#And he NEEDS you to hear him say it in the most obtuse way possible

[completeoveranalysis]

[6]

Oops yes that is indeed a bad news! If Syaoran soundly won the fight last time and now he's even Stronger? No chance! The win rate is not high! Things are not going well at all!

Though that shot of him with the glowing eye? With Fai’s glowing eye? Contrasted against Lava Lamp's eyes squinting in effort and pain? Amazing! Terrible! Awful! I love it!

DID LAVA LAMP SET SYAORAN ON FIRE???

APPROPRIATE! BIG WIN FOR TEAM METAPHOR!

NOW THAT’S A CERTIFIED SYMBOLISM!

OOF didn’t really need Evil Wolverine to pop in and explain Fai’s eye to Fai himself BUT SURE I GUESS HE MIGHT AS WELL AT THIS POINT. He really is almost a parody of himself. 

But yes, thank you Evil Wolverine, Fai’s magic gets stronger the more he uses it (and Fai avoided using it as long as possible, but Syaoran is absolutely going wild with it). 

I suppose this is just Evil Wolverine’s way to remind us he’s still here and definitely important somehow, and isn’t completely emotionally overshadowed by the whole Syaoran thing. 

[cangrellesteponme]

NOVEMBER 3RD - NEEDED ADVICE

(read this on AO3 here)

dadbastian week day six! the penultimate entry, already?

this one is... there is not much going on. one of my sillier renditions of sebastian being an idiot in agni's vicinity, essentially.

in which sebastian asks a good friend for help when his young master gives him the cold shoulder.

enjoy!

When his friend opens the door, Sebastian doesn’t give himself any time to back out of this — it is not quite a matter of life or death, but being inherently exempt from both, he feels that the situation is dire enough to warrant the same kind of attention.

“Mr. Agni, I need your help.”

“Mr. Sebastian, is it nice to see you… alone? How unusual. Is your young master—”

“He is well,” Sebastian immediately cuts in. “I… have been dismissed for the day.”

Agni stares at him in disbelief, but after a few seconds — long enough for Sebastian to feel uncomfortably seen, scrutinised, and dissected — he seems to accept it as the truth it is.

“…I assume this has something to do with your visit, then.”

No time like the present. “He is terribly mad at me.”

The following silence is awkward in a way that forces Sebastian to interpret it as a call for further explanation.

“And this wouldn’t usually be a problem, especially since he doesn’t ask anything of me that interferes with my duties as his butler, or the oaths that bind me to him.”

Silence, again. Sebastian thinks Agni looks very unimpressed with the formal, impersonal phrasing he chose, so he adapts.

“…But I don’t like it.”

This is going to be difficult, Agni thinks. Though he holds a particular fondness for his friend, the theatrics of his constant bickering with the earl are migraine-inducing on a good day. It has only gotten worse as he has grown warmer and more affectionate towards the boy — which is going about as well as it possibly can, so terribly. 

Not for the first time since he met him, Agni wishes Sebastian could be less obtuse.

“The first step to redeem yourself in his eyes is quite simple, my friend.”

Silence stretches between them as Sebastian merely watches Agni realise very few things are quite simple when it comes to his… social relations. To his credit, he does get back on track quite fast.

“If you’ve truly done wrong, then an apology is in order. Reassure him of your intent to do better in the future, and hopefully he will believe and forgive you.”

“I have already tried that, actually.”

“Ah. I must say I’m glad to see so much personal growth, even if it apparently hasn’t gone too well?”

“He refuses to hear a single word from me, and insists on having me dismissed as soon as the bare minimum of my work is done.”

Sebastian does not want to think about what he must look like right now, defeated and resigned by a moody child’s refusal to talk. Part of him knows it is understandable to feel this way, as this is not any child, but one he would almost dare to consider his, but most of his thoughts revolve around the sheer ridicule of the situation.

Agni gives him an undoubtedly pitying look and Sebastian feels a bit like a wounded, confused animal. Something small, with a fast heartbeat. The thought gives a warm tinge to his embarrassment.

“What you need is a peace offering,” Agni eventually says, in that light and clear tone of his that means he wants Sebastian to listen and learn. “Of course you’ll run into closed doors if you make no effort to open them.”

“…Are you recommending bribery, of all things? I thought I’d never see the day.”

“Not bribery, no, it’s… extending an olive branch, of sorts,” Agni corrects, though he looks somewhat flustered at the accusation. “The ideal branch being something that he likes, but cannot have without you providing.”

“There is not much he can get without me, really.” Surprisingly easy. Do all emotional problems come with odd but simple solutions?

“...Right. One of these days, you and I are going to have a talk about that.”

As that sounds particularly unpleasant, Sebastian immediately starts coming up with ideas instead.

Eventually, they come to agree that Sebastian should bake whatever sugary monstrosity his young master likes the most. Agni watches with no small amusement as Sebastian stands, and almost reaches for his coat, but seems to remember something. After blinking slowly at the clock for a few seconds, he turns back to Agni, looking most contrite.

“I am also essentially banned from the manor for the next… six hours, still.”

Agni sighs. How does such a small child hold grudges so fiercely?

He truly considers ignoring his own morals and being unhelpful for the sake of having a peaceful day. However, his exasperation is far outweighed by his fondness and sympathy for his friend, who is in clear need of a helping hand — despite his… rather intense love for cats, Sebastian reminds Agni of a dog left in the rain on most days. So, he decides to provide.

“…You may stay and use the kitchen here, if you’d like.”

As Sebastian returns to the manor, his steps are light with the feeling of a job well done.

Even though the “cake” would be better described as a condensed block of all kinds of chocolate, he knows it is to the earl’s taste — as in, too sweet to be reasonable — and will please him greatly.

When, at last, nothing but a door stands between him and his young master, he can’t help but think of the incredible irony of feeding delicacies to the boy who essentially is his very own chocolate cake. It is a ridiculous thought. Perhaps the hunger is getting to his head.

(It would be more accurate to say it has been getting to his head for more than a handful of years now, and these days he can’t quite distinguish the ache of hunger pains from his newfound yearning. Not that it will matter, in the end.)

Sebastian cautiously knocks. No answer.

“I’ve come with cake. Your favourite, specifically.”

“...Come in.”

Naturally, the child is still mad despite the cake, as these things take time. However, the offering is enough for Sebastian to be given back the right to stay by his side as usual, and that is more than enough.

The relief he feels makes Sebastian understand his boy’s love for all things sweet.

[thatonegayship]

14, 16, and 51, wanna hear all your thoughts on this ship

How do their personalities compliment each other? How do they clash?

God, so many ways. Let's not even start with the whole Mystery Loving Man falls for Cryptic Being With Infinite Knowledge. That's all too poetic a match. These two literally exist to compliment and contrast; their existence both pulls and pushes in equal measures, and I love them for that.

For compliments, it's clear they're both rather intelligent, meaning they're able to bounce off of each other in different ways. Of course, Bill knows more, but of what Dipper learns, he's able to apply and deconstruct it. It's fun watching him take information and use it to his advantage, and for Dipper to squeeze a bit of forbidden knowledge out of his partner when he can.

There's also that hidden vindicative side to Dipper that Bill just loves! He's not nearly as vicious, but give him a petty reason, and you've got yourself possibly the most convoluted, over the top revenge story you've ever heard on your hands. Bill's too extreme for ideas, but of what he provides, Dipper draws inspiration, dials it back, and hits the sweet spot of poetic justice.

For contrast, let's not even pretend Bill isn't out here trying to kill people on a daily basis. Dipper does not approve. They've gotten into more than a few fights over Bill dragging blood over the carpets, or screaming decorum when Dipper specifically said to keep it out of his line of sight.

Their level intake of horror as a whole is laughably different. Bill could roll around in viscera and guts for hours if he could. Dipper gets weak at the knees if he sees a video of someone breaking their leg. Needless to say, they don't always agree on date night plans.

Do they stay up all night just talking?

You'd think two people who can get so annoyed with one another would know when to quit bickering and just snooze for a couple of hours, but truth be told? They can't get enough of it. Dipper's frustrated with Bill most times, but if the man ever chose to flop on his side mid-convo for some shut eye, he'd visibly wilt. What's all that about? This was getting fun. :(

Yes, they do stay up all night just talking, and they love it a lot more than they let on.

What's a non-verbal way they say I love you?

Pretty much their whole relationship is this, so we'll have to shave it down for time.

Bill not letting Dipper get mauled or killed is pretty telling to most non-humans. That's already much more than you'd do for a being that only lives an average of 70 or so years. The fact he lets Dipper call him an obtuse isosceles without bursting him into flames is also pretty telling. I'd say his constant clinginess is also a factor, but let's be honest, he'd chat it up with a brick wall if it served him any immediate purpose. It's the times he's actually quiet that say the most. Just wrapping him up in his arms and holding him close. Can't get anymore obvious than that.

Dipper's a bit different. He's not great at romance, but he understands Bill, and he knows what the guy likes: attention. Now, you don't wanna feed someone with an ego the size of a planet too much praise (arguably none), but the occasional nibble can be tossed. If Bill does something that makes Dipper's heart skip a beat, or goes out of his way to fix a problem that he didn't have to fix, Dipper might let him know that he's kind of amazing and powerful, or at least looking reasonably smoochable.

Additionally- and this is rare- he might show some interest in his evil schemes if under the right conditions. He's not dipping his hands into that particular poison, but maybe one day he sees Bill standing in front of a miniature replica of a battlefield, looking stumped yet intrigued, fidgeting over whether this one powerful pawn should go here or here. Dipper shuffles over to where he's looking, and without really thinking about it goes, "it needs to go here," smacking it where Bill wasn't even looking. He blinks. The placement is-. Not practical, but given a second thought, it's actually genius!

Doesn't happen too often that Dipper gets involved in Bill's big plans, when he does though, his partner's heart practically breaks out of his chest.

[wellpresseddaisy]

The Demon Prefect Rides Again

Bertram Harroway put on his evening clothes as if headed to war. In a way, he was. It would be an emotional war, he supposed. He let his valet help him into his coat and glanced down at the letter from Vera Dalrymple that kicked the whole thing off.

Darling Bertie,

That certainly wasn’t what she’d called him when he found her in a compromising position with Hector Grantham in her fifth year. And Eliza Dearborne in her sixth.

As you are possibly the only person on this planet who can make Albus Dumbledore mind you,

He thought, perhaps, one other existed, but it didn’t do to dwell on Gellert Grindelwald. He’d never liked the little wart, no matter how infatuated Albus was with him.

could you please do something about him? I popped into town last weekend and ran into him in Diagon. He looks dreadful. And his robes!

Bertram sighed. He knew precisely what Vera meant.

He’s gone old on us. I know it started creeping up on him in the aftermath of That Man followed on by That Gobby Upstart in the seventies, but something is really, terribly wrong. I suspect a whacking great load of guilt and grief, but really, Bertie, he looks like a stiff wind will carry him off. He looks more like he’s in the middle of his two-hundreds than just past his first century.

Trust Vera to look at a dark lord terrorizing the country and call him a gobby upstart. He’d seen photos of Albus recently and he agreed with Vera. Voluminous robes only his so much and Albus always had been nervy, no matter what he pretended otherwise for the magical public.

Honestly Bertie, I’m worried. He’s always worked much too hard and taken on too much responsibility, but he’s never been so frail before. He wouldn’t even go to tea with me and there is little Albus Dumbledore loves more than a cream tea and a good gossip. He doesn’t go anywhere, either. He used to love the theater and I can’t remember when he last made up part of a theater party. I think he might be punishing himself, in some bizarre way.

That was the part that spurred him into action. A quick note to the Deputy Headmistress and he secured a Saturday evening away for Albus.

He isn’t researching and he won’t meet with friends and it’s as if all he’ll allow himself is duty. It can’t go on. It simply can’t, Bertie. You remember how he got after exams? We’re headed for a crash the likes of which we’ve never seen and I’m so frightened it’ll take him from us. You’re the only one I could think of who might get through to him. Our Vally needs the Demon Prefect to come out of mothballs.

He'd see what he could do. Vally Dumbledore (nicknamed for the way he’d valiantly come to the defense of anyone he thought wronged) was the most infuriatingly stubborn young man he’d ever met.

We’ll plan a little reunion for all of us this summer. Dahlia wants everyone to see her gardens, in any case. She’s doing some interesting things with roses these days. Or perhaps, if you can persuade Vally to take care of himself, we could make up a theater party. I hear the latest from that Carruthers girl is splendid fun.

With love and thanks,

Vera

PS It probably isn’t my place to say so, but I’m going to anyway. He always had. G.P. for you and you ought to have swept him off his feet, all Oxford-polished, before That Man had a chance to get his hooks in. You helped create this problem by being as obtuse as a box turtle, so you can fix it.

Bertie sighed and went down to the Floo room. He knew he bore some responsibility in never acknowledging his own feelings. He simply hadn’t thought it appropriate since he was a perfect and then Head Boy. He could easily have picked up their acquaintance once Albus left Hogwarts. Although…there came a point where Albus pushed everyone away after his mother died, when all those lovely plans he’d made fell through so he could care for his sister. He never really let any of them back in after.

He wondered if he could have made a difference there, kept Albus from ending up so cut off from the academia he loved that he clung to the only person able to keep up with him. They would never know, he supposed.

He checked his pocket watch and collected coat and hat from his hovering valet.

“Thank you, Deverell. Don’t feel the need to wait up if I’m late returning.”

“Of course, sir.” If he didn’t know better, he’d think his valet quietly judging him.

