinnati tomorrow around noon. You can figure out what to do next on our way down there."

"I appreciate that." He smiled thinly. "Thank you, mister."

"Alright, alright." You nod and head for your suitcase. "And it's (Y/N). No more mister." You warn him with a raised finger and a smile. "I think we might be of the same age."

"Twenty-two."

"See." Confirming your suspicions. From there, you sort some clothing out. A clean white shirt, pair of jeans, and a sweater. You walk over to the door and take your coat from the hanger. "Go take a bath, freshen up. And those are yours." Pointing to the fresh pair of clothes on the foot end of the bed. You slip on your coat and pull a cigarette from the pack in your pocket. "I know what you're thinking. I'll wait outside."

Arvin looked at you with suspicious eyes, as if you had a whole different intention. He stared at you while you unlocked the door and took the keys. "Are you gonna call the cops?" His entire body stiffened as he asked the question. Terrified of the answer.

"What?" You chuckle into laughter. "No. What makes you think that?"

"Then why are you doing this?!" He shot back. "Why do all of this?! Why give me clothes?"

"You came back for a reason, Arvin." You didn't need to think about it long. One of two things was possible. Either good or bad. And soon you would find out which. “I'm just trying to help. But feel free to leave..." Taking a step aside, holding the door open for him. Letting the cold wind wash in. "You may have trust issues. But I don't." Revealing your wallet from your back pocket. "I know exactly what's in here." Tossing it on the bedsheets. "If you change your mind, or have a suspicion..." Nudging towards the wallet. "Have a go, might survive a couple days on it. Figure things out."

"I won't." He said resolutely. Taking a stance.

"I know." You nodded. "But I'm trying to make a point here. I'm not bad, either. And I know you're a good lad."

He stared at you with troubled eyes. "You don't know that." Shaking his head, his jaw locked, and lips pursed thin. "I have done things." His voice was dark, and spoke with a sense of guilt. "I have sinned." He spoke it like some warning.

"We all have." You preached wisely. "And you don't need faith to do it."

"What did you just say?!"

"You have no faith, Arvin. At least, not anymore. You either lost it or… something happened." The tension was thick. The way he looked at you. A sight that made you shudder. If he might turn hostile at any moment. Yet the more you look into his eyes. The more lost you feel yourself. Something was amiss with him. "You don't thank the Lord for your food. Nor mention him in every third sentence like those folk down in the countryside." Arvin's nostrils flared as he listened and let the words sink in. "I've seen it without my own family. Everyone there puts their trust in faith. But it only gives false hope."

"You don't know." Averting his gaze. "I'm not like one of them."

"That's my point."

"What about all this?" Throwing hands at the clothes. "Won't they miss these at home?"

"My wallet would be worse." You shake your head while suppressing laughter. "There's also a lock on the door in the bathroom. If you don't trust me, that is." Taking the cigarette in between your lips. "Which is up to you." And step outside. The howling wind welcoming you as you struggle to catch the flame. Turning your back to the wind, facing Arvin again. "Also, I live alone. They… don't give a damn for giving away a pair of clothes." Shooting him a smile. "I'll be back in thirty." Closing the door behind you.

Forty minutes had passed when you returned. With caution, you unlocked the door, careful not to scare or walk into him. Not to your surprise, Arvin appeared in a better-suited attire than earlier. Standing beside the bed with his denim jacket on. His hair freshly combed, and the dirt and stains removed from his face and neck. In his hand, he held a cigarette, the other tucked into this pocket. He looked so much better. Cleaner, fresher and more man than before. You both locked eyes on each other. Still not sure whether the tension had cleared from earlier.

But the cold had done enough on you, your nose was running, and the wind had found every little inch of exposed skin. Freezing you to your very bone. "Good God…." Cursing something more while sniffing your nose. "I'm freezing." And close the door behind you. Warming your hands together while looking at Arvin. "You look much better." Reaching for the bottle for a swig. "Hope it did you good." Sneezing your nose after in your handkerchief.

An adorable smile cracked his features as he flipped away the half-smoked cigarette onto the street. Chuckling to himself as he closed the door, stepping into the room. His smile brightened the room. "It did." He said with a terribly precious smile. "Thank you (Y/N)."

"You're welcome." Planting yourself on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleepers from your eyes. The room had warmed up adequately since you turned up the radiators before you left for a cigarette outside. The warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Feeling your ears glow like never before.

"I was about to come look for ya."

"Oh..." Releasing a long stretched yawn. "Well, I'm here." You rub your face wrecked with sleep.

"This is yours." Handing back your wallet.

"Thank you. What'd you do with it?"

"Nothing. Like you said."

"I knew you would." Flashing him a smile. In that short moment of eye contact, you notice a small shimmer in his eyes. It was brief. Something had happened.

"Thank you (Y/N). And my apologies."

"I'm just glad you're still here."

"I owe you that beer." He said, nudging towards the door. "Should we?"

"We'll figure that out later. I'm feeling tired." You knew full well Arvin had changed for the occasion. You detected a hint of disappointment in his reaction—the snort of air through his nose. But sleep had set in. With the cold crept into your bones, you longed for the warm sheets of a bed. Not a cold, stale beer in some backwater bar. "I've been to the reception… and uh... there's another room available. But…-"

"I don't want you to go through that much trouble for me." He raised his voice.

"I only wanted to say, I just... don't have that kind of money to spare right now. And-"

"I don't expect you to. You've already done enough." He smiled thankfully, but unexpected. "It's my own fault. I'll sleep in the car, or on the flo-..."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous." You cut him short. "Is that the alcohol talkin'?"

 "There's only one bed for the two of us." He said, his thin smile more of a joking kind than anything else. "It has the space, but…"

"As long as you don't elbow me. I'm fine with it." You yawn out loud, stretching your limbs. "I just need some rest. I'll take this side-" Patting the cushion beside you. "-you the other."

"Fine." He snorted and sat on the other side. "Fine…" With the switch on your side of the bed, you dim most of the lights. Turning up the heat slightly on the thermostat, you make sure neither one gets cold in case someone pulls the cover from one another. The sheets were big enough, but just in case. You thought about sleeping in the chair, or the car. But neither of those were good options. As far as you know, a cheaper motel was miles ahead. Not that you had the money to spend on another room. But…

"G'night." Arvin mumbled while pulling his socks off. You glance back as his comment pulled you from your thoughts. A shudder of some sort short up through your spine. Followed by a growing glow of warmth. Boiling your insides slowly. Churning your stomach. In that instance, that moment you glanced back, Arvin sat at the edge of the bed. Just like you, but without a shirt. His broad shoulder and masculine back did something to you, you couldn't describe. The air stocked in your throat. Your eyes meet, sudden and short, as he turned his head slightly, his gaze locking into yours momentarily as he glanced back over his shoulder. The brown locks of hair dangling in front of him.

"Goodnight." Stripping yourself of the remaining pieces of clothing. Feeling the motion of Arvin shifting on the mattress, slipping himself under the covers. You turn the lights off with the switch beside your bed. Letting your eyes adjust to the darkness, and slide under the covers on the opposite side. Arvin lay on his back, gaze to the ceiling. And join him in doing so. Leaving a small space in-between. Like a neutral zone. It was mutually agreed without exchanging a single word about it. One arm propped under your cushion, the other resting on your stomach. Yet your heart hammered in your chest. You were glowing, cheeks burning. Not from the alcohol. Not from the cold. You were far more awake than you ever have been that day. Eyes wide open. Swallowing the lump down your throat. You just keep your gaze to the ceiling, but you wanted to… to look beside you.

"At what time do you want to leave tomorrow morning?" He said quietly, feeling his gaze shift towards you. Every bit of movement on the mattress made your heart pump harder. Laying on your back, the bed wasn't small. You made yourself small, close to the edge, a bit of cover draped over you. Yet he felt so close by. The sound of him breathing alone made you…

"I… I... d-don't know… We'll see…" You clear your throat, keeping your eyes in afront. "We'll see." The everlasting silence returning again. The night turned dark and quiet. No cars driving past. No birds singing. No music from across the street. There was nothing, just silence. You don't know how long you've been laying there, staring at the ceiling. The tension building up. Listening to his breathing. You can't help it; you're too focused on it. Only the howling wind outside, the rustling of branches outside, brought a change of sound—every lick of lips, movement of his tongue in his mouth. You could hear it.

"(Y/N)?" He asked, rolling his head on the cushion, meeting your gaze for a second as you looked over. The cushions touched each other, that wasn't the problem. They were big enough, but the space between the two of you. That wasn't. The touch of arms was enough for you to jump a little.

"Yes… I'm awake." You sighed and continue to spit out a lie blatantly. "It's the weather. I always have trouble falling asleep when it's windy." You glance at him. "And you?"

"I don't know..." He said, bringing the conversation to a dead stop. You swing yourself onto the edge of the bed and lift yourself onto your legs. Making your way to the bathroom and lower yourself on the throne. Relieving yourself of the necessary. Before rounding the corner of the room, you halted for a moment. Standing there, several meters away from the bed. Even in the dark, you could see Arvin lying on his back. The outlines of his body, masculine shapes draped under the covers. You wish he didn't see you standing there. But you could feel his eyes shifting towards your direction. You shuffle back towards the bed and crawl back under. A sigh escaped you, trying to focus your mind on something else. The rustling leaves of the trees outside. The ticking radiator. The rumbling clouds. Time crept by slowly. Your eyelids felt heavy, yet sleep didn't seem to set in. "I can feel the sheets… shaking. You ok?"

"Oh, yeah...I' m-... I'm fine." You said with a sigh. Scratching the back of your head. "It's cold." Tugging the sheets in and around you. "That's all."

Everything beneath you moved and swayed. You expect he must have rolled onto his side, perhaps facing your way. The thought alone made you… warm. His breathing again remaining the only sound you could focus on. Added to that, the increasing warmth radiating from his side of the bed. You could still feel your toes being cold, hands numb, and ears glowing. Yet the heat was creeping into you. As if the radiator had crept under the covers. Was it Arvin…? Was he closer? The thought alone was tantalizing. Sending the hairs rising on your harm. You notice your breath becoming irregular, shuddering even.

"I should-...You tried to say, turning towards him by rolling onto your back. But you let out a small gasp in a semi terrified, panicking state. It all went so fast. You bumped up against him. Body against body. Warm and inviting. Yet in your reflex, you try to roll back on your side.

But his hand… His hand held in your place, resting on your hip. "You're freezing..." He breathed heavily, fanning along the skin of your neck. Shivers rushed across your spine as his hand lowered. Feeling your cold body with his hands. Shaking lightly as he touched upon your frame. Trailing up and down with his fingers. Your senses were in complete overdrive. Every point of contact was intensified by your mind. Slow and careful. You were numbed on the spot. Feeling your shoulder resting against his chest. Strong and masculine, like you glimpsed upon earlier.

"Y-Yes… Ar-... Arvin…" The words came out stuttering. You couldn't help it. Your hands shook, and your body was heating up quicker than ever before. "M-Maybe I… I should g-g-get a b...b-ath."

"You could have..." He said as his breath fanned against your neck. Sending shivers down your spine. The mattress moved again, Arvin began closing the distance between the two of you. If you had a chance to stop him now, it was right here. His hand moved from side to your stomach, his arm wrapping around your waist. Behind you, you feel the heat literally rising. His entire body came in contact with yours. Torso flat against your back, legs cupped by his. "But there's a reason you didn't..." He whispered into your ear. "It's the same why I came back." Before you had a chance to react, let alone sigh of relief. His lips followed, nose trailing along the back of your neck. You could feel the sloppy kiss burning on the skin of your neck. “Isn’t it, (Y/N)”? 

It made everything different. All this strange tension that had circulated for the past hours had manifested in this one kiss. It burned barriers, tore down walls, and fulfilled your wildest thoughts. You let out a groaning moan as your body stiffened as he moved closer onto you. Sliding his hand further across your stomach, pulling you in closer. Feeling the warmth and curves of his body, pressed against you. 

You try to regain your senses, not resisting his hold on you, but instead, turn towards him. And he let you, his hand that pulled you in, now slid along your frame, fingers roaming from your stomach to your back. Finally coming even with him. Even in the dark, this up close, you see the stunning outlines of his features. The dimples on his cheeks and freckles dotting his skin. Leaning into his lips, the kiss was everything you wanted. Soft and warm, but a particular ferocity to it. A gasp escaped your lips as you parted, cupping the back of his head with your hand. "Say it…(Y/N)" He said with a slightly shaking voice. The very mention of your name, in that harsh tone, made you shudder in excitement. "-tell me I'm right..." Pulling your lips back onto his. Arvin was the moving force in this; he could play you like anything else. And you would let him. "Say it… (Y/N)...You wanted this to happen..."

He still continued to advance on you. "I've been through enough…" His one hand touched on your inner thigh. Moving up every so slowly. "I've seen so much darkness." He said, pressing a kiss to your chest. Looking up at you as you groaned. "I don't want to anymore." Pushing himself further onto you. Shifting his weight towards you. And you let it happen, rolling onto your back. His lips take the skin of your shoulder for granted. Leaving behind hickeys. "I want it to change." He muttered in between the kisses, moving further along with the lines of your body, from the shoulder to your collarbone and chest. Forcing the wind from your lungs as his body followed along, resting on top of you.

"Shit, A...A-Arvin." You freeze on the spot, feeling his member pressed against you. Long rigid and firm, poking wantingly into you. The nerves in your system get the better of you. "I...I...I... can… help…and…a-and... I want to..." Every word took an effort to speak as he grinded against you slowly. Searching for friction, taking every ounce of concentration to utter a word. "But… B-But there a-are... other w-w-ways?!"

"No... The way you look at me." At the same time, his hand found its way to your pelvis. You had felt yourself growing in mere seconds. Blood racing your system. And now, those outlines, throbbing in your shorts, were traced by his fingers. "You make me feel like… like... I've never felt... in years." He groaned.

"Please A-Arvin... Don't mistake my kindness... f-for love. I… I-..." The touch of your cold hands on his warm, nurturing skin was everything you could ask for. His touch rocking your very being. The feeling of his naked body on yours. Your mind is almost blank. Captivated by his motions. Wanting more.

"Say it… (Y/N)..." He growled while kissing you hard. Your lips trembled upon his, shaking from pure ecstasy racing through your system. You can't help but kiss back. You wanted more. But you didn't have the courage. Thank God he did. “Tell me I’m right.” 

"Y-Yes…A-Arvin…" You confirmed wholeheartedly, with a full-fledged groan of excitement. “Yes!” But were silenced in the moment again by his lips. Cradling your cheeks in his hands. Your heart fluttered, leaving you absolutely breathless. A smile grew on your face. And you could feel his growing against your lips. "Arvin... P-P-Please..."

"You either stop me if you want me to...." Hooking his finger on the band of your shorts. Adding finger by finger, until his entire hand slid in. He looked at you with small eyes, a flicker of innocence shining through. “Or you help me...” He growled. "But… what I'm about to do... I do because I want to." A smile showed on his otherwise troubled face. A smile you had never seen before. So soft, so kind. So loving. It showed a side of Arvin, you didn't expect to see. "Not because I have to… I… want to." Smacking his lips on yours. His hand palming your boner. Your breath stoked in your throat, feeling unable to respond. His fingers sliding along the pulsating flesh of your cock. Initiating the first strokes as he forced away your shorts. The covers were no longer there, and your eyes had accustomed to the darkness. The little light that the moon shone into the room was more than enough. His body resting against yours, feeling the heaving of his chest and the moving of his body. Every heartbeat, every breath he took. You felt it.

He stroked rough, with an intensity you couldn't match as your shaking hand reached for his. Even in the darkness, it stood out. The stiffness poking into your side, reminding you. His groaned breaths said enough as you brought them together. More than a handful for him. It's thrilling and highly intoxicating, invigorating, flesh against flesh. There was nothing else but his member on yours. His cockhead rubbing against yours. His shaft rock hard and wet. The veins and ridges of his, pulsating and desperate. Craving for more. A sensation you wish would never end.

The position was awkward at first. Arvin laying half on top of you. Cocks brushing in the middle. But as the heat rises, the momentum picks up. It all fell in place. With his one hand, he stroked, long and hard. The other arm, wrapped around your neck. Holding onto you.

His moans were short but charismatic. Your eyes get drawn to his every growl. Massaging your erections together in a lustful vigor. Everything was intensified. The veins on his arm showed. The muscles rippled in motion. The pressure of his worked masculine chest forcing into you. His glances helped you work together to a common goal. A shuddering touch of your fingers along his frame forced out more sounds than you could bear. Droplets of wetness shimmer in the moonlight. Holding them together in perfect pairs.

The shaking intensified, for both of you. Groaning to each other's touches. Senses rising beyond the unthinkable. As Arvin came first. His motions became sloppy, irregular, and twitching. His grip faltered as he came. His body trembled on yours, groaning as he held onto you for dear life. It's quick and messy. As you take over his grip. Struggling with the wetness and hard sensations in your hand. But it's helping you reach your high even faster. The reality of your hand holding them both together is hypnotizing. Even more when you feel him reaching his climax. He held you, with his strong arms, tight against his body. Groaning your name as all looked up at you. Locks of brown hair, tangled and messy, hanging before his eyes. His eyes widened, big and full of emotion. Gasping for air as you stroked harder. You bring your lips onto his, closing his gasping mouth. He moaned and shook through and through. The fierce kiss interrupted by his climax, he parted with a shuddering gasp as you both glanced down in between you. These boys did look at explosions.

And it sure was mesmerizing. His pulsating and jolting climax spilled over the pair. From the slit, a string of cum streamed from his cock. The first shots went airborne, splattering your pelvis and stomach. Each stroke of your hand initiates another wave. It began to cover your hand and both lengths. It's slippery, wet, and extremely satisfying to force out of someone else then yourself. Especially when he took over once again. You didn't need much more. The firm grip of his hand returned once again. He was strong. And his grip was more than satisfying. Heavenly. Regaining his breath on your chest. Focused on one thing. You suck the air into your lungs, almost if you need that to force your load out. The pressure builds up fast enough. And Arvin went for it. Stroking every last drop from you. Turning everything in a panting mess of growled, exhilarated lovemaking and passion. You both heaved for air in silence. Arvin still on top of you. In turn, stealing kisses from each other.

"I… have…" You muttered through your heavy breathing. "so... many questions..." You caught a glimpse of a smile on Arvin's face as he moved off the bed. Returning moments later with a towel. Hunched on his knees beside you, he cleaned every drop from you. With a careful finger, he inspected your areas to see if there was any left. His touch is slow and somewhat sensual. Dragging his finger over your, now, glowing skin. "Arvin?"

"Hmmm." He hummed softly, pulling the covers towards himself and began to cuddle up to you. Arvin completely naked, slowly cradling onto you. You can still feel his member rubbing into your skin. "Your warm again." He said while looking at you. His eyes had more life to it. Slowly putting an arm around your neck. Cuddling himself up on your chest. Pulling the cover along with him. Resting his head on your chest. You can't resist the temptation to twirl your fingers through those brown curls. Long and beautiful.

"What happened to you?"

He sighed and sank deep into your embrace. Folding himself around you. Embracing you. "I have sinned… and lost my faith." He said peacefully. "You were right." Pressing a small kiss to your chest. "Parts of me have died… and more. But here… today... I found a piece of me… I didn't know I lost."

You didn't expect those kinds of words from him. For a man with as few as his, this had emotion. For once you didn't have to read his eyes, or his expression to know what he meant what he said. A slight snore shook you from your thoughts as you trailed your fingers through his hair, adjusting yourself into a comfortable position. Arvin didn't move. He snored softly in your embrace. He looked peaceful. At ease. Curled up to you like that. You didn't track time, but you had a feeling, deep down inside of him, something was healing. He was sleeping, without being awoken by his nightmares. At least not yet.

Only the name remained, muttered softly from his lips.

A girl?

[bad-bitch-beauchamp]

Songs About Me - Chapter Two

Chapter two is up!!! I started writing this all last night, and didn’t want to leave that chapter handing! I have the outline for this story all done and I’m actually pretty psyched about how it’s lining up. I want to take a minute to thank you all for all the kinds words and support yesterday, you’re the best and know how to make a girl feel welcome! Without further ado... Chapter two!

Read on AO3

Later that night, Beacon Hill, Boston, 21st Amendment Pub

“Claire! Over here!” Geillis was sitting at a high top table and stood up on the crossbar of the barstool to wave her over. As she stood up tall with an arm waving over her head, Claire noticed the two men sitting with her glance at her exposed midriff. One oggled her openly, while one looked appreciatively, and smiled down into his beer glass as he took a long drink. This must be Angus and Rupert, then. Claire smiled and wound through the crowd to the table. 

“Awright lads, this is my best girl Claire!” Geillis had clearly been here before her eight o’clock sharp deadline, judging by the way her Scots accent had thickened up. 

“Nice to meet you boys! Let me grab a drink and we can get to know each other!” Claire wove her way to the bar, ordered a few fingers of Laphroig whisky, and made her way back to the table. The 21st Amendment was the perfect watering hole for locals looking to enjoy a few bar snacks, and a lot of drinks. It had started to become a staple for their end-of-week blow offs between her and Geillis after a long week at the greenhouse. When he wasn’t stuck at the hospital, Joe often came out to join them, and tonight he had arrived in her absence and took her under his shoulder.

“I need to see you more than once a week! And now you’ve made it so I can only see you if I come to a karaoke bar?! What kind of joke is this, LJ?” 

“Blame our favorite redhead for this ingenious evening!” Claire jerked her head in Geillis direction. They laughed and hugged each other tight, and began to settle in for the evening. 

Aided by more than a few drinks, the four soon became fast friends. Claire came back from the bar for the third time to see Joe clearly entranced by the three Scots and their innate ability to make any story the best you’ve ever heard. 

“So there I am in bed, Chrissie on my left and Nettie, the butcher’s daughter, on the right. They get jealous of each other, start arguin’ about who I’m gonna swive first. Can ye believe it?” Rupert laughed through his oncoming hiccups; whether they was the result of the raucous laughter or the many pints of ale was anyone’s guess. 

“And then what happened, man?!” Joe leaned forward over the table toward Angus, and Angus leaned in towards Joe, slapping his hands on the table. Rupert opened his mouth to respond but before he could get out a single word, Claire quipped in. 

“I believe your left hand gets jealous of your right. That’s about all I believe!” 

For as loud as the pub had become, the little table surrounded with friends fell into an uncertain silence. Claire wondered if she could fit her other foot in her mouth, in addition to the one that was already there. Then… uproarious laughter. 

“I’ve… I’ve never heard a woman make a joke like that before!” Ruper was cackling now. “Christ, woman! Yer somethin’ else!” Angus was doubled over clutching his side, Joe choked on his drink, and Geillis was practically dissolving into laughter. Another voice, a different voice, came floating to her ear from behind on a warm whisper. 

“Yer a witty one, aye?” 

Claire spun around in her barstool, which was admittedly a mistake. Maybe one too many whiskeys, Beauchamp. She started to slide off the side backless chair when two hands steadied her by the waist. Once she -- and the room -- stopped spinning and came into focus, all she could see was ocean blue eyes. If her eyes were the color of her favorite burning whisky, his were the color of a cooling chaser. 

“Ye alright, lass?” The stranger smirked. She realized she was still holding on to his shoulders, and still staring into his eyes. She felt the muscles under his white v-neck shirt. His very tight shirt, she amended. His hair sparkled with all the same colors as the dark red trees lining the old brick streets outside -- shades of russet and gold, dark auburn and cinnabar. High cheekbones gave way to slanted eyes above and a jawline to cut her glass tumbler below.  Pull yourself together. He’s just a man, and one you don’t even know! 

“Oh, yeah, thanks, I’m fine, thank you,” she stammered as she climbed back on her chair, his hands never wavering from her hips. Why did she sound so formal? “I mean, I’m great!” She flashed him a big smile and then a thumbs-up. What the fuck is your problem?! Maybe find a middle ground? She sighed on a giggle as her eyes fell to the floor and looked up at him with crinkling eyes. “I’m -- ugh. Hi there, I’m Claire.” His smirk grew, his eyebrow rose. “Thanks for making sure I didn’t die just then,” she added hastily. He was watching her when she dared to glance up from under her lashes. 

The stranger waited until she was settled back on the barstool and went to extend his hand for a handshake, only to find his hands were otherwise occupied. He left them where they were, and settled in a little deeper. 

“Och, it’d be a right shame to lose ye to a swivelin’ stool and a dirty pub floor.” The smirk turned into an honest smile. “I’m James. Ye can call me Jamie, if ye like.” He glanced at his hands, one still on her hip and the other traveling up to her waist. Claire felt his thumb stroke her sides and glanced down to watch him unravel her with his touch. Who the hell was this guy? Ordinarily, she’d be offended by some guy holding onto her in a bar, but right now, she found herself hoping this one didn’t let go. She was still watching him trace his small circle on her waist when the hand on her hip reluctantly pulled away, while the one on her waist didn’t move at all. She glanced up to see a pink bloom appear in the tips of his ears and the triangle of chest visible through the dip in his shirt. It was her turn to smirk.

“Sorry ‘bout that, Sassenach. Got a wee bit distracted.” He shoved his free hand in the pockets of his worn jeans. 

“Sassenach--?” Suddenly she was cut off, by a loud voice behind them. 

“Jamie! Ye made it!” Jamie’s large hand pulled away from Claire’s side with a jolt and the absence made her shiver. Rupert and Angus were already making the introductions to their small table. The hellos and drink orders began and conversation between the group began again. Her head was dizzy, but not from the alcohol. She glanced up to see him eyeing her from over the top of his rocks glass, and her stomach flipped. Pull yourself together. Concentrating on the situation, she gathered that Jamie worked with Angus and Rupert at a small shop in the area, but missed the kind of work they did. 

With the addition of Jamie at their table, Geillis suggested they move to one of the booths lining the bar walls. The men blazed a trail forward through the crowd to secure seats, and Claire held Geillis back by the elbow. 

“I thought you said you only invited Rupert and Angus out tonight?” “I did! They asked if they could invite the third member o’ their party, and who am I to say no! Why, is something wrong?” 

Evidently no one else had seen her near fall, and Jamie’s rescue of her. “No, it’s fine, I just didn’t realize we’d have such a big group is all.” Geillis started to ask her another question but Claire nudged her friend forward. “Come on, they won’t hold seats for us forever!” 

Claire was the last to get to the table. Her step faltered for only a moment -- when the only open spot was next to Jamie. 