Most likely the man judged his early departure. If he knew Vally as well as he once did, it would take quite a bit of persuasion to rout him out of his office and make him dress properly, especially if Vera was right and he was somehow punishing himself for his failures, perceived or otherwise.

Vera, irksomely, was usually right.

As he stepped to the Floo and gave the direction, he wondered if he should bring his old slipper. It always made an impact on a  recalcitrant Vally.

-----------

Hogwarts hadn’t changed in the decades since his leaving. Like Oxford, she endured, only she housed grubby schoolchildren instead of grubby undergrads. Professor McGonagall sending him through the internal Floo system came as a surprise. He’d never really thought about the professors needing to get somewhere quickly before.

He stepped out into the Headmaster’s office and brushed the slight traces of soot from his clothes.

“Good evening, Vally.” He began.

Albus looked up sharply from a thick book propped on his desk.

“Bertram Harroway? What are…how…”

He ended by staring as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. Thankfully, he looked a good bit better than Vera described. Still too thin, of course, but he’d always forgotten meals or spent an hour just moving his dinner about his plate when in the grip of An Idea (or nerves). He looked as if he'd let go of some of the guilt and grief weighing him down. His hair, which had turned white practically overnight, had regained its more youthful ginger hue. The deep lines carved into his face by decades of worry seemed to have filled in. He looked more like he ought to look, like a non-magical of fifty or sixty instead of a man nearing the end of his life.

“Vera sent me, Vally. She said you’re getting old and could do with a bit of livening up. I thought you might like a night out. I have a box at the Savoy. They’re doing Pinafore at the moment and I know how you feel about well done G and S.” He moved into Albus’ office, helping himself to a chair when Albus continued to stare.

“Vera Dalrymple said she’d rather be boiled in Frederica Morningside’s failed potions projects than ever communicate with you again via any medium.” Albus finally spoke.

“I had just gated her for the rest of term. You can’t blame her for being distraught.”

“I couldn’t possibly go out on such short notice. This whole idea is patently ridiculous.” Albus nodded firmly, as if he’d made up his mind.

“You can go and get dressed right now is what you can do.” Bertram insisted. “The show starts at eight and I booked a table for supper after, at the Palace.”

“India Palace?” He at least looked interested at that. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve been there.”

The wistful note in his voice belied his firm refusal.

“It was the day you got Greta Saatchi’s autograph after standing in pouring rain for two hours and we spent a further two getting you properly warm again when you returned.” He chuckled at the memory.

How had they been that carefree?

Well, he hadn’t. He’d had to play the heavy when the miscreants tried to slip back into the castle with the Hogsmeade crowd, as if they hadn’t slipped off to London for a matinee and a curry. Albus shifted slightly, as if remembering Bertram’s method for warming him up.

“We were thrilled when you finally left to terrorize Oxford, did you know?”

“I’m sure you were. I’ve returned just to terrorize you, Vally, you know?”

“Oh how lucky am I.” Albus replied acidly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve decided.”

How well he remembered that rather sulky tone. He certainly heard it often enough.

“I suppose I could go and fetch my slipper if you need convincing? I don’t care to see Vera so distressed, you know.”

It wasn’t often that anyone shocked Albus Dumbledore into complete silence.

“You still have that…that thing?” It always entertained Bertram to see shades of their youth in his friends.

“Of course I do. It’s an exceedingly motivating piece of footwear. Now, be a good chap and go get dressed. Theater waits for no man and Professor McGonagall assured me you were overdue for a night out. Something about you working all hours?” He put a bit of the old Demon Prefect in that one, the same tone he’d used countless times when locating an Albus who quite forgot about such mundanities as curfews.

Albus was out of his chair and halfway to the door to his quarters when he stopped.

“What do you mean Professor McGonagall assured you?” he asked waspishly.

“Of course I wrote her first to ensure you could have a nice evening with an old friend. It’s no use organizing a surprise one can’t pull off in the end.”

Albus gaped at him. “You cannot just go about organizing the world as you please.”

“It’s worked for me thus far.” Bertram answered mildly. “Do go and get dressed, Vally.”

“I can go as I am.” Albus insisted.

“Oh no you are not. I know you own perfectly nice evening clothes. Go and put them on.” He cared very much for Albus, but he’d rather chew his own arm off than attend a public event with Albus wearing golden yellow robes patterned with swirling suns. “We aren’t leaving until you are attired to my satisfaction.”

Albus stared at him for a moment before turning, very clearly not stomping to the door, and entering his quarters. He shut the door just shy of a bang.

Bertram settled down, quite pleased with his evening’s work. They’d make the theater in a timely manner now, and he could treat Albus to a lovely meal after. He’d have to suggest Dahlia and Hitty invite a little party for dinner one evening. And perhaps Albus would join him for the theater more frequently now. Albus, now more than ever, needed the people who cared for him to pull together.

The feelings he once thought faded raised their heads again, like a parched garden in the rain.

[the-firebird69]

Freya Ridings - Castles (Official Video)

We started this project and now we're not doing anything I want this to out of here the mental misfits all morning long they're running around yelling stupid **** at people as if they know everything and he said what are the diamonds for now they gonna lower them and they said we don't know and then I'm done anything so what I said to them is if this little boy wins he kind of deserves it you have no class trump no reason for trying to run for office nothing we can find probably don't have a chance of getting in because we hear what they're doing it's really a setup they know what is still keep going and hit your head on the wall quite literally I'm saying it too you're insane you want everything for wisp for hair it never happens that way I've never ever seen it this boy worked his internal life very carefully when huge progress giant concepts he easily leaves you in the dust with just one of them well I'm trying to say is we're irritants on purpose by Lord of the Max and you won't change and do the job and we're not gonna make it. These next two weeks we just keep losing like we are yeah they're hiring all our enemies and making allies and friends and we're losing them most of them are out the door already I'm telling you I don't want you to continue bothering him you're a seedless fruit you're a junkie and you're running around embarrassing me and humiliating me and harming me and yeah we don't have the AI we keep saying we do I don't wanna keep doing this **** **** it's for idiots this dumb stuff we're doing. I don't know where you picked it up but it's really stupid I don't wanna be near you you gotta drag me into your stupid crap I'm gonna keep beating you up I don't care anymore we're going down the train if you can only hear what the saying about us out loud to our face just here at once it keeps saying you're a piece of garbage in your trash wife you don't even listen or look up to what you're saying keep saying someone else is having them do it try and say you're not known as a hero you're known as some mooch who set the stage I'm hearing you didn't even do that you noticed you're threatening him this is gonna suck so bad we don't have a role here y'all know about it as you who doesn't know Trump I'm so sick of being the stupid **** little **** you are

sarah

I'm trying stuff they have some kind of death lock on me they have one on you and you haven't noticed you're sitting here berating us and him too and he says yeah you're so you're the precursor precursor for mary then Hera And they're saying it about us and they're saying it about his people and then it's what they want to try and do. They are obtuse to it you need to learn that and stop making fun of everybody else a big group is kicking the crap out of them was it doing it to you too.

trump

Yeah there's a few things you don't know about like you don't believe they're doing it to you and you keep saying it no you're delusional a lot of people think you aresarah

And why should I believe you this big group's going after us. They go out for everybody and what's with me in particular I'll tell you what I ran around saying the sleepy hollow story they have evidence and that's what it is and I don't know it everybody else knows it because they grab them and ask them and they see it on their computer whatever you for whatever reason they're doing it using me possibly because I'm the way I am possibly because I'm and here we go OK so yeah you're probably righttrump

we dont know for sure no we are told by mac proper your an ass trump all see it now

saraah

we dont take them on direct ok no i dont see it

trump

Shut your **** mouth we explain to you every single day lette rby letter word by word what is your problem you're an idiot.

macs

we dsee it is you so we dont get it thats ll

trump

you dont. we show you then. you die soon should know it ok a say it too

this man is unresonable adn nasty to us and all te time and is poor 

macs

Olympus you may print this yes

good

Her

[miekasa]

when the world comes crashing down (there’s still you and me)

+ summary: the aftermath of a long day ft. levi, eren, jean, armin, mikasa, sasha, hange, connie, and erwin. connie and erwin from me? connie and erwin from me!

if you didn’t know him any better, it would be quite difficult to tell that levi is having a hard day. his usual resting face is enough to convince anybody that every day is a bad day for him; coupled with his expert emotional control and evasion, and it becomes almost impossible to discern his true feelings. but you know when he’s had a particularly long day, because he says nothing but a simple greeting when he walks into your apartment, sits as close to you as possible, rests his head in the crook of your neck, and sighs. he doesn’t have to say anything, and at that point he doesn’t want to; he just wants to be with you. and you’re happy to oblige.

conversely, eren’s feelings are as clear as daylight, and anyone within a ten mile radius could tell he’s pissed off, to put it lightly. when he comes home to you, all he wants is to be cuddled and lulled to sleep. he clumsily shimmies himself out of his clothes, and flops down directly on top of you with a relieved huff. he impatiently waits for you to play with his hair, and only then do his exhales become content, as he hugs you as close as possible, your heartbeat the lullaby that drowns out the frustrations of his day.

jean comes crashing through your bedroom door already bitching about his day and how everybody seemed to be out to piss him the hell off. he lays across from you on your bed, elbow bent to prop his head up as he continues ranting, not noticing the amused smile on your face as you watch him complain. he has very strong opinions about how everybody is an idiot, and needs to voice it you immediately. when he’s done, he rolls his eyes and lets out one final, exaggerated sigh, “everybody sucks. but anyways, enough about me, how was your day, pretty girl?”

armin gets a lot of credit for being nice and friendly, but you think that if anyone heard the way he speaks behind closed doors for even a minute, they would throw that image of him out the window. he’s ruthless, tossing snide comments left and right while his head is in your lap. he speaks in clipped insults that he wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud in anybody else’s presences, but with you, it’s okay, because you’re his confidant. he only seems to be able to do it like this though: cuddled in your lap, legs curled up like a child, toying with your hands like a baby; in complete contrast to the words coming out of his mouth. 

the first thing mikasa does on any day is greet you and ask you what you had for lunch. it’s simple but effective two times over. it allows her to check up on you, and in doing so, provides her with some relief that you’ve been taking care of yourself; because even on her worst days, knowing that you’re doing alright is enough to brighten her spirits. it eventually grows into a larger conversation about your days, and she likes that she can let her guard down around you, and trusts you to comfort her when she needs it.

sasha can hardly sit still. she rarely gets frustrated to the point of ranting about it, but when she does, all of her feelings come into play, the result forming a hypersensitive, hyperactive version of herself. you know that it must have taken something big, or a lot of little things over time, to make her this riled up; but you let her express herself. she feels strange after, those kinds of feelings almost foreign to her, and that’s when she’ll need your comfort and affections the most.

connie comes in right off the bat complaining to you about some highly specific, hypothetical scenario, because he didn’t agree with his friends’ views on it. he asks you what you would do in said situation, and the conversation flows from there. it starts as a rant, and the topic is always obtuse, but you have to admit you usually get a good laugh of his answers and reasoning, and his complaints behind, what he considers to be, the wrong answers. he likes ranting and laughing with you about these things, but he also just genuinely likes to hear your thoughts and pick your brain. and shitting on jean’s answers for a while, too.

hange comes home with a million tiktoks they want to show you, ready to rant about either the content of the videos, or the comment section, sometimes both. you don’t question why they save videos or comments they hate or don’t agree with, but you let it slide, knowing hange is a curious mind, and ultimately, just wants to express their opinions to you, and get yours in return. even one, thirty second video, about something that bothered them, can become the topic of discussion for hours on end with them. 

erwin starts his ranting without even realizing that he’s ranting. it hasn’t occurred to him how many things have been weighing on his mind until you ask the simple question “how are you?” and, suddenly, he’s been sat at the dinner table, letting it all out for hours on end. he almost becomes embarrassed when he catches himself, but feels warm inside when you tell him you don’t mind, and encourage him to continue. he doesn’t take your listening ears for granted.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

make me be true, make me be blue // Anthony Bridgerton

A/N: As much as I love Benedict, I also love Anthony. The last part of this is extremely inspired by a scene from The Crown - let’s see if you can guess which one! Title: Harry Connick jr - It Had To Be You

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: arguing, an argument, lots of love and fluff, caring, established relationship, married couple, suggestiveness, female pronouns, use of word ‘wife’. 

Word count: 2.8k

As the season in London drew to a close, it could be seen on every face that they were tired of the dancing and the music and the lukewarm lemonade. It was never a comment on the talent of the musicians unless, perhaps, it was a Smythe-Smith musical. Their seasonal musical was never welcomed with much excitement, but very few could say no to the quartet of young women.

Nevertheless, whomever the artist may be, many were glad for the season to draw to a close. Sighing tiredly, you bid your goodbyes to the latest lady to draw you into conversation. Your lavender skirts swish gently under foot as you wander around the lavishly decorated ballroom, in search for your dear husband.

You spy his hair first; the dark brown hair standing a head taller than the rest of the men he currently spoke with. Repressing another tired sigh, you note that the elderly white-haired men Anthony was standing with were of large importance in society.

“The Revolution was over two decades ago, and it seems France traded in one monarch for another,” is what you hear as you sidle up to Anthony. He smiles down at you, hooking his arm through yours, before turning his attention back to the conversation.

Anthony nods along; his interest piqued but not to the point where he would happily contribute to the debate. Instead, he simply offers, “True, a king for an emperor.”