“I can move, if ye’d be more comfortable --”

“Do you mind if I sit here --?”

They spoke over each other quickly, and simply nodded in answer to each other’s questions. Jamie move down the bench as much as he could with Angus animatedly telling a story on the other side, and Claire filled in the vacant spot on the open end of the booth. It should have been awkward, being strangers forced into tight quarters… but she could’ve sworn he relaxed into side. 

Not a minute into settling down, the DJ at the front of the bar announced, “Next up we Claire, Geillis, and Joe!” 

Momentarily forgetting why they came here, the three friends jumped up from their seats and headed to the makeshift stage with two spotlights, a few microphones, and a small television screen. The men left at the booth watched them with confusion and excitement as they made their way up to the front, and ready for the show from their newfound friends. 

Claire, Geillis, and Joe each took a microphone and began to sing -- if one could really call it that. By the end of Like A Prayer, they were yelling the lyrics, howling with laughter, falling over each other with every repetition of “Just like a prayer, you know I’ll take you there!” The pub clapped and cheered, as a drunk bar on karaoke night often does, and the three friends made their way back to the booth still trying to get enough air back in their lungs after the ceaseless laughter. 

“I didna know ye could sing!” Rupert hugged Geillis into his side and Angus leaned over the tabletop to playfully punch Joe in the shoulder. 

“I think he means that we didna know ye were the type who can’t sing, but still goes to karaoke anyway!” Angus winked at Geillis, and she couldn’t seem to get her giggles under control. 

“Hey now! Joe and I might not be stars or anything, but at least we’re fun -- unlike ye three, who haven’t gone up once!” Taking a gulp from her pint glass, she narrowed in on Claire. “Besides, we sound okay because someone can actually sing when she wants.” The table’s attention immediately moved to Claire with a bombardment of questions. 

“Ye can sing, lass?!”

“Go on, get up there and sing for me! Make it a bonny one!”

“Are ye a pop singer or a rock singer? I’ll have a different opinion of ye depending on the answer, ken?”

Then, another warm whisper. A hand on her knee.  

“Ye don’t strike me as a singer, Sasssenach.” 

Claire turned to face him then, her voice equally quiet when his eyes met hers. “And what do I strike you as?”

“A lass who struggles with her balance, for one,” he replied, “and who’s bad with awkward introductions and saying thank you, for two.” His eyes never left hers, but the crinkles on the edges only deepened with his smirk. Claire scoffed and protested, moving her leg away from his under the table, but his grasp tightened imperceptibly and his thumb was stroking the inside of her knee. “Maybe one day I won’t have to save ye from falling, and I’ll get to hear ye sing a little better than what I just saw.” Taking a swig from his glass, he continued to watch her. Claire started to object to his ideas of her, but Jamie’s attention was called away by Joe asking questions about his work. 

An hour passed by with many more drinks and much more laughter, with plans to meet up again next week. Joe left the party first to get back to his apartment to prepare for work the next day, followed by Rupert who claimed he needed to be up early to go into the shop. Soon it was just Angus and Geillis, who were most definitely going home together, and Claire and Jamie, who were most definitely not. 

“So what is it you actually do? I’ve been sitting next to you for a few hours now without a single notion of who you are besides your name.” They were sitting facing each other as best they could, trading stories and getting to know one another while Geillis and Angus got almost too close for decency. 

“Och, it’s no’ much. I opened a little bookstore in the area a few years back, and Angus and Rupert are my employees. More than that, I suppose, since I’ve known them my whole life. The bookstore was more a passion project a few years back, ken? Then one day, I decided I loved it more than engineering and left it all behind to give my all to the books.” Jamie’s eyes sparkled with mention of the bookstore, and Claire wanted to see him look like that forever. 

“What kind of stock do you have?” 

Jamie’s eyes positively twinkled. “Lots of antiques and first editions. I learned how to repair and restore old books when I was in college in Edinburgh. We carry the Times best seller list and lots of newer titles as well, but there’s nothing I love like an old book.” He smiled at her, and she melted. “Actually, there’s a favorite of mine--”

“Claire, get on up here!” The voice from the front boomed again, and she sent Jamie a wink as she scooted out of the booth. He stared at her dumbstruck, but released his hold on her leg. 

“Since you said my last song was horrible,” she teased over her shoulder as she walked to the front. 

He gave a hearty laugh and yelled to her, “I never said it was horrible! I said it wasn’t good!”

Claire had been coming to this pub for years now with Geillis and Joe for drinks and karaoke night. She was on a first-name basis with the regular DJs, and everyone knew her regular songs. Tonight was different. Tonight, she had met Jamie. She whispered to the DJ, walked on stage, and pulled out the piano bench. In the time it had taken Claire to move up front, Jamie followed suit just behind her to a table at the front. He had noticed the piano of course, but paid it no attention. Who would play a piano in a pub on karaoke night?

Claire would, evidently. She sat down, rolled her head a few times along her shoulders, and looked toward their booth. Jamie saw her fear when he wasn’t where she thought he’d be. He gave her a small wave, hoping the motion would draw her attention. She noticed, and flashed him the most brilliant smile he’d ever seen. She took a deep breath, and without playing, began to sing. 

“Grab me by my ankles, I’ve been flying for too long; I couldn’t hide from the thunder in a sky full of song. I want you so badly but you could be anyone; I couldn't hide from the thunder in a sky full of song. Hold me down, I’m so tired now; Aim your arrow at the sky. Take me down, I’m too tired now, leave me where I lie.”

The accompaniment was simple and melodic, Claire’s voice strong and dark. Jamie watched her play, the lyrics not lost on him. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t do anything but watch her. His chin rested on his hand, his elbow propped on the table. In that moment, he wished the night would never end but if it had to, then may he have many more with the enchanting woman before him. 

Jamie didn’t realize she had stopped playing until the crowd began to cheer -- the only thing to exist for him, was her. She stood, pushed in the bench, and put the microphone stand back where it belonged like she had just done the most normal thing in the world. She walked toward him, slowing the closer she got to him. 

“Jamie, you haven’t moved once.” One step closer. “Well, you’d bloody well say something.” She folded her hands across her chest with a sigh, eyes downcast at the sticky floor. 

He blinked, stood, and brought a hand up to brush away a particularly unruly curl. A thumb caressed rosy apples, dark eyelids fluttered up to meet glittering oceans. 

“Christ, Claire. Yer the most incredible woman I’ve ever seen.”

[ssa-daddyhotchner]

Undercover - Chapter 7

Chapter Selection

Everyone had gone back to work; Reid was on medical leave and wouldn't be back for a few weeks. 

JJ and Garcia were constantly checking up on him so he didn't slip again. He was talking now instead of avoiding us. 

I was at my desk doing paperwork when Emily approached me, "Hey so me, JJ, and Garcia were going to do a girls night. I feel like we haven't hung out as often as we should, you wanna come." 

Without hesitation I said yes. I needed to just get drunk.

I pick up my phone an text Aaron. 

y/n- Hey....Me, Garcia, Emily, and JJ are going out tonight so I might not be over tonight

Aaron- oh ok have fun just not too much. I don't need guys all over you

y/n- I'll try and there's no need for you to be jealous

Honestly the thought of him being jealous was really hot. 

Aaron- Little girl you're mine...remember that

Those word stuck with me for the rest of the day. By the end of the day the girls had left for the night. They texted me that they'd be over in an hour so I could get ready. 

I went into Aaron office and looked around. The blinds were closed and there was no one in the bullpen. 

I walked over behind his desk and leaned. He stopped working when he saw me. I let out a small, "Hey." He grabbed my hand pulling me to sit on his lap. "Hey yourself, how was your day." I threw my arms around his neck. 

"Better now. I'm actually looking forward to hanging out with them. Emily had mentioned earlier we've never really hung out." 

Aaron pecked my lips. "She's not wrong all of your time has been with me." I smiled, "I'm not complaining." 

I saw the time and realized I had half and hour before they got to my apartment. "I need to go there gonna be at my place soon", He didn't let go of me. 

"Hold on", I stopped trying to get out of his grasp and looked at him staring back at me. 

"Do you know what time you'll be home." 

"No but I'm hoping before 1am." 

"Well whatever time you guys do finish up....if you can you don't have too. I want you to come over." He mainly wanted supports he's been having a tough time. "Do you even have to ask, you're stuck with me." 

He let me stand up but before I could get up fully he slapped my ass. I turned around in shock and he just smirked and continued working. I laughed and walked out. 

I got to my car and drove home. It was 6:30pm and they were going to be there in half and hour. 

I took a shower using Aarons shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. I smelled just like him and the smell of mint brought me some peace. 

When I finished my shower I heard some knocks at my door. I opened to see Emily, JJ, and Garcia in party dresses. 

"What are you doing go get your ass changed." Emily said, bringing me to my closet. "Wear this one." JJ held out a black spaghetti strap dress that stopped around my mid thigh. 

The other two gasped, "Yes wear that one." Garcia said while JJ gave me the dress. I walked into the bathroom putting on the dress. I looked good in it, I took out my phone and sent a picture to Aaron. I walked out and their jaws dropped. 

"Holy shit y/n", Emily exclaimed

"Damn okay." JJ said while smiling through her teeth. "Oh my god you look so good." Garcia said while getting me a pair of black heels. I put the shoes on, got my clutch and we left. Getting a cab to go to the club. 

Arriving around 8 the club was almost full we made it inside without a problem. It was dark, loud, and hot. There were people everywhere, crowding the bar and dancefloor. 

JJ managed to get a booth in the corner. Emily went to get us some drinks, I got a lemonade vodka.

She returned with the drinks. "So y/n seeing as you're the newest what's been going on with you." Defiantly not fucking our boss, "Nothing really." They stared at me, they knew I was hiding something. 

JJ said, "Are you sure about that, no guys...nothing?" I really didn't want them in my business. 

I was about to answer and I felt my phone vibrate. "Ooo you get a text?" The annoying part was Garcia could easily hack my phone and find out. I didn't answer her but when I read the text I couldn't keep the smile off my face. 

Aaron- Little girl you look stunning. If you were here I'd rip that dress right off 

The comment went straight to my core. "I'm gonna ask this one more time, are you sure there's no guy cause you know I can hack your phone right." 

The thought of her doing that scared me. "Ok.. ok there is guy. But please I just wanna keep it to myself."

Emily speaks up, "Out of respect we will leave it alone, can I ask one question." I nod nervously for what she's gonna ask. "Is he.....you know." I smack Emily's arm but I answer, "You have no idea." There faces were priceless. 

Finishing our drinks Garcia goes and get us another round. She starts getting vodka shots for everyone. I didn't know how much I had until I started to slur my words and stumble. I grab JJs hand and drag her to the dance floor. 

I put my hands on her hips swaying back and forth. Her hands going around my neck, I guide her hips to the music. The music is booming though the room. 

I felt It in my legs and chest, Emily comes over and steals JJ from me leaving me alone until Garcia came over. 

As I was dancing with Pen I looked over an saw JJ and Emily getting a little close. They seemed to be really in the moment. 

JJ had her hands on Emily's neck; Emily's hands on her waist and hips with her mouth nibbling on JJs ear. I turned my attention away, I felt like I was intruding even though it was happening in public. The room around me started to spin and I was getting nauseous. 

Garcia was the most sober out of us, she brought me outside; she decided I had a little too much. Pen took my phone dialing the last number I called. 

"Wai- n...don do that." I tried to snatch my phone away but she sat me on the floor and waited for the person to pick up. 

I heard the deep voice on the other end and my heart dropped. "Y/n were you still coming over. Do I need to pick you up." Garcia's jaw dropped and she looked at me with a smirk. "Hello sir.....yea y/n needs you to pick her up." 

I heard him sigh, "Where" She gave him the location and he was here within minutes. His car pulled up and he stepped out. Garcia helped me up. 

I gasped, "Baby...wha-t are you doin he..." 

When I saw Aaron I stumbled over to him giving him a sloppy kiss. He caught me and kissed me back before looking at Penelope. She was smiling the whole time Aaron just gave her a look and she stopped. 

"We'll talk about this tomorrow, please don't say anything." Hotch told Garcia; she didn't say a word walking back into the club. 

I couldn't carry my own weight; Aaron picked me up bridal style and put me in the passenger seat. 

I woke up to breathing on my neck, I didn't remember what happened my heart dropped not knowing who was next to me. I turned my head and saw Aaron and I relaxed. 

"Morning", he said kissing my neck. "Hey", I felt like death. Every time I drink I forget about the torture in the morning that reminds me why I don't drink. 

"There something you need to know....last night, Garcia called me to get you." I froze, some how I knew exactly what he was going to say and I dreaded it. 

"You kissed me in front of her." I knew it, the one thing I didn't want the team to know about. 

"Did she tell anyone?" I sat up going to the bathroom. "Not that I know of, I told her not too but its Garcia." He was right about that if anyone loves gossip its Pen. 

I took shower and went to the kitchen. It was the first time Aaron saw me hungover and his heart ached. 

He saw the pain I was in and just wanted to help. Sadly there wasn't much he could do. 

My head was pounding, I couldn't stop shaking, and I was throwing up. "Here." Aaron handed me a trash can and some ibuprofen. 

I sat on the couch with him watching tv and fell asleep in his embrace. His hands slightly tugging on my hair to relive some of the pressure. 

________________

I was laying down with Aaron and I just felt off. His chest was pressed to my back holding me close while I stayed awake all night. 

I was suddenly so sad, I wasn't tired I just wanted to cry. I struggled to get up and look at the time, 1:35am great. 

I unwrapped Aarons arms from around my waist and stood up going into the bathroom. I had dark circles under my eyes like I hadn't slept in days, I just felt...weak. 

I closed my eyes and put my head down. I heard foot steps behind me, Aaron was leaning on the doorway looking at me through the mirror. 

"Baby what are you doing up." He asked with his morning voice. His eyes almost completely shut like he was going to knock out right there. 

"I don't know, I jus-," I sighed. "I don't know." I walked over to him patting him on the chest going to lay back down. 

"No there's something wrong, I can tell", He turned around. I was deciding if I should tell him. 

"Lately I've just been sad. Like I just wanna break down crying for no reason; maybe its just stress." 

He walked over to me kneeling down between my legs, putting a hand on my knee. "How about we go out. I wanna take you some place." I was confused; where would we be going at 1:40 in the morning, but we got dressed and walked outside to the car. 

The winter air was crisp but not too cold. Getting into the car he started driving; it was calm and quiet with light instrumental music playing in the background. 

My mind wondered as I looked at the sky through the window. I was thinking about life, the fact that we don't understand it as much as we'd like. I was snapped out of me thoughts when the car stopped. 

I looked at the clock, 2:30. We left the apartment at 1:40, driving for almost an hour. I looked around and saw nothing. He got out of the car opening my door for me. He grabbed my hand helping me out.

I saw nothing but grass and trees. We were on a huge ass hill that overlooked a forest, it reminded me of the clearing we found; but this was different. 

"Why'd you bring me here." I saw Aaron expression change. "I used to come here when I was stressed or needed a break. Usually around this time." 

Sitting on the hood of his car he continued. "I always came here alone, this was my way of escaping in a sense." 

Gazing at the sky it was black with tints of blue, purple, pink, and orange. The grass was overgrown, breeze had a slight chill, the wind rustling the trees. I was staring at the stars, there was no light pollution.

I was just space and seeing it clearly was reliving and damn near therapeutic. He put his arm around me holding me against him, throwing a blanket over us. 

I let out a deep breath and drifted off to the sounds of Aaron humming a song. 

I woke up to arm shaking me, "Princess we got to go." I sat up groaning, "Why." 

"We have work", getting back into the car I stretched. "Oh right", I felt a bit better; he helped me. 

__________________

When we got to work Aaron and I automatically went to Garcia office. We walked in and she turned around in her chair. 

There was a huge smile on her face, "Oh my god... I'm so happy for you guys." Closing the door behind us Aaron said, "You didn't tell anyone right." 

"No sir I didn't tell a soul...if you don't mind I have a few questions." We nodded and sat down. "

How long has this been going on." She pointed between me and Aaron.

"About five months now, and to answer the following question I'm aware I've been here five months. We started dating soon after yes." I said putting my hand on his. 

"Does anyone else know"

"Rossi but no one else and y/n and I would like to keep it that way please."

I stood up grabbing Aarons hand pulling him up. "Y/n we're gonna have to talk later." 

Garcia said while winking at me. I huffed and smiled walking out to my desk. 

__________________

A few hours have passed and honestly I was really horny. It had been a few days since we last had sex and I needed his touch; I felt deprived. I took out my phone. 

Y/n- Close the blinds

Aaron- Why

Y/n- Just do it

I saw him in the corner of my eye close the blinds

Y/n- Are you gonna be busy today 

Aaron- No.....little girl what are you doing

Y/n- Call me to your office

Hotch opened the door, "Y/n can I see you in my office please." I walked up the ramp opening the door closing it behind me. I pressed my back to the door and locked it. 

Hearing the click Aaron looked at me raising his eyebrows, I walked over to him quickly sitting on the desk in front of him. 

I pulled him up with the collar of his suit pressing my lips to his. He snaked his arms around my waist. Moaning into the kiss I pulled away. 

As I looked at his face, seeing his swollen lips and dilated eyes it turned me on even more. 

"Just fuck me", He crashed his lips to mine pushing his tongue into my mouth. He pulled me off turned me around and slammed my chest on his desk. 

"You couldn't wait till we got home", he pulled my pants down and slapped my ass. 

Clenching around nothing I sat up facing him, He tugged at my panted taking them off completely.

Aaron standing in between my legs I glanced at the growing bulge in his pants. I palmed him, him groaned in my ear while unbuttoning my shirt. 

I unzipped his pants pulling them down just enough to pull his cock out. Stroking his shaft he took off my underwear. 

He ran his cock up and down my slit before sliding in. Letting me adjust to his size before continuing, thrusting in a out. 

I littered kisses down his neck and up to his jawline; purple circles started to form. I moaned into his neck, his hand finding its way around my throat applying enough pressure for my vision to blur. "Fuc-"

"Let me hear you baby", the knot forming in my stomach. His other hand went to my clit rubbing fast circles matching his movements. 

His groans and curses could be heard from the bullpen. Pounding into me I couldn't form words only whimpers. He turned me into a moaning mess. 

His thrusts getting rougher and faster I started to come close to the edge. He brought me closer to him; my body almost completely with his. 

He added more pressure on my throat, "Fuck Aaron". My hand tugging on his hair pulling his head to the side putting my head into the crook of his neck. 

His movements started to falter as I felt him starting to twitch inside me. I reached my orgasm, I clenched around him bringing him to finish inside me.

My body shaking slightly. Seeing white spots I didn't notice Aaron had already pulled out and was cleaning between my legs with a tissue. 

"You feel better now", Aaron let out a chuckle putting his hands on my hips helping me down. I put my underwear and pants back on. 

I went up to Aaron setting a deep and loving kiss on his lips. My hand pressed the back of his neck bringing him closer. 

"Little girl if you don't stop I might just have to bend you back over the desk." I just stared at him. 

"I'm gonna hold you to that. Love you" Sitting back down and continuing to work, "Love you too."

I walked out of his office sitting back down. From the looks of it, I didn't think they heard us, but I did notice a pair of eyes staring at me.

Rossi and Garcia. 

__________________

@marie1115 @appleblossoms-posts @mac99martin @donttellanyoneireadfanfiction

[ishouldgetatumbler]

Kissed an cast into the sea

Fandom: HunterxHunter

Pairing: Mito Freecs/Illumi Zoldyck (Miumi)

Warnings: Alcohol, Illumi’s brain

Word count: 5343

AO3

1

      A man was sitting at her kitchen table. He was tall, even sitting he was nearly as tall as Mito. He was watching her with the palm of one hand resting on the back of his other. His hair was long and black; it seemed expensively cared for. His clothes were clashing, and poofy, but his face was all business. Mito wanted to curl up in fear of his big dead eyes.

      Right. Okay.

    She was standing in the doorway of her home, holding a fish by the severed fishing line. Her hair was tied back and her dress was sky blue with clouds drawn from spilled bleach and white paint. It was darker blue at the knees and below, where the marsh water soaked it through. Her rubber boots squelched on the tiles of her kitchen, mud caked wellington boots oozing onto the floor.

    Right. Okay.

    She set down her catch on the cutting board before stepping on the toe of her rubber boot and working herself free of it. The next shoe she stood on one foot to pull off with her hands. She set the both of them in a tin caked with sand and dry and turned to the person sitting at her table. 

    He was still there, eyes on her curiously as she stood in soaked wooly socks. The fact he was still there made the fear worse.

    Right. Okay.

    "Ging isn't here right now."

    The man cocked his head to one side, curiously.

    "You're not the first person to try this. I don't know where Ging is and I don't know how to find him."

    She'd said that to everyone who had come through looking for Ging. It was the truth, but she always imagined she could find Ging if she really wanted to.

    "Gon Freecs? Do you know where he is?"

    That was new. Gon really did take after his father.

    "No."

    The stranger looked at her reproachfully. He wasn't the first to believe breaking into her house would scare her. They'd come and gone, polite euphemisms for threats and poorly concealed weapons. She didn’t see any weapons, but the man was too calm to be threatening her without one.

    "He broke my arm." He added after a moment, still reproachful.

    She gave a tight smile with no humor or joy.

    "I'm sorry to hear that."

    The stranger continued to look reproachfully at her.

    "He kidnapped my brother as well. Boys really should not be taken from home at such a formative age."

    "Kidnapping? That doesn't sound like Gon."

    "I'm very certain he did. Killua Zoldyck?"

    Things clicked into place. She tried to remember his name, scrawled on loose leaf paper three times folded. Gon's handwriting was nearly illegible when he was excited. That name was in one of the three paragraphs reduced to squiggles as he talked about Killua.

    "Illumi is it?"

    He raised both his hands from the table, putting them up as if to say 'you caught me.'

    "Hi."

2

    He watched her as she gathered laundry for the drying lines, swept out the mud she'd tracked in and washed her hands again to begin preparing the fish. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing her knife. Good, she understood the situation.

    She scraped the scales from the fish with the same intense focus Gon had broken his arm. So it was hereditary. She laid the fish on its side, deboning it and gutting it with a few sharp moves. She glanced at the fish as she set it aside, blindly reaching for another. Her hand found an empty countertop, and she turned to Illumi.

    "Could you go to the market and buy another salmon?"

    Illumi cocked his head to one side. She didn't seem unnerved. "Why?"

    "Because I have two people to feed tonight." She grabbed her apron, using it to wipe at the bits of fish on her hands.

    She’d moved on very quickly. She knew he was dangerous, she knew he was after her son by extension, but she didn’t know why. It was probably in her best interest to stay polite, in case he was there to help. But she knew about him, she knew his name. How much did she know? She was offering him dinner, so it couldn't be much.

    He could kill her and puppet her, but maintaining that concentration would be harder than just waiting for his brother to return. Maybe a few needles, to make her more obedient. The Zoldycks were made to have power in any case. 

    He tutted his tongue as it occurred to him Killua would notice if he ever came back, and that attention to detail was why he'd tried to cut his prodigy brother out of the mix in the first place. Everything would be so much more… cooperative when he'd stuck a few needles in Killua's brain. He was twirling a needle now, spinning it end over end between his fingers. 

    Killua would be the head of the family, of course. Tradition had to be upheld, and it was easier to deliver bad news through someone else's lips. And maybe, for some mysterious reason, Killua decided never to marry or officially sire that duty would just have to fall to the eldest relative. And after having a son who could be heir, Illumi could-

     Illumi noticed he was walking back up the hill, holding a bag in his other hand. He stopped, instinct stopping the needle he was holding in the throwing position. How had she done that? He stared at the ground, at the foot worn path back up the hillside and he waited for the feeling of nen to crawl over him.

    Instead, he remembered what happened; his memories creeping out from hidden places like they were ashamed. He was embarrassed to see them.

    She had just… asked him to go shopping again. He replayed it in his head over and over, trying to piece it together. He was distracted, thinking about the future, and she'd said, very firmly, "You're just going to sit there and think, go out to the store already!" He’d idly translated this, before saying "Guáng  jiē", repeating the verb to indicate he'd do as he was told.

    He'd only ever spoken Chinese with his mother and grandfather, and both of them spoke like that to him. Was that all it had taken?

    Illumi started walking again; his steps short and angry. No, that was quite impossible. He'd worked very hard to remove such needless extremities from the brutal, exact machinery of assassination. Emotional blindspots were a luxury he couldn’t afford. The six dozen needles he kept lodged in various parts of his body were supposed to help with that.

    He stopped, before digging his heel into the dirt with force enough to fold sheet metal. He was pouting, he knew he was pouting and he was basically stomping and whining, but it was a Command. A command he had listened to. He never wanted that to happen again, that's why he did any of this. Power is just the ability to say No.

      Mito was halfway down the glass before she caught herself. She was thinking about the boys again, about Gon and Killua. Apparently her hands had grabbed the bottle and a pair of glasses from the cupboard. Scotch. She licked her lips, trying to chase it’s cruel taste away. The scotch laid plans on it’s own; oiling the inside of her skull to send her brain skidding across it.

    They were probably in the forest somewhere, having an adventure. Chasing rumors and stipulation through the wild places. She scoffed at her own fantasy: it would be nice if the world worked like that, but it didn't. There were people out there, intelligent motivated people, who only wanted to hurt people. As she thought this to herself, she saw Illumi crest the top of the hill, gaunt form holding a gently swaying bag. He might kill her.

    She took another drink and her eyes watered; at the taste, at the smell, but mostly at the fact she hadn't been strong enough to dump out the glass. 

    She could still see his silhouette from the road. He was tall, must have been more than six feet. His hands, fingers long thin and agile, sprang into her mind. It was easy to imagine them slipping gently around her neck. She gripped the front of her dress and tried to make that a scary image.

3

    She was sitting at the table: brown skin and freckles, soft red hair cut short and strange. He gestured with the bag. She smiled at him.

    "Thank you."

    He made a noncommittal noise and nodded his head.

    She stood, before walking closer, but he cut her off, stepping smartly to the counter's edge and placing the bag down on it, before looking at her.

    "Yú."

    Mito nodded, and took one or two slow, lumbering steps to the counter. He couldn't be bothered to count for once, he was busy watching her face.

    You were supposed to be able to learn alot from watching someone's face, but Illumi had never quite got the trick of it. He could tell you what a face was like, if he liked looking at it and what it was doing, but had no idea what it was supposed to mean.