“Surely Napoleon is still in exile,” You comment lightly, eyebrows furrowing at the topic of conversation between the men. They would never see a day of war between them; having enough money between them meaning they would not have dress in a uniform. As such, there was no need for the conversation.

“Dear girl, Napoleon left Elba and landed back in Paris last week. Do you read the papers?” Lord Hugo states, a dismissive look on his face as if questioning your very presence in the conversation. He frowns at your comfortable stance next to your husband, wondering why you aren’t socialising with the other wives.

A flush heats your body; rising anger. Turning to Anthony, you squeeze the hand that rests on his forearm, a silent plea for help but your husband remains silent.

Ducking your head, you state through clenched teeth, “Pardon me, Lord Hugo. I must be making a round of the room; I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was neglecting my womanly duties.”

“As you should,” The Lord replies as you turn your back to him. You bristle from the comment, back straightening despite the corset designed to do such an action. It wouldn’t be long now until Anthony wrapped up the conversation; seeking you out through the crowd. For you however, the ball was over – nothing left to be said.

------------

Stalking through the large house, you ignore the increasing calls of your husband. Having left the carriage in a hurry of skirts, silks and ribbons, Anthony had begun immediately calling your name – wanting you to stop and wait, to stop and listen.

Even the Butler remains silent as he catches a glimpse of your face and the thunderous expression it currently holds. Silently, the Butler offers a prayer for the wellbeing of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.

“You’re really going to remain silent?” Anthony calls from the bottom of the staircase, one foot poised on the bottom step, ready to launch himself upstairs at a moment’s call.

Pausing in your retreat, you throw a glare at your husband. A look that definitely shows you were not up for talking on the stairs.

Anthony nods, seemingly understanding this. “So it’s the silent treatment until we’re in our room,” He pauses, beginning the ascent to the bedroom he has shared with you since the first night of your marriage, “Understandable.”

You roll your eyes, walking away from the man that had managed to vex you so thoroughly.

Shoving open the door to your shared bedroom does little to siphon off some of the anger you feel. In fact, it only increases when you try to work the laces of your dress free by yourself, frustrated tears brewing in the corner of your eyes as you manoeuvre yourself into every position possible to try and free yourself.

Slumping at your dressing table, you come to realise that it was more humiliation that you felt.

Your husband was a marvellous man; intelligent, funny, respectful and incredibly handsome. Yet, he had moments where he could so fantastically obtuse.

The moment played in your mind on a constant loop; the words of disdain from the Lord, Anthony’s silence. A constant loop in your mind; it would be a while before your mind rested enough to let you have some peace.

Brushing your hands through your hair, you loosen the pins that keep in place, beginning the painstaking process of removing them. All the while thinking that if the night had gone better, Anthony would be the one removing them, offering you a kiss for each pin removed.

--------

Anthony had taken his time walking to the bedroom, running through the events of the evening, thinking where he might have gone wrong – said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing. He found the moment; realised what he had said or rather, what he hadn’t said, and how it had come across. Lord Hugo was an incredibly influential man, and whilst Anthony outranked him in his peerage, his youth made him all but an inexperienced whelp in Hugo’s eyes.

Hindsight was truly an excellent gift to possess. He should have said something; Hugo’s influence be damned. He should have spoken up; should have defended you.

Gently, he rests his forehead against the closed door of the bedroom. He takes a deep breath and places a hand on the wooden panel; desperate to reach through to you, but he knows that there is far more on your mind than comfort at this point.

Anthony enters the bedroom slowly, closing the door softly behind him. “Are you ready to talk me now, darling?” Anthony asks, voice soft but tone wary as he takes in your defeated state.

“You humiliated me in front of that odious man by staying silent.”

His eyes widen; truly unaware of such a misdeed taking place. “I didn’t know, truly.”

“That’s what hurts most, Anthony. This is not a marriage of equals, darling. I know you love me as much as I love you, but I have brought nothing to this marriage. I did not get the pleasure to go to university despite doing so well in my studies. I cannot travel freely, and I cannot speak my mind whenever I damn well please. There are going to be some topics that I am not going to be an expert on, but you can try your best not to defend me when I get things wrong.”

“Darling, I didn’t mean any harm.”

You sniffle, wiping away the few tears that have dared to fall. “I know you didn’t, yet it still happened.”

Anthony opens and closes his mouth, searching for something – anything – to say that could make this better, but nothing comes to mind, so nothing leaves his mouth.

A pained noise leaves your lips as you turn away from your husband, reaching for your face cream, your hairbrush – anything to keep your hands busy and the tears at bay.

Finally, a sigh is all you hear, and you figure that the conversation is done for the evening. A lingering kiss is placed to the top of your head before Anthony leaves the bedroom, presumably retiring to his study.

Once free of the confines your dress, you dress for bed, crawling under the covers. Running a hand down your face, you couldn’t help but hope Anthony would join you soon. Despite the anger you felt at the man, you couldn’t fall asleep without him next to you.

---------

You wake alone. Anthony’s side of the bed is ruffled; he had joined you an hour after you had slide under the covers. He hadn’t said anything; he had simply gathered you in his arms, holding you tightly, pressing apologetic kiss after apologetic kiss to whatever piece of bare skin he could reach.

Stretching a hand to his side of the bed, the sheets are cold. Reaching for his pillow, you hold it to your face, inhaling the spiciness of whatever cologne he used last night. Keeping the pillow close, you turn onto your back, thinking over the events of last night.

You had every right to be annoyed; you had every right to feel the way you did. If this was a different society, you would not rely on Anthony to defend you – you would have spoken your mind to Lord Hugo. But this was not a different society, and its trappings were stifling. For the hope of future generations, you couldn’t help but pray things would soon change.

------------

The day moves slowly. Tea with Anthony’s mother and sisters followed by a visit to the modiste. No sign of Anthony with every visit home and your mood drops with every shake of the Butler’s head.

Eventually, you find refuge in the library, searching through the books and the papers there. It had been so long since you had read something that was not a romance. Pride and Prejudice had been published just two years ago and you had read it countless times; enjoying the author’s way with words and her creation of Mr. Darcy. However, instead of picking up the latest romance, you chose to return to the books you had so adored in your education – historical accounts of past monarchs and their reigns, accounts of wars.

It was not for the sake of Lord Hugo who sneered at you with such derision; it was for your benefit. Knowledge was free and you owned the library through marriage, why shouldn’t you take a look?

-----------

The Butler clearing his throat is what brings your attention back to the present. Having lost yourself so freely in an account of the witch hunts that had plagued the north of England; the book had caught your eye, tucked away and gathering dust. The subject had immediately caught your interest, and you soon found yourself searching for all the books you could on the subject.

Smiling sheepishly at the Butler, you ask, “Have some guests arrived? I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He shakes his head, smiling fondly at you, “I thought you would like to know that the Viscount has returned home. He is currently in his study.”

Standing from your chair, you deposit your book on a table before thanking the Butler and rushing up the stairs to Anthony’s study. You pause just outside the door, gathering yourself, tidying your appearance and slowing your breathing to an acceptable rate.

Knocking on the door, your heart begins to pound in your chest as you hear his warm voice giving you permission to enter.

Anthony freezes in his chair when he sees you enter his study. Your eyes are bright and there’s a faint flush to your skin that has Anthony’s eyes raking over your body, curious to know what’s caused such a reaction in you.

“Darling,” He greets, voice kind and warm.

“Darling,” You reply, watching the smile grow across his face when he hears the fondness in your voice.

“How has your day been?” Anthony asks, drawing out the inevitable conversation.

You smile widely, “I spent most of it in the library, reading.”

“A new romance novel?”

You shake your head, smoothing down the skirts of your sage green dress, “The trials of the Berwick and Pendle witches.”

Anthony’s eyes widen almost comically. “I didn’t even know we had books on the topic.”

“Neither did I, but I’ve been reading through the accounts all day. It truly is fascinating. Did you know History was my strongest subject when I was in education?”

Again, Anthony shakes his head. He didn’t know; he hadn’t asked. You shrug, “Arithmetic, Geography, Latin… They never grasped me as much as History did. I would read for hours about whatever I could find: the Tudors, the Saxons, military strategy…” At the further widening of Anthony’s eyes, you continue, “I suppose as I grew older and I was then out as a debutante, I lost the habit.”

“Perhaps,” Anthony murmurs before saying, “You can always find the habit again.”

You smile widely; the grin brightening your face as it stretches to your eyes. “I was hoping you’d say that darling,” You begin, “I want to be more involved, Anthony. I don’t want to be a silent partner; I want to be there; I want to comment. I want to know what is happening with foreign affairs whether it is Napoleon or the price of tea. I want to know because I want to be on a more equal footing with you. I refuse to be humiliated that way again; it was awful, to be dismissed in that manner by that loathsome man.”

You stand before your husband, chest heaving in your restrictive dress. The words lay loud in the room; your plea for Anthony to speak up for you, your demand for further equality in your marriage.

“I called on Lord Hugo this afternoon,” Anthony states rather plainly after you fall silent, as if the meeting had been in his date book for months.

“You did?” You frown at him; wondering whether he had heard a single word that you had flung into the great expanse.

He nods. “He was rather surprised to see me. I’ll admit I didn’t plan on calling on him, but I kept thinking of last night and how destroyed you looked. I don’t ever want to see that look on your face again for as long as I shall live. So,” He shrugs, “I paid the Lord a visit.”

“How did it go?”

Anthony holds his right up and it is then that you see the dark purple now beginning to bruise his knuckles. “I may have lost my temper when I remembered how he spoke to you and how you felt afterwards,” Anthony pauses and then laughs loudly, “And I may have punched him in the face.”

“Anthony!” You berate, repressing the urge to roll your eyes at your ever vexing husband. “Is anything broken?”

He shakes his head, smiling widely, “Only Hugo’s nose.”

“My hero,” You drawl, heart racing as you take in the man that you married. The smart, brilliant and hot-headed man that you promised your forever to who had defended your honour against the man who had rudely spoken to you last night. He grins cheekily at your words, wiggling his fingers to show you that there was nothing broken – he was fine.

“You can read whatever you’d like,” He states firmly, “You can study whatever you like. Humiliate the man if there’s a next time.”

“Thank you,” You reply, holding your head high as you smile gratefully at the love of your life.

Anthony stands from his chair, having now recovered from the shock of your speech and the ease of which he can accept your demands. He had never been the easiest man to get along with; stubborn and set in his ways long before he ought to have been, but you had taken him in your stride, loving him just as fiercely as he loved you.

He rounds the desk. All the while his gaze does not leave yours. A sensual smile spreads across his face as he watches you wring your hands together – a nervous tic if there ever was any.

Leaning against the desk, Anthony crosses his ankles, resting hands upon the lip of his desk. He remains happy in the knowledge that even after the honeymoon period of your marriage was over, you would still track his every move. Your eyes dancing over his figure as he rests his weight upon the desk.

“There’s something different about you,” He finally says, breaking the silence of the room.

“Oh?” You whisper, your shoulders rolling back as you try to think about what could have changed – a new dress? A new attitude?

“You’re surer of yourself. It makes you look taller.”

“I don’t particularly think I’ve gained any height.”

“Perhaps not,” Anthony allows; a seductive smile on his face as he tilts his head to one side, regarding you. “But it presents me with two options.”

“And they are?”

“Well,” He begins, running a hand through his thick hair, “I could go and find a ladder to reach the new height of my tall wife or…”

Anthony trails off, leaving you in suspense as you find yourself taking those first few steps closer to him. Desperate to be in his arms, to be touched by the man you love - body and soul.

“Or…” You breathe; voice raspy with growing need.

“Or” Anthony beams, “She can get on her knees.”

***********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​

[archies-litterbox]

Whumptober No. 2: Talking is Overrated

Garotte | choking | gagged

Summary: Zoe wakes up in rather inhospitable custody, as well as in magic-nullifying shackles. She wants nothing more than to make her escape as soon as possible without relying on anyone to find her, but the fatigue and headaches brought on by a certain nullifier cast in the metal of her chains makes that rather difficult. And to make matters worse (or better?), she’s not alone.

Words: 7k

A/N: Welcome to Day 2! This one is a much longer piece than Day 1, but I was actually working on this for like a week before I realized it fit one of the Day 2 prompts, so I figured it worked! (“Garotte” is italicized because although this is written for the theme “gagged”, garottes are mentioned coincidentally). The next piece is gonna be for another fandom, and I won’t get back to ToA until likely Day 4, but for now, I hope you enjoy! Also this may be from Zoe's POV, but be fooled not - Douxie's the one getting whumped the most here. I mean... you know me.

[CW: Kidnapping/Capture, Muzzle, Chains, Swearing, Creepy Whumper (Antagonist acts creepy to Zoe but never lays a hand on her)]

--

It had been, by most conventional standards, not a particularly pleasant afternoon.

It started out fine for Zoe, going about her typical herb-collecting in the woods, but getting a sharp pain in her neck and waking up with cuffs on her wrists pretty much threw a wrench in things. The shackles were generously - as generous as shackles could get, anyway - tethered by a long chain to a stake in the ground, giving her enough length to lay back against a tree. Such was an opportunity she took without hesitation, for something - whether the sedative or some magic nullifier in her shackles - left her feeling drained. 

Drained, but not alone.

No, she woke up with another person in her predicament - another magic user, most likely, judging by the way that shackles were clamped on his wrists the same as hers, linked by a long chain to that same blasted stake in the ground.

But unlike her, he was unconscious. Whatever sedative they used must have been doing more of a number on the boy than it did to her. At least, that’s what she figured while the gangly kid laid knocked out on his side.

She decided not to wake him, instead resolving to try to think of a way out of this. Sure, hedge-witches were well-networked, and one of them was bound to track her down to this literal neck of the woods, if there was one thing Zoe Ashildr loathed, it was being at anyone’s mercy. The sooner she got herself out of here without waiting on anyone, the better.

As they sat around a campfire some meters away, the gang that must have been her and this guy’s captors didn’t even notice she was awake, and she hoped to keep it that way. The longer she wasn’t noticed, the longer she’d be left alone to think.

Well… to try to think, anyway, but it was hard to get any clever escape schemes going with the horrendous pounding behind her eyes.

Besides, her attempts to think through what almost might have been the start of a plan were interrupted by a groan beside her.

“Ooooh, Fuzzbuckets.”

...What was a fuzzbucket?

She’d been looking right at the ground at her feet before, but she shifted her gaze to the stirring boy next to her. Zoe couldn’t help but roll her eyes. Great, now she’d have to keep this kid calm, as if fighting through her brain fog wasn’t difficult enough on it’s own.

He lifted his head and sat up, still too dazed to realize his circumstances yet. But when he did, his big hazel eyes widened at the sight of the shackles on his wrists.

His eyebrows upturned, and he opened his mouth like he was going to scream, but Zoe reached out, almost lunging over to do so, and put a hand over his mouth before he could.

“Mh!” he squeaked behind her palm. His eyes were still widened for another second, but then they glanced down to her hands that were shackled just like his, and when he seemed to realize she was a fellow captive and not his captor, his eyebrows furrowed as if he were confused, if not a little affronted.

“The longer they go,” she whispered, nodding to the still-unawares gang that sat grumbling around their fire, “Without knowing you’re awake, the better. Don’t be loud.”

The boy nodded apprehensively and moved his head back to get away from her hand.

“What are we doing here?” he asked, fortunately lowering his voice.

“Right now…” she crossed her heels over each other, sitting back against the tree, “...sitting. And messing with these stupid shackles.”

He rubbed the side of his head, “How long have I…”

Zoe shrugged, “Beats me. Half an hour, at least - that’s how long it’s been since I woke up, anyway… what were you doing before?”

She wasn’t sure why she asked. His squeaking, even when he spoke quietly, was already worsening her headache.

Well, whatever - the question was out there.

The boy looked down to recollect what happened.

“Well… I was picking herbs. My master sent me out to do it. He’s probably in his study going,” he changed his voice to mimic what sounded like a surly old man, “Hisirdoux, what’s taking so long? They’re easy to spot, even for you!”

Zoe tilted her head, “Hisirdoux, huh?”

He nodded, as if remembering he hadn’t thought to introduce himself yet, “Hisirdoux Casperan! Apprentice to Merlin. But I like going by Douxie. It’s shorter, and people usually don’t sound like they’re scolding me.”

Ugh, great. 

Not only was she chained here, but she was stuck with an apprentice for a wizard synonymous with snuck-up snobbery.

“I was doing the same thing. Looks like that’s how they got the drop on both of us.”

Douxie - it was better, she admitted, and much less pretentious-sounding than Hisirdoux - tilted his head, “Don’t you have a name?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t matter.” she said.

“Come on, I told you my name.”

“Not like I asked for it.”

Douxie scrunched up his face in an adora-

NO.

Douxie scrunched up his face in a definitely-not-adorable pout.

“Fine, be all secret-y.” He curled his legs up and hugged them close to his chest with his shackled arms.

And that’s what she wanted to do. She didn’t want to say anything beyond what she had to say to Douxie. Not only was she apprehensive - for all she knew, he was some sniveling kid that knew just as much of the struggle of surviving as a magic user outside the sheltered walls of the castle as that privileged Arthurian toolbag did, which couldn’t have been much - but names were risky. If someone knew your name, they knew how to ask around for you. And she tried avoiding that as much as she could. If Douxie wanted to introduce himself, that was him, not her.

There was more she had to worry about besides introductions. Thinking of a plan… getting these cuffs off… not freezing…

She tried to tuck her hands under her underarms as best she could. These shackles drained her energy, and in addition to her magic’s obsoletion and the awful headache, it made her get cold easily in these woods, under the shade.

“...Are you cold?”

She turned her head to Douxie, who looked genuinely concerned. As skeptical as she was, she nodded.

“Not like I can whip up a fire… neither can you, so don’t try it.” she quickly added, holding up a pointer finger, “Draining Dust in the shackles. It’d just hurt.”

His eyebrows upturned, and he took a shaky breath. Merlin must have told him how poisonous it could be if it gets in the system.

“It’s toxic…” he mumbled, “It… it’s poison.”

“It’s not too bad just in the cuffs.” she said, almost to reassure him, “It shouldn’t actually poison you unless it gets in your system. Maybe if they rub against a cut, or something. Don’t worry about it - there’s enough to be scared of right now.”

Douxie nodded, swallowing, looking at her arms before glancing down at his hands.

“If your hands are cold… I could…”

He blushed, hesitation choking him up as he shook his head, leaning back against a tree of his own, next to the one Zoe was using for support.

“Agh, never mind.”

He tapped the back of his head against the bark, squishing his… manbun when he did.

“What do they even want?”

Zoe shrugged.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” she said, “For all I know, we could be going off to the highest-paying witchfinder… I just hope they don’t want our magic.”

“Well, they obviously don’t want it right now.” Douxie grumbled, shaking his cuffs. Assuming him to be truly clueless, rather than purposefully obtuse, she shook her head.

“I mean to do their dirty work. Keep the cuffs on until they need a spell or something, make us do it. We end up like vessels.”

Douxie looked down.

“Oh…”

Zoe stared down at her cuffed hands in her lap.

“I don’t think there’d be anything worse.” she huffed, “That’s the thing about everyone who hates magic. They say they want it eradicated, pushed out of their sight, crushed underfoot… until it helps them get what they want. Then they rip it from whoever they want, autonomy be forsaken.”

“And what if that’s…” Douxie asked, obviously worried now that he considered the prospect of being forced to use his magic against his will.

“...I'd rather they just get rid of me.” Zoe said, “Maybe taunt them until they do. No way they're getting my magic… especially not with these on.”

She lifted her shackled hands.

Douxie lolled his head back against his tree again.

“Urgh, it feels like they’re making me sick…” he whined, “I’ve got an awful headache.”

“Me too.” Zoe groaned, “Thought it was just from hearing you all along.”

Something panged her heart when she saw the way the boy’s eyebrows upturned. It wasn’t from the shackles, but something else… remorse.

“Ugh... sorry.” She lolled her head back against the tree for what felt like the fiftieth time this afternoon. “Uncalled for.” The apology felt foreign coming from her throat.

But Douxie only shrugged, “‘Salright. I’m notorious for causing headaches. And spills. And spikes in blood pressure. Merlin says so…”

His eyes widened with hope - faith, even, an odd thing - shining in his eyes.

“Merlin! He’ll find us! He’ll know I’m missing.”

Zoe rolled her eyes. Did he really have that much faith in that Arthurian toolbag?

“Sure.” She huffed. Douxie's eyebrows upturned.

“Come on… don’t you have anyone who'll miss you?”

Zoe lifted her head.

“A lot of people, actually. Hedge witches are pretty well-networked.” she said, immediately wanting to bite her tongue for mentioning what she was.

Douxie looked like he had stars in his eyes, which was… not the reaction she expected. She thought Merlin would have led him to think hedge witches were lesser in comparison to pristine magicians who managed to slither their way into King Arthur’s begrudging tolerance, but Douxie seemed… impressed? In awe?

“A hedge witch?” he asked in admiration, careful to keep his voice down. It caused a flutter in her heart that she wanted to beat down with a stick, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that could’ve come with her being flustered, so she nodded.

“One goes missing, the rest pick up on it. Just a matter of tracking down from there…”

Douxie’s mouth formed an “O” and his eyes widened, like he had an idea (which must have been something of a rarity, if this afternoon was anything to go off of).

“Oooh, like a game!” he said, “It’s just like waiting to see who gets here first! Guess we’d both win though, ‘cause we’d… y’know…” he lifted his hands, “Not have these on anymore…”

...Wow, he was an idiot.

“Yeah, sure. A game.” she said, sardonic, “Whoever’s people show up to save our sorry butts first wins.”

It was quiet for a little while after that. Zoe still kept trying to think up an escape plan, despite the headache that messed with her head, and Douxie had either gotten the hint that she wasn’t too giddy for conversation, or he’d grown too worried of his predicament for words.

Judging by the way he sat curled up, hugging his knees against his chest as he stared down at the grass, it might have been the latter.

Douxie’s head snapped up at a noise - one that made Zoe’s heart spike as she whipped her head forward; the sound of one of their captors heading over to them.

He was one of four of them, the other four still sitting around their fire and blathering on with cantines abound in their hands, and he was quite the nasty specimen. Big, burly, greasy-looking, but pretty typical, as far as most people who would kidnap two teenagers out on errands tended to look. He glowered down at Zoe, not paying the curled up moppet next to her much attention.

“You’re awake.” he said to her.

She leaned back against the tree, unimpressed.

“Took you and your drinking buddies long enough to notice.” she said, “It’s bad enough you chained us here, but seriously, you’re going to keep us waiting?”

Douxie, still curled up and now shaking, glanced between her and the… bandit, she wanted to presume? These kinds of guys were always bandits, or something.

The man scoffed, “Rather confident for a hedge witch.”

Zoe tilted her head, “Mm… nah, we’re all pretty much this cocky. What do you want? I was in the middle of something back there.”

“And I was too! Something very important!” Douxie squawked. Zoe grit her teeth.

This isn’t the time to try to be included!

“What you’re in the middle of now,” the supposed bandit said, “is a trip to a rather high-paying witchfinder.”

Wow, she thought, I hit the nail on the head. Great. Can I hit this guy on the head too, while I’m at it?

(But she couldn’t.)

Zoe huffed, “If he’s sending you around, then he’s not much of a witchfinder, is he? I mean, he didn’t even find me, a witch - you did.”

“So, er…” Douxie started, “He’s more of a… send-weird-bad-guys-to-find-witches...er.”

Zoe looked at him for a beat, confused by how much of an idiot he was. Really, he kept surprising her in this respect.

The bandit turned his head to Douxie, too.

“Actually, me and my boys-”

“My boys and I.” Zoe corrected, earning a growl.

“-weren’t sent out to find a witch.”

Zoe didn’t understand, and by the looks of it, neither did Douxie.

“Nah, the guy said he’d pay a rather high price for the apprentice to, say, Merlin Ambrosius…”

Douxie’s eyebrows upturned as he shrunk into himself. Wait, he’d been demanded? Then… what about Zoe?

The man turned to her, as if to answer her question.

“But when we saw a pretty little hedge witch going about nearby…”

Zoe’s stomach turned. Her magic, however suppressed, instinctively thrummed at her fingertips in an attempt at defense. She didn’t let it show how much it burned.

“...Why not get more out of the deal?”

So… she was the one that was just in the wrong place at the wrong time? Zoe almost felt a little insulted, but it was drowned out by anger and, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, fear.

“If the “more” that you want is a bunch of hedge-witches after the sorry, ugly mugs of you and your “boys”, then go for it.” she said, keeping her voice cool despite clasping her hands to suppress the magic that would only hurt her, as long as those cuffs were on.

The hunter huffed, “I’d take the chance, I think. Worth the money.”

He knelt down. If Zoe could’ve backed against the tree any further, she would have. She gripped the chains on her shackles, wondering how good of a garotte the chain between them would make.

“I mean, I don’t see why anyone would turn that down…” his voice was lower now, and Zoe hated that. She really, really hated that.

“Maybe because they don’t have deathwishes.” she said, much more shaky than her liking as the man leered at her. “Do you?”

He brought up a hand.

“...Maybe I d-”

“DON’T TOUCH HER!”

It all happened so fast.

The screech next to her that sounded so unlike the quivering moppet from the past hour.

The slinking of chains moving fast against the ground.

The thumping of feet getting up on the grass.

The blur of brown, blue, and black that moved to her right.

The yowl from the hunter.

The last thing to finally catch up to her senses was a shocking sight, even more so than her own electric magic.

It was the fury in those hazel eyes as Douxie’s jaws clamped down hard on the hunter’s hand.

Zoe dove away from the scene, but mostly the hunter, as much as the chains allowed. Getting out of the space between those two and the tree, she got right to her feet. She wanted to shout something, do something, but she was too shocked by the scene for words. Here he was, some boy who she thought was a pretentious whiny little moppet who couldn’t do anything without Merlin’s approval, huffing and almost growling with his teeth locked onto the man’s hand like a dog’s on a piece of meat.

But as daring (and stupid, and possibly a tad feral) Douxie had been, he was light and gangly, and the hunter swinging his arm hard was enough to slam Douxie’s head against the tree, stunning him so his jaw opened so the hunter could pull his hand away.

Zoe hated that sound of skull meeting wood, and it made her wince, but it wasn’t as bad as the cry from Douxie. It seemed that ferocity was dormant now, smacked out of him as he lay slumped against the tree, somehow still conscious.

“What the hell…” she panted, still standing still as the weight of her shackles pulled her arms down, “What did you do?”

But, for once, Douxie didn’t say anything back.

“So, the little stray Merlin took in has a bite, now does he?” He said, kicking Douxie in the side on the emphasized word. The boy whimpered, grimacing with blood on his teeth, and with every ounce of the self-preservation that had been ingrained in her, Zoe fought tooth and nail against the urge to protect him. He was a stranger, just a kid caught up in the same messed-up predicament she was. It didn’t matter if he got himself in more danger than he was already in for her sake; she had no loyalty to him, and even if she did, her loyalty to herself was greater.