He could see the redness of her cheeks. The glassy, watery look in her eyes. Her eyelids were puffy as well, agitated and swollen. She took a short glance at him, before turning back to her fish and cutting board. 

A moment later she said, "If you're just going to stand there gawking, go and close the door."

    Illumi was halfway turned around when he caught himself. There it was again: that emotional blind spot. He turned back to her.

    "You keep doing that. Do you mean to?"

    Mito’s knife dug in at the base of the fish's spine, and froze there. Her eyes went wide looking at it. Fear was an expression he knew, but it was a volatile thing: it melted into other expressions and emotions so quickly it was useless to identify.

    "No." She said, after a pregnant pause.

    Illumi considered this, rolling it around in his mind, this way and that.

    "You're lying," he concluded.

4

    Fear pounded at the back of Mito's mind. She would have a headache from it later, if the scotch hadn't already taken care of that. He was looking at her like a child inspecting an ant. She wanted to be angry about this, but she was just scared. He could kill her.

    She mustered the will to look him in the eyes. They were dark brown,  she'd mistaken them for black from a distance. His nose was small and pointed. His mouth pressed into a thin, expressionless line. She looked away, back to the fish before deboning it.

    He was tapping his finger on the counter. His body was contorted, bent at nearly every joint to put his face next to hers. His hair drooled down onto the cooled burners, and his eyes bore a hole in the side of her face.

    She realized he was offended, and was waiting for her to apologize. She, an ant to his eyes, had told him to do something, and he'd done it. This was an affront to his power and oh, he's a boy. Roughly her age too, by the look of him. Boys never liked to be bossed around by a girl their own age; they were sensitive about that sort of thing.

    Her mother and father had met in a similar way, albeit less veiled threats and mysterious intentions. She had walked into the wrong house, and was halfway through making herself a snack before she noticed. From her father’s perspective, a beautiful woman had wandered in and started eating his food. 

It was like that, the scotch told her, before she tamped the thought down. The giddy feeling still bubbled up out from under her heel and let out of her in a soft teary giggle.

    "What's funny?" He asked finally.

    His tone was calm, speaking like the sound of an iced over lake cracking. Mito's brain whirred, and her hands gutted the fish on instinct. 

    "I was just thinking this almost feels like a date."

    She shouldn’t have said it. She should have kept it to herself, but the sickening taste of booze made her tongue eager to move.

    Illumi took a step back from her.

    Oh. Oh. Why had he never thought of that? He had never considered she could be useful. He was daydreaming instead of planning. After he'd puppeted Killua, after his father retired as head and Killua succeeded him, Illumi would need to sire the next heir. 

    She had clearly raised a capable son. She would, as was tradition, kill his mother and take her role as matriarch and teacher. He could sculpt the next generation through her. It would be so eloquent. The same person he used to establish his power would solidify it.

    Illumi sat at the table, brushing away imaginary dust.

    "I suppose it is." He said finally.

5

    They had never said a word.

    Illumi had sat across from her, taking seconds and thirds without a moment of eye contact or conversation. He seemed to be judging her by the food, taking a moment or two sometimes to slowly chew, or try a sauce in isolation. He didn’t speak, perhaps waiting for her to crack. She could feel him watching her when she looked away. It was like the feeling of a spider crawling up your back.

    Mito hadn’t spoken either, but she had no idea what to say. Her drunken suggestion had been taken all too seriously, and she really didn’t know what to do now that she had been taken up on it. What was she supposed to say? "Why do you want to kill my son?" The answer was obvious: Gon had stepped in Illumi's plans, sprinting down the muddy road towards Ging. He must have done it a hundred times on his journey.

    And what about Illumi? What did he want in any case? Why sit down to dinner? She had decided not to ask based on a parable Abe had once told her, about asking a tightrope walker how he kept his balance. If you asked the wrong question, someone could die.

    She dabbed at her mouth, cleaning the sauce and fat from the edges of her lip. Illumi looked up, fork laden with breaded fish and seared vegetables.

    "Can I help you?"

    It wasn't a rude thing to ask, and she was genuinely interested in the answer. He was on his third plate in any case, When someone's belly was full was the best time to ask probing questions.

    Illumi set his fork down.

    "Do you live alone here?"

    Mito stood sharply up, turning to wash her plate. His hand was around her wrist. Her brain sloshed angrily around in her head as she jerked to stop, mashing into one side and the other. The back of her eyes hurt too, stinging and aching in turns. She tugged against his gripping fingers, the joints in her arm threatening to dislocate as she pulled

    "You're very strong." He commented.

    She looked back at him.

    "Yes, I am. Those who live on Whale Island are hardy."

    She tried to spin the inflection so that it sounded like they were a community. The truth was that she was so strong because she worked the pole barges and row boats by herself, refusing to split her wages with anyone. They'd needed that money once; doctors were expensive on Whale Island. Now that Abe was gone, she did it for the principle of the thing. 

    "You're angry." He said, slightly accusing.

    "Never touch a woman without permission, you're liable to lose a hand."

    He looked at her, and then cracked into a smile. She tried to not to be fascinated by that smile.

    "You know I live alone," she finally answered.

    Illumi nodded, saying "yes, I suppose I did. I was waiting for you to lie to me."

    The anger and fear were mixing with something in her guts, probably the alcohol, and the mixture made her stomach froth with undigested butterflies. 

    “I don’t lie.”  she said, lying.

    “Then perhaps you’ll tell me the truth this time. Where is Gon Freecs?”

    He wasn’t squeezing her arm, just holding his hand in an implacable shape around it; only touching her skin when she pulled against him. She tried to think, but found her mind stumbling back and forth over the warm pressure of his hand around her wrist as she pulled. She was still drunk, the processes of her mind mummified by alcohol.

    “Do you really expect me to sell out my child?”

    Illumi hummed.

    “I hoped you would.”

    Mito snorted, “You don’t know me very well.”

    Illumi nodded, and said “I suppose I don’t, but I think you could be useful.”

    He added, after a moment, “I could make you tell me.”

    For the first time, he tightened his grip slightly around her wrist. It wasn’t a painful grip, like sailors would use, it was nearly promissory; implying he could squeeze much, much harder if he had to.

    She could struggle, but part of her suspected he would tear her arm from the socket and that would begin the pain. He’d reacted well to an offer of dinner, perhaps he would be willing to sit through more. Or he would get tired of the charade and break her arm. The heavy meal was sobering her quickly, and aggressively apparently. She licked her lips, and tried to pitch the tone right.

    “Drink with me.”

    Illumi browsed over her liquor cabinet, and she busied herself with the dishes. Her pulse jumped when she suggested it, which meant she may have poisoned them. At the same time, he had no idea what he was looking for, and it’s not as though poison would do much. There were bottles of various heights all crammed into the cabinet, and at least a dozen of them were identical and unlabelled: frosted glass and rounded edges. He tapped a finger on his chin, and turned to look at her by the sink.

    She was humming to herself. It was sad, and the tone tilted and swayed like a ship in the sea. He could feel his emotions stir inside their cage. One of the pins in his chest twinged, regulating his heartbeat. He looked back to the cabinet, before pulling out one of the identical bottles from the middle of the pack. He set it on the table as she wiped her hands on her apron.

    "You can pick one of the nicer boozes." She said lifting his bottle to  inspect it.

    Illumi cocked his head to one side.

    "Isn't it what you use the most of? I imagine you'd be less likely to poison those. Not that poison would do much mind you."

    She scoffed, and delicately bit the cork and pulled it loose with her teeth.

    "Boaster."

    She made a good point. Why had he told her that? It served no practical use to mention, it was better to wait for the taste of poison. His father had once mentioned that he believed everyone could be seduced by power. This probably wasn't the seduction he meant, but Illumi supposed it would work. He could show his power to her, informing her the differences of their abilities.

    Gently, he slid his fingers between hers, around the bottle. She turned slowly to face him, her other hand frozen while rooting through a cabinet for glasses. He took the bottle, pressing the mouth of it to his lips and drinking.

    The taste was unpleasant.

    He set the bottle on the table without looking at it. Her eyes were hazel, not the pure brown of her son. They were looking at him the way Hisoka looked at everyone, though perhaps not exactly the same. She wasn't like anyone else.  After having this thought, Illumi realized two things. 

    One, his mother should have trained their tolerances for poison more broadly. She had insufficiently trained them for what she called "low poisons," or poisons people generally used for entertainment. This would be rectified when Mito was matriarch.

    Two, whatever they were drinking was, at least legally speaking, unfit for human consumption. It had more in common with disinfectant alcohol than anything most humans could safely drink. Perhaps Gon's remarkable tolerance was genetic.

     She looked him in the eyes as she turned her head slightly away from him, lifting the bottle and pressing it to her lips. She drank silently and greedily, and when she turned back to him, her mouth smelled of pungent moonshine. He wanted to kiss it. Instead, he took the bottle back from her, feeling the skin of her hands a much as he could before she relaxed the neck into his grip, and took his own drink. 

    Chasing the imagined taste of her lips, he drained the bottle through his Adam's apple, feeling it burn in the backs of his eyes and the weight of his stomach. He hadn’t been truly poisoned in such a long time, the feeling was nearly pleasant. He sat at the table, deliberately and carefully setting down the bottle with the care of someone who doesn’t trust his fingers. He adjusted his ass, having apparently missed the chair the first time. He looked up at Mito expectantly.

    She grabbed another bottle, and a pair of glasses, before sitting across him, apparently less drunk. She poured each of them a generous glass of ethanol flavored like sulfur. She drank first, taking a long shallow drink of the stuff. He matched her pace, drinking less steadily and more deeply. He could feel the tight pressed spring of his instincts and reaction time starting to loosen. It made him feel vulnerable, insecure. 

She was pouring him another glass, hardly looking at him. He furrowed his brows looking at her, trying to read her face.

    “What are you thinking about?”

    The clear, reeking liquid stopped in it’s journey to his glass, the bottle turned at an angle to stop it. She chuckled slightly.

    “Gon and Killua,” she said.

    Another needle jammed into the base of Illumi’s throat twinged, stopping a hiccup before it formed.

    “He would be safer at home,” he said.

    Mito chuckled.

    “I don’t think Killua would see it that way.”

    Illumi shook his head, before taking another few swallows of the stuff. It hurt, and the needle he’d used to stop hiccups would twitch every few seconds, hurting him to inform he was drunk. The tears dried behind his eyes made it clear they wanted out.

    “ I’m not talking about Killua. Gon. The boy. Things would be easier for me too if he was home.”

    He finally drained the glass again, and as he set it down Mito refilled it, expression blank, staring off at his chest.

    “We want the same things,” he ventured finally.

    She chuckled. It sounded like windchimes 

    “Do we?”

    He nodded, ignoring the pain of bouncing his head.

    “Safety for the people we love. A future full of choice. Power.”

    She chuckled again. It sounded like rain tapping on the roof.

    “You’re a very sad man Mr. Zoldyck.”

    Illumi shook his head, making himself briefly dizzy.

    “Nuh-uh.”

    “Drink up.” she said, in that ordering tone of hers.

    Illumi pressed the rim of the glass to his mouth, and paused.

    “You’re poisoning me.” he said after a moment.

    Mito hummed a questioning sound.

    “You’re poisoning me.” he repeated.

    “No,” she mused, “you’re poisoning yourself.”

     He surged to his feet, but drunk he was too slow. Glass shattered and her hands were wrapped around his throat. She had to stand on tip toes to reach him. He could feel the cool edges of her fingernails scrape the skin. She’d overpowered him. A needle he’d stuck into his hip twinged, keeping his cock flaccid. They froze for a moment. 

    “What now?” he asked, airways unrestricted.

    Mito looked him in the eyes, before finally answering, “you’re drunk.” 

    Illumi nodded limply.

    She pushed and he keeled backwards, losing balance like he’d never had it to start. His view of the world sloshed and slid, like his eyes were made of water.

    Why had he played this game? He would have never challenged father, or Killua, or even Gon to it’s like. Perhaps his mother. Perhaps any other woman. Did the Zoldycks have blindspots just the same as everyone else? That was a worrying thought.

    Fortunately, his head impacted the floor a moment or two after he’d had it.

6

    Mito tried to find her balance, her equilibrium apparently as drunk as she was. It swayed and tottered as her feet danced the sailor’s two step, then five step, then steadied her. She’d had to put her full strength and weight into shoving him over. His skull had dented the flooring. She wound one leg back and swiftly kicked him between the legs.

    He didn’t make a noise, just rocked slightly in place. Then he was good and unconscious. She waddled drunkenly to his other end and tried to weave her arms under his armpits. It took a few tries, between drunken guesstimation and catching, vinyl fabric of his clothes. Once she had a grip, she crouched low and heaved. His body dragged and Mito took it with her as she took a few clumsy steps back.

    His ass caught on the doorframe. She hadn’t actually thought this out past this. What was she going to do with him? Drag him out to a sandbar and leave him to drown at high tide? Drop him face first into a puddle? Somehow it all felt cruel. He hadn’t hurt her, and the fact he would if he could was hard to hold against him, seeing him laid out. In any case, he had to get out of her house.

    She relaxed, letting his head hit the porch wood. She stretched out her back, wishing she hadn’t been so damn hard on her body when she was younger. She looked down at him. His shirt had hiked up to reveal skin across his stomach, equal parts toned and scarred. He clearly hadn’t had a terrific childhood either. He could just be a victim of circumstance.

    She stepped carefully around his sprawled arm, grabbing a tacky high heel shoe with each hand before stepping back. She heard his head impact the wall as she tried to rotate him through the door, watching his body curl to fit. With a last, less-than-safe heave, she pulled him though. He would likely be in a lot of pain tomorrow anyway. Would a hangover and mountain of bruises not suffice?

    She squatted low again, and a little sobered by the work, she tried to lift him. Carrying it like Abe’s bags of sweet trout, she laid him across her shoulders. He was dangerous, that much she could be certain. She could write a note, explaining he would be killed next time she saw him. But he was well mannered, human even, under the odd clothes and blank expression. She started waddling to the port. She wanted him off her island at the least.

    She found a secluded jetty, a few rowboats with sailor’s most complicated knots tying them to the docks. She picked hers, farthest inland and threw, as best she could, 200 pounds of murderer into it. He landed feet first, the boat keeling and splashing as his full weight hit the bow. In a moment of surprise, she found her hands reaching for her apron tie, ready to strip the excess fabric and dive in to save him. The boat steadied. 

She stepped in, carefully to avoid stepping on him. She let out a sigh. What now? She could row him to the Gzana, drop him at one of the hotels near the port. She hadn’t brought her coins, and she couldn’t risk him coming too while they were halfway there. She sighed, looking back at him.

He was pretty, and that might be the hardest part about killing him. It was a shallow reason to be sure, but she couldn't shake the feeling it would be wrong. The world would be a better place, but it wouldn't be the right place. She traced her hand along the line of his jaw, feeling the steady pump of blood. She hadn't killed people before, and it was supposed to change you to do so.

He was very pretty, lips softly parted and long black hair splayed out like an angel's halo. It mingled with the water, cast across the boat like the shadows of night. His eyes, wide and disconcerting, were closed.

She leaned down, careful to keep balance in the small row boat, and kissed him. Then she clambered back onto the pier, taking a sharp breath to bring down her blush.

One hand on the dock’s pillar for support, she got down on her knees to unmoor the boat, and, as an afterthought, snatched one of the oars, before gently shoving the boat out to sea with a bare foot

The tide around Whale Island is different than it is around most land masses; the sea seems to ignore it, like a sandbar or a sea stack. On clear night at low water, it's as good as riptide for getting out to sea. Mito watched as the horizon, blurred by fading moonlight, swallowed her small boat.

7

    Illumi awoke to the scream of seagulls and the piercing pain of his headache. There were other aches and pains, spread out like paint smears across his body. Without open his eyes, fearing he would be blind with pain and sunlight, he stuffed his hand in his pocket and withdrew a needle, sticking it carefully between the ridges of his spine. The pain stopped, and he dared to open his eyes.

    A sky blue dress with clouds of bleach and flour.

The needle in his spine was not something he liked to use, he was liable to forget it was there, and pain was useful for keeping track of damage, but worst of all it stopped his other needles from hurting. The only way he knew his heart rate picked up was the feeling of it, hammering in his chest. He sat up.

The ocean surrounded him, featureless. He might have imagined it was heaven or hell if not for the smell; too imperfect to be either. He withdrew his phone from one pocket, turning it on to ascertain his location.

He’d missed messages from his father. That would be trouble, but it could wait. He flipped on the GPS, and tried not to sigh. He was nowhere near anything, floating in the international waters between Azia and Yorbia. He looked around, trying to take stock of what he had. One oar, an empty tackle box, and his phone.

Only one oar. Quaint. It left him unable to row his boat, only to meander in circles. No doubt it was a popular way for amateurs to kill, they generally don't enjoy the crunchy parts of the work.

For a moment, he considered calling his family for help, but he knew better than that. He took a few minutes to braid his hair, holding the phone in his teeth, before stripping and folding his clothes in the boat. For a moment he took the phone in his hand, ensuring he understood the direction he had to go, before smashing against the floor of the boat. It would never survive the journey.

He tried not to think about her, and found it vexingly difficult. She could have killed him. She should have, by all rights. He was a danger to everything she held dear. He cracked his neck, then his shoulders, then his back.

She should have killed him. Why hadn’t she?

He dived.

[chrisdiels-babygirl]

Chapter three: I will always keep you safe

Amora found herself wide awake on Friday morning she couldn't sleep, she briefly thought about her date with the man she'd met in Maria's café on Tuesday, she had to admit the thought of going out with him tonight made her feel a little queezy and a little unnerved, the only reason she had said yes was because her best friend Carol had been going on and on about how Amora needed to put herself out their more and date some guys, Amora remembered how Carol joked one time and said "you never know you might meet Mr right", but if Amora was being completely honest with herself she was also disappointed about how Christopher hadn't asked her on a date, she would much rather go out with him than the guy from the café, she then allowed her thoughts to wander to Christopher and how she'd grown so fond of their interactions in the mornings, she now knew how he liked his coffee, that the intimidating man who was always with him was called zabdiel, that he and Chris had been best friends basically their whole lives along with their three other best friends and how he was not actually that intimidating once you got to know him, rather he was more like a gigantic teddy bear, but zabdiel told her never to tell anyone else that because he had a reputation to up hold, which Amora remembered made her laugh in the moment.

Amora was just peacefully laying on her back facing up at the ceiling when suddenly she heard loud rapid knocking on her front door, she got out of bed and padded across the floor wondering who the hell it could be at this time in the morning.

Amora opened the door to two men with caramel like skin, both had black hair but one of them also had a beard and a pair of black sun glasses on, Amora gave them a questioning look, she had no idea who they were and thought to herself they must have the wrong apartment. The man without the sun glasses spoke first "are you Amora" he asked her, Amora wanted to know how the hell he knew her name and where she lived, she cautiously nodded her head yes. The man with the sun glasses on then stepped forward and forcefully grabbed Amora's wrist and said "you need to come with us", she panicked, where they trying to kidnap her, she tried to yank her wrist back "I'm not going anywhere with you" her voice raising and becoming more panicked, when suddenly in walked through her door zabdiel, "zabdiel" Amora yelled with relief as she ran to hug him, he carefully tucked her in his arms, she gazed up at him as she pointed a finger back at the other two men "their trying to kidnap me" she frantically told him, zabdiel looked up from her face and the gentle look he had been looking at Amora with vanished and was replaced by the mean glare she knew all to well, "what does she mean you tried to kidnap her" he asked coldly, the guy who had previously grabbed Amora stood forward and said "we told her she had to come with us" "thats it" zabdiel snapped, he was loosing his patience, the two men stood back with their heads hung low. Zabdiel turned to Amora "I'm sorry about these two idiots they appear to have left their manor's at home" zabdiel said staring at them with a look that could have killed them, he then turned to Amora and his gentle gaze was back "Christopher sent me to get you, he needs to talk to you" Amora looked at zabdiel with an apologetic look on her face and said "I'm sorry zabdi, but I've work, can it not wait till later", the two men behind her raising their heads with shocked looks on their faces at the mention of the nickname, as they both knew very well he hated that nickname and they were even more surprised when zabdiel didnt give out to her for it, "No it can't wait, Amora please its important" he said it so softly she almost mistook it for a whisper, she nervously bit her lip and pondered the idea, Amora strolled over to her nightstand to pick up her phone, she dialed her work number and told them she was sick and she wouldn't be in today, zabdiel smiled at her, grateful that he had managed to persuade her, "why don't you get dressed we'll wait outside the door for you.

Amora stepped outside her apartment door and zabdiel was right there just like he told her he would be, to tell the truth the other two men made her uneasy and she didnt really want to be left alone with them. Amora sat next to zabdiel in the car, the whole time her eyes never left her lap, she felt intimidated under the other two men's gaze.

Finally the car pulled up to a house that appeared to be more like a mansion. Amora stepped out of the car and zabdiel led her into the house, the other two men walked ahead of them into what she presumed to be the living room. As soon as Amora stepped foot into the living room her eyes wandered around the room, she first noticed Christopher, which made her feel a little more at ease, she didnt know why but she just felt safe around him, she noticed another man he was short with beautiful dark skin that was covered in tattoos and he had blonde hair, he didnt look as intimidating as the two who'd shown up at her door with zabdiel, there was also a girl, who Amora noticed had beautiful caramel coloured skin, short black hair and her arms were also covered in colourful tattoos, she sat on the sofa with a bored expression on her face. Amora's eyes flickered back to Christopher, he walked closer to her and looked at zabdiel "was everything alright" he asked while his gaze flickered between zabdiel and her, zabdiel looked over at the two men they'd arrived with and then back to Chris "Joel and Erick scared the shit out of her, but apart from that yeah everything is fine", Amora thought to herself so thats their names, Christopher sharply turned his head towards them with a mean and cold stare on his face, the two men instantly hung their heads low knowing they were in for it later. Christopher turned to Amora and with a soft look in his eyes he said to her "we need to talk, I have to tell you some important things", the girl on the sofa snickered under her breath but Christopher still heard her and he was not remotely impressed. Christopher stuck his hand out for Amora to grab onto, she quickly looked up at zabdiel as if asking if she should go with him, zabdiel gently nodded his head yes, Amora softly placed her hand in Chris' as he was leading her off she heard the man with the sun glasses say "$5 says she runs for the hills when he tells her", she then heard zabdiel smack him over the back of the head and say "Cállate pendejo".

*Amora's POV*

As I sat on a leather chair in what appeared to be Christopher's office, I nervously played with the hem of my sun dress waiting on him to talk. He looked nervous, like he didnt know how to start or if he even wanted to. Christopher looked up with a solemn look on his face and I suddenly knew that whatever Chris was about to say was serious. "Amora I have to tell you something important, but you have to promise to stay calmb and not freak out ok?" I nodded my head yes, he took a deep breath and with a stone cold expression he said "Amora I'm in a gang", I laughed "yeah right, and I'm secretly related to the queen of England", "Amora I'm not joking I'm the leader of a very well known gang", he then went on to explain how the rest of the guys outside are also apart of his gang, his most important members, but he then also went on to explain how he had many enemies but his main rival was an american gang and that the man who I was supposed to go out with tonight was apart of that gang and he was really trying to kidnap me and he then explained how I'd have to go away with him at least until he could eliminate the threat against my life. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach and like I was gonna pass out, Christopher quickly noticed how pale I'd gotten all of a sudden "Amora why don't you lay down on the sofa, I know this is a lot of information to process" he helped me to the sofa in the corner of his office, I layed down "I can't believe this someone's trying to kill me" I gasped out, Chris looked me in the eyes "I will always protect you Amora, I'll never let anything happen to you" was the last thing I heard before passing out.

*Narrator's POV*

Amora woke up to the faint sound of talking in the distance, she sat up, the office was now empty, the door left slightly ajar. She tip toed out of the office so as to not draw any attention to herself, she peeked around the corner of the living room to see Christopher telling everyone to start packing as they would be leaving early tomorrow morning, Christopher caught Amora out of the corner of his eye, he instantly turned his attention to her "you're awake, are you ok bonita?" he rushed to her side to check her like a worried mother, Amora shyly smiled at his concern, "we're leaving, where are we going?", Christopher gave her a sorrowful look "yes we have to leave to keep you safe cariño". The girl Amora recognized from earlier scoffed "this is bullshit" Chris snapped his head in her direction so sharply Amora thought he'd break his neck "Cállate Natalie" Amora had never heard Chris sound so mean, "oh come on Chris this is fucking bullshit and you know it, we're all just supposed to pack up and move to protect little miss princess there huh, tell me why we shouldn't just give that little bitch to jonah right now, better her dead than us", Christopher was seething with anger and Amora felt the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, she turned and ran back to Christopher's office where she had previously been, as she closed the door she could hear Chris screaming at Natalie, before now Amora would have never been able to picture Chris so angry, then again she'd only known him a week, but she couldn't believe it, her Chris who was so gentle and sweet with her was actually a well known gang leader, this sounded like something straight out of a book. Amora sat on the sofa crying, she didnt want to die, she heard a gentle knock on the door and Chris poked his head in, he quickly scanned her face and seen the tears streaming down her pink cheeks, her eyes were puffy and looked sore from her rubbing them, he quickly sat down and cradled Amora on his lap, running his fingers through her hair while he rubbed her back with his other hand, making soothing shushing noises "Amora don't listen to her, she's just a bitter, selfish bitch and besides didnt I tell you I'd always protect you and I'd never let anything happen to you" he softly spoke looking into her tear filled eyes, Amora wiped her eyes one last time, sniffling as she nodded her head yes, "well I always keep my promises cariño".

Later that night Amora found herself struggling to fall asleep in the big dark room Christopher had previously shown her to after her little break down, she felt restless and a little scared she was in a strange house. Amora sighed she couldn't take it anymore, she yanked the sheets off her body her bare legs cold as she was only wearing one of Christopher's t shirts as a nightdress, she tip toed out of her room and down to the door at the end of the hallway, she gently opened the door, it squeaking in the process, Christopher lay asleep in the bed his mouth wide open with soft snores leaving his perfect lips, Amora had to stop herself from giggling at how cute he looked, she carefully tip toed across the floor but one of the floor boards creaked Christopher being startled sat upright on the bed his eyes quickly focused on Amora standing in front of him wearing his t shirt, her curls messy and a tired look on her face, concern flashed across his face "Lo que está mal cariño" he watched as she shifted from one foot to the other with a shy look on her face "I couldn't sleep and I was wondering if I could stay in here with you" she timidly replied while figiting with the hem of his t shirt she was wearing, a sleepy smile made its way onto Chris' face "Por supuesto que puedes bebé" he softly whispered while pulling the blanket back for her, she climbed into the bed, Christopher pulled the covers over them and then enveloped her in his embrace "¿Es este bebé bien", she nodded her head against his chest inhaling his scent. Amora drifted off to sleep wondering what tomorrow would bring.