“...Well, I have something for that.”

But her stomach still dropped when she heard that.

The other three of the captors had already been running over, and when they got to their leader, he held out his hand. Without a word, one of the lackeys rummaged around in a bag for something that, whatever it was, Zoe desperately - no, why desperately? Why was she desperate for Douxie’s sake? - hoped he wouldn’t find.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, panting, her feet still planted to the ground.

The leader of the hunters, who still towered over Douxie, grabbed a fistfull of hair on the back of his head and yanked his bun loose.

“What you always use for dogs who can’t help but bite.”

The realization hit Zoe like a smack to the face. She started shaking her head, however minute the action was.

A second later, the realization apparently hit Douxie too, judging by the way his eyes widened and his breath quickened.

Both of them darted their eyes to the lackey with the bag, both knowing what he was looking for and hoping to anything they could that he wouldn’t find it.

But a damning “Aha!” from him all-but-confirmed their fear only a second before he pulled it out.

Zoe saw the straps. She saw the metal clasps. She saw -

Oh, no no no-

She saw the piece of metal that all the straps connected to; that was big enough and shaped just right that it could - no, it would cover the lower half of Douxie’s face and curve just under the chin to keep his jaw clamped shut.

A muzzle.

“NO!”

The scream/plea from Zoe sounded foreign to her, but she didn’t care. Laying eyes on that thing made her own, and she tried lunging forward, just like Douxie did for her, but two of the lackeys stopped her before she could take as much as three steps. They held onto her arms, both stopping her from moving forward and making her cuffed hands dig into her abdomen the more she thrashed against their hold, but she didn’t care. Not as her heels dug against the ground, not as the fabric of her dress sleeves chaffed against her sleeves with how tight the hold on her was, and not as magic thrummed under her skin despite the cuffs.

Douxie curled up and shook his head, clamping his hands over his mouth as if to block the muzzle from being put on. But once the leader had the muzzle in one hand, he used the other to yank on the chain for Douxie’s shackles to pull both the boy closer and to and pull his hands away from his face, stomping on the chain to keep it pinned. Douxie’s hands were forced down now, a mere inch or two off the ground, but even though he was practically stuck on his knees, he kept trying, trying, trying to tug himself away.

“No, no, no! Don’t! Please don’t!” Douxie pleaded.

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Zoe screamed, louder than him. It probably wasn’t a good idea to scream at the man holding a muzzle, but she didn’t care. Not while she thrashed and tried pushing forward and yanking her way out of the grip of the men on either side of her.

Until a blade to Douxie’s throat made both him and Zoe go still.

Douxie froze, save for the sharp rise and fall of his chest, and Zoe stopped her thrashing in an instant. The one who’d rummaged around and found the muzzle in the first place was the one holding it, and the angered look in the leader’s eyes made the demand clear:

“Stay still and shut up, both of you, or he gets his throat slit.”

Zoe shook with anger, but stayed still on her feet, glowering at the man so she didn’t have to look right at Douxie.

But she could still see him.

Douxie was just as frozen as her, shaking more with fear than Zoe’s fury, until he tried to shy away from the blade on his neck (and inadvertently pressed his head closer to the man with that damn contraption in his hands), minutely shaking his head.

But when the one holding the blade put it closer to his throat, pressing it against the skin with enough force that so much as a mere twitch would cut him, he went limp (as much as his trembling allowed), squeezed his eyes shut, and nodded minutely - a silent resignation, a nonverbal “I won’t move, just don’t hurt me.”

Zoe closed her eyes, too. The sting of tears was overpowering, and she couldn’t… she couldn’t bear to watch.

“He’ll kill you.” she heard Douxie hiss, “Merlin will kill you, he’ll kill-”

A sharp intake of breath and a muffled whimper made Zoe’s stomach twist, especially when no more sound followed but those of tightening straps and the “chk” of a lock.

Zoe never thought a sound could hurt so much to hear.

Fortunately, oh so fortunately, the leader went back to his fire, and the others followed suit.

When the men on either side of her let her go, the first thing she did was fall to the ground. The way she unconsciously tried using her magic despite the nullifier winded her, so she ended up kneeling on the grass, further staining the skirt of her dress as she stared at the unfocused green mess underneath her.

She wanted to think that was the reason, anyway. Definitely not because of what she knew she’d see once she lifted her head.

But when she heard Douxie’s shaky breathing through his nose - the only way he could breathe, she knew - she straightened up and looked at him. How could she not?

For the first time today, Zoe realized that all she wanted to do was cry.

His mouth and some of his cheeks were covered by dark, dark grey metal that spread ear to ear, reaching just up to his nose. It was likely cast with Draining Dust, just like the cuffs on both their wrists that shared it’s hue. Two little straps on either side of his nose met at it’s bridge, with a ring that had another strap coming from it, too - one that stretched all the way down the middle of the top of his head (hence why the leader tugged his bun loose). Two straps, one on either side of Douxie’s jaw, met the end of that strap at the back of Douxie’s head, Zoe reasonably guessed. Just as well, she assumed that locking noise she heard was the lock being put on back there.

But guessing was all she could do about that, because she wasn’t looking there. No, all she could look at was his face - at the eyes of the muzzled boy that stared at her like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could speak.

In those heavy-lidded hazel pockets of quiet desperation, nearly hidden by messy strands of black hair, Zoe saw what she could only describe as the poor man’s despondence - so close to being checked out of all this, but not quite there, not quite lucky enough to lose awareness of the situation.

She got closer, so she sat on her knees right in front of him while he stared at the ground. She felt more at a loss for what to say than Douxie, even though she was the only one out of the two of them that could say anything.

“He… you…” she started, but none of the words felt right.

Douxie’s eyes drew up to hers, as if he just realized she was in front of her.

And his breathing picked up, and his eyes widened, as if, although he knew there was a muzzle on his face, the realization sunk in, like fangs into skin, that there was a fucking muzzle on his face.

Desperately, he brought his hands to his head, yanking at the straps in desperation only made quiet by the very thing making him desperate. After a second or two, he forwent pulling at the leather bindings in favor of pulling at the metal on his face, almost digging his fingers underneath it and starting to scratch his face in the process as he clawed near-hysterically at it, making high-pitched whining noises behind the muzzle. His eyes weren’t heavy-lidded anymore. No, they were like a wild animal’s (a resemblance only furthered by the muzzle), wide with the fact that he needed, needed, needed to get it off.

But he couldn’t. Not like this.

“Wait! Stop!” she grabbed his hands, and pulled them down. “You might cut your face! You’d only make it worse!”

The image popped into her mind of somehow, some-bloody-how, traces of that nullifying powder ending up in his blood, and if he got poisoned on top of all of this…

No, she couldn’t bear to think of it.

Douxie tried pulling his hands back, but however gentle Zoe was, she was firm in keeping them away from his face.

It took a few moments, but eventually, his attempts in vain subsided and his arms relaxed… only to start trembling with the rest of his body.

The whimpers and whines from before were nothing compared to the keening wail he let out as the futility of his struggling let in, made all the more awful by how muffled it was; as his torso lurched forward and his head hung low.

(Now, Zoe got a good look at the lock binding all the straps together, but she didn’t pay it much mind.)

Douxie let go of her hands in favor of balling his own into fists, but she still felt his tears fall on her arms as he started to sniffle.

No, no, not good. If started crying any harder, and his nose stuffed up, he wouldn’t be able to breathe through his nose due to the congestion and… well, obviously he wouldn’t be able to breathe any other way. And the last thing she wanted to count on - even less so than that armored, bearded, weird-metal-head-plated embodiment of pretentiousness caring enough to send help for his errand boy - was these guys being merciful and trading the muzzle for something more breathable, let alone just leaving him ungagged.

No, it was too much of a risk.

“No, no, no, no. Don’t cry. Please.” It only made Douxie sob behind the metal again, the thought of something else being taken, but she explained, “If you cry, you might plug up your nose. You’ll suffocate.”

But that only scared him more, she realized as his eyes widened, his eyebrows upturning as he shook his head again, whining behind the metal that made the sound near-inaudible. She put her hands to either side of Douxie’s face, despite herself, despite the coldness she carried with her like a switchblade.

Douxie put his hands over hers. She tried to ignore the flutter in her heart - anything to help him get grounded.

“I need you to breathe. I need you to take deep breaths for me, and I need you not to cry. Just - just keep that nose of yours cleared up, okay?” She rubbed her thumbs over the little bit of his cheeks still uncovered by cruel, horrendous metal. “Can you do that for me, Douxie?”

Douxie’s eyebrows raised, and he seemed to relax a little with a certain realization - one that made Zoe fight back heat in her cheeks…

That was the first time today she’d called him Douxie.

And it was enough to help calm him down; to help his breathing slow, and to help the tension leave his body, even if it was just a little bit.

His eyes became heavy-lidded again, and however strange it sounds, Zoe thought it was a relief. It meant that he’d calmed down; that he was less of that frenzied, near-wild person from moments before and more of that moppety boy he’d been all this time.

Really, it was hard to believe they were even the same person, and if Zoe hadn’t seen it for herself, she wouldn’t have.

And even now, she still couldn’t wrap her head around the way he clamped down on that man’s hand, biting like a wild animal. It wasn’t his being daringly stupid - or stupidly daring? - that unnerved her, but the way he’d been as such…

How was she supposed to expect that from anyone? Especially Merlin Ambrosius’ sniveling errand boy?

“Why…” she huffed, “Why did you do that?”

Douxie couldn’t rightly answer, but he gestured to their captors again, bringing up a shaky hand to do it. Looks like Zoe would have to fill in the blanks.

“You…”

She sighed.

“You just didn’t want him to hurt me, did you?”

Douxie nodded, his head lolling with each motion because of the weight from the metal across half his face.

“...You know,” she started, “If he got close enough, I would’ve just tried using these chains as a garrote.”

Douxie tilted his head, mumbling something unintelligible in confusion.

“Something you wrap around someone’s neck to choke them out.” she explained and shrugged, “...Probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway.”

Douxie shrugged, noncommittal.

“I didn’t expect that from you, but I guess that goes without saying, huh?”

The look Douxie gave her was almost deadpan - enough to let her know that was the wrong choice of words. Oops.

“Heh, sorry…”

When she realized her hands were still on his face, a realization that made a pink tint come to her own cheeks (the same hue she’d eventually dye her hair, which was still brown now), she started taking them off…

...But Douxie put his hands on hers with a muffled whine.

“M’kay…” she gently rubbed under his eyes again, “Alright…”

She humored him, kept her hands on his cheeks. Not because she pitied him, or felt like she owed him for that stupid way he leaped and bit for her sake, but… he was scared, and if she let it show - if she brought forth even a sliver of the fear she felt today, he wouldn’t hesitate to comfort her, just like he didn’t hesitate when that bandit brought his hand up...

And she couldn’t turn down that sad look of helplessly quiet desperation in his eyes, no matter how much she wanted to.

Zoe sighed.

She wasn’t much for reassurance, but for his sake…

“...We’ll be okay.”

Douxie cast his gaze down, clearly not believing the statement as much as she did (even though earlier, the inverse was true). No, no no no - he couldn’t get discouraged; Zoe couldn’t let him.

“I mean it.” she insisted,  “You’re Merlin’s errand boy, right?”

Douxie mumbled something - a correction, a muffled “apprentice” - behind the metal clamped cruelly over his mouth.

“Then he’ll know you’re missing, and he’ll come for you. And the hedge-witches will come for me. Like a game, remember? Like you said?”

Douxie nodded, a little of the light returning to his eyes, as if he were happy that Zoe remembered what he said so naively earlier.

But despite that light… Zoe could tell that Douxie was exhausted.

“...It makes you more tired, doesn’t it?” she said, and it was obvious what “it” was. Douxie nodded, moving her hands with the motion. Of course it did - again, it didn’t take much to reasonably assume that it was cast with Draining Dust, just like the shackles, and now that more of it was on him, it just made him more miserable… 

Douxie moved his head out of her hands and started to lay down on the ground, but he still looked miserable, curling his arms around himself and curling his legs. And Zoe couldn’t take it. If she had any way of making him more comfortable…

...Well, at the very least, she had an idea.

“Sit up, Douxie,” she said to the boy that lay curled up next to her. Obviously a little confused, he sat up so he sat up and put his heels underneath him.

Zoe stretched her legs out and gauged, just by looking, how well her arms could fit around him. Even with his vest, he was rather skinny, and her arms were long, so she figured it would work. 

“I have an idea. I can try to make it a bit more comfortable.” she held her hands up, “Can I…”

Douxie didn’t look like he knew what she’d try to do, but he nodded all the same.

Her back had been laying up against the tree before, but she sat up a bit to get closer to Douxie - close enough to raise her shackled arms and put them over his head and down so they lay somewhat loose around his torso, like she was hugging him from behind. 

He looked a little confused, but didn’t recoil, so she laid back against the tree and gently pulled Douxie with her, so the back of his head laid against her shoulder, and he could rest it there, against the softness of the cloth that made up her dress.

And that’s what she did. As much as he still didn’t seem to get this (and to be fair, Zoe didn’t get why she was doing this, whatever this was, either) and his arms were somewhat pinned to his sides by the embrace, he still seemed relaxed.

“How’s this?” she asked, “If you don’t like it, I can-”

Douxie brought up his own shackled hands, his arms still sort of pinned to his sides by Zoe's embrace, to hold hers, only nestling further against her.