Hey guys this is chapter three of The Gang Leader I hope you liked it😊

[poisonedapples]

The Dark Side of Christmas

Summary: Christmas is known as the happiest, most welcoming time of year. But when you’re Roman, that’s not always the case.

TRIGGERS: Roman has PTSD but it’s not stated by name in the fic, fighting, swearing, mentions of past shootings, mention of a car accident/explosion, blood. panic, past death and grieving, mental health problems, anxiety, dissociation and flashbacks, Christmas, tell me if you notice any more, cause this one has a lot

Note: HAPPY LATE HOLIDAY! This was supposed to be done by Christmas, but this month has Sucked so I’m using that as my excuse. My friend @theultimatemomfriend was my secret santa for something I did in the Powerless server, so here is your gift mixed with my own self indulgence! Hope you like it <3

But also , thank you to @romansleftshoulderpad and @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 for saving me some time and editing it for me. I appreciate you two

He was driving in a car.

She was screaming at him at the top of her lungs, all about how he was a failure, couldn’t do simple things, is only a disappointment to everyone that’s ever known him. The screaming was like a concert speaker right next to his ear; loud, loud, loud.

He couldn’t steer in these conditions. Not with a rocky road that bent in so many directions, a skinny single lane on a cliff with traffic cones instead of a protective railing. His foot was all the way on the brake, yet the car was speeding down the road faster than he’s ever driven before. The tires were screeching. She was still yelling.

It’s so loud.

She jumped on top of him suddenly, grabbing a hold of his neck with her long nails digging into his throat. Everything burned, he couldn’t breathe, and no one was steering the car anymore.

It’s so loud.

High pitched screeching echoed from nowhere. She was still screaming in his ear while his neck fell asleep, desperately trying to pull away her hand in order to breathe.

You’re going to die.

The car fell down the cliff. Completely on its side, such a smooth yet loud fall, the car came crashing into the woods under it, fire consuming his sight and all of his brain, the loud crash coming to a complete, deafening silence after an overwhelming boom.

Roman’s body jerked awake.

He scrunched up his shoulders to immediately cover the tingling part of his neck where he was being strangled in his dream. His mind was foggy while his body felt ready to run a marathon, heart beating fast and every inch of his skin shaking violently. Roman curled into a ball trying to calm down in the pitch black room, to no avail.

Phone. Phone. Phone has light, where’s my phone-

Roman’s Rapunzel figure on his bedside table crashed to the floor from his lack of coordination, pretty stones meant for healing and love moving out of their places and into undusted territory. Roman dropped his phone on his chest once he grabbed it but was only grateful it didn’t hit the floor this time, turning on the bright screen and blinding his eyes.

It was better than the darkness.

5:48 AM, his clock said, the lock screen blurry-looking because of Roman’s unfocused eyes and the tears pricking out certainly not helping. But he could tell there were no notifications over the night.

It’s always weird when he has to delete the Instagram app. His phone doesn’t buzz nearly as much without it.

He unlocked his phone and opened up one of his word puzzle game apps. Although it pained him to admit that Logan was right, lighthearted thinking games helped him on nights like these. Where all he needed was to calm down, but no people were around to help him with that.

As the game loaded and he was wondering what words to make with the letters F, I, G, U, E, and R, Roman clung tightly to his giant stuffed animal Magic Bitch the Queen, a rainbow pegacorn that was perfect for squishing. The name only made it better. Weirdly more calming.

Things were calming down. He definitely won’t be able to go back to sleep tonight, but given the date it was a miracle he felt as calm as he did—

“Virgil, quiet down-”

“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want!”

“Virgil!”

...Nevermind. 

Roman curled in on himself at the sound of the yelling. He hated fighting. He hated it with a burning passion, loud noises made him jump out of his skin and it was only worse when it was them yelling. They’re usually a lot more calm when Roman is around, but sometimes things just...got out of hand.

This was one of those times.

“This bitch thinks he can just walk in here and act like he owns the damn place! Well newsflash fucker, you’re not the only person who cares about Roman! Stop acting like you can fucking control him!”

“I’m not controlling him! Is it a crime for me to want to care about my own brother!? Last time I checked, you’re not family!”

“Remus-“

“Oh cram it, calculator watch!”

“Go fuck yourself, you walking STD!”

“Virgil Foster! If you end up waking Roman, I swear-”

Patton paused mid sentence when he saw the figure standing in the middle of the steps. Everyone looked over at Roman, his hand fiddling with the end of his sleeve and way too tired eyes. His posture a little too straight, smile so dead it was hardly a smile at all. “It’s alright, Pat. I was awake anyway.”

“I assume another nightmare?” Logan asked.

Roman went to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cupboard. Filling it with milk until it was overflowing, Roman smiled. “You know me so well.”

Patton’s face grew concerned while he chugged some of the milk, Remus crossing his arms and glaring at Virgil. “You wouldn’t be having these problems if you’d stayed at my place instead of this dump.”

“This dump is our home, trash panda. Watch your fucking mouth.”

“Ironic.” Remus towered over Virgil with his hands on his hips when he stepped closer, Virgil hissing when he got too close. “All I’m saying is that isn’t it better for Roman to be with family who can help, instead of stuck in the same place that caused all this in the first place? With people who don’t even understand?”

“You know that I’m here, right? That I can hear you talking about me? Cause I can hear you talking about me.”

“Or maybe he needs to be around family that actually cares instead of being around the same deadbeat bastard who only comes visit to be the same pile of dog shit he makes everyone step in!”

Patton sighed. “Virgil, please stop. Can we please just go back to bed? Without all the fighting?”

The looks on Remus’ face was too taunting. Blood boiled in Virgil’s veins from three weeks of dirty glares at each other while he watched his best friend curl around him for comfort instead of anyone else. The cockiness of him trying to take Roman off to Florida for the holiday, like he was the only one who cared. He hated his stupid gross smile and how Roman snickered at his dirty jokes, he hated how he was genuinely helping and how useless their help was.

How threatening this bitch actually made him feel. But Virgil refused to lose.

“I’ll go to bed when this bitch stops acting like he can walk into my fucking house and act like he owns the fucking place! Eat my food, use my water, and steal my fucking friend because apparently this human embodiment of the feeling you get right before you fucking projectile vomit is the reincarnation of Christ!”

“Virgil!”

“And I’ll go to bed when this ‘Roman’s my best friend’ wannabe stops getting in between my family because his self esteem’s so low in the ground that sharks can have sex on it!”

“Fuck you!”

“JUST SHUT UP!”

Everyone paused when Roman screamed, his hand too weak to hold onto his glass and his hands shaking too hard to fiddle with the end of his sleeve anymore. His eyes were glassy and his chest felt like it was caving in on itself, with evil butterflies chewing apart his ribs and leaving hollow discomfort. Patton’s eyes went soft as he slowly approached Roman, keeping a loose grip on his hand and saying something to him that Roman wasn’t listening to in order to calm him down. But he was just tired. So tired. Tired of the yelling and the fear and the everything that he just wanted to get away.

So he did.

“Roman?” It was all he’d heard from Pat even after all his talking, but Roman still decided to ignore it. He quickly slipped on some shoes and grabbed his coat from the closet, opening the front door without another word.

Patton’s eyes widened when he realized what was happening. “Roman, wait-“

But just like that, the door had slammed behind him and he was making his way down the street.

He could already see his therapist’s “I don’t get paid enough for the shit you put me through” face when he eventually talks about this, but that was future Roman’s problem.

...He still had no clue where he was going.

That was always the worst part about Roman’s “run away from your problems” habit. He never had any plan. He could end up three towns over, he could end up across the street. In one of the first incidents, he ended up at a McDonald’s right on the outskirts of the state and fell asleep in the bathroom stall. When he called Logan and told him where he was, it was an hour drive to come get him since they didn’t trust him to drive back in his state. That’s why they first started looking for a therapist for him.

He wished he had his car this time. Walking around in freezing weather with pajama pants is cold.

Roman made his way down the hill where the house was to head downtown, where a good handful of stores were open at every time of day. He needed the heat.

“Eileen, you will pay for making me lose my beauty sleep.”

“You’ll be okay. It wasn’t working for you anyway.”

“...Hey!”

...And the distraction.

It was at 11:30 when Ellie woke him up. Dragging him out of bed and making him help her “sneak” out—if you could call going through the front door sneaking—, they ended up in a supermarket at around midnight on Christmas Eve. 

“I got Remus this giant ass octopus stuffed animal that was literally like ninety dollars, but I need a gag gift for him. Something completely and utterly stupid, and I need you to help me look for it. So I can go home sooner.”

“A giant octopus isn’t a gag gift to you?”

“He’ll love it and you know it.”

“...Touche. Maybe just get him toilet paper?”

“Too enjoyable. Too useful. He’ll set the rolls on fire in the backyard or something.”

“...Nevermind then!”

The first store Roman found with its lights still on was a small convenience store next to a gas station. His legs were starting to get slow from the cold, teeth chattering slightly with his arms tucked close to his body like a penguin.

Roman went inside.

“Oh my God, Roman, it’s perfect.”

“What is it?”

“‘Maybe you touched your balls’ hand sanitizer. I’m getting five.”

Roman tried not to laugh too hard, especially when the store was so quiet at this hour, but he couldn’t help it. With slight sleep deprivation and the look on his sister’s face, Roman burst out a laugh and gave Ellie a lazy push. Ellie took five of the hand sanitizers and piled them in her hands, making their way toward the checkout.

Alone in a store on the night of Christmas Eve.

Roman didn’t want to think about it, but then again, he never did. And every time he focused on one thing, half of his brain was still on his sister.

His throat felt weird.

“I’m dreaming of a white...christmas…”

Ellie was basically skipping on her way to the checkout. She loved old Christmas songs, and not being able to resist the temptation to perform must be another “Sanders Siblings” thing.

Roman was staring at the chip aisle when his chest started to expand, his hands growing weak and absolute fear taking over. Why was breathing so hard? What is it now?

His eyes became glassy again, his vision becoming more distant and distorted until he couldn’t tell what he was looking at. But his ears seemed to focus on something else. Something so distant but close at the same time, ringing in his ears while he felt like he was looking through a TV screen.

“And since we’ve no place to go...let it snow, let it snow, let it snow…”

Fuck. Shit. Roman started fumbling in his pockets for earbuds, but in his haste to leave the house, they were forgotten in his room. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

He could hear the silence of the store, but in the back of his brain he could feel the sound of gunshots.

“He’s alive, but he’s been hit around five times. Get him in the ambulance.”

He knew there wasn’t hands on him. He knew there wasn’t any blood, his or otherwise, on the floor. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

“Duck!”

There was no figure that caught Roman’s eye as they made their way to checkout. There was no moment of adrenaline as he tried to cover his sister, ducking for cover while people walking down the street also screamed. There was no glass breaking. There was no shots of pain as he realized the blood on the floor was his. There was no noise. No screaming. No sirens or commands being shouted or deafening silence that made Roman want to scream. It didn’t exist.

But it didn’t feel like it.

He didn’t know how to work his limbs, his body felt fake and his vision was just a TV screen looking at a world that felt anything but real. His ribs felt like they should be in pain for more than just his shaky breaths and his back should be cold from the hard floor instead of being supported by a cooler door.

What was the pattern again? Three things you can hear—wait, no, fuck, what was it? What was it?

There was blood going through his jacket and blood on his fingers. His thumb was cut from a piece of glass and he couldn’t move off the floor. As tight as he could, he kept a grip on his older sister. The hand sanitizers had sprawled out across the floor, the hands that were holding them now lied lifeless in Roman’s grip.

Roman heard something. More than the music, that stupid fucking music, but he could focus. He wanted to cough until he could breathe again, he wanted to be here, without a single doubt that history can't repeat itself. But trauma doesn’t work that way.

Shooting down on Taft Avenue. Four injured, one dead. 

“Roman, hey, it’s just me, it’s just Virgil—shit, hey, it’s alright, focus on me. Let me get you out of here, okay? God you’re heavy, okay-”

It’s Virgil. It’s just Virgil. No Ellie, Ellie’s dead, Ellie’s been dead, it’s just Virgil, he’s here. 

Thank God.

“Here, just listen to this for a bit. You’re the reason I have a Disney playlist, I hope you know that.”

They were in a car now. Roman could feel the pressure of Virgil’s bulky headphones on his ears, as well as the start up to Tiana’s “Almost There”, even if his hands he was staring at still didn’t feel like his own. The explosion in his chest lessened some, even if his breaths were still short and it was a miracle he wasn’t sobbing yet.

Virgil moved one of the ends of the headphones to the side. “Feeling a little better?”

Talking took so much energy, way too much energy, but he’d worried Virgil enough for one day. “...Yeah…”

“Do you need the volume turned down?”

“...Maybe.”

The music got a little quieter, and Roman felt his body relax a little more. He didn’t even realize it was overwhelming him.

“Alright...now, five things you can see?”

“Virge-“

“Five things you can see, fucker, let me help you.”

Roman let out a huff of a laugh, but looked around anyway. “Uh...you, carseat, wheel...um...the thing…”

“Thing?” Virgil looked around. “...You mean glove compartment?”

“...Yeah, that.”

“Okay, one more.”

“...Coat?”

“Alright, four things you can hear?”

“Music, heater, uh...I don’t know…”

“Can you hear me?”

“...Now I can.”

Virgil laughed. “That’s good enough, I’ll take three. Three things you can touch?”

“...Headphones, coat, seat.”

“Alright, good...two things to smell?”

Blood. “Pat’s air freshener, and the fact that you haven’t showered.”

Virgil lightly punched him in the arm, Roman letting out a small laugh through a shaky smile. “And I bet what you’re tasting is the fact that you haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“...I did not come here to get roasted.”

Virgil shook his head in amused disappointment at him, but started the car and put it in reverse. Roman sighed, looking out the window at the soft snowflakes and lights on houses that made his stomach curl. He hated this holiday. All it did was bring back bad memories, every corner surrounded in his triggers and nightmares increasing tenfold with the stress. He wanted to go home. He didn’t know where home was.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Roman looked over at Virgil, with his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel as he tapped nervously. Roman rubbed at his eyes. “Do you want to? I heard you and Remus.”

“This isn’t about me, it’s fine.”

“You’re my best friend and he’s my brother. It involves me too.”

Virgil didn’t answer. He kept his eyes on the road intently, and Roman wondered if he should just put the headphones back on his ear and let that be that. But he really didn’t want them to keep fighting, so it’s better to at least make an attempt, right?

Roman put the headphones around his neck. “We were buying his gift.”

“What?”

“The night Ellie died. Her and Remus had a little tradition of getting each other a gift and a gag gift. The older we got, the more inappropriate they became, which was very ‘them’, in all honesty. She had forgotten to get it earlier though, so she took me to the store at midnight on Christmas Eve so we could pick something out. And that’s when the shooting happened.

Virgil didn’t react, but Roman gave him a tired smile. “I’m fairly certain that’s why he gets so protective. He feels like he caused it somehow, so he tries to solve all my problems on his own. It’s sweet in its own way.”

Virgil hit the break roughly at a stop sign. “Well now I feel like an asshole.”

“...You were a little bit of a bitch. But I don’t blame you, since so was he.”

“I just wanna help you too, you know? I get it, he’s your brother and all that shit, but he’s not the only person who cares about you, so he can back the fuck off. Especially when he’s spending time in my fucking house.”

“You say that like three other people don’t pay rent.”

“It’s my house when it’s convienent to my argument, fuck off.”

Roman laughed, Virgil taking a turn to a stoplight and waiting. “I just want you two to work things out. We can talk once I go home, take my meds, and at least sleep for two hours.”

“Only two hours? You’re starting to become me, Princey.”

“It’s an anxiety disorder buddies thing.”

“Fuck yeah, anxiety disorder buddies. Who can’t wait for therapy to start up again.”

Roman pumped a fist up lazily. “Next thursday!”

“Next thursday mother fucker!”

They both started to laugh, the soft glow of the read light and the headlights of passing cars being strangely calming. Roman’s eyes felt so heavy, the glassy tears he still had sealing his eyelids together like glue. “Wake me up when we get there.” He mumbled.

“And if you have another nightmare?”

“We get there when we get there.”

Roman heard one last soft laugh before his body went still. He wasn’t completely peaceful, but at least he was sleeping. It would be enough for now.

Virgil didn’t wake him up when they got home. It took both him and Remus to be able to carry him inside, but they managed to do it without waking him up permanently. He moved, but at least he managed to sleep some.

When he wakes up, they’ll fuss at him for running away and Patton will hug him close for Roman’s comfort and his own. He’ll make Remus and Virgil talk peacefully about each other without too much complaining until they can at least stand to be in the same room as each other. Then when things are calm, the brothers will cry when they remember the date, and Patton will give them blankets and hugs while the other two stand around a little awkwardly until it’s lunch time. Neither of them will eat much, but leftovers exist for a reason. They’ll be taken care of.

But for now, Roman will sleep.

[nickysurfer28]

Summary: continued from chapter 1, Dr.Nicky Ransom still searching for her cousin Denise Ames. But she’s gotten herself into something.....

Warning: 18+ only

Chapter 2

You stare at Chris, mouth agape for a fraction of a moment before you compose yourself.

“Fine.” , Nicky answered. “How exactly are going to do that?”

Chris reaches the bottom of the staircase and approaches you. Standing together like this, you realize how much taller he is than you.

“First, let’s sit down.” Chris spoke warmly.

He leads you to what looks like an old fashioned parlor. You see a pitcher of water with some glasses on a nearby table.

Chris noticed you staring. “Would you like some water?”

I...Would. Nicky answered awkwardly. “Some water would be nice.”

“Of course.” Chris answered warmly with a smile.

Chris pours you a glass from the pitcher and hands it you.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Chris gestures to a plush, stately couch.

Nicky thought to herself “I’ll ... Sit prim and proper.”

“Oh, um. Thank you.” Nicky awkwardly answered.

Carefully, you lower yourself onto the couch, making sure to keep your back straight.

Chris’s mouth quirks up in amusement. “Very proper, doctor.”

As you sit, you catch a glimpse of a painting across the room.

“What a beautiful painting. That’s “The Nightmare,” right? Nicky spoke curiously.

You look at the image portraying a demon feeding on an innocent woman’s dreams.

Chris sits down opposite you,poised as ever. He answered, “You have a good eye, doctor.”

“Thanks.”,Nicky answered confidently. Sighing, you fix him with a serious look.

“Look, I have to ask. How do you know Denise?”

Chris hums, crossing his arms over his chest and inclining his head to the paintings on the wall.

“I’m a proud patron of the arts, as you can see. I’m on the board for Dreamseeker’s Foundation. I approved Denise’s art grant.”

“Oh.” Nicky shockingly answered. That’s the arts organization that gave Denise funding for her artwork. Nicky thought to herself. Without the grants they provide to aspiring artists, Denise’s gallery opening would never have happened.

“You look surprised.”Chris answered.

“Why didn’t you tell me when we first met?”,Nicky spoke with shock.

“No offense meant, doctor, but you looked like you wanted to skin me alive when we first met.” Chris answered with a smirk. “That, and I was far more concerned with the news of Denise’s well-being.”

He locks eyes with you, his blue eyes bright and piercing even at this distance.

“I may act blasé, but I really do mean it when I say that I’m worried for her, Nicky.” Chris answered concern in his voice.

“That’s... Fair. Nicky answered.

“I certainly think so.” Chris answered warmly.

“Anyway, back to business.” Nicky answered. “How exactly are you going to help me find Denise?”.

But he holds up a hand with an apologetic smile.”Before I can help you, I think it would be best to understand what happened.” “Tell me about the night you supposedly saw me with Denise. You said it was during her art show, yes?”.

“Yeah. But even before that, she was acting odd. Off.”,Nicky spoke with sadness and concern. “She was ignoring all her friends for some guy she was dating, and none of us ever saw him.”

“Then, at the gallery, I saw... well, you.” .”You pulled her into an alley and... you did something to her. Then you left, and she acted like...like she was drugged.”

Nicky close her eyes, remembering that night.

*One Week Earlier*

You’re at Denise’s art gallery, perusing her paintings. Her art is bright and evocative, each canvas more beautiful than the last.

Nicky thought to herself “She’s so talented.”

A glimpse of Denise across the room interrupts your musings. Just as soon as you catch sight of her, though ,she heads to the back door, followed closely by unfamiliar figure.

Nicky thought ,”Who is that?”, I should... all out to Denise. “Denise!” She doesn’t seem to hear you. You consider calling out again when her date looks back at you with a wicked grin on his face. ???,”Hah..”,spoke. His brilliant blue eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something about his expression that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

Soon, Denise re-emerges fro. The back door, her eyes unfocused and glazed over as she makes her way to you. “Nicky! I’m so glad you could make it! Denise is swarmed by admirers soon enough, and you can’t help but feel worried.

Nicky thought “I’m sure I’m just letting my worries get the best of me.”

*Present Day*

“And that’s what happened.” Nicky answered after telling the story.

You study Chris’s face. His eyes are dark, his expression serious as he regards you.

“I see.” Chris answered. His voice is practically a whisper.

“Chris....What’s wrong?. Nicky answered with concern. “You’re suddenly a lot more serious than you were.”

“I’ll ask again: do you have a twin? Nicky asked again.

He shakes his head, as if in disbelief. “Twin or not, someone is clearly impersonating me.”

In one fluid motion, he stands up.

“I think I have an idea of what to do next. There would have been some members from The Dreamseekers Foundation at that gallery. I can pull some strings, see who was registered under that guest list.” He give you a small, polite smile.

“It’s late. Let’s reconvene tomorrow, doctor. From there, we can formulate a plan.”

Nicky answered confused. “Huh? But... I just got here.”

“I know, and I greatly appreciate it, but I think that might be as far as we’ll go tonight.”Chris answered politely.

Nicky thought “why do I feel like he’s rushing me out of here?

“One more thing.” He fixes your with a serious look. “I know we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, but I truly do want to help. I want to work with you, despite your suspicions against me. But it’s a two way street,doctor. I need you cooperate. Are you willing to work together with me Nicky?”

You watch him as he speaks, a small frown on your face.

He’s right. If this is going to work, I need to drop some of this. What should I do? Fight back. He can’t tell me want to do.

“Whatever. I don’t owe you anything,Chris. As far as I’m concerned,you’re guilty until proven innocent.” Nicky answered fighting back.

He sighs and shakes his head,resigned. “Well, I tired. Here.”

He holds out his hand to help you up.

I’ll.... Take his hand. You take his hand, and he pulls you to your feet as though you weigh nothing, and you gasp. He much closer than you realized. The two of you are practically chest to chest as you look at one another. Why is my heart beating so fast?

“Well, it was a pleasure,doctor. I’ll get in contact with you tomorrow, and we can think of the next steps.” Chris answered warmly.

Chris escorts you down the hallway that leads back to the foyer. As he walks ahead of you, your eye catch an open book that had been pulled out of its case. You only catch one word as you pass. “Incubus.” You think back to the painting in the parlor, to the demon looming over the sleeping woman. “What’s this guy’s deal?”

When you return to the foyer, Chris stops and smiles courteously at you. “Try to get home safe. You don’t know what’s out there.”

Nicky thought shockingly “what’s that supposed to mean?”

....sure.

“Thank you, doctor.” He smiles and, with one last nod, closes the door.

Nicky thinking to herself, “okay , he was absolutely acting suspicious.”

You go back to your car in a daze. Something isn’t right here. So, you get in your car and drive behind a nearby tree, with the house in view. “I told him he’s guilty until proven innocent, and he’s acting suspicious.”

A half-hour goes by. You’re just about to call it quits when....

Chris slips into an SUV with darkly-tinted windows and drives off.

“Where are you going?”

You follow him through the city...onto the highway...and finally, to the outskirts of a forest in the Sierra Nevada foothills. “What the hell is he doing all the way out here?”

He parks and disappears into the woods. What should I do? Follow him at a distance. Well, Nicky, let’s get this over with before we think better of it.

You switch on your flashlight and follow him into the trees.

I mean, there can’t possibly be a non-creepy reason to be out in the woods late at night, can there? Ugh, this is exactly how horror movies start...

Your foot catches on an exposed root.

“Ah!” Nicky yelled out.

You fight to stay upright, but it’s no use. You tumble down the hill- right into a patch of thorny brambles.

“Ow!”Nicky yelled again.

“Dr. Ransom, fancy seeing you here.” Chris answered.

Chris is leaning against a nearby tree with an eyebrow raised. you struggle against the brambles, but only seem to get yourself more entangled. My shirt’s stuck on the thorns!

Seeing your struggle, he pushes off the tree with a concerned frown.

“Are you all right? Do you need help? Chris answered with concern.

“I’m fine.” Nicky shrugged.

“Please, Nicky, let me help you. You could injure yourself. Chris spoke with concern.

Dammit, I really do need his help....

“I’m good, thanks. Nicky spoke stubbornly.

You yank yourself free of the thorns, tearing part of your tank top in the process.

“Oh terrific.”

You try to stand, and wince.

“Are you all right? Chris answered with concern.

“I think I might have sprained my ankle.” Nicky answered.

“Want me to take a look? I’m no doctor, but I do know some basic first aid.” Chris spoke warmly. Do I want Chris to take a look at my ankle?

“Please.” Nicky answered helplessly.

Chris eases your shoe off. His warm, strong fingers probe tenderly at your throbbing ankle. His gentle touch leaves an odd tingle of pleasure in its wake. Oh my God, Nicky , stop enjoying this!

“Well, I don’t think it’s sprained, but you’re going to want to get some ice on it as soon as you can.”Chris spoke warmly.

“Noted.” Nicky warmly answered back.

Chris gingerly puts your shoe back on.

“Thanks.” Nicky answered kindly.

“Anytime.”Chris answered with a smile. “And now, Nicky, I’d like to know why you followed me out here. I thought we had a plan. I told you I’d contact you as soon as I was able to find more information.”

“I warned you that I still don’t trust you.Nicky answered.

“I know, but I didn’t think you’d resort to following me.” Chris answered with concern.

He has a point. Maybe I should ... be honest with him.

“I still have my doubts about you.” Nicky answered with guilt.

“And you make a habit of stalking everyone you have doubts about? Chris answered.