It was a clear enough answer - one that made Zoe feel relieved that she wouldn’t have to let go of him. She hated that relief, as good as it felt. It meant that if she did have to let him go, if something took him from her arms, it would hurt. And that knowledge - the looming threat of that pain - was dangerous.

But she found that right now, for once today, there was little she could bring herself to hate.

“Oh… ‘kay.” she rubbed one of his fingers with her thumb, “Okay…”

Despite the way one of the straps of Douxie’s muzzle - which she wanted nothing more than to blast right off - dug against her collarbone, the slow, steady breathing against her helped calm her as much as her hold calmed Douxie.

Zoe laid her head back against the tree, feeling fatigue weigh on her own eyelids once again.

“...It’s Zoe, y’know.”

Douxie lifted his head a little and looked up at her, “Mmh?”

Zoe brought her gaze, which lay aimlessly at the sky above the forest, down to the boy in her arms.

“You asked my name before.” she said, “It’s Zoe.”

When he seemed to finally understand what she was referring to, he hummed in contentment and squinted his eyes a little - the closest thing he could convey to a smile.

Zoe tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered, trying to at least keep any traces of it off her face.

Douxie closed his eyes and nestled his head against her again.

...She was just tired. That’s all this was. It was the cuffs, the stress, the circumstances. They were the only reasons she felt her heart warm when he saw that he looked content, despite the shackles on his wrists and godawful contraption clamped on his face; the only causes for her relief that his tears were drying under his closed eyes, his pretty lashes. Certainly, it wasn’t because he’d managed to make himself someone who meant something to her, to bumble his way through her barriers. And most definitely, it was not because she loved-

DAMN IT.

Zoe sighed, as if in defeat, and rested her head atop Douxie’s.

“Let’s just… sleep.”

“Mhm…”

And that’s what they did.

--

Zoe woke up some twenty minutes later, she guessed. It got chillier, and apparently, she’d been asleep long enough for thick clouds to form overhead. She hoped it wouldn’t rain - it was the last thing she needed.

She looked down at Douxie, and of course, he was still asleep. Her arms ached a little - something that would have driven her up a wall before - but she didn’t mind much now. Not while she listened to his slow, quiet breaths as his chest rose and fell in her hold.

Zoe huffed, grateful that the boy's breathing was still clear; she didn't calm him down earlier just for his nose to stuff up now.

She could hear footsteps - hulking, stomping steps - come her way. As her stomach dropped, her gaze picked up. She steeled it when she saw the leader of those damn hunters standing over her, glowering. He was pissed, and over what? Over the fact that she tried to comfort Douxie when he made the child miserable?

Gritting her teeth, she held Douxie a little tighter. Not enough to make him stir. Instinctively, she could feel her hands burn as her magic tried to surge to her fingertips, an unconscious attempt brought forth not of desperation, but of resolve.

Just like Douxie protected her, Zoe would protect him, even if she had to shatter these shackles and set this whole forest alight with a lightning strike to do it.

And when that bastard reached down to Douxie, she feared it would come to that.

...but it didn’t.

With a blast of a green magic poofing out around him like an aura, the man froze. That same green hue of magic surged down both her and Douxie’s chains, and when it reached their cuffs, they snapped right open.

With a sigh she felt like she’d been holding in since she first woke up here, Zoe’s hands relaxed and fell to her side, free of that godawful metal.

Naturally, they also dropped Douxie, who, without that little support, flopped on her lap. Thankfully, his head landed on his side, rather than directly on that lock on the muzzle, which hadn’t been affected by that blast of magic and still remained clamped on his face. The last thing anyone needed was the lock getting damaged to where unlocking it would be impossible.

“Mh!” His eyes snapped open, and his eyes darted around in confusion. Zoe couldn’t blame him. Once he seemed to realize his cuffs were off, he rubbed at his aggravated wrists. Zoe couldn’t blame him for that either.

She looked up at the still… still man in front of her.

“He’s frozen.” she said and leaned to the side to see that the same quick work of immobilization had been done to the rest of the hunters, “They all are.”

Douxie lifted his head, as trying a task it was, and he squinted when he saw the green aura around the hunter and the bright green cracks surging through their old chains like glowing veins, as if inspecting - trying to figure out if this was real. If he could really hope.

But Zoe knew he could.

“Looks like he found you first, didn’t he?” she asked.

And seconds later, she heard new footsteps getting closer this time - armored, urgent footsteps - and she knew that she was right.

“Hisirdoux!” Zoe heard a grouchy old man’s voice call out. Of course, he sounded just like that silly impersonation Douxie did of him earlier.

Speaking of Douxie (which he still couldn’t do at all yet), the boy sat up as fast as he could. Swaying with the extra weight on his head, he got up so he was sitting on his knees, and he whined in an odd mix of desperation and relief behind the metal over his mouth, as if - after the horrible, awful afternoon this had been - Merlin Ambrosius could not get over to him fast enough.

“Heh…” Zoe huffed to herself, rubbing her own wrists. Really, she thought her fellow hedge-witches would track her down in these woods way faster than anyone from that ever-pristine castle, but that didn’t matter. A rescue was a rescue.

“Looks like you won.”

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Silent Treatment (Ethan x MC)

Summary: Naomi decides that if Ethan isn’t going to treat her like a valued member of the team, she’ll teach him a little lesson.

Based on chapter 1, some spoilers for chapter 2, and my own speculation, so read at your own risk.

I highkey hate this but I’m posting it anyway

~v~

Naomi is quiet. No, she is unusually quiet. Ethan has seen her get silent when it’s time to buckle down and focus on a task, or if something is weighing heavily on her, but at this point he knows her well enough to know it’s neither of those. She’s withdrawn, and he doesn’t understand why.

Her presence is hard to miss, the young resident has enough charm and charisma in her pinky finger to dazzle an entire room. And she’s never this quiet. Naomi demands to be heard at all times. With unapologetic vivacity. With her hands. Eyes sparkling when she gets an idea, or fiery when she needs to dig her toes into something and fight. Nothing about Naomi Valentine is ever subdued, so why the hell is she so silent?

She didn’t speak much during the last few team meetings. He and Harper have led all of the conversations, bouncing ideas back and forth, building off of each other’s ideas. Occasionally, Naomi would offer input, merely to agree or disagree with a theory, before going back into her shell.

It’s even bleeding into their personal life. For the better part of the past 3 months, she’s stayed with him, the two of them holed up in his apartment in the Back Bay, but now she’s opting to stay at her own place. It’s been going on a few days now, this random despondence, and Ethan isn’t a fan of it. He’d take it a step further and say it's driving him crazy. This isn’t the woman he’s known for the past two years, even at her lowest was she never this reclusive.

As he walks down the halls of Edenbrook, he spots Naomi, her personality back to what it once was. She’s with Ines at a vending machine, and Naomi wastes no time animatedly talking to the now attending about a fun date she went on with her girlfriend.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Ethan swallows thickly as he listens to her talk. He’s missed the sound of her voice, the affectionate way her strong accent curls around her ‘r’s’ and dramatically elongates her ‘o’s’. It becomes clear that she’s willing to talk, just not to him. Ethan doesn’t like that idea at all, but it’s the only one that makes sense. And if that’s the case, he needs to get to the bottom of things and remedy the situation.

“Naomi, can we talk please?” He asks once Ines is no longer in their presence.

He doesn’t miss the way she bristles upon hearing his voice. But Naomi nods anyway. “Sure, what’s wrong?”

“Can we talk in the office?”

The walk back to the seventh floor is marked with awkward silence as Naomi refuses to initiate conversation with him. The more time ticks on, the more anxiety settles in Ethan’s chest. What’s going on with her that she refuses to divulge?

The office is unoccupied when they arrive, as Harper has already gone home for the evening. Naomi stands by the door, opting not to settle into a seat or even move further into the room. Everything about her body language reads that she’s poised and ready to strike at any given moment. He frowns. She’s never been this defensive against him, at least when they’re not in the middle of an argument. “What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?”

The question catches Naomi off guard. She blinks slowly before shrugging in nonchalance. “I’m fine, Ethan.”

“You’re fine? Really?”

“Is there a reason why I shouldn’t be fine?”

“Not really, but you haven’t been acting like yourself recently.”

Because you’ve been quieter than a church mouse for the past few days. You don’t talk during meetings, you’re silent when we interact with the patients, it’s like you’ve completely tuned out.”

With the way he’s been acting, Naomi is almost shocked that he even realized what she’s been doing. Wow, so maybe the great Ethan Ramsey hasn’t lost his attention to detail.

“Oh, so you’ve actually noticed?”

“I’m a diagnostician, I notice everything,” Ethan deadpans. He can feel the sarcasm wafting off of her. “What, was this an intentional act for my attention?”

“Intentional, yes. But for your attention? Not necessarily,” Naomi answers.

His eyes narrow at her, his gaze near piercing. She’s playing some sort of childish game with him, first with not speaking and now with the vague half answers. “Okay, so walk me through your thought process. Why has the cat stolen your tongue?”

“I decided that if my input wasn’t going to be valued during team discussions, I might as well not speak at all.”

Ethan gapes at her, confused. Where did that come from? “Naomi, what on earth are you talking about? When have I ever not valued your input?”

“I’m talking about the fact that for the past two cases, I’ve stood on the sidelines while you’ve either cut me off mid-sentence to talk over me, or ignore my presence altogether. I might as well blend into the wall.”

“That’s not–”

Naomi doesn’t give him the chance to refute.  “Please spare me the attempt at arguing. Last week, Harper’s first day on the team, you literally had to circle back to me because you cut me off while I was speaking. And now, we’re working on a case, and you and Harper aren’t even taking this patient seriously! I’ve had to redirect the conversation and tell you guys to focus, because you two were too busy acting like bosom buddies, sharing anecdotes about hangovers, and stupid flamenco lessons, and dates you went on in the past, which is not only inappropriate and disrespectful to the patient’s time, it’s disrespectful to me.”

“So either you are completely oblivious, which I find hard to believe for someone as astute as you are, or you have no respect for me, not just as your colleague, but as the woman you claim to be in a relationship with,” Naomi continues. The floodgates have been opened and now that she’s started, she can’t stop herself. “And maybe it’s the latter, because I set that standard. I’ve let you go days, weeks, months without speaking to me with zero consequence, I’ve let you shut me out and slam doors in my face, make snide comments last year when we were treating Leland, I’ve let you have carte blanche over the pace of this relationship. I’ve always just been here and allowed your shitty social graces and piss poor communication skills to rule, and time and time again, you’ve gone unscathed, but now I’m just really tired of it.”

For the first time in a long, Ethan doesn’t have a clue what to say, and as always, Naomi is the woman who puts him in this position.

“Naomi, you can’t possibly think that I think so little of you.”

He can tell by the way her eyes darken that he put his entire foot in his mouth just now. The warning bells go off in his brain, and he scrambles to think of how he can correct this latest blunder.

Naomi bites down on her lip, and she’s actually shocked her mouth isn’t instantly flooded with the metallic taste of blood. She’s getting Punk’d obviously. The office is bugged, and Ashton Kutcher is going to jump out and announce his presence soon. That has to be it. Ethan has to be pranking her, because there’s no way a 38 year old man could ever be so dense, right? Surely his response to her grievances isn’t to dismiss her claims.

“You know what? You’re being obtuse, and we clearly aren’t getting anywhere, so I’m going to cut this conversation off now.”

She refuses to look like the psycho in this scenario and breathe any more life into this argument, and she’s not about to plead her case any further like she’s the one in the wrong.

Ethan’s eyes soften, and he takes a step forward, arms outstretched to touch, soothe whatever hurts he’s heaped upon her, but Naomi sidesteps, moving out of his reach.

If he wasn’t nervous at the start of this conversation, he is now. If the physical act of Naomi blatantly refusing to touch him wasn’t clear enough, the metaphorical chasm between the two of the just widened by a few yards as well. A chill races up and down the length of his spine.

“Naomi, I’m sorry,” Ethan says gently. “I…” His words taper off and he pauses, struggling for what he wants to say next. This has never been his strong point, being vulnerable.

And Naomi doesn’t offer him a lifeline. She’s not going to give him an out or assuage him of anything he’s currently feeling like she usually does. She’s laid out all of her cards, and things are in Ethan’s court at this point. Like always. 

“I’m going home,” she announces. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

~v~

The sun is barely out when Naomi shows up for work in the morning. Most of the hospital is still, the last of the night shift heading out as she’s on her way in. She heads towards the residents’ lounge, wanting to put her things away before checking in on her patients and having a team meeting.

As soon as she opens her locker, she spots a gorgeous bouquet of red roses wrapped in newspaper invading the space. There’s no note attached to the bouquet, and she spared a quick glance around the room to see if anyone else is there. The lounge is empty, save for another resident in the corner, sleeping.

Naomi takes the bouquet out of her locker, careful not to smash the petals and holds it up to her nose, inhaling deeply. 

Deciding to not put more thought into where they came from, Naomi simply cradles the bouquet in the crook of one of her arms, stuffs her bag into her locker, and continues on with her morning routine.

She’s passing by the nurses’ station on the 7th floor when someone catches her attention. “Oh Dr. Valentine! You have a special delivery.”

Her steps slow down as she approaches the front desk where Sarah, one of her favorite RNs is stationed. Sarah steps aside, revealing an even larger bouquet of roses, these ones white.

“Where did these come from?” Naomi asks.