“Just the ones who might be connected to my cousin’s disappearance.” Nicky answered.

Chris sighs. “I know you’re worried about Denise, Nicky. I understand that. But if we’re going to be working together to bring her home, there needs to be a degree of trust between us. Part of that trust includes not stalking me.”

He has a point, but...

“What are you doing out here, anyway? Nicky questioning him.

“I happen to own this property, Dr. Ransom, and am well within my rights to be here whenever I so choose. Does that satisfy you? Chris answered with a stern voice.

“Yes..... I mean, legally it makes sense. Nicky answered awkwardly.

“Thank you.” Chris answered warmly.

“But you have to admit, this is weird, Mr. Evans. Nicky answered.

“Nicky, I don’t know what to tell you. This is my property, and I wasn’t yet in the mood for turning in for the night. And no: before you ask, I don’t have the deed on me to prove it. I’m afraid I left it in my other pants.” Chris answered.

Your gaze flickers, unbidden, to his pants.

“Seriously.” Chris answered with a brow raised.

“Hey....get your head out of the gutter! Nicky answered blushing.

“It’s not mine we should be worrying about ?” Chris answered with a smile.

A chilly breeze whistles through the trees. You shiver, your teeth chattering.

“Here.” He shrugs off his jacket and holds it out to you.

“Put this on, please.”

You do with a small flush. The jacket protects you from the cold air, and your shivering comes to a stop.

“Better.” Chris answered warmly.

“Y-yeah.” Nicky awkwardly answers. I should tell him I don’t need his help.

“I don’t need to be coddled. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure. For now, just keep it.”He adjusts the jacket over your shoulders with a small smile.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I did come out here for a purpose.”

“That purpose being?. Nicky questioning.

“None of your business.”Chris snapped back.

“What.” Nicky shocked and taken back.

He leans close, his bright blue eyes piercing and teasing. You feel your breath catch in your throat.

“Remember, Nicky, you’re the one who followed me and trespassed on my property.” Chris answered with a smirk.

Then, he stand up, poised and regal as ever. “I may be a while, if you can walk on that ankle, I’d recommend heading back to your car.”

“Wait... you’re just going to leave me?” Nicky answered in shock with her jaw dropped.

“Well, I certainly can’t take you with me. You’re injured, after all. Just stay put. I’ll get back to help you as soon as I can.” And with that , he leaves you.

If I leave, I’ll never find out what Chris is trying to hide. And I know he’s hiding something. And if I stay here...

A howl rings out from somewhere nearby.

Nope! I am not getting eaten by coyotes tonight!

You rise gingerly on your injured ankle.

it hurts, but it’s not as bad as I expected. All right, Chris Evans. Time to see whatever it is you don’t want me to know about!

You follow the path Chris took through the trees- albeit more carefully this time.

The trees eventually give way to small clearing and what looks like a mine.

Chris’s footprints lead right inside.

You pick your way into the mine, being mindful of sharp edges, when you hear noises up ahead.

Please don’t be a bear, please doesn’t be a bear, please don’t be a bear....

Chris stand be fore a broken wall, a look of utter defeat on his face.

“No...No!” He lets out a howl of frustration, slamming his palms against the wall.

“How could this have happened?”.

Why is he so upset? Following him was... a bad idea. What was I thinking? I need to leave. Now.

There’s a hollow clatter as Chris’s foot strikes something on the ground.

The object rolls toward you in the darkness.

Leave, Nicky. Just leave...

But curiosity gets the better of you. You aim the beam of your flashlight down as the object rolls to a halt at your feet. A skull..

“Oh my God! Nicky shrieked.

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If I missed any tags again tumblr wouldn’t let me add more. So check it out and pass along. Thanks.

[vivilove-jonsa]

"Are you scared?"

Thank you @amymel86 for the prompt!  My little trip to the local amusement park inspired this meet cute along with a picture I saw on here once of a girl pointing to the sign ‘Single Riders Will Be Paired’ with an adorable grin.

FYI-I still hope to get to as many of these dialogue prompts as I can and am still accepting new ones since I never know what will spark writing joy :)

**

Single Riders Will Be Paired

Sansa groans as she notices the sign.  The Ice Dragon 325 is the hottest new coaster at Wolfswood Amusement Park and the queue is long.  So, of course the boys want to ride it again…for the fifth time today as the sun is going down.

“One more time!” they’d begged with the most undeniable puppy dog eyes.  

But Big Bro Robb had been forced to make a break for the closest trash bin after the park’s dubious fish tacos and ride number four so Big Sis Sansa is now obligated to ride with them.

Granted, Bran and Rickon take exception to this, saying at fifteen and eleven they are perfectly mature enough to ride the coaster without a ‘legal guardian’ present.  

“Tell that to the people on Zombie Blasters Apocalypse.”

“We were just really into it!”

“Shouting ‘It’s real! They’re coming for us all!’ and inciting a panic isn’t just being ‘into it,’ Bran.  And neither is hiding behind the host stall in the hopes of sneaking back on after you’ve been banned for the season, Rickon.  Just hope Robb and I don’t tell Mom and Dad.”

The pair of them had given her the stink eye and the silent treatment all through the queue after that.

But now, they’re nearly to the front and Sansa’s staring at the steel monstrosity and feeling decidedly queasy.  If only Arya had come today instead.  She’s not fond of roller coasters, especially not ones like this.  Two minutes and twenty-six seconds of sheer terror await. A 200 foot drop at the start with unnatural G forces in the inversions and speeds up to 80 mph, it doesn’t sound like anything the human frame was meant to endure in her opinion.  

“Gods above,” she murmurs before turning to the boys.  “So, this is my first time.  Who wants to ride with me?”

They both continue to give her the stink eye.  Boys.

And here’s the other thing that doesn’t make her a coaster enthusiast.  She hates the over the shoulder harness system with these kind.  There’s just something so oppressive about feeling pinned to her seat.  Not that she’d want to go flying off mid-ride but being trapped, held down is something akin to a phobia for her.

When the gates open for them to board, her heart starts fluttering madly and every instinct is telling her to run. The boys are perfectly big enough to ride alone and it’d be hard for them to get up to much mischief on a ride like this.  

However, like they’re on autopilot, her feet follow the path to her seat with the boys right in front of her.  

It’s two minutes, Sansa. You can do this.  

Two minutes and twenty-six seconds…Sweet Maiden.

She’s trying to buckle her restraint despite her shaking hands when the attendant calls out:  “Single Rider, here!  We got room for a Singer Rider!”

Great.  She doesn’t want some stranger squeezed in beside her as she battles a hopefully mild and outwardly concealed panic attack.  But she hears a voice call out and suddenly there’s a body climbing in next to her. 

She catches a faint whiff on cologne or aftershave (a pleasing scent and nice contrast to the multitude of  people here who seem to have forgotten to apply deodorant this morning…including Rickon) and then she sees a mop of dark curls, a head turned away from her as her fellow passenger reaches to secure his end of the belt.  

When he turns so they can join the two halves, she’s met with dark grey eyes and ridiculously kissable lips.

“Hey,” he says in a quick breathy way.  Gods, he’s gorgeous.  

She opens her mouth to reply but the overhead harness is coming down, blocking conversation for their few remaining seconds before blast off.

They’re off before her seatmate looks her way again and Sansa’s heart is pounding once more from her upcoming terror.  

Or maybe not.  

The view’s quite lovely really as they climb the lift hill.  She doesn’t care for the rattling sound of the chain pull but she can block that out and look around.  She can see for miles.  There’s mountains in the distance and she can picture herself as a bird, free to fly and not held back by anything at all.  

Until…

“Why have we stopped?” She tries looking behind her but her view’s restricted by the coaster cars and her harness.  “Bran? Why have we stopped?!”

“I don’t know.  It’s a new ride.  Maybe it’s just a safety check.”

How can he be so calm? How can anyone be calm?  Why is she the only one who’s on the verge of having a total freak out here on the coaster after coming to a stop for all of fifteen seconds?!

“Are you scared?”  

No, I’m peachy, she’d like to say.  She whimpers instead.  

“Sorry.  Stupid question.  I’m Jon.  Are you okay?”

She hates to admit she’s not but she is not!  “I’m…I’m Sansa and I’m not okay.”

“Okay, Sansa.  Is that your brother ahead of us?”

“Yes, both of them.”

“Did they talk you into riding this?”

“Sort of.”

“We did not!” Rickon shouts. “She just doesn’t trust us to behave!”

She hears what sounds like a chuckle from Jon before he’s talking just to her again.  “Would you rather me talk to you or shut up?”

“Talk to me.  Please, talk to me.”

So, he does.  He talks about innocuous things, gently testing out topics that help her relax.  It helps more than she’d expect.  They’re both students at Winterfell as it turns out.  

A scratchy voice comes through an intercom and reports the delay is temporary and should be resolved in less than thirty minutes.

“Thirty minutes?!” she screeches, all of Jon’s calming progress completely forgotten.  She’s suffocating.  The restraints are cutting her in two.  She can’t breathe.  She’s trapped and there’s no escape.  She’s going to die here.

“Hey, we’re okay, I promise. We’re going to be okay.  We’re stopped and there’s steps here along the track if they can’t safely get the ride moving for us to use.  May I hold your hand, Sansa?”

She nods as best as she can, not trusting her voice right now.  His hand is warm and a little sweaty just like hers.  She doesn’t care.  She holds it like its her lifeline.  

“I hope it’s not thirty minutes,” Jon tells her next.  “I was in such a rush to ride one more time.  I should’ve hit the head first.”

“No shit,” she snickers, suddenly feeling marginally better with his admittance.

“Well, I just need to pee but yeah.”

She laughs harder but that reminds her of the restraints again.  “I don’t like feeling held down,” she whispers, not sure if he’ll hear her.

“It can be a very unpleasant feeling,” he says softly, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand in a regular pattern.  “Let’s take a few deep breaths together and think of something else.”  They take several breaths.  It helps.  “I feel like humming.  Would you want to hum with me?”

It’s ridiculous but it works to relax her even further.  

“I want off this thing!” Rickon shouts suddenly, his own voice edged with more than a little panic.

She’s the big sister and she’s here with them.  “We’re okay, Rickon,” she says, looking to Jon and finding confidence in his smile. “They’ll either get us moving or get us off as soon as they can.”

“Robb’s going to be worried,” Bran says next.

“He knew we were riding and I’m sure they’re keeping guest informed of what’s happening.  All he has to do is look up, right?”

She’s feeling better than she’d expect between holding Jon’s hand and having the boys to take care of.

“Robb?” Jon murmurs beside her.

She glances his way and the question is pretty clear.  “My older brother.  Too many rides combined with fish tacos.”  She makes a gagging face and Jon starts laughing.

“Oh, gods…that’d be nasty. Good thing I got you and not him next to me.”

She tightens her grip on his hand and they’re grinning just as the chain pull rattles back to life and they continue their journey.  

When it’s over, she’s sure her hair’s a mess and she knows Robb’s waiting to take them home.  But she hates to say goodbye to Jon and think she’ll never see him again.  Maybe they’ll run into each other on campus.  She wonders what he’d say if she offered him her number.  She doesn’t have to wonder very long.

He’s got his hands stuffed in his jeans pocket and biting at those kissable lips of his.  “So, Sansa…if you’d care to get stuck on a roller coaster again sometime…or maybe go grab something to eat instead…”  He’s blushing and it’s really adorable.  

“I guess I’d need your number in case I’m heading on any more coasters…or maybe if I decided to grab a bite to eat later since I was wise enough to avoid the theme-park fish tacos.”

He gives her his number and then starts walking away backwards through the large crowd exiting the ride as long as he can just to watch her.  She can’t stop smiling as he does.  

Once he’s out of sight, she puts her arms around her brothers who apologize for her horrible first experience on the Ice Dragon.

“Oh, it could’ve been worse,” she says before clicking a picture of that notice sign and sending Jon a text: Single riders will be paired and this single rider feels like pizza tonight if you’re interested.  

His reply that he would love that comes through within seconds.  

[prairiesongserial]

11.16

The ferry was nowhere to be seen when they reached the dock where Cody, Fleetwood, and Madeline Bellamy had been dropped off a few hours before. It was completely dark now, and John and Cody were navigating the boardwalk by the light of the moon alone, relying on it to illuminate what was wood and what was water. The dock was abandoned except for a single row boat -- apparently anyone else who had been docked here had already left, in either the direction of the steamboat or the Bellamy mansion. A part of Cody had expected this, after being warned by Fleetwood, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it was true.

“Shit,” Cody said.

John grunted, then said, “We can row.”

John slipped his hand out of Cody’s and made his way towards the row boat. He reached the edge of the dock, a look of intense concentration on his face as he stuck his cane out in front of him, into the boat, then stepped forward with one foot to follow it. The boat rocked briefly under him, then stilled. Apparently that was good enough. John stepped the rest of the way into the boat and held out a hand to Cody, looking at him expectantly.

Cody took John’s hand. He got into the boat even more slowly than John had, his stomach turning over every time the wooden frame of it creaked underneath his feet. The boat lurched in the water just as he finished stepping in, and Cody held John’s hand in a vice grip until the motion stopped, ripples cutting their way through the water surrounding them.

“Ow,” John said.

“Sorry.” Cody let go of John’s hand, unsurprised to find his palms cold and sweaty. He wiped them on his crimson courier’s vest, then glanced down into the boat. “We have oars, right?”

John nodded and sat down on one end of the boat, reaching promptly under the wooden bench and tugging out a pair of oars. Someone had stashed them there, presumably to deter any potential boat thieves - or maybe to keep a gator from biting them in half, Cody thought grimly. Clearly whoever owned this boat wasn’t too concerned about thieves, since they’d only barely tied it to the dock. The knot was tight enough to keep the boat from drifting out to see, but loose enough that Cody could undo it with his fingers, which he did.

“I can row when you get tired,” he offered, as John got the oars into place.

John made a humming sound that might have been an agreement, and began to row, slicing the surface of the water slowly and calmly with the oars on each stroke. The fabric of his shirt pulled taut against the muscles of his upper arms every time he pulled the oars forward, and Cody watched it silently. He’d forgotten that John was so strong. Probably stronger than he was.

“You said something about the Bellamy bodyguard,” John prompted. He barely sounded like he was exerting any effort at all when it came to the oars, though sometimes he huffed or grimaced very briefly. “And Marc.”

“Oh, yeah,” Cody said. He’d almost forgotten that he had mentioned Fleetwood. “She used to work in a bunch of different places. First at Hemisphere Central, which is like their base of operations, and then with Marc, but only for a year. Apparently Hemisphere sent her to look after Madeline instead. I guess she didn’t get along with Marc.”

“Can’t imagine why,” John said, flatly.

Cody blinked at him. “Was that a joke? Did you just make a joke?”

John’s lips twitched up in a brief smile, but he said nothing, looking down into his lap while he rowed.

Cody couldn’t help but smile back. He couldn’t be too mad that he was wasting time and effort on an errand that would probably turn out to be pointless - the laid back Bellamy crew on the steamboat had seemed to think it not worth hurrying over, anyway - when he found himself finally alone with John for a minute. As they got farther from the steamboat and the circus crowd, the cut of the oars through the water became all Cody could hear.

“You know, I was imagining the Mississippi would be like this,” Cody said. “We never actually reached the water.”

John didn’t reply - he had given a slight nod, probably, or some sign on his face, but it was too dark to see the little movements that served John for words more often than not.

“Are you okay?” Cody said. “I know…” He struggled for the right words. He knew the circus was loud, and crowded, and they had barely had a chance to talk in between the bustle - and now Cody had been assigned to this courier thing, apart from everyone and under the whim of a mobster’s daughter. He had no idea what was going on with John, or the circus, or Val and Friday, and he had even less control over his life than before.

“I’m fine,” John said. The oars moved through the water again. “I don’t think you’re okay.”

The boat tapped suddenly up against the pier; they had arrived. Cody didn’t get up right away, letting John take care of lashing the boat to its mooring.

“What do you mean?”

“Second time you asked me tonight,” John said. “It’s not like you.”

John climbed out of the boat, sliding his cane up onto the pier ahead of him. He reached his hand down for Cody.

“I guess I’m not okay,” Cody said, and took it. John’s hand and arm tensed as he pulled Cody up beside him. “I wasn’t worried all day, or anything, but as soon as I heard you were back at the caravan, not where I expected you to be, I… I mean, I don’t know anything. What did you do all day? Why were you there? What about Val or Friday, what are they doing?”

“I don’t know about Val and Friday,” John said. “Haven’t seen them since this morning.”

Cody noticed how John skimmed across the question he hadn’t wanted to answer, but this new information was startling enough to hold Cody’s attention.

“Seriously? You have no idea where they are?” Cody’s voice grew louder, until he realized where they were. They walked down the pier that lay beside the Bellamy mansion. Where Cody had watched Madeline nonchalantly throw animal parts to dozens of alligators. Cody clamped his lips shut.

John shrugged. “Should I be worried?”

Cody ground his teeth. John had no idea there were monsters in the water - animal or mutant or both. That was why he wasn’t reacting the way Cody thought he should.

“Yes!” Cody hissed. “And I - God, I am so frustrated that I didn’t even know they were missing all this time.”

“I wouldn’t say missing,” John said quietly. They had reached the end of the pier, and were hiking up a hill to a cluster of large buildings that peered down at Cody in silhouette.

Once they reached the main street, Cody hurried ahead, eyes scanning the dark facades without really seeing them. His heart hammered in time with his labored breath as it began to dawn on him that something was wrong with him. It wasn’t just the strenuous hike up from the pier, but something else, turning his body against him.

The steady tap of John’s cane approached from behind. Cody had charged forward and forgotten that John couldn’t keep up. Cody leaned forward, hands resting on his knees, and he struggled against the urge to run ahead again.

“I don’t know where the courthouse is,” Cody said tightly, when John was in hearing distance.

John stood beside him, a picture of calm. Except that when the moonlight hit his face, Cody could see a twist of worry.

“You think we should look for them?” John said.

Cody didn’t know enough. He’d been tucked away from the action all day. He didn’t even know where to look.

“I couldn’t fucking tell you,” Cody said, straightening. He immediately felt like a jerk. “Sorry. I don’t know.”

John wandered ahead of him a few paces, slowly taking in the buildings on the street.

“You can read,” John muttered. “What does the first letter look like?”

“Uh, ‘C’ I think,” Cody said.

John turned back to raise his eyebrows at Cody.

“Oh, uh, it looks like - ” Cody crossed the distance between them, finally catching up. He looked up at the building John stood in front of. There was a statue of a woman in front, guarding the door almost. Carved in the stone entranceway above her head were the words “Everglades City Courthouse.”

“Like that,” Cody said. He pointed up to the last word. “That’s ‘Courthouse.’”

The building was dark and quiet. Cody had expected to hear an alarm, but if there had been one, it wasn’t going off anymore.

John approached the big, wooden double doors while Cody skirted the outside. One of the second story windows had been left open.

“Locked,” John called. He left the door, circling around the statue of the woman. Her eyes were blindfolded. John didn’t seem to know what to make of her.

“I found a way in,” Cody said. He did not want to climb up to a second story window in the dark. And he knew if he did, he’d be going alone. There was no way for John to get up there without hurting himself, and Cody wasn’t going to ask him to try. “Wait for me out here?”

11.15 || 11.17

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS Released on : 28th March 2020 https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-5-episode-1-rocks-in-his-pockets

I have spent a lot of time recounting the adventures i have had trying to find my cat, but not nearly enough recounting the adventures my cat has had while it has been lost.

If you listen to the Special Episode called ‘Pet Detective’ ( https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/special-episode-the-lost-cat-pet-detective ), you can hear about a dark time my cat had while in the city.

Well now I will tell you about an even darker time he had while taking a trip to the country

THE LOST CAT PODCAST BY AP CLARKE SEASON 5, EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS

The woods were beautiful, full and green. Gentle winds moved waves through the canopy, and the air was filled with the calming sussurration of life. Healthy forest, rare these days, and quite gorgeous.

And my cat cared for not a bit of it. Walking grumpily through the undergrowth after a long andl eventful journey from the city, my cat only cared for its next meal. It had been far too long. There was a meal on every corner in the city, if you looked in the right bins. But here there were mouldy berries and aggressive squirrels, and, as far as my cat was concerned, squirrels were the worst.

So my cat trudged on, grumpy and hungry, and hungry and grumpy, and increasingly so of all of them.

But... then... my cat felt a ripple in the air, and a rhythm in the earth. A clean, lapping motion. My cat’s ears pricked up. There was water nearby, lots of it and in it, yes, fish.

So he walked a little faster, the undergrowth cleared, and the forest opened out in to a huge lake, beautiful, fresh, clear, calm, with the verdant forests all around reflecting upon its mirrored surface.

My cat walked up to the dulcitly lapping shore, sniffing at it.

He considered going in the water, he did. But it was cold.

He would, if he had to.

He totally would.

But he saw a boat, bobbling about, making its way back to shore, and reeking of very recently caught fish. The boat was full of younger human adults, My cat could tell this from the smell of beer, weed, and unwashed genitals accompanied by a constant barrage of territorial noises. They seemed friendly enough, but my cat knew to keep back, and he quietly watched them land.

They got out, pushing and pulling at each other, hitting each other, wriggling their hips, and generally making a lot of noise, throwing their empty cans away into the grass.

They wore bright, small clothes.

But they took the fish with them, a huge shiny gloriously fresh fish that my cat could eat for a week. They hung it from a pole and it dangled as they walked up the hill towards the buildings.

So my cat picked up the pace through the long grass to keep up with the fish. As my cat passed one of the cans the humans had thrown, his foot flipped a twig that pushed the can in to another and they both clattered down the hill back towards the water, dislodging a few rocks as they went.

One of the humans, a woman with dark hair, glasses, and a jumper on, spun round, checking the treeline.

My cat froze in the long grass.

“Hey guys, did you hear anything?” she said.

The others just laughed. “No, what?”

“I think someone’s following us.”

“Don’t be crazy Maisie, come on!”

The woman called Maisie hesitated, looking out over where my cat was standing. “Well...ok.” she said, and then she turned back to the path and carried on with the others, accepting a can of drink from one of the men.

And my cat followed.

When they got to the buildings they split up.

“Hey, Deeber, put that thing in the store-house, yeah?” said one of the men. “It’ll stink up the house!”

“Yeah OK. I can salt it up a little, too. Make it taste gorgeous.”

“Whatever, you’re still gonna burn it on the fire tonight!”

And they made a bunch more territorial noises and went inside the house. Deeber went in to the store-house off to the other side of the path, a large wooden building full of shelves, tools, and other equipment for the upkeep of the camp, along with endless cans, bottles of wine and packets of snacks and trash strewn all around.

Deeber took the fish inside, so my cat followed him in.

Deeber hung the huge fish on one of the large hooks that hung on a rail from the ceiling, then opened some jars with salt and other herbs.

My cat watched him, with some disdain, rub these things in to the fish.

Then Deeber, satisfied with his work, picked up a can, left to join his friends, whooping loudly, and leaving the fish to hang until that evening.

My cat went and looked at the fish, hanging from the large hook in the centre of the room, high above the floor.

He leapt up to grab at the fish but could not reach.

He leapt up onto one of the counters, avoiding piles of heavy, rusted tools and empty packets of crisps. He tried to reach the fish, but fell to the floor, scattering many of the empty bottles of wine and spirits that lay around.

My cat froze at the sudden noise, checking all around him.

“Hey!” came a voice from outside. It was Maisie, the dark, haired lady. “Is anybody in there?”

My cat, leapt up and hid in a cupboard. He did not want to be found. He kept very low and very still in the shadows.

The front door creaked open and a spatula was pushed through, hesitantly followed by Maisie’s head, looking about.

“I’m armed.” she said, wielding the spatula. “I’m serious!”

She was making loud aggressive sounds, but from her smell my cat could tell she was not used to this sort of anger, and was more than a little scared right now. She seemed like a nice one.

My cat kept low so as not to startle this clearly rattled woman.

My cat watched as Maisie walked all around the massive store-house. “If you’re messing with me, I swear!” she said.

She found the fish, and the scattered bottles of wine and tutted.

Then she leant down and picked up the bottles.

“I keeping saying to take them to the recycling…” she sighed, and arranged them neatly to one side, near the door.

She took one last look around, then grabbed some snacks and left, closing the door quietly.

My cat, for his part, waited patiently, staring at the fish.

The sun slowly set, the humans lit a bonfire down the hill, next to the lake, and singing and shouting could be heard all around.

My cat decided now was a good time to try a different approach with the fish.

He stood up... but then the doors to the shed smashed open and a clearly intoxicated Deeber another friend came in, picked up the fish from the hook, and started carrying it out.

My cat hunkered down, but the wood of the cupbaord creaked, and Deeber looked back in to the darkness of the large shed.

“Did you hear that, Gus?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” said Gus. “Come on.”

“Wait no, maybe she was right?”

“Crazy Maisie? Come on, let’s cook!”

“Hey, don’t call her that.”

“Uh-huh,” said his friend. “OK.”

“You go on, start it without me. I’m just going to check.”

“Fine, bro.”

“Oh, get out of here.” Deeber replied, brightly, but he was twitching and shaking. He was a lot more nervous than he was acting. A cigarette trembled as he held it.

“Well come back with some wine, will ya?”

“Ha! Sure thing!”

Deeber checked all around the huge, empty store-house. He checked in the other rooms, checked around the shelves, all the while smoking nervously from his cigarette.

My cat watched him search the space all the while the smell of the fish fading as it was taken down the hill.

The man was twitchy, constantly checking behind him. My cat wanted to follow the fish, but was worried about how this Deeber could react. My cat was worried this man’s state could lead to dangerous, uncontrolled reactions. My cat did not move.

Deeber checked all around the storage area, walking right past the cupboard my cat was hiding in. But then he paused, took another drag of his cigarette, then yanked the cupboard door right open. He saw my cat and screamed.

My cat leapt straight past him to get away.

The man panicked, flailed about, trying to escape. He made grunting noises. He lost his footing, tripped backwards and impaled himself on the hook he had hung the fish from, and the momentum of his fall pushed the hook along its rail towards the far wall.

He banged against the wall, his feet not touching the floor, and his arms trying to gain any leverage.

My cat watched him, from a safe distance. What could a cat do?

And then Deeber’s body slumped, his limbs started twitching, and blood slowly started dripping from his body.

And, as my cat observed, it dripped directly in to the bottles that Maisie had organised against that wall. The blood filled the bottles until they looked, for all the world, like bottles of dark red wine.