“They were delivered about half an hour ago,” Sarah replies with a wink. “No note, though. I won’t let Dr. Ramsey know that you have a secret admirer.”

And that’s when it clicks into place. Memories of her fight with Ethan come flooding back, and it becomes clear that he’s the one gifting her these flowers. Before she even realizes she’s doing it, her eyes roll. If he thinks a couple of bouquets of roses are a good enough apology, he can think again.

Naomi plucks a white rose right from the center of the bouquet and hands it to Sarah. “For you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I insist,” Naomi says. “Happy Friday, Sarah.”

“Thank you, Dr. Valentine!”

Seeing the smile on the senior nurse’s face is almost enough to cleanse Naomi of the annoyance she feels towards Ethan in this moment. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Naomi manages to scoop up this new batch of flowers – they’re in a vase, to which she adds her red ones – and finishes her trek to the office.

She isn’t expecting it to be covered in bunches of bright yellow sunflowers.

Their communal desk is covered in them, along with Ethan’s personal desk and the couch. “What on earth was he thinking?”

“I was thinking that sunflowers are your favorite flower,” Ethan answers, and Naomi jumps, startled at his voice. She whips around and sees him standing in the doorway. “And so I got up well before the sun was shining, went to the Boston Flower Exchange and bought every single one I could get my hands on.”

“And the roses?”

“White is supposed to be symbolic of new beginnings and forgiveness,” Ethan explains. “And you simply can’t go wrong with red.”

“If you think buying me flowers is going to cut it, you must not know me well,” Naomi says. Him buying her things doesn’t impress her, no matter how much she jokes about his money.

“No, but I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Ethan takes a cautious step into the room, shutting the door behind him. A sleepless night without her beside him forced Ethan to do a lot of thinking about how he wanted this conversation to go. A peace offering is always a good start. “And it got you to talk to me.”

Naomi scoffs and sets her flowers down. “Barely.”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan says. “I’m an idiot, and an asshole.”

“It’s good that we can agree on something.”

Okay, it’s clear that she is not going to give him any leeway. “You were absolutely right to call me out on my behavior towards you.”

“Why did you do it?” Naomi asks.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Ethan says simply. “I got so caught up in having Harper on the team, and it’s easy to slip back into old habits without even realizing.”

“It wasn’t a simple one time thing. It was more than once that you and Harper completely forgot I was even there. And I like Harper, I don’t think I could respect her more than I already do, and I have a very healthy sense of self esteem, but even the toughest person on earth wouldn’t like being in my shoes, on the outside looking in while you and your ex reminisce on old dates and inside stories. Ethan, you couldn’t handle a modicum of the shit I have willingly put up with in order to be with you.”

His stomach knots up at the thought of an ex-boyfriend of Naomi’s coming into his personal space, sharing personal jokes with her, ignoring him, and monopolizing her time. If the thought of it had him this twisted, he can’t believe he’s been putting her through that reality.

“You were right to call me out on my bad communication skills. I am terrible at relationships. I’m not using it as an excuse, it’s just the truth. But I’ve gotten complacent, which is unacceptable.” Ethan takes another step towards Naomi, and when she doesn’t instantly recoil, he takes it as a sign to get even closer. “The last thing I ever want to do is stifle your voice, or make you feel invisible. Naomi, you are...invaluable. To this hospital, to this team, to me, and I am so sorry that there was ever a time where I made you feel like you weren’t. You are the most important person in my life, and what we have is something I’ve never had with anyone else.”

“Okay, so start acting like it,” Naomi challenges. “I’m your equal and I demand every bit of respect you have to offer. Anything less than that cannot be tolerated anymore, personally or professionally.”

Ethan nods emphatically at her words. “Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“You have my word, Naomi. I’ll never let it happen again.” He closes the gap between them and cups her face in his hand. “Just please...never give me the silent treatment again. Yell from the rooftops, argue with me, I don’t care, but I can’t take not hearing your voice.”

“You needed to be taught a lesson,” Naomi says simply.

“I learned my lesson, and I hated it,” Ethan confesses, his lips dangerously close to hers. Naomi doesn’t budge, not even an inch. She’s terribly stubborn, even at the end of a fight. “It was torture.”

“Good.” Deciding to put him out of his misery, Naomi tilts her head up and captures Ethan in a kiss. He doesn’t waste a single second returning it. His free hand wraps around the small of her back, pulling her in closer. How did he go this long without touching her?

He doesn’t know how long they’ve been kissing, but he finally breaks apart from her long enough to bury his face in her neck, allowing her scent and soft skin to soothe any of his fraught nerves. She smells like home.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?” Ethan asks.

“The jury is still out on that one.”

“You’re going to make me work for this, aren’t you?”

“Are you up for the challenge?”

Ethan untangles himself from their embrace and takes a step back, so he’s able to look Naomi in the eyes. He takes her hand and presses a soft kiss into her palm. “For you? I’ll do just about anything.”

~v~

Let me know if you want to be added to my tag list, or if I tagged you by accident!

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[libermachinae]

Night Shift

Also on AO3! Summary: Prowl and Jetfire analyze leads on a Decepticon smuggling operation, working together late into the night trying to find the missing connections. A sleep deprived slip of the tongue leads Prowl to revisiting old choices. Word Count: 2146

---

Prowl didn’t keep track of his chronometer this late in the night. Morning was inevitable, and he knew he could rely on a burst of messages from Orion to let him know when it had arrived. As such, he had no idea what hour it was when Jetfire broke through the productive silence.

“How did you come up with these predictions?” Jetfire asked. Worst of all, he was speaking with his mouth full, apparently too incensed by Prowl’s logic train to be bothered with common decency. “Every gun you’ve pulled in has been running on fumes; I’ve had to scrape the insides of the barrels just to figure out what they’re fueled on.”

The impressive thing about Jetfire was that even as a voice over the comms, he sounded like the biggest bot in the room. It wasn’t just that his voice was deep; Orion, who wasn’t that much taller than Prowl, had a voice you could feel through the floor panels. It was something about the way Jetfire talked, deliberate and straightforward, rarely stuttering even when caught off-guard. It was refreshing.

“I’ve outlined the logic process in my report. I won’t be repeating it,” Prowl said, scrolling back through his files.

“What are they teaching in the enforcer academy that reports don’t need to communicate anything?” Jetfire grumbled

It would be a reasonable estimate to say they spent 50% of these near nightly calls complaining about their targets, their coworkers, and the administration, and another 40% about each other. Prowl sat through them strictly as a matter of convenience, being a faster mode of communication than the intermittent data bursts preferred by the sanctioned enforcer agencies.

Having someone at the other end of the line also assisted the rust sticks and nucleon microcubes in staving off recharge protocols.

“It’s as I explained to Tumbler: it communicates everything I intended it to.” Ideally, very little to anyone who couldn’t have worked it out themselves. That way, the important information stayed with those who could actually use it, and the rest—

“Who’s Tumbler?”

Prowl lost his train of thought as the rest of his processor caught up to what the .5% he reserved for conversation had said. He froze, rust stick halfway to his mouth.

“No one,” he said.

“Okay.” Jetfire drew out the word. “Did he buy that line?”

No, of course not. Tumbler was always relentless about that sort of thing. His curiosity and drive could have lent to the makings of a detective or captain if he’d dedicated them more often to investigations and less on critiquing Prowl.

“He was young and failed to grasp the necessity of efficiency in our line of work.” Prowl had tried to be patient, but he’d been young too, and Tumbler was the first partner he’d had who would listen to him. Even if it was just to argue that Prowl’s opaque writing was the cause of their inefficiency.

“Hmph.”

Jetfire liked to intersperse their conversations with meaningless noises, and although Prowl needed more samples before he was certain of his explanation, he believed they meant Jetfire didn’t agree with something he’d said but was ending the discussion prematurely. It was illogical, leaving a matter unsettled for which a solution existed, but normally Prowl’s priority queues were ordered such that work came before ideological disagreements.

“What?” he asked, finally setting down the rust stick.

“You’re normally terrible with names,” Jetfire said without hesitation. “I’m just trying to imagine what a bot would have to be like to leave that much of an impression on you.”

“He was talented,” Prowl admitted.

“Do you keep in touch?”

“No.” Prowl straightened his back and flared his sensory panels, ready to move on. “It was not a practical partnership. Being together diminished our respective abilities and prevented us from fulfilling our responsibilities. It was for the betterment—”

“Hey, hold on, Prowl,” Jetfire said, his rolling voice enough to draw Prowl up short. “I know that you—but, you know what that sounds like, right?”

Prowl frowned, immediately recognizing Jetfire’s social theory tone.

“Pragmatism,” he said. “We can’t have everything we want in an ordered society. I—we did what Cybertron needed of us.”

“By disposing of a part of yourself?”

Tumbler hadn’t liked that explanation either.

“We weren’t conjunx.” And for very good reason. There were more important things in life than feelings or fleeting commitments, and it was idealists like Jetfire who—

“Just because it didn’t have a name doesn’t mean it wasn’t important.”

Prowl’s thoughts stumbled. He hadn’t expected Jetfire to say that, not because it was out of character but because he was right. That was the exact sentiment Prowl had tried to put to words maybe half a dozen times and now it was being turned on him like a spotlight.

“There are things that should never be sacrificed,” Jetfire went on. Prowl felt his silhouette thrown into sharp relief. “Things we’re worse off for letting go of.” He paused. “A while ago, I was made an offer: instant entry to the academies. No exams, no fees. Everything I’d ever wanted. In return, though, I would’ve had to give up my wings. My… sponsor, I guess, knew I had the processor for science, just not the frame. They asked for me to give up one part of myself to let the rest go free.”

Prowl shook his helm, leaning away from the speaker. Jetfire’s tone was the same one he occasionally used with Bumblebee. With Prowl, he was hard edges and warning lights. They weren’t this for each other. They didn’t do this.

“You were nearly the victim of a scam,” he said, searching blindly for familiar ground.

“I’m sure it seems that way,” Jetfire said, unperturbed. “Do you get it, though? Giving up any one piece would’ve meant tacit agreement with the Functionists, that I wasn’t fit to do my work in any form but what they prescribed. Even if I’d told myself it was for Cybertron, it really would’ve been a sacrifice in their honor, and nothing would ever be worth that.”

Prowl wasn’t entirely obtuse. He understood what Jetfire was saying, but he couldn’t afford to hear it, not with everything he had already done and the plans he had yet to set in motion. Maybe Jetfire had found a way to live that allowed him to maintain his idealistic commitments, but most mechanisms weren’t so lucky. Everyone had to give up something.

“And now you’re here, working on behalf of the Senate,” Prowl said, just to prove that point.

Jetfire made his noise again.

“Right, I forgot,” he said. Annoyed or frustrated: the usual feelings they brought out in each other. “Waste of time. Forget I said anything.”

Prowl wouldn’t, but he also wasn’t going to give Jetfire an excuse to keep pontificating.

It would have been a waste of their time, anyhow, because however sincere Jetfire was in his admission, Prowl had never understood the hypocrisy of bots who would claim to reject Functionism while maintaining an almost fanatical devotion to their frames. In some intangible sense, maybe he did enjoy the opportunity to go for a long drive, but he couldn’t imagine himself grieving his tires for their own sake. He tried to compare it to what he had felt when Tumbler had said going to Kaon was a selfish, pretentious idea and immediately recoiled.

“Results are exactly what I told you,” Jetfire said. Prowl realized he hadn’t gotten any work done in the last several kliks. “Not nearly the concentration of materials to support your theory the Decepticons have contacts in Uraya, and a few that will probably trace back to Kaon, like everything else.”

“I’d like to see for myself,” Prowl said, standing. He didn’t often get this badly distracted, and it was easy to pin it on the state of his desk: used energon cubes and wrappers from the cheap snacks he kept fueled on littered the spaces he should have been using for case notes and displays. When was the last time he’d cleaned?

“Really?” Jetfire asked. “The data’s pretty clear.”

“Humor me.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

Neither said goodbye before they hung up: another of their customs.

Prowl cleared the mess into the trash. Exhaustion was nibbling at his processor like a corrosive. Another couple shots would get him through his morning meetings, and then a regular midday fueling would carry him over until he could recharge properly in the evening. Before that, though, the day had to begin, an event he discovered was closer than he’d expected when he stepped outside and saw the horizon just tilting toward the pale blue of an oncoming dawn.

The air was gentle, the pleasant cool that foreshadowed a blistering day. Jetfire was a dot over the Rodion skyline. Prowl glanced up at the few stars that could punch through the light pollution and was reminded, suddenly, of the time he and Tumbler had discussed getting a little patch of metal out on the Tungsten Moors. The barren sparkfields had felt nonetheless fertile with possibilities, and they had gotten hung up on whether it would be more practical to live in a house with two stories or just one. It had been a fantasy, nothing more; even on their joint income, it would have taken millions of years to save up. But there had been something, if not fulfilling, thrilling about it, making plans that didn’t hinge on work or promotions.

He wondered if Tumbler remembered that conversation.

Jetfire’s slow approach gave Prowl time to dwell while keeping an idle optic on his teammate. There was nothing spectacular about Jetfire’s flying: Prowl had worked with and chased down fliers who were faster, more maneuverable, and flashier in every way. But there was something resolute and sure about the way Jetfire coasted, a steadiness that Prowl would have appreciated sooner if he’d noticed it, his thoughts of Tumbler and past mistakes and pointless sacrifice sliding away as he watched Jetfire’s flight.