My cat hopped down to look at Deeber, but Deeber was not moving. My cat was able to hop onto the body and climb all the way up it. Deeber did not react at all to his claws.

“Hey come on Deeber, the fish is almost ready - you got the wine yet?”

The front door slammed open once again just to their left.

A couple of his friends stood by the door, stinking of bonfire, alcohol and hormonal sweat, shouting in.

Deeber, literally just to their side, did not answer

My cat crouched down around Deeber’s shoulders.

The two friends looked down and saw the bottles.

“Oh hey! he left them by the door! Cool!”

They took the bottles, then walked away. They never even looked up.

“Hey Deeber!” they said, calling back. “Once you’re done jerking off, come down to the lake!”

When they were safely gone, my cat sniffed Deeber again to see how he was.

His body made some deep gurgling sounds, some more blood dripped from him, and he slumped a little further down on the hook.

His foot knocked one of the empty bottles beneath him, and it rolled away, out of the door and down the hill towards the bonfire.

My cat stuck his head around the door, and watched it roll, checking for the reaction of the partying people.

It rolled faster and faster, heading right for the group. The huge fish was cooking beautifully on a spit over the fire pit. The flames cast huge flickering shapes out in to the deep darkness all around them.

The bottle got closer and closer.

And… It bonked against one of the logs they were sat around and absolutely no-one noticed at all as they were all being very, very loud.

They drank wine straight from bottles, danced around the fire, and shouted jokes at each other.

Up in the shed, my cat went back to the Deeber situation

Down at the fire, one was talking:

“So I heard, right, a man was murdered in these woods, he was thrown into the lake with rocks in his pockets to weigh him down.”

“This isn’t funny, Brendan.” said Maisie.

But Brendan continued: “I heard they killed him because he was a peeping tom, so a whole mob ganged up to ‘kill the perv’.”

“Guys, come on, don’t be mean,” said Sophie, trying to take Maisie’s side.

“And some say, he comes back, and you can hear him sneaking around.”

“Oh god, whatever” said Sophie, giving up, and drinking more.

“And the last thing you hear before he gets you is the sound of the rocks in his pockets.”

“Stop iit!”

“And they killed him fifty years ago… TONIGHT!”

“Dammit, I heard something. I did!”

“Sure Maisie!”

“You’re all being horrible.”

“He’s watching you Maisie!”

“Shut up!”

“OK, OK, enough,” said one of the guys who had just returned from the shed with the bottles. “We brought the wine!”

“Thank you, Topher.” said Maisie, but refrained from the bottles. “I’m good for just now.”

“And i’m thirsty!” said Gus, took a bottle from Topher and drank a huge swig.

“It’s...really thick,” he said.

“I think they make it locally.”

And they all started drinking from the new bottles.

Back in the shed, my cat froze, as Deeber shifted and the hook holding him groaned. The mechanism was not holding his weight.

My cat jumped off, the mechanism gave way, Deeber fell down, pitched forwards, through the door, and, as my cat watched from safely inside, Deeber began rolling down the hill too.

His body dislodged rocks as it went, which tumbled down with him.

“Can you hear, like, rocks moving?”

“You mean like...rocks in pockets?” said Gus, waving his arms around.

“I’m serious!”

She pointed her flashlight at Gus, accusingly, but then stopped short.

“G-Gus,” said Maisie, “I...I don’t think that’s wine.”

And everyone looked at Gus, and at the thick, opaque red liquid all over his mouth. He was smiling gormlessly through it.

“What?”

“That’s BLOOD!”

And everyone saw it.

“Oh my god!” they all screamed, and threw their own bottles away. They spit the blood out of their mouths.

And then Deeber’s body barrelled in to the camp, rolled into the fire pit and caught fire

Up in the shed, my cat watched the people down below run about.

Down below, there was panic.

“He’s coming for us!” They yelled.

“Get out of here!”

“What about Deeber?”

“No! Get out of here!!!”

Brendan tried to pull Deeber out, another two lit off towards the far road, and the group’s car, but bumped in to Brendan who toppled head first into the fire, getting tangled in Deeber and the fish.

Maisie, Gus and Topher ran away from the carnage, up the hill, towards the house, screaming “He’s here! He’s here!”

Brendan, finally untangled himself from the spit and from Deeber, and ran, on fire, towards the water.

My cat kept an eye on him, as he was covered in lumps of the fish.

My cat left the shed and followed him as he stumbled along towards the shore. Though he became obscured by the treeline, he was still visible due to the flames.

He tumbled, once, then twice, and, just as he reached the shoreline he lost all strength and collapsed like sacks into the water. My cat was watching him from the long grass as he slowly floated out and then sunk.

Behind him, Maisy Gus and Topher reached the store-house and locked themselves in.

My cat trotted down the hill to see if there was anything left of the fish, now that the bonfire had been deserted.

Inside the store-house, they split up in the darkness and searched the place, just to make sure it was safe, they picked up the big rusted tools to use as weapons.

The fish… was destroyed, sadly, mulched up into the wood and burnt to a crisp, there was nothing for my cat there.

Inside the store-house, things were tense.

“It’s OK,” said Gus. “Everything is going to be OK. Wait what’s this?”

“Gus? Gus? where are you?”

There was a massive smash from the darkness and Maisie let out a scream.

“It’s alright! It’s alright,” said Gus, emerging from the darkness behind the shelves with a sheepish grin on his face. “I just tripped.”

“Well don’t. Come on!”

My cat, from the bonfire, looked out towards the far road, where a couple of of the humans had run off to find their car, as shouts of panic and the screech of wheels could be heard, but he had no idea of what was happening.

This night was not going too well for him at a;;. He was starving.

But right then, the smell of the fish, cooked but still very edible filled my cat’s nose again.

Brendan emerged from the water, burnt up and moaning dreadfully, shambling up the hill.

“Heeelp me. Heeelp me,” he moaned hoarsely through a burnt throat.

My cat followed him up the hill.

Inside the store-house, they explored in the darkness, scared, holding their weapons out in front of them, and starting at any strange noise they heard.

Brendan reached the door, and banged on it.

“Heeeeelp meeeee” Brendan moaned.

Topher got brave, wielded his machete, and walked towards the door. What he did not know was that Gus was approaching the door from the other side, blade up and terrified.

And, just as they approached to the door, the car, covered in blood, with a door missing and occupied by only one person, smashed into a tree hear the house and exploded.

The boom shocked everyone and the flash lit up the store-room for a shining moment.

And in that moment, Topher saw Gus and Gus saw Topher and they both slammed their blades in to the other’s chests.

“Noooo!” screamed Maisie as she ran towards the door carrying her axe.

She got there in time to see Topher and Gus tumbling forwards into the door, collapsing against it, and smashing it down to reveal Brendan, unrecognisable, burnt red-black, dripping wet and horrifying. He raised his arms and strode towards Maisie, moaning loudly.

She bared her, teeth, screamed one last time, and hurled her axe at him.

The blade of the axe hit him square in the face and lodged there.

He went down, moaning no more.

My cat watched all this from the long grass.

Maisie, sobbing from stress, went to check her friends, but they were dead and bleeding out.

She, stumbling and weeping, she went up to the body of Brendan, yanked the axe out of his head, and slammed it back into his face three more times.

Burnt up, water-logged, and with his face destroyed, there was no way Maisie could have recognised her friend.

Then she dropped the axe, walked blankly over to the house and sat on the stoop staring out at the water beneath the moon.

She said, quietly to herself: “Rocks in his pockets.”

My cat gingerly sniffed Gus and Topher, then went over to Brendan and, ignoring his missing head, ate up all the fish that was spread all over his body.

It was really good fish.

And, having finally eaten, everything was good with my cat, and he looked for a place to sleep.

He padded over to Maisie, who still sat, dazed, over on the stoop.

He gently rubbed against her arm, but it made her startle. My cat realised she was still very tense, and would have to do more to calm her down enough. He purred and rubbed himself against her.

She sniffed, and then laughed - the shock broken.

“Come on, kitty, up you get.”

And my cat sat on her lap, and curled up.

Maisie started stroking him, the tension leaving her system.

“I did it,” she said. “I did it.”

She scritched behind his years, as he slowed his breath and purred deeply.

“No more rocks in his pockets. Not anymore,” she said, and sighed, staring contentedly up at the moon.

And my cat, in her lap, fell asleep.

THIS HAS BEEN EPISODE 1 OF SEASON 5 OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, CALLED ‘ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS’, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING

Links

https://apclarke.bandcamp.com/album/the-lost-cat-podcast

thelostcat.libsyn.com

twitter.com/LostCatPod

thelostcatpodcast.tumblr.com

facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

[formalmess]

For Your Entertainment ~ Chapter One

Summary: Luigi receives a mysterious letter. 

Warnings: N/A

A/N: Welcome to the show! This is a dark little horror-esque story I wrote and finished up last year, and since it’s the month of spookiness, what better time than now to post it here? It may be a bit familiar to some people since I’ve published it elsewhere before, but I have changed and polished up some things since it’s publication last year. To the newcomers, welcome! Fair warning in advance though, this story will get darker. Keep an eye out for warnings in the future. But until then and without further ado, enjoy!

“Mail call!” Parakarry’s voice eagerly called out through the morning air. 

He flapped his wings before landing, stretching out his arms and wings before reaching into his mailbag. He opened the mailbox outside the manor before him, whistling as he dug through his bag for the mail meant for this house.

He craned his neck, turning up to look at the green manor situated just up a small hill, a stone path leading to the front door. The quaint manor was certainly not the most extravagant of living spaces, but it was suitable. There was a well maintained garden gracing the front lawn, flowers of all colors, shapes, and sizes displayed upon the path.

Parakarry wiped the sweat off his brow, readying himself to fly off again when a voice called out.

“Good morning, Parakarry!”

Parakarry stopped, turning.

The owner of the manor appeared, rushing down the stone path to greet the Paratroopa with a smile on his face. The brunette’s hair was messy, his mustache uncombed as visible dark circles became apparent under his bright blue eyes. He had most likely just crawled out of bed.

“Ah, Luigi! Good to see you’re chipper today.” Parakarry grinned, watching as Luigi rushed up to the fence lining the yard, leaning against it.

“How’re you doing today, Parakarry?”

“I’m doing quite well. A bit frazzled, but quite well.”

“A lot of stuff to deliver today, huh?”

“That’s not even the half of it.” Parakarry chuckled. “The post office has been chaos since this morning. Postmaster said there was this little toad girl running around the office asking the rest of the employees about something. She’d been there since we opened. Totally threw him for a loop.”

“Do you know who she was?”

“No idea. The Postmaster thinks she was handing out fliers for something, I don’t know. He was already ordering me to get my tail out here, I didn’t have time to ask.”

“Oh, well, you’re right on schedule, I’d say.” Luigi laughed.

“I’d like to think I’m getting much better at delivering the mail on time.” Parakarry chuckled, slightly embarrassed. “If you happen to find anything in your mail is missing, that’s probably my fault… But, I’ll be sure to drop anything I missed off later, once I finish my route for today.”

“Well, don’t work too hard. Can I get you anything before you head off, Parakarry? I could get you a drink or something…”

“Oh, no. I’m in fine shape. Just have a long day ahead of me. There’s been a lot more letters coming in recently, which I hypothesize has something to do with that get-together the princess has been planning.”

“It’s only a meeting, Parakarry. I don’t think it’s that exciting.” Luigi smiled. “No one’s gonna be sending letters out to their grandparents about some king or prince coming to the Mushroom Kingdom to discuss economics with the princess.”

“Well, Toad Town gets excited over the littlest things, you know. Whether that be royalty figures getting together for, say… a ball, or a meeting, or a conference, or even for... tea time, really!”

“They’re just gonna be talking about trade negotiations and stuff like that. It’s all boring.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry. I forgot you knew so much about the princess’s business ever since you and that prince got hitched… Your Highness.” Parakarry sneered, bowing playfully. “You’re going to be at the meeting anyway, don’t even know why I brought it up.”

“I’m not really royalty, Parakarry.” Luigi crossed his arms, a faint blush on his face as he turned, exhaling. “I’m just the prince consort.”

“Sureee… whatever you say.” Parakarry shrugged. “Just don’t come crying to me if you ever get kidnapped by Bowser or anything. If his knack for capturing royalty keeps up, that is.”

Luigi chuckled. “Then you’ll have to team up with Mario again to rescue me, I suppose.”

“I guess so.” Parakarry flapped his wings, turning away from Luigi with a hearty laugh. “I really should be on my way, though, friend. I still have so many letters to deliver, and there are so many impatient homeowners out there. A postman’s job is never done, after all!”

“I understand.” Luigi stepped back, smiling. “Be safe out there.”

“Of course!”

And with that, Parakarry flew off. Luigi waved goodbye to him, watching the postman until he disappeared from view into the cloudy sky in the distance.

Luigi stretched before pushing open the fence's wooden gate, retrieving his mail and sifting through it. He yawned, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes as the sun continued to creep up over the hillside.

The mail mostly consisted of bills and scam letters from Waluigi, but a postcard from Mario made him smile, a warm feeling now in his chest. It was nice to think that his brother still had time to send him things, despite how busy he must be, traveling the world with his newfound cap companion and whatnot.

Luigi walked back into his manor groggily, dropping off the mail on the kitchen counter before walking to the bathroom to freshen up.

His pet, Polterpup, followed him curiously, leaping up against his owner’s legs to try and get his attention. Luigi smiled, laughing and promising the ghostly pup playtime later. He still had something to do today, after all.

Luigi did just enough to appear suitable before heading back out the door, walking down the path towards Toad Town. He had been up since early morning only because he wanted to get to Tayce T.’s kitchen before it got too crowded, and morning was his best bet. He didn’t exactly like being out alone at night, and Grambi forbid some poor soul try to go to the bakery in the afternoon. Luigi cringed at the thought.

All he needed was to pick up some ingredients for a few recipes he'd gotten as gifts from Peach for his birthday. While he was relatively good at cooking, he didn’t know a whole lot about making pastries. That was the princess’s specialty, not his. Luigi usually stuck to making various spaghetti dishes. But, most of the recipes given to him were for cakes, muffins, cupcakes, and the like, so he’d have to get a few ingredients from Tayce T. if he hoped on ever finishing even one of the recipes.

Not that he minded waking up early anyway. Early morning walks were always so beautiful. The creatures were starting to stir, and the sun was just starting to rise. He breathed slowly, taking in all the sights until he made his way into Toad Town.

Toads were congregating outside, walking in and out of stores and talking amongst themselves. Luigi’s presence didn’t faze them, not like if Mario was there. But, Luigi was fine with that. He didn’t like being randomly talked to and swarmed anyway. The toads still waved and said hello as he passed though, Luigi politely greeting them in return.

He eventually made it into Tayce T.’s kitchen, the little cook glancing up at Luigi as he entered. A faint smile graced her face as he walked in. She was already moving to reach into a cupboard to retrieve his items before he could even request anything of her.

”Ah, Luigi, welcome in! I’ve been preparing what you ordered. Just allow me to clarify…” She hummed, putting a bag out on the counter. “You just wanted the cake mix and a honey shroom, right?”

Luigi nodded, handing over the sufficient amount of coins for her as he smiled. “Grazie.”

She took the payment hesitantly, exhaling. “It's always so nice to see such a happy face, Luigi. I take it your morning has been lovely?”

”Yep! Actually, I was planning on making something sweet tonight for my hus-” Luigi paused upon noticing Tayce T.’s sunken features. Her gaze wasn’t focused on Luigi, instead staring forward with dull eyes. She looked… sad. “A-Are you alright, Ms. Tayce?”

”W-What? Oh, yes. My apologies!” Tayce T. flinched and held her hands together, nodding. “I’ve just been thinking about… oh, there was this incident this morning and… I don’t know. I'm sure it'll be alright. I'm fine." She offered a weak smile.

Luigi ventured further. “You’re… sure?”

”Most certainly, Luigi.”

"Do you want to talk-"

”Hey!” Another toad’s voice cut in, Luigi flipping around to make eye contact with a very agitated customer, who was tapping their foot impatiently on the floor. “Some of us also want to buy stuff!”

”O-Oh, I’m sorry, I-”

Tayce T. reached at Luigi’s hand, handing him his bag of ingredients. She smiled. ”Take care, Luigi. I trust I’ll see you again soon?”

"Oh, y-yeah!” Luigi attempted before being curtly shoved aside by the other toad.

Tayce T. looked at the customer disapprovingly before softening her expression, Luigi looking back at her. She glanced away before waving goodbye as Luigi made his way out the door.

Luigi sighed, cradling the bag of ingredients in his arms as he started back toward home. The walk back was peaceful, the young brunette catching small bits of conversation as the toads spoke to one another, talking about the day ahead.

”-and you haven’t seen him at all?”

The fragments of a conversation caught his attention.

He turned a corner, noticing a bright pink figure with her back turned to him, talking to a green-capped, mustached toad with glasses on his face. He was looking over a piece of paper, rubbing at his chin.

”...Nope. Can’t say I have. I wish you the best of luck in finding ‘im though.”

The pink figure stared down at the ground defeatedly as the green toad walked away, only perking her head up when she heard her name called.

”Toadette!”

”Luigi…?”

Luigi approached with a smile on his face, but froze, his breath hitching as Toadette turned to face him. Her expression was pale and positively mortified, clutching staggering amounts of paper in her arms like a vice.

”Toadette, a-are you okay?”

”Have you seen Toad?!”

The question caught him off guard.

”N-No… I haven’t. What’s wrong?”

Toadette wiped at the tears forming in her eyes, whimpering as she tried to compose herself. "T-Toad… Toad, he… I don’t know where he is, Luigi!”

Luigi felt his chest stiffen. “What?”

”A-About a week ago, I went out of the house to go hang out with Birdetta, and I left Toad home alone. When I got back later that night, he wasn’t there. And I-I don’t know where he would’ve gone, because I was only out for a few hours and-d he didn’t tell me he was going anywhere, and he would’ve told me if he did, and he didn’t leave a note or an-anything a-and I-!”

”Hey, hey…” Luigi, despite his own growing anxiety, tried to comfort Toadette. “Slow down.”

”I tried to j-just wait it out to see if he’d come home, but he still isn’t back! I wanted to take matters into my own hands, because I don’t know if h-he ran away, or if he got lost, or worse, but I-I couldn’t stand to just sit there while my brother was still missing, so I-I made these...”

She paused, sniffling and reaching towards the bundle of papers in her arms. She handed one over to Luigi, Luigi’s face noticeably paling as he examined the page.

It was a missing poster, the words alarmingly bolded with a photograph of Toad plastered on it, information lining the bottom.

”I tried getting these hung up all over town, the post office, the club, the boardwalk, the kitchen… b-but… no one has seen h-him so far, and I-I…” Toadette released a sob, nearly falling into Luigi’s arms.

”Toadette…” Luigi tried to reach a hand out to comfort her, but she shrunk back.

“I-I guess I’m probably just o-overreacting… he… he’s old enough to do what he wants… I-I just,” she hiccuped between sobs. “I wish he would’ve told me where he was going! I-I just want him to be okay. B-But, if he doesn’t want to be f-found, then…” She shook her head. ”If he doesn’t turn up s-soon, I’m going to go out and find him myself…! I-I have to know if my brother is okay!”

”Th-That sounds dangerous.” Luigi squeaked out. “I-I can look with you, and I’m sure Peasley wouldn’t object to joining us… You shouldn’t go alone.”

”Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Toadette concluded with a sigh, turning away as she rubbed at her eyes. “Just… keep an eye out for him, please. If you hear from him, let me know.”

”R-Right. Of course.”

Luigi didn’t have time to say anything else before Toadette promptly rushed off, approaching another couple of toads, handing them each the posters. Luigi turned to continue back home, despite now feeling a heavy sensation swelling deep within his chest.

An ominous feeling of dread loomed over him as he walked back to the manor.

                                          - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Luigi’s walk back was mostly silent, aside from the occasional heavy sigh or nervous hum.

The thoughts of worry produced by the single haunting image of one of his friends on a missing poster made his stomach twist. He tried to steady his breathing and think rationally as he approached his house, sighing. As he passed the fence gate outside the manor and approached the door up the stone path, however, he paused.

There was an envelope placed on the doorknob, delicately balanced atop it.

Confused, he shifted his holding on the bag of ingredients and picked up the note, flipping it over to see if there was any information on it. All that was printed on the envelope was a picture of a star, colored in a violet ink.

Perhaps Parakarry had left one of his letters in the post office after all.

He pushed open the door, putting the cake mix and honey shroom away before carefully tearing open the mysterious envelope. With cautious fingers, he removed a sheet of paper from within and began to read what was neatly printed upon it.

‘Hello, Luigi.

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? Far too long, I’d say. How long has it been? It was quite hard to keep track of time down there, I’m afraid.

I’ve been really busy, you see. It’s taken me ever so long to send you this letter.

They tried their hardest, their very hardest, to contain me. And I admire their amusing attempts. But, I’m quite the persistent person, like a spider weaving its web over and over on a rainy day.

To think, life works in mysterious ways. It’s quite funny, really, how our pasts catch up to us.

You and I have plenty in common. You may hate to admit it, but it’s true. You and I are much closer than you’d like to think. Haven’t you felt lonesome without me? I’m apart of you, after all.

May I indulge you in a secret?

You ruined me, Luigi.

Your weakness brought about my downfall. It led me to a horrific afterlife of endless torment. I endured so much suffering. Loneliness and eternal solitude consumed my days.

But, now, I’ve escaped from that treacherous prison known as death. And, as I had plenty of time to ponder, I know exactly what I want now.

I want to see you suffer, just as I had.

I’m going to make your life a living nightmare. All who you know and love, will be guaranteed a long and painful demise at my hands.

You ruined my chance at happiness and I’m only returning the favor.

I want nothing more than to see you break as you are forced to watch your life crumble apart.

I’ve spent so much time preparing for this, you see.

I shan’t spoil the surprise. Not yet. Nor will I reveal my identity. I want you to experience every moment of this spectacle for yourself.

It will be quite a show.

I’ll see you again soon, Luigi. I’m much closer than you’d like to think.

~ ✦ ~’

[rueitae]

Bound

Read my whumptober collection on Ao3

Wild West AU!

~~~~~

The world spins as the ground smashes into Lance’s face. The impact worsens his headache and hurts like a headbutt from Ol’ Kaltenecker, but he can hardly find the strength to really register the pain. 

No sooner as he finally manages to place a palm on the prairie ground to lift himself up, he’s dragged to his knees by his assailants. The jerking motion sends fresh, sharp wave of pain through the top of his head and he has to shut his eyes to not throw up at the swirly sights in front of him. 

“What’do we do boss? Shoot him? Hang him?” Levidy squeals in delight. “Maybe… maybe we can scalp ‘im?”

Lance groans. An idiot Levidy might be but he’s under no false pretenses that he would shoot Lance without hesitation if ordered. Not that Lance is any less of an idiot, riding out to check on a cattle rustling tip alone. 

Catch up on the paperwork, Pidge, then I don’t have to do it, Lance mocks himself. I’ll bring you back a nice steak for lunch no problem!

Even in his dazed state, he hears the train whistle. His heart sinks, even if they let him live, he won’t make it to the station on time to collect the package he ordered for Pidge. 

“I think our dear sheriff deserves to go out with a bit more pomp and circumstance, Levidy,” says the leader of the gang. Too smart for his own good, Steelman always seems to be two steps ahead of the law. If he’d just let Pidge come with instead of trying to keep her out of his elaborate surprise...

“Bind him,” Steelman orders. “And make it tight,” he continues almost cheerfully, “he’s proven to be slippery when he wants.”

Lance glares, willing Steelman - blurry as he is to Lance - to drop dead where he stands. Growling, he rises from knee to foot, working for leverage.

Steelman clicks the safety off his custom revolver and points it at Lance. “Let Levidy do his job, Sheriff. We’ll let you do yours in time.”

“I will see you get justice,” Lance vows, though he slumps to his knees, wrists already burning as he tugs at the rope snug to his skin. “You won’t get away with this. Everyone knows the train is coming for this herd, and the time.” He can’t help a smug grin. “You’ll be tracked down before you can take one steer.”

But Steelman’s cruel smile just grows wider and more menacing. “That’s where you’ve provided a surprising boon for us.” The rope winds around his chest, keeping his strained arms uncomfortably close to his body. “You see, trains stop automatically if there is an accident. And you, dear Sheriff, will provide us with that accident.” 

The rope tugs in exclamation before Levidy ties it off. It doesn’t hurt, but Lance’s chest constricts at the knowledge of what is to become of him. 

Levidy hauls him roughly to his feet and Lance refuses to move, he can at least stall for time in the slim chance someone else is out here. “I’m not going to help you with your insane plan.”

Steelman clicks his tongue in disappointment. “I’d hate to blow your brains out right here, it’d be a pity to sully the wildflowers.” He gestures forward with his gun. “Move.”

Lance stumbles forward, pushed from behind. 

He hates being out of control of the situation. The only one he’d ever trust to tie him up like this is back at the office doing paperwork because he was too lazy to bring her along and do it himself when he got back. 

Levidy drags him up the grassy hill by the collar of his shirt. Lance barely keeps up, unable to tell what is up or down, his boots and pants scraping on the dirt, throat tight every time he’s pulled. 

Finally, he’s allowed to lay on the ground. But this ground isn’t hard like the soil, its distinctly iron. 

Rail iron. 

“Nice and easy, Levidy, make the good sheriff comfortable.” 

Lance tries to focus, blinking rapidly until his head settles. The railroad track goes on as far as he can see - in the distance already he can see the steam from the engine of the Continental Express. 

And he lies in its direct path, neck literally on the chopping block when the wheels come rolling through. 

He should move, and he tries, but his legs are stuck. Levidy hovers over them with rope - tying him to the track then. 

Quiznak, he’s really going to die here. 

“Pidge is going to kill you,” he spits - at the very least he has his pride. “I guarantee you that.”

Steelman walks over the tracks and kneels, pistol still in one hand. The madman cups the other under Lance chin, and pushes back punishingly. Lance chokes, his neck strained so far that he can almost see behind him. His captor holds him there, looking him over as if examining golden specks on a rock. 

“I think I will miss you, Sheriff,” he says regretfully, though Lance knows its fake. “But do not worry about your little deputy. Her brains will be put to good use once I have her, and if not, there are other ways to put her to use.”

Lance inhales sharply. “Don’t you touch her,” he seethes.

Steelman lightly pats his cheek, as if comforting a small child. “I will take good care of her,” he says cruelly, “I promise.”

“You worthless piece of s-mmmhhmmmm!” Lance yells angrily, as loud and as obnoxiously as he can even after the gag is tied at the back of his head. 

“Sweet dreams, Sheriff.” Steelman stands and tips his hat in mock respect. “I’ll toast to you later tonight as I take the train and your deputy to San Francisco.”

Then he leaves, out of sight far too quickly for Lance’s liking. 

Lance screams, squirms, twists, every type of movement he can think of to escape, but even as he loosens the rope slightly it holds fast, exhausting him and cutting into his skin. 

The train whistle is closer, he can see the line of freight cars rumbling over the hill. Lance struggles harder. 

Lance has regrets. Though he’ll die on the job - just the thought of being decapitated this way chews at his insides, not that he’ll be around to feel it much longer - he can’t help but think that he always expected to go out guns blazing like Shiro had, regardless of Pidge’s conspiracy theory that he was still alive.

He regrets not marrying Pidge years ago. Waiting until they could pass the badge on to someone else seems like foolishness when he reflects on it. She won’t even get the postmortem cash from the government - at least she knows where his life savings are kept, she can use that to pick up the search for her brother again.

She’s going to receive the package addressed to him, ring intended for her, after he’s died. Because if he’s sure of one thing, Pidge will be able to outwit Steelman.

The ground rattles and him with it. 

The shrieking sound of the train breaking fills the air. It’s stopping, Lance realizes a flicker of hope. But it’s far too late. Even if the Conductor has seen him and applied the breaks he’s still going to die. 

Lance breathes heavy and rapidly, because soon he won’t have a head to do so at all. He cries in fear because no one will see him, there is no one to hide from. 

The train whistle gets louder. Lance can smell the burnt coals and feels the crackle of electricity from the wheels against the rails. The breaking becomes nearly unbearable in his ears, more shrill than barkeeper Coran singing in the saloon. 

The sky goes dark. A wheel brushes up against his neck.

And stops. 

No more squeal of the breaks, only the cooling down of the engine. 

He isn’t dead. In a rare moment, Lance can’t find his own voice as he stares directly up at the front of the engine. If the train had failed to stop any sooner than it did…

“Lance!”

Against all odds, his deputy and the love of his life jumps out of the engine, her signature green boots pounding on the ground. 

Never in his life has he been more overjoyed to see her.

Pidge kneels before him with horrified eyes behind her empty frames, ripping off his gag.

Lance gasps. “How did… you were at the office…”

She flops on top of him, which Lance immediately decides isn’t fair as he can’t exactly hug her back. “Like I was going to stay behind and do paperwork while you investigated something that smelled like Steelman and his flunkies,” she tells him with a choked voice. 

“But.. how did you know I’d be…”

Pidge sniffs. “Because he’s a showman. There’s no way he’d pass up something like this when he sees it in the movies. Quiznak, Lance,” she sobs into the rope around his chest. “I thought I was going to lose you.” 

Lance laughs, though he feels no humor in it. “I guess I can’t die, not as long as you’re my sidekick.”

Though she still cries, Lance catches the briefest of smiles and a distinct laugh among the tears. “We’ve talked about this, I’m not your sidekick, goofball.”

No more waiting. Not after this far too close for comfort incident. “What about my wife?”

A moment of silence before Pidge raises her head, an incredulous look on her tear stained face. “I just spent the last few hours in fear for you life, you nearly died, and you’re proposing now?”

Lance smiles, pleased to get a rise out of her - the thrill of catching his normally ‘prepared for anything’ deputy off guard. “I can’t think of a better time,” he says, pouring all sincerity into his voice. 

Pidge huffs in frustration, but yet she smiles. “How can I say anything but yes if you put it like that?”

He shifts uncomfortably, the soreness of being tied up finally getting to him. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard all day… but can you untie me before we kiss?”

Lance knows he’s screwed when Pidge gets a defiant gleam in her eye. “You don’t need your arms and legs to kiss me.”

Well, Lance thinks as she leans down and meets his lips with her own, at least the kiss is worth it. 

[dolphin-bouillabaisse]

GO-ctober Prompt, 26

Inktober except without the ink, and with drabbles instead.

Prompt #26 - Dark

(previous | next | beginning)

(find it all on Ao3)

(Note: I tried to do a 5+1 thing, but it kind of didn’t work. Anyway. Here’s 5 times Crowley saved Aziraphale from trouble in the night, and 1 time Aziraphale returned to favour.)

Lindisfarne, 792

“I would find a different monastery if I were you.”

The voice was deep, reverberating off the hallway around the church's courtyard. Aziraphale, whose head was still half-stuck in the prayer he'd just finished inside the building, whipped around to see Crowley, leaning against a pillar.

“What are you doing here? This is holy ground!”

“Apparently not.” Crowley lifted one  foot and shook it. “Guess just outside the church doesn't count anymore. Luckily.”

Aziraphale, his monk's habit skirting along the ground, quickly made his way to the demon. The sound of his feet echoed just like their voices had, alone in the empty gardens at nighttime, as the other monks had already finished their last prayers and retired to bed. God knows what would've happened if any of them had discovered Crowley in here, and Aziraphale was sure to let him know-

“Again, you should find a different monastery.”

He'd not even opened his mouth to scold him yet before being interrupted, and all he could answer with was a short grumble.

“I'm quite happy here, thank you very much.”

“Maybe.” Crowley shuffled his feet on the ground with a sigh. “But Hell is definitely not happy with this place. You know. Spreading faith to Northcumbria. They're going to find a way to cause trouble soon, I suspect.”

“You suspect.”

Another sigh. “Alright, I know. It's not my assignment, but -” Crowley looked at him, and Aziraphale almost wanted to believe there was kindness in those eyes, just a tiny bit of softness and care. It wasn't that hard to believe. “Stay away from sea-side monasteries, angel. At least for a while. Find yourself a nice holy place in-land.”

He'd not given him time to answer before he turned and left. Aziraphale stood for quite some time, wringing his hands, not unlike they'd just been clasped during prayers. He wasn't quite sure if he should really follow the advice of a demon, as much as he wanted to. He stared into the darkness where Crowley had vanished, the cold wind from the seaside a small howl through the night.

A year later, hearing the distraught story of the viking raids from the travelling visitors in his monastery deep in the English country side, he was glad he had listened during that night.

Glencoe, 1692

“You have to leave. Now.”

Aziraphale was still blinking in confusion, after something – or rather, someone – had shook him awake from his simple beddings of a blanket over hay. He stared up into very familiar serpentine eyes, surrounded by an also familiar, yet puzzling, uniform. A few more blinks, and he realised it was one of the military. He'd seen it around in the past few days, on the soldiers lodging with the local Clan (which had put him out of a room to sleep in, very rudely, as he'd only stopped by on his travels anyway, following a previous invitation the last time he'd been in Scotland). He'd not seen Crowley amongst them, though. Truth be told, he'd never seen Crowley in any military's uniform, and it made him feel worse than even being woken up as rudely as he had been made him feel.

“What are you doing here in this outfit-”

“Who cares? You need to leave. Pack your stuff. There's a horse outside. Go to Edinburgh, or Glasgow, or whatever. Leave the Glen.”

“Crowley!”

He was almost out of the small, broken down cottage before Aziraphale could call him, but he stilled and turned around anyway.

“What's going to happen?”

The demon sighed, and averted his eyes. “Nothing you can stop, angel. Please, you need to leave. As fast as you can.”

And with that, he disappeared into the dark outside the house. Aziraphale followed him soon after, indeed finding a well-fed horse waiting for him, and dared to look back only once as he rode out of the valley. The sight of a familiar shape, dressed in all red, standing on top of a small hill, and the glint of golden eyes followed him all the way out, even as the night's darkness and fog enshrouded the rest of the Glen.

News of the massacre travelled fast, reached Edinburgh long before he did himself, and overhearing the angry rant of a drunken man in the inn he'd sheltered in made him realise that the demon had, once again, been his saviour.

London, 1888

“What are you doing here?!”

The voice of the woman was barely a hiss in the quiet street, but Aziraphale recognised it all the same – or maybe because of that. Crowley, her crimson hair in long, messy braids on his head, an almost dishevelled dress on her feminine curves, stared at him, and even the shades could not hide the anger in her eyes.

“This is no place for an angel to walk around at night.”

That much was true – the area was as dingy as its inhabitants, who were quickly milling past them, trying to get to whatever it was they called home before the darkness of night had completely taken over the streets.

“Some horrible things have been happening here lately-” Aziraphale tried to explain, but was shushed again by Crowley's hiss.

“Exactly! So you shouldn't be here at all!” “I was trying to help-”

“Help? You're going to get yourself murdered, gentleman's outfit or not!”

She wasn't wrong, and Aziraphale was this close to agreeing and leaving, but Crowley's appearance made him stop.

“Are you trying to lure-”

“Never mind what I'm doing, angel. What you're gonna do is turn around, get a carriage, go home and not wander through the slums of London when it's getting dark anymore, alright?”

And with that, she'd turned the angel around, pushed him forward by his shoulders, and stared him down until he got into a carriage at the end of the street. He could feel her stare even as he drove on, the clomping of hooves echoing through the otherwise quiet night air.

The papers were full of the new murder next morning, barely a street away from where they'd met. Apparently Crowley had not been successful (or, in the eyes of Hell, maybe he'd very much been). Either way, Aziraphale was reminded again of the guardian demon he'd apparently acquired a long time ago.

Chicago, 1925

“You can't be serious, angel.”

The lady in a tassel-covered dress slid up onto the barstool next to him. Her red hair was laid in the most delicate curls around her face, and her hands held a cocktail glass and a cigarette holder as long and slender as her fingers.

“Never thought I'd find you in a speakeasy. And then you go and pick this one.”

Aziraphale's hand cramped around the whiskey glass in his hand. He wasn't exactly against the prohibition – Upstairs was quite enamoured with it, too blinded by the whole abstinence thing to see the broiling underbelly of crime coming with it – but then again he also wasn't exactly against a nice glass of whiskey, or any other stiff drink he'd come to love in his years on earth.

“What's wrong with this speakeasy?” He tried to act nonchalant, his eyes decidedly not travelling down the frankly obscene cut of Crowley's dress.

“The mob's not too happy with the place.” Her voice was quiet, even though the place was so loud with celebrations and music Aziraphale had barely heard his own voice while ordering. She leaned forward to him just a bit. “I've heard they're planning something. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, we really shouldn't stay for the party.”

And with that, she'd downed her drink and his, hooked an arm around his elbow, and masterfully steered him out of the hidden basement.

The cold night air hit his face with force – he'd barely had half of his 'whiskey', which he was certain now was anything but, and he could already feel its effect. How Crowley could drink that, plus her own cocktail, and still grin at him as if she'd had nothing but tea, was beyond him.

“Where to now, angel? I know some far better places, where you definitely won't get gunned down for enjoying some spirit.”

“I think I'd rather head home.” He swallowed, remembering the myriad times Crowley had swooped in at night to save him from something or other, thinking about what else might happen if they stayed out this night. Not thinking, though, what might happen if they stayed in.

“Good choice.” She patted his arm, which she'd held all the way down the street without him even noticing. “Lead the way.” They strolled the rest of the way in silence, Crowley's heels clinking away on the pavement, barely interrupted by other drunken couples passing them and hollering as they disappeared again into the dark of the night.

Crowley was still doing her hair the next morning (a night on the settee in Aziraphale's living room did not help with keeping her perfect hairdo) when Aziraphale opened the freshly-delivered newspaper, only to have a photograph of the bar he'd been sitting at yesterday stare into his face, covered in blood. Good choice, indeed.

London, 1941

“How do you always know?”

They'd been drinking for a few hours now, after Crowley had very quickly agreed to the offered Thank You drink as he'd dropped Aziraphale off at the bookstore. They'd been catching up, so to say, and Crowley had sunk deeper and deeper on the sofa, and had a hard time understanding Aziraphale's sudden question.

“Know what?”

“About trouble.” Aziraphale was in his armchair, prim and proper and sitting up straight despite the alcohol, fidgeting with his glass. The night had revealed far more than Aziraphale would've ever expected, so finding out even more did not seem as daunting as it usually did. “You always know when I'm somewhere in trouble, and show up to get me out of it. How do you know?”

Crowley shrugged. There were so many points to contest, so many reasons to lie, so many unsaid things he was never going to say. It was hard formulating an answer.

“I'm a demon. It's my job to know about shady business. I'm more wondering about how you manage to stumble into trouble, without fail, every night I meet you.”

“I don't stumble- I mean- I'm not out looking for trouble, if that's what you mean.” Aziraphale protested, taking another sip. “Trouble just... finds me.”

And so did a certain demon, who was now staring him up and down with pulled down glasses, golden eyes searing into his skin (even as covered up as he was).

“If you say so, angel.”

“I do.” He cleared his throat, trying to clear away all these pesky thoughts, about Crowley in a church, Crowley at his side, Crowley with a bag full of books in his hand, Crowley coming to his rescue again and again and.... “Anyway, I feel I must thank you.”

“You really shouldn't.”

“I know. But you've been saving me from trouble for... as long as I can remember, I suppose.”

“No big deal.” Crowley shrugged again. “Not like I'm planning on it, you know. S'just happens.”

Aziraphale stared at his glass, empty for at least half an hour now, and wondered. About the many times the demon had shown up out of the blue, in the dark of the night, whispering some warning, pulling him out of harm's way, offering up ways to escape. About how little or how much he could've planned for all those times. About what it might mean if he had planned, had gone looking for him on purpose.

It was easier to refill his glass. There'd been enough revelations for tonight. Best to leave the rest in the dark for now, and think about them when he was clearer, and the sky outside brighter, and his sofa empty.

London, 2019

“What are you doing?”

Aziraphale's voice was stern, cold, angelic in that way that had caused humans to fear them for centuries. The demons' heads shot up, staring in complete shock at the glowing figure approaching in the darkness from the restaurant at the end of the road. He could barely manifest a weapon after dropping the takeout bag in his hands before they'd taken off, leaving behind the crumbled pile of black clothes and limbs underneath them on the street.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale's steps became even faster before he kneeled down next to him, pulling him up with more worry in his face than ever before, if that was possible.

“Angel.” Crowley answered, spitting out a bit of blood to the side. They'd not gotten that many punches in, luckily, but his glasses still sat broken across his nose, barely hiding the blue eye.

“I left you alone for five minutes!” He'd tutted at the demon pulling out a pack of cigarettes as they'd waited for their order. Now he wished he'd asked him to wait just a bit longer instead of ducking out of the restaurant for a quick smoke.

“Good thing you did, too. They were up for a fight, surprised you scared them away as quickly as you did.”

Aziraphale was already dabbing away the blood on his nose with a handkerchief. “We need to go home. We need to go home and set up some wards and-”

“Relax. They were just some thugs. Probably ran into me by accident, and decided to take a chance on the traitor.”

Aziraphale's look was scolding, icy. “We need to go home.”

Aziraphale almost brought out the full med-kit as soon as Crowley slumped down on the sofa. The takeout on the table would stay miraculously warm for another moment, just as it had sitting on the dirty street a while ago. He was far too busy to think about it as he poured disinfectant on some clean papertowels, dabbing it across Crowley's cheek. The demon hissed, but did not move (he was smart enough to know Aziraphale would pin him down if he had to).

“We should've gotten delivery.” He mumbled as he kept cleaning his face, scratched all over from being pushed into the pavement.

“Oh come on. Like we could've known that would happen. What, we're never gonna get takeout again just to avoid the tiny chance of being ambushed by some low-level idiot demons?”

“Isn't it your job to know about shady business? Did you not notice there were other demons around?”

Crowley looked at him, almost hurt (emotionally. He was clearly hurt physically). “I'm retired, angel. I don't do the whole shady business thing anymore.” “Right.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, only now realising how bad that had come across. “I guess trouble just found you instead of me this time.” He joked, trying to force a smile, failing. Crowley's was far more sincere.

“And you showed up to help me out of it this time. Guess we're even, then.”

“I really don't think scaring of some hoodlums one time makes up for the centuries of you saving my bum.”

“Yeah, probably not. Better repay me for that with other things.” He grinned as the papertowel swept past his chin one last time. Aziraphale thought of scolding him again, for not taking any of this serious, but decided to cave instead. He placed a soft kiss on his lip, careful not to touch the part where it had split.

“I fully intend to.”

They'd eaten their dinner by now (or rather, Aziraphale had), snuggled up on the couch, surrounded by soft lamp light as utter darkness crept in through the bookshop's windows, but Aziraphale's thoughts were still circling around the evening's happenings.

“Did you always feel this scared, too?” He mumbled, nestled against Crowley's chest, where he could feel the questioning 'Hm?'.

“When you showed up to save me. Or told me to get away.” He played with Crowley's fingers, interlaced with his own. “I was so scared seeing you on the ground like that.”

“Probably not. I didn't often catch you in the middle of it.”

“But you knew what could've happened.”

“Yeah.” Crowley freed one of his hands from Aziraphale's worried fidgeting to stroke through his hair. “That's why I made sure to get you away from it.” His voice was heavy, deeper than usual, and Aziraphale could read more in it than he'd said, more than he'd ever admit. He had been scared. He had been worried, each and every time. Scared that he might miss just one hint, one sign that could've brought him to the angel's side. Worried that maybe his warnings were not enough, that Aziraphale would be stubborn, that all his good intentions and help were for nothing this time. That he didn't guard him and save him well enough.

Aziraphale shuffled around, partly to properly hug him, partly to stare at him with as much adoration as he could possibly muster.

“You've always been there for me, haven't you.”

“Not like I could let you wander around at night alone. Earth can be a dangerous place for an angel.”

“Not if he has a guardian demon like you.”

Crowley barked out a laugh at that, scratching through white curls as Aziraphale laid his head down on his chest again.

The night outside would soon break into dawn, light rushing through the windows and into their quiet little space in the backroom. Aziraphale knew he wouldn't have to fear or worry about any news that would find him in the morning, like always, as long as his demon was by his side.

[sabraeal]

Thy Body Under My Command

Obiyuki AU Bingo Fate/stay night AU

Some dialogue is directly from this Fate/stay night AU comic @septhi made for last year’s bingo

Dawn breaks over Wistal as it always has, pierced by the jagged teeth of the city’s skyscrapers, a dark maw awaiting the sun’s offering. Shirayuki’s hands don’t even shake as she buttons her blazer, not even when she realizes the red is the same color as the blood that had been on them only hours ago, running down the drain of the sink as she struggled to get them clean, to remove every last trace of the night that had dried on her skin.

Obi is waiting for her as always, looking entirely normal in the school’s uniform, nothing like he had last night, nearly bleeding out on the floor of the Seiran estate.

“Ojou-san,” he greets brightly, falling into step with her. “Good morning.”

Even when he’d arrived, breaking half the pots in her gardening shed, she’d never felt so shy around him so left-footed. “Good morning, Obi.”

He nods, pleased with the completion of their usual morning routine. Still, he’s quiet; ever since he -- well, since she summoned him, accidentally, afraid for her own life -- she’s known no peace, the air constantly full of his chatter.

Aren’t you Assassin? Kiki had asked, only days ago. Shouldn’t you work quietly?

Obi had only shrugged, mouth canted in that strange way of his, half mischief and half melancholy. I wonder...

But he’s been oddly silent, since last night. Almost dying does that to a person.

He keeps his normal pace, walking one step behind her -- she’s told him he shouldn’t, that despite what the rules say, he’s her partner, not her servant, but he never listens -- and when she glances at him from the corner of her eyes, sly, she sees that he’s holding himself stiffly, like he’s pulled a muscle.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks, ducking her head, trying to catch his eyes. Obi jolts in surprise, blinking away the distance in his gaze, and smiles.

“Of course, ojou-san,” he tells her, as bright as always. “It’s only a little scratch.”

Shirayuki doesn’t think having his shoulder run through is just a little scratch, but Obi is covered in scars, a record of all his victories in life. Having another must just seem like business as usual. He breathes, he gets another scar.

She eyes where his uniform gaps -- he refuses to keep it zipped outside of school; Servants may magically have the right knowledge of their current time, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it, if Obi is any indication -- catching the ragged, silvered edge of another scar.

Ah, they are records of his victories, save one. But still, she understands Obi might  have trouble telling what is actually a big deal, when he’s used to relocating all his own limbs after a fight.

She doesn’t have to like it, though. “You should let me look at it.”

His eyes round. “Now?”

Cars zoom past them on the street, the high school just visible at the bottom of the hill. They are the farthest away they can be from private.

And yet here he is, pulling at the zipper on his uniform with a sigh, as if she is the incorrigible one --

“No, not now!” she protests, waving her hands, trying to find an angle to shield his undress. She should have known better that to insinuate he needed to take his clothes off, not when he’s always looking for an opportunity to offer. “I meant tonight. At home.”

“Really, ojou-san,” he sighs, zipping his uniform jacket. “It’s not a big deal.”

Shirayuki tilts her chin up, trying to look down her nose on him; a plan that is ruined by the six extra inches he has on her.

“How about you let the mage decide what’s important, Assassin,” she tells him, feigning haughtiness. The both of them know she’s just barely scraping the requirements, and half of her clout is just the fact that he exists.

Obi laughs, shaking his head. “Of course, Master. I shall defer to your superior wisdom.”

“Good.” She levels him with the sort of rich girl glare only Kiki could pull off without looking entirely ridiculous. “I’m glad you understand how these things work.”

His mouth twitches, just at one corner and -- and it’s impossible to keep up the act, if he’s going to break like this! Her giggle bursts out of her, and his follows, making her duck her chin, cheeks flushed.

“Ah, ojou-san,” he sighs, rubbing at the back of his head. “A mage like you should have been matched with one of the noble classes.”

Shirayuki blinks. “What would make you say that?”

For a moment he stills, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets, giving her his most self-deprecating smile. “Ah, well, you like to leap before you look. Someone like Mitsuhide-danna would at least keep you safe during hair-raising things like that.”

She gives him a reproachful look. “You keep me safe just fine.”

A breath huffs out of him, doubt etched on every line of his face. “You’d do better in this game with someone more suited to your...style.”

“Well.” She puffs up her chest, trying to seem like an authority, to live up to the title Master, even if the top of her head is only level with his chin. “You’ve got me, and I’m not giving up on you. Or the Holy Grail.”

“Haah.” He looks like she’s punched him. “Right.”

“Come on.” She nudges him with her shoulder. “We don’t want to be late.”

He lags slightly behind her as they walk down the hill, and when she sneaks a look at him from the corner of her eyes, she sees his hand lift, sees it settle on his shoulder and squeeze.

There are only a handful of people she can go to for -- for Master things; it’s not like her father left her anything, and nearly any mage worth their salt has summoned up a Servant for this War, but --

There’s at least one in her corner.

“Have you seen Obi?”

Zen looks up from his bento; it’s pale pink, rice balls shaped into smiling kitty faces and fruits pressed into flowers and hearts. Not something the Wisteria’s fifty-year-old French chef would have made for him, no matter how good a mood he woke up in this morning. Shirayuki forbids herself from thinking too hard about which girl in their class did. He is the class prince; it would be more of a surprise to see him without a stack of lunches, carefully prepared by his bolder admirers.

That doesn’t make this, well, more comfortable.

“Wasn’t he just here?” He blinks, craning his neck to look at Obi’s empty seat. “Did you lose him already? You should really keep a tighter rein on him. If you’re caught without your Servant --“

“Yes.” She knows all too well what happens when she lets Obi wander away from her side. “I -- he’s just talking to Kiki.”

Zen leans back, and she knows the moment when he sees him; something subtle in his face relaxes, and his mouth spreads into a smile. It’s nice see, but --

But she knows that Zen must wonder if Obi was meant to be his, if she hadn’t bumbled along, summoning the last Servant out from under him. It’s better this way -- at least now it won’t be him facing off against his brother at the end of this war, deciding how much blood it would take for the Grail to appear, but...still. Whenever he allows himself that wistful expression, she just feels like an interloper that stumbled into this whole magic business, even if her father is some -- some famous mage.

After all, it’s not like he prepared her for any of this.

“I meant, have you looked at him today?” she clarifies, wishing she sounds less shrill, less unsure.

At least Zen doesn’t seem to notice; he just turns grim, assessing. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” She shrugs with her whole body, at a loss. “Obi says he’s fine, but -- something doesn’t feel right. And he seems...stiff, I guess. Not moving like how he usually does.”

They both peer out the door, watching him talking animatedly with Kiki. He’s all chaotic motion, limbs flying everywhere as he tells his story, Kiki’s mouth curling up into a reluctant smile. Part of her is glad to see it, happy he’s making friends, that he can charm even stoic Kiki Seiran into liking him, but --

But the other part does not miss his wince when he gestures a hair too far, does not miss how his hand flies to his shoulder, rubbing it as if it aches.

Zen settles back, mouth thin. “Hm.”

“Hm?” She drops into the seat next to him. “What does that mean?”

“It just...doesn’t look like it healed,” he remarks, and Shirayuki just bites back, oh, do you think? He’s trying to help her, she’s just -- impatient. If Obi’s in pain she wants to help him now, not after Zen is done leading her down the garden path.

“Why?” she says instead. “It’s never taken so long.”

“Rider’s hit must have damaged some of his magic circuitry.” Zen stares out the door, mouth twisting with concern. “He can’t passively get enough mana from you to both exist and heal. And since your summoning was well --” a complete and utter accident -- “untraditional...”

“He can’t go incorporeal and heal himself that way.” Shirayuki lets out a long breath and nods. “How do I fix it?”

“Well,” Zen drawls, suddenly too much like his brother. “If you were a trained mage, you could do it through active transfer, but --” he glances at her, guilty -- “I don’t think you have those sorts of skills.”

She could have, if only her father had stuck around to teach her properly. “There isn’t another way?”

“Um.” Zen’s face flushes, eyes darting to look anywhere else but at her. “N-no! I think you just might, ah, have to, you know, let it...heal itself?”

Her mouth pulls thin. “How long will that take?”

“Ah...” Zen grimaced. “I don’t know, exactly. But...a while.”

“Oh.” Her hands clench in her skirt. This is the Holy Grail War. As little as she likes it, she needs him in top condition now, if they’re both going to survive.

Zen shrugs, but it’s stiff, like he had an itch. “Don’t worry, Shirayuki,” he says, hardly sincere. “I’m sure it will work itself out.”

After running into Rider, Shirayuki can’t say she’s too confident in that. Especially not with two other servants unaccounted for.

His hand rests gently on her shoulder, and he smiles so kindly when she meets his eyes. “Kiki will protect you.”

Chain-link bites into the soft flesh of her fingers, but Shirayuki doesn’t let go, just rests her body on the fence. She’s so light it barely chimes at all. The baseball field is empty this evening with curfew still in place, and she can’t help but think that if she hadn’t been in the wrong place, that if she hadn’t gotten so lucky, she would be at home now too, worrying about all the strange deaths in Wistal.

Now she doesn’t have to. She knows exactly who is causing them, what is causing them.

Maybe she would have been happier not.

Obi laughs, dodging another of Mitsuhide’s heavy blows. He’s not in uniform anymore, instead in his battle gear, skin-tight and cape fluttering, mouth canted in a cocky grin, and --

And even so, she can’t make herself regret this. Any of it.

Obi falls for Mitsuhide’s feint, only just saving himself with a quick cut of his short sword. Metal hits metal with a shriek and --

And Obi flinches, his other hand coming up to grasp his shoulder until he stops himself, until he shakes it off.

Shirayuki grimaces. She doesn’t regret anything, save for that.

“That hasn’t healed well,” Kiki remarks, fence jingling as she comes to lean beside her.

“No,” she agrees, watching as Mitsuhide stops, leaning in to clap Obi on the shoulder. The other one, she can’t help but notice. “Zen says his magic circuitry must be damaged after last night.”

Kiki eyes her with a blend of wariness and incredulity that she is coming to realize is distinctly Kiki’s. Shirayuki bites her lip, pretending that her attention is fully on the fight, not -- not thinking about how she’s so tired of being treated like she’s, well, stupid.

Intellectually, she knows that despite their truce, Kiki is an enemy, one she shouldn’t be handing over her weaknesses to on a platter. But at the same time, she’s the only other person she can talk to, whose ideas on the bond of Servant and Master aren’t just all academic. Zen can help her only so far, but Kiki -- Kiki has practical knowledge, as much as someone can have, without having already survived a Grail War.

That’s the kind of information Shirayuki could only get from her father. Too bad he isn’t around to give it.

“Aren’t you going to fix it?”

Shirayuki blinks. “Zen said it would fix itself, with time.”

Time they don’t have.

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Kiki tells her, as if she weren’t already aware. “He needed to be fixed yesterday. You, of all people, can’t have your Servant be weak like this.”

Shirayuki ducks her chin, hoping Kiki can’t see the flush across her cheeks. She’s well aware that she has limitations the rest of them don’t have, that she doesn’t belong in this war of mages, that she barely belongs in magical society in general. Even if her dad did, it wasn’t as if he’d left any of that for her, not like how Kiki is branded with the Seiran crest, the culmination of every mage her family has ever produced.

And if she ever forgot, Obi was always around to remind her. She was lucky; as soon as she’d put the school uniform on him, Obi had transformed from deadly assassin to handsome school boy. If she’d summoned a Servant like Mitsuhide --

Well, it was good Kiki was a top-notch mage. Shirayuki wasn’t even sure the uniforms came that big.

“I’m not a real mage,” Shirayuki reminds her, every word like a knife. “I can’t do a transfer spell.”

“I know that.” Kiki waves her hand, as if she hadn’t even considered the option. “Why don’t you just do it the other way?”

Shirayuki’s head snaps toward her. “There’s another way?”

Kiki stares, at a loss for words. “Zen didn’t tell you?”

She shakes her head. “He said there wasn’t one.”

“Well,” Kiki drawls, voice thick with sarcasm, “isn’t that surprising.”

“Please,” Shirayuki pleads, fingers catching in Kiki’s sleeve, making her eyes as big and desperate as she can. “Do you know another one? I can’t leave Obi like this.”

For a long moment, Kiki stares at her, considering. It reminds her of the only time she’s met Izana, his icy eyes taking her in without comment and assessing her threat to him.

Kiki must come to the same conclusion as him and sighs.

“Mana is in you, Shirayuki.” She eyes her warily. “Are you sure no one has ever taught you this? Not at all?”

“No,” she says with an emphatic shake of her head. “I was raised by my mother’s parents. They didn’t know anything about magic.”

Kiki lets out a long breath, utterly still beside her.

“Mana is in every part of you,” she says after a moment, softer, as if she were trying to teach a child. “That’s why some mages sell their blood when the family fortune runs out. I hear it sells for a hefty bit of cash.”

“Why would people buy it?” Shirayuki asks, wide-eyed.

“To drink, of course.” Kiki says it as if it were the most obvious thing in the word, as if she were the silly one for thinking someone wouldn’t drink blood.

“People drink mage blood?” Somehow, out of all the supernatural reveals she’s been privy to over the last few days, it’s this one that is the most outlandish. “Why?”

“For power.” Kiki shakes her head. “There’s no limit to what a mage will do for power. You should know this, after last night.”

Her mouth thins. Yes, she’s learned that lesson all too well, now.

“So, I just need him to drink my blood?” She’s not sure how he’ll take that request; in terms of things she could ask him, Master to Servant, it’s mild, but still. “How much? Is it just a few drops, or should I be worrying about getting needles and syringes?I think the nurse might let me have a tourniquet if --”

“Shirayuki,” Kiki laughs, waving her hand. “There’s a much, much easier way.”

She considers the bodily fluids she has available to her and decides, “I really don’t think I could spit in his mouth.”

Kiki stares. “That was absolutely not about to be my next suggestion, but thank you for that delightful image that will almost certainly haunt me for years to come.”

“Does it have something to do with crying?” she asks, even more confused. There can’t be anything easier than that, though crying enough tears to drink seems like an insurmountable task.

“Shirayuki, no.” Kiki’s lips twitch. “That is not what I meant.”

“Well,” she sighs, frustrated. “I’m fresh out of bodily fluids!”

She does not like the way Kiki’s lip quirks. “Are you?”

“Oh,” Shirayuki murmurs, too short a time later. “Oh.”

Kiki’s teeth flash in a feral smile. “I thought that might be your reaction, yes.”

“I’m supposed to--” the words won’t come -- “and he’d supposed to...?”

“Yes.” Kiki stiffens beside her, tense. “After we fought Berserker, my mana was just barely keeping Mitsuhide together. His circuits were far too damaged, and unless I wanted to weaken myself trying to force the mana into him...”

“Oh.” She’s never heard Kiki talk like this, admit she was anything other than utterly prepared for any eventuality. It’s...nice to know she’s human too, even if she’s also a world-class mage, destined to be picked up by the Clock Tower after this is all over. “I hadn’t even realized.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.” Her mouth curls with satisfaction. “He recovered...quite nicely, afterward.”

“Are you going to work, ojou-san?” Obi asks as he walks out of the changing room, uniform jacket still half unzipped. Above the vee of his t-shirt, the raised ridge of his death scar peeks out. She’s seen his clothes ripped to ribbons, blood coating his skin, but she’s never seen the whole of that scar, never seen the thing that killed him.

But she would, if she listened to Kiki.

She jolts, shaking her head. She can’t think about this right now, not when he’s talking to her. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” His fingers tug at the zipper, and she -- she’s always noticed how long his fingers are, how slender, but now her skin feels hot looking at them, thinking of the way he could so easily hold her in those hands, how his grip is so strong she could bruise -- “Just give me a minute, and I can --”

“No!” This is -- she needs to think about this, and she just can’t if he’s around, making things -- things difficult. “You should go home and rest. I can take care of myself for a night.”

“Ojou-san,” he protests, mouth pulling into a hard, disapproving line, and --

And she should really, really not be thinking about how easy it would be to wipe that expression off his face. These are not very -- very Masterly thoughts.

“You’re already hurt,” she tells him. “And you need to keep up your strength. We don’t know who the other two mages are, or their Servants.”

“That’s the perfect reason for me to --”

“If they haven’t come for us already, they don’t know who we are.” She thinks of Rider, of how he and his mage are still out there, nursing their wounds. “Or they are waiting for the rest of us to kill each other. Either way, they aren’t going to be checking a drug store for a Master.”

“Everyone needs aspirin, ojou-san,” he protests, but he knows she’s right. Mages are used to power and money; her after school job is the best cover she never asked for. Even Kiki had been surprised.

“If anything happens, I can just call you to me.” She lifts her hand, showing him the jagged lines on the back of her hand. One of them is already smudged and dim, a legacy from their less than ideal first meeting. He scowls when he sees it.

“It would be better if you didn’t waste a Command Seal to get me,” he tells her. “You’ve already done that once.”

“I wouldn’t have had to, if you had been nice,” she reminds him.

“I was stubborn.”

“Telling me I’m your Master, and then saying I’m too stupid to command you isn’t stubborn,” she says with a quelling look. “It’s mean.”

His mouth curves, gaze tilting down, and she knows he’s laughing at himself. “No arguments here, ojou-san.” He slides his hands into his pockets with a resigned sigh. “All right, I’ll heal at home. But you’ll call me if anything happens.”

She puts her hand on his elbow, drawing his gaze down her. Maybe it’s just the light, but his eyes seem more amber today, like melted honey instead of cold coin.

Now is a really bad time to notice that.

“Always,” she tells him with a smile. His narrow brows arch upward and -- and he smiles too, warm and trusting.

That-- that’s not fair, him being so handsome. “I’ll be waiting, ojou-san.”

“I’m home,” Shirayuki calls out, toeing her shoes off into the waiting tray. Obi’s shoes are there as well, scuffed up Oxfords Kiki thought her father wouldn’t miss, but the house itself is dark, cold.

Dread claws at her, but she pushes it down, lets reason rule her instead of fear and habit. There’s still a draw on her mana, tiring but satisfying, an invigorating buzz just under her skin. He’s nearby, he’s safe.

She pads into the main house, socks muffling her footsteps as she makes her way across the wood floor, first looking into the kitchen, then into his room, then into hers. All of them lay empty, though his room does have his school bag on the floor, and his school uniform balled up in the hamper. There’s only one other place he could possibly be.

There’s a flagstone path to the dojo, and Shirayuki hops along it, wincing as she nearly misses a step, toe scraping into the gravel. She’s lost enough stockings already to this Grail War, she’s rather not have another casualty just walking across her own yard.

The door slides easily under her hands; only a week ago it had barely moved, swollen and crooked from disuse, but now it glides silently on its path, planed and reset by Obi’s own hands. It’s the same for the rest of the dojo; tatami replaced and floors shined, looking like it must have back when her father still used it. Obi’s only been here days, and already this place has been changed.

She doesn’t like to think what will happen when he leaves. After all, the Grail War can’t last forever.

The dojo is dark inside, just like the rest of the house, but her eyes adjust quicker this time, used to the dim. It takes her no time at all to make out his shape knelt over on the floor, oddly broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, the sort of body made for dexterity, not power.

That only reminds her of what Kiki said, of that -- that other way to heal him, and she had to grip the door to keep from bolting, from just pivoting on her heel and flying back to the house. She could just -- pretend she was asleep. That was a good excuse to give to Kiki tomorrow. She’d just fallen asleep --

“Ahh,” he hisses, palm slapping the floor. “Fuck.”

His fingers dig into the mat, rigid with pain. She blinks, chest clenching as she follows the tension up the stark lines of his arm to his shoulder, to where he sits, body contorted, one hand clenching at his wound. It’s hard to see his his face in the dark, but his teeth gleam, mouth pulled into a grimace.

She’s never seen him like this before, never seen him weak. “Obi?”

He jolts, hand dropping at lightning speed. He spins around, a bright smile painted on his face. There’s no hint of the agony she saw, no tell-tale wince or grimace. It is as if it were a dream, a nightmare borne of her own guilt.

It is too bad for him that she knows for certain that she is awake. In fact, she has never been less tired in her life.

“Ojou-san! You’re back.” His mouth widens into a playful grin. “Welcome home!”

She stares. There is nothing else she can do, now when she knows that all of this is -- is little more than kabuki, an act played out for solely her benefit. Obi is in pain, in agony, and here he sits on his knees, pretending that all is well, that he can keep her safe, while all the while the guilt must be gnawing at him, anxiety building as he wonders when the next Master will attack, what death he will have to defy with such a painful handicap.

He twists, turning to face her, and his t-shirt gapes, letting her see that ragged scar across his chest, the wound that set him in the record. The one where he was left bleeding and alone in a forest while he died. No one helped him then, and now --

Now that decides her.

Her bag hits the floor with a thunk, books spilling out from the top, scattering across the tatami, but she doesn’t care, doesn’t even think of it. She just takes a step forward, up into the dojo, and then another, and then another, until it’s just rhythm, until it’s just the pounding of her heart.

“Ojou-san?” His amber eyes watch her warily, concern and confusion mingling as his hands lifting to catch her hips, to stop her, but she drops to her knees before he can. His hands settle on her shoulders instead, loose and unsure, as if he hasn’t touched her before, as if he hasn’t just lifted her straight off the ground and leapt across the city with her in his arms.

Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t touched her like this, without danger and necessity dodging their steps. He hasn’t touched her because he wants to. But he does, he does, she can see it right in his eyes, in the way his hands hover as if she’s too precious to touch.

That won’t do at all.

“Ojou-san?” he tries again, a nervous quiver lifting his pitch. “What’s h--haah.”

His breath puffs into her mouth as she closes the distance between them, as she threads her hand behind his neck and drags him down. His dry lips meet hers, and there’s -- there’s something, a spark, and she leans in to chase it --

He jerks back, like he’s been shocked, hands leaping from her to clench on his lap. His bones shine stark white against the bronze of his skin, turned silver in the moonlight. She’s always been fascinated with the human body, with the composition of the skeleton and the way muscles and tendons cling to bone, but this is the first time she’s ever thought it was beautiful.

“Ojou-san!” His chest heaves, knocking against the arm that still holds him. Her thumb brushes over the arch of his cheekbone, and she can feel the heat against her skin, even if the light won’t let her see it. “What -- what are you--?”

Her fingers hook into the thick bristle of his hair, shivering as it tickles her palms, and she draws him down again.

He groans against her mouth, a pained, broken thing. Heat spikes unbearably in her, spearing the place between her legs, and her hand clenches with a whimper. If it pains him, he doesn’t let it slow him; instead he just cants his head, swallowing the sound down, tongue flicking through the space it’s left, licking teasingly against her teeth and she -- she wriggles, the dull ache of her sex too insistent to ignore.

It’s -- it’s a lot. More than she’s used to, with her experience limited to prime time TV and daydream.

Shirayuki sits back on her heels slowly, their lips parting with a gentle pop that makes her want to lean back in, that makes her want to try Obi’s trick with his tongue against his own lips --

But she doesn’t. She sits, she waits. Finally, he opens his eyes with a rasping breath, his gaze clouded with confusion.

And desire, she realizes with a hitch of her own breath. His eyes are on her lips, and she knows he’s thinking the same as her, that there’s both too little and too much space between them.

She reaches out, drawing his hand into her own, and taps his wrist. It’s the only thing that gets him to look away, that makes him focus where she needs him to -- though maybe not where she wants him --

“Oh,” he breathes, and this time, it’s easy to see the pink sitting high along his cheekbones, what with the way his circuit in glowing. “Oh.”

She looks down, watching it pulse faintly, like a heartbeat. The same one she can feel fluttering beneath her fingertips, as wild as her own. Ah, he may only be a hero’s spirit, but right here, right now, he’s human enough.

“Kiki told me there was another way to heal you.” Her thumb rubs gently over the skin of his wrist, wondering at how it is as thin and delicate as any other person’s. It’s so easy to forget that despite his power, despite his past, in this form he’s just like any other man.

“Haah.” He’s tense under her, as if he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t, just lets her pet at his pulse, motionless. “Kiki-jou, huh? That’s...unexpected.”

“I can’t do the ritual.” The shame burns at her even now. “I’m not enough of a mage --”

“Ojou-san!” Obi frowns, shaking his head. “You are as much of a mage as any--”

“Obi,” she says quietly, gently, and he calms. “It’s all right.”

“I know. I just...” His hand twists in hers, until their palms touch, until he can wrap his fingers around hers and squeeze. “You are enough, ojou-san. You have always been enough.”

Her chest is too tight, too small to contain both her breath and her heart together, and so it bursts out of her in a graceless pant.

“I can’t do the ritual,” she tries again, the words little more than a whisper. “But I can do something else. Something less complex.”

“Well,” he wheedles, “I wouldn’t say less complex --”

Kiki had said that it was a waste of a seal, that a true Master compelled obedience through the contract, through their power, but Shirayuki had none of that when Obi arrived, cocky and insubordinate. She knows now that such a vague command should have never worked, should have been useless with her inexperience --

But it hooked into Obi strongly that night, remained strong in him even now. She’s always been so careful since, using will you instead of do this, wording simple requests in a way that allows him the chance to say no.

But she doesn’t now.

“Tell me the truth.”

The command thrums through him, thrums through the both of them, but it’s different than before. It was not a whip crack but a whisper, not grasping hands but a come-hither look that leaves pleasure fizzling under her skin.

One look at Obi tells her that her own reaction is just backlash, just a ghost of what he feels; his head is thrown back, eyelashes fluttering at half-mast, breath laboring out of him in ragged pants.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, it will heal me.”

“Good.”

It’s her that tugs on his hand, that draws him back to her, but it’s him that groans against her mouth, hands clutching at the back her head as if he’s adrift, as if he’s drowning, and only her kisses are keeping him afloat. Funny, since it’s her that is lost, her that is clutching to his jeans, to his shirt, trying to hold herself to the earth as his lips move against hers, as his tongue once more slides into her, licking at her teeth, coaxing her own to move against his.

Her neck aches as she tries to chase his kisses, tries to extended that delicious frisson of their lips meeting and parting. He shifts to get closer, knee brushing hers, and it occurs to her all at once that this is too far, that this polite distance between their bodies is not only unnecessary, but unwanted.

Her hands reach out blindly, feeling along the floor until she brushes his thighs, feels the worn denim underneath her palms. He gasps against her lips at the touch, and she puts her hands flush against him, kneading the muscles beneath with enough strength to make him moan, to make him pull away with a laugh.

“What do you think you’re doing, ojou-san?” he murmurs, kissing at the corner of her mouth. “Causing trouble?”

Her eyes narrow at that, at the way he laughs as if the thought of her trying to -- to incite something is ridiculous, and she crawls forward, laying one knee on either side of his lap.

“If I am?” she asks, staring down at him, relishing the way his mouth has slacked and his pupils have gone wide.

“Please,” he breathes, pulling her down to him, bringing her flush against his lap. “Don’t stop.”

His thighs feel like steel under her, and she cannot help but think about how close she is to him, how so few layers keep her from what Kiki had described in detail, and --

And she wants it. That.

Obi’s hands smooth up the backs of her legs, slender fingers dragging against her stockings. His smile curls against her lips as she whimpers into his mouth, until --

Until he hits the end of them, just higher than mid-thigh, and lets out a noise more fit for a wounded animal than a man. He grips her thighs hard, bruising, as if he’s trying to control himself, to keep from taking her right there.

Now it is her turn to smile, to gently pry each finger on one of his hands off her thigh and glide it up, past where here stockings end, and hook one tip under the elastic of her panties.

“Ojou-san?” he murmurs, confused, hopeful. In the darkness, his eyes still shine amber.

“Take them off.”

“Are--?”

“Take them off.”

The rip is deafening in the dojo.

“Did you--?” She gapes, looking at the ragged remains of her kitten panties in his hand, at the mischievous smile on his face. “Did you tear them?”

“You told me to take them off, ojou-san,” he says far too innocent, tossing the offending fabric far into the dojo, out of sight.

“Those cost 2000 yen,” she protests breathlessly, distracted by the drag of his fingers up her thighs, to the throbbing heat between them. He cups her ass in both of his hands and squeezes. “Obi!”

“You should have been more specific, ojou-san.” His thumbs tease her, right where her thighs meets her body, so close to where she wants them, but not there. “Your wish, after all, is my command.”

“I’m pretty sure my command is your command,” she tells him, grabbing at his hand. She drags it over the front of her thigh, placing his fingertips right over her slit. “Touch me, Obi.”

His jaw drops, breath rushing out of him all at once, and for a moment, he sits there, frozen. She presses her hand against his, dropping an encouraging kiss against his lips and finally, finally, he moves.

A finger parts her folds, and this -- this all seemed like a good idea just a moment ago, when the heat from just his kisses had left her throbbing and tight, but now two of his fingers trace her slit, teasing the tight bud of her clit, and --

And it’s so much worse; his touch leaves her gasping against his shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his shirt, trying anything to get him closer, faster. He hums, too pleased with himself, and when she lifts her head to -- to tell him something, if only he’ll stop teasing -- he slips a single finger in.

“Aah!” She yanks at his shirt, pulling up at its hem until he’s half tangled in it, collar over his head, sleeves stuck at the elbows.

“Ojou-san,” he laughs, dragging that finger her out of her so slow, making sure she feels every second of it. “So impatient.”

Her face is already flushed, but it burns now as she watches his stomach flex, as she sees the white cotton fall away to find the glow beneath it is blinding. The moment her shirt leaves his hands, sailing on the same trajectory as her destroyed panties, she grabs him, urging his fingers inside as she bears down, tongue licking into his slack mouth.

She can hardly think with him touching her like this; with one finger it had been a tease, but two makes her think of the thing pressing hard against her thigh, straining against the denim of his jeans, and she wants it, wants him in her so badly it’s a palpable need.

Her fingers trace down his chest, hesitating at the scar bisecting his chest. It’s an ugly thing, flesh knotted and poorly healed. The cut that killed him.

Shirayuki brushes it idly, her need cooling as she considers it, and the pulse of his fingers slow so that he can watch her.

“I wish,” she says, so soft, “that you hadn’t been alone.”

She bends down and presses her lips to it, gentle.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, and it’s all the warning she has before he grabs her, dragging her mouth to his, and devours.

The way he moves in her leaves her gasping, panting, mindless, her own hands desperately sliding down smooth skin and raised scars and burning circuits to the dark trail of hair on his belly. She hooks one finger around the waistband of his jeans, thumb rubbing thoughtfully at the button and --

And Obi jerks away from her, leaving her empty, hot.

“We don’t need to do more than this,” he tells her, panting beneath her hands. His own hover awkwardly at her sides, as if he’s afraid to touch her, as if he’s afraid he won’t be able to stop, if he does. “This is -- this will be enough.”

“Do you not want to?” She’s not sure how she’s still talking, with so little air in her lungs.

Obi lets out a weak laugh, gaze fixed to where her shirt gapes open and the soft cups of her bra are bared. Ah, so his other hand has been busy too. “Oh, ojou-san, doesn’t every man want to --?”

“Obi.” Her hand presses down against the bulge, watching as his eyes rolls back, his jaw going slack. “Tell me the truth.”

That frisson goes through them again, and he twitches hard against her thigh. “Yes. I want to.” His hands grip at her waist, kneading. “I want you.”

His admission bares him to her more than nakedness, and she -- she could not be more ready for him, wet slicking her thighs, her fingers fumbling at the button of his jeans. She’s not strong, not like Obi, but Shirayuki nearly puts a rent next to his zipper trying to work him free. He’s laughing into her mouth, hands busy with her own blouse, confounding matters when he drags it down her shoulder, tangling in her elbows, and she --

She doesn’t have time for this. Shirayuki lets go one him with a growl, shucking her shirt to the floor, but she’s back on him the moment she’s free of it, one hand flicking open the button, the other working the zipper.

He gasps, breath catching in his throat as she wraps her hand around his cock; she pumps him once and his hips nearly clear the floor.

Ah, he may act smug, but Shirayuki doubts there’s much of this happening in the heroic record. It’s nothing to sit over him, to guide him right to where she needs him and --

Oh! The pinch is sharp, though not unpleasant, but it does give her pause, makes her wonder if this is a -- a larger undertaking than she’s prepared for.

“Ah, ojou-san.” Just the tip of him is in her, but Obi is panting against her chest, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, moaning as if he could come from just this. “Ojou-san, don’t -- don’t --”

She widens the set of her knees, dropping down another inch, and his hands fly to her thighs, digging in with a grip hard enough to bruise. A wounded sound tears from his chest with each uncomfortable inch she takes, and she -- she should mind this strange sensation, this stretching, but instead those noises go straight to her head, straight to where her heat clenches around him, and --

And then stops. Her legs can’t part any more, not while she still expects them to hold her, but she’s not -- not full. She gives a tentative, shallow thrust, trying to see if she can work herself any further down and -- haah, that...that could feel good, if there was only more of it, if only she could take him further in.

Obi’s hands ease on her thighs, gently stroking her with each of her experimental thrusts. He buries his head in the cook of her neck, panting harshly against her collar. Still, she can feel it in him, that want to grab her, to take her --

This isn’t enough, she knows. He would never say so, but her hand is still clasped around the rest of him, and she -- she wants that, wants all of him, wants to know what noises she could wring from him if she did.

Her palm presses to his chest, and his head jerks up, eyes clouded with confusion and desire, but -- but he falls back at her gentle urging, down and down until his shoulders are on the floor and she could sink down on him until--

Ohh, yes, that -- that was better. The stretch is still uncomfortable, but also -- decadent, a pleasure that makes heat rush to her sex, that starts her on a slow, steady rhythm.

A laugh rumbles from Obi’s chest, a pleasant vibration beneath her hands, and then his own are on her, gripping her hips, guiding her into one that’s faster, that makes her drag along him rather than bounce and --

Ah-haah, that is -- is good. Pleasure sparks along her skin, building, building, until it all at once becomes enough, becomes too much --

And through the blinding force of her release, she can feel it, feel the way her energy runs into him, the way it’s filling him --

And the way he fills her in turn, leaving her gasping against his chest, cheek pressed to dewy skin. It takes her a minute to come back to herself, to feel the pressure at her scalp, her back. To realize that he is stroking her as he softens inside her, whispering things that are less words and more sounds, like the way a man might calm an animal, a child.

She might be offended, if she didn’t look, didn’t meet his eyes as see him look at her as if she is not only his master, but -- but his world. “Ojou-san?”

“I think,” she says, words feeling strange and tingly on her tongue. “you should really call me Shirayuki now.”

Obi returned to the baseball field with a spring in his step, waving to his opponent as he saunters across the diamond. “Mitsuhide-danna!”

“Obi.” The Saber nods, gaze sweeping over him. “That arm is moving much better today.”

“What can I say?” Obi shrugs, a grin so salacious pulling at his lips that Shirayuki is sure everyone can tell what they’ve done. “I let ojou-san take good care of me.”

Kiki lets a smirk curl her lips, giving Shirayuki an all-too knowing look. “I just bet you did.”