Jetfire’s flying was beautiful, in its own way. Its understatement reminded Prowl of his own assembly line colors, but with an underlying confidence that left Prowl feeling inadequate. Though technically strong, his power was limited to what he could siphon off Orion and their other high-level contacts. He’d experienced a taste of the real thing under Sentinel, but that had been an especially tenuous connection, liable to snap had he ever tugged too hard. Jetfire’s power was all his own. Not overwhelming, not enough to make the changes Cybertron needed. Incomparable, really, to what Prowl had wielded. But it radiated from the tips of his wings to the burn of his thrusters, self-realized, without reservation or concession.

Prowl’s tac net pinged him with the results for a problem he hadn’t realized he’d plugged in: 50% Prowl should have been strong enough to find another way, 50% choosing Tumbler would have made him stronger.

A perfect 50-50 meant his systems were badly in need of defrag. He cleared the cache and set his tac net to reboot, shaking his helm to dispel the resulting vertigo as Jetfire landed on the steps below him. Prowl waited patiently for him to complete his mode switch, taking two steps back so they would be at optic level with each other.

“Pleasant flight?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t trade it for anything,” Jetfire said with a smugness that allowed Prowl to scoff as he motioned for the datapad.

Jetfire handed it over. Prowl knew he was being watched as he powered it on and reviewed its contents, but he took his time, using Jetfire’s results to run through a few warm up calculations as his tac net came back online.

“You didn’t check for copper fluoride,” he commented.

“No,” Jetfire said slowly, “because it wasn’t one of the compounds we were investigating.”

“Run the tests again.” Prowl tried to return the datapad, but Jetfire refused to take it. “The chances we would find evidence of materials native to the Urayan region were always slim to none. However, the old blackmarket pipeline between Kaon and Yuss ran directly underneath the city. Does that make more sense?”

Prowl saw the moment Jetfire finally saw the case as he did, a knotted web of deceptions meant to dissuade even the most seasoned detective from untangling its core. Jetfire took the datapad from Prowl and stowed it, though the hard look in his optics did not waver.

“Could’ve said that from the beginning,” Jetfire griped.

Prowl didn’t bother to respond. What was done was done. Talking so much about the past was a waste of time neither of them could afford, because for all that it might have mattered, nothing they said could change any of it. All they had was the future, and the possibility of starting each day stronger than they had the one before.

[delicioussshame]

In the never ending series of “things that aren’t wips because I can’t, I have to finish something before starting something else”, have this thing I posted as a wip before, featuring a version of PIDW where LBH collected his harem... differently, with guest star NYY.

Luo Binghe immediately recognises the man dressed in cultivator garb as Yingying’s shizun.

Beautiful and serene, she said. The perfect image of an untouchable immortal, dressed in white and pale greens. Always holding a fan of exquisite manufacture.

But more than her vivid descriptions of her shizun’s loveliness, he remembers what she said next.

She’d been lying on her side, her long cascading hair not managing to hide her luscious curves.

Luo Binghe had known she wouldn’t be ready for another round just yet, and so had been pleased to listen to her lighthearted pillow talk.

Today’s topic had been her exasperation with her shizun’s lack of sex life.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how obtuse he is. Liu-shishu has been courting him for years, and I don’t think he ever noticed. And don’t get me started on the sect master! All Shizun would have to do is bat his eyelashes and the sect master would drop everything to worship him! But no, he never takes him on it. For a while I thought maybe Shizun just preferred women, but more than one female disciple has tried her hand at him, all to no avail.”

Luo Binghe could imagine the type. Cultivators could be lofty. They think they’re above the needs of the flesh.

He always enjoys teaching them how wrong they are.

If the demonic part of his heritage revels in desecrating those pompous righteous cultivators, no one else could tell. Luo Binghe was too good at his chosen hobby to let his personal feelings interfere.

“I love and respect Shizun more than anyone. Without him, I would never have become the kind of cultivator who can afford A-Luo’s company. So I am motivated by filial piety and nothing else when I say that I have never met anyone who needs to get laid more than Shen Qingqiu.”

Luo Binghe had laughed. “Oh? Is Yingying going to replace me with her old teacher?”

Her scandalised look had sent him into another bout of laughter. “A-Luo! I would never!”

“Then why is she telling me this? Does she want me to take care of him?”

Ning Yingying had stared at him, a glint in her eyes. Luo Binghe could see the plans form in her head as she spoke. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would do wonders for Shizun, and I know A-Luo loves breaking people like him.”

Luo Binghe had blinked, inwardly caught off-guard. He wasn’t blind. He knew Ning Yingying was a lot more observant than she appeared. It wasn’t the first time she had made that kind of comment. “Yingying knows me so well. Should I be worried?”

She had swapped at him. He could have easily evaded the blow, but he didn’t bother. “A-Luo doesn’t have anything to fear from me. But honestly, if I sent Shizun your way, would you take care of him? I really think he could benefit from it. And Shizun is very beautiful! Many will definitely be jealous if they ever find out.”

Luo Binghe had nothing against the idea of taking a peak lord to bed. He bet Xin Mo would love to feed on such high-quality cultivation. “I would be honored to entertain your teacher.”

He could tell from the way she had brightened he was about to be thoroughly thanked.

She had paid him too, both for herself and for her shizun’s future visit. Generously enough that Luo Binghe had wondered if he should praise her filial piety to her shizun.

She didn’t lie either. Shen Qingqiu really is exquisite.

Not as handsome as Luo Binghe himself, but nobody is. “You must be Shen Qingqiu.”

“Luo Binghe, I presume.” Luo Binghe cannot quite decipher the look he’s being given, which is rare enough to catch his attention. He’s pretty certain there’s some attraction there, but the rest? Trepidation? Outright fear? Disdain? Excitement?

He’s sure he’s going to find out. He gestures for Shen Qingqiu to sit down as he moves to prepare tea. He could have one of his servants handle it, but Luo Binghe has always preferred taking care of things himself. That personal touch has seduced more than one client, if they didn’t visit him only for his food.

Shen Qingqiu drinks the offered tea in silence before he starts talking. “If you would please tell me your fee, I will be refunding Ning Yingying a corresponding amount. I am sorry for wasting your time, but I have no interest in procuring your services.”

Ooh, that’s cute. If Luo Binghe wasn’t an expert at perceiving the signs of physical attraction, he might even believe him. Shen Qingqiu is interested, he’s sure of it. He’s just a prude, like Yingying said. “Yingying won’t accept it. Why refuse her most thoughtful gift?”

“My disciple should put her money to better uses.”

“I assure you, employing me is money well spent. You could find that out yourself.”

Luo Binghe bites back his amusement as the man stumbles, obviously embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t… a credit to your profession. Please don’t take it personally. As I said, I have no interest in finding out myself.”

“But how will it look if you were to leave without finding out? My reputation will be hurt.”

“How could something this insignificant hurt the reputation of such a famous courtesan?”

Luo Binghe grins. “So even renowned cultivators have heard of me? Nothing bad, I hope?” And where did an isolated scholar like him caught wind of such lowbrow rumours, huh?

The sigh he’s answered with does not cloak a hint of amusement. “How many of the sect’s disciples have you seduced? You even managed to steal away Liu-shidi’s little sister, whose beauty and virtu are known across the land. Of course I have heard of you. More than I would have liked, if I am allowed to be honest.”

Ah. He should probably have expected that. Cang Qiong is full of eager young men and women. Apparently, Shen Qingqiu isn’t such a recluse that gossip doesn’t reach him. “I see. Still, you must have heard good things, or you wouldn’t have come into my parlour.”

Red is a good look on the man. Luo Binghe feels the first stirrings of desire rise into him. He just knows Shen Qingqiu would be stunning, lying despoiled on those formerly pristine robes, trying to discover what he’s begging for more of.

Not to mention he can almost hear Xin Mo purr. What a feast Shen Qingqiu will be.

Time to press on.

Luo Binghe reaches for the now empty cup of tea he’s certain Shen Qingqiu drained without tasting, making sure to caress the fingers still holding it with a touch just light enough to possibly be accidental, if one were very dumb or very blind. “Let me serve you again,” he says as he pours more tea with deliberate grace.

Instead, Shen Qingqiu rises from the table. “Don’t bother! I am obviously wasting your valuable time. If you won’t share with me how much Ning Yingying paid you, I will compensate her otherwise.”

Like Luo Binghe is letting him leave like this. “Would you have me waste the tea already prepared?”

“Drink it yourself! Surely it’s nothing compared to your usual breaches of propriety.”

Damn it. Luo Binghe miscalculated. Shen Qingqiu is too spooked to be open to further advances. Really, what a prude, to be so destabilised by a simple brush of hands.

If he can take a step back and defuse the tension enough for him not to leave… “You seem in such a hurry. Do you think I force myself on my visitors? I’m hurt.” As if he ever needed to use force to have someone.

Well, never without their consent, at least.

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t seem like he’d be into that, but then again, people can surprise you.

“I’m not scared! I just have no reason to be here any longer. Thank you for your time. I’ll be leaving my student in your care.” For a moment, there’s a glower in his eyes that Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind seeing more of. “Be good to her, or my next visit will be far less pleasant.”

Aww. Shen Qingqiu cares! How cute. “So I have to get a bit rough if I want to see you again?”

His outraged face almost makes him laugh. “Don’t you dare!”

“Or are you looking for an excuse for our paths to cross again? I assure you it’s unnecessary. I’d welcome you anytime.”

“I will keep that in mind,” says Shen Qingqiu absentmindedly, already crossing the door.

Luo Binghe lets him leave. Obviously, this will be going nowhere today.

Really, he’s offended. He cannot remember someone rejecting him so blatantly, ever. Worse, Xin Mo will be cranky. A treat was dangled in its metaphorical face, and then was cruelly taken away before it could have a taste.

He can’t let this humiliation stand.

He won’t have to. The delicate fan Shen Qingqiu came with, red spider lilies on a stark white background, is still on the table, forgotten in his haste to leave.

Luo Binghe’s customer service is impeccable. He’ll be returning the abandoned item himself.

It’s not like finding the peak lord of Qing Jing will be a challenge.

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 2

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Okay, okay, so, you’d prided yourself on your plan. Getting the lieutenant himself to train you personally so you could learn his weaknesses and use his own tricks to one day take him down and humiliate him in front of everyone - it’s convoluted, but it’s a good idea. It’ll take a while, but it’ll work if you stay dedicated. Right? Right.

But you hadn’t actually expected him to agree. And so easily at that. He’d given you a quick look over as though he was scanning for some potential scheme, and then he’d readily said he would train you, which not only shocked you, it shocked both Captain Erwin and the woman who you learned was Lieutenant Hange Zoe. If his friends were surprised, then this must be out of character of him. You can’t imagine why he possibly would willingly take you under his wing.

Maybe...maybe the harsh treatment was some twisted way of looking out for you. A small bit of guilt blooms in your chest at the thought, but you quickly squash it down. There are other ways to prepare someone for their future than by publicly embarrassing and physically harassing them. A simple hey, focus up, cadet would have sufficed. Not that you’d have listened, but he doesn’t know that.

Yeah, he’s just a dick. He probably has his own messed up reasons to be doing this. You have to mentally prepare yourself for whatever cruel and unusual punishment he’ll be inflicting upon you.

His instructions ring through your head as you go to bed that night.

“Be at the grounds at 4 AM, sharp. Don’t be late.”

However, that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s bad enough that you have to adjust your sleep schedule to wake up at 8 AM instead of 11 AM since they don’t allow for beauty sleep at the Training Corp (how are you supposed to maintain your flawless skin?), but now he expects you to be up and out of bed four whole hours than everyone else? No one is expected to be up at that time. Not even him. People are sleeping at 4 AM. No, you’re absolutely not going to be getting up just to train with a grouchy, perverted midget, thanks very much. If he was serious when he gave you those instructions, he’s going to have to deal with someone who values their shut-eye time. Sorry not sorry, Lieutenant. Your dreams are pleasant that night, letting you visit the market on the edge of Stohess which always smelled of fresh fruits and exotic perfume.

You’re content with your decision until a fucking wave crashes on you and brutally brings you back to the world of the living.

With a heaving gasp, you sit up straight in a coughing frenzy, spitting up water. Your hair is soaked, along with your nightgown. Fat droplets run down your face and bite into your cheeks. It’s cold.

“Be quiet,” Lieutenant Levi mutters casually, as though he didn’t just dump a bucket of water on you, “you’ll wake up the others.”

You gape at him incredulously, bringing your hands up to frantically wipe water off your face. For a second, you forget all formalities and you forget he ranks far higher than you, or perhaps you just don’t care, and you splutter out what you’ve been wondering since the moment you met him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

For someone who seems to enjoy teaching you discipline, he never actually tells you off for these comments. Instead of chiding you for being rude, he says in a snippy tone, “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get up, or I’ll refill the bucket.”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You throw off the thin and wet blanket and stand up, now fully awake. He rolls his eyes when he sees how silky your nightgown is - yeah, he damn well should feel bad for soaking such an expensive piece of fabric, the asshole. It’s worth more than that stupid tacky cravat he’s always sporting, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, no one else has woken up. Thank Maria, you’re not sure you could stomach someone seeing Lieutenant Levi demeaning you yet again. You shakily grab your clothes and uniform, and then turn to him. He raises a brow.

“Some privacy would be appreciated, sir.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively.

He scoffs pointedly, as though to tell you he’d have to be absolutely obtuse to want to see you naked, to which you only take a little offense. He gives you orders to hurry the fuck up and then leaves the barracks. You’re tempted to take your sweet time changing, but you really, really don’t want to risk getting soaked again. You just wish that you had time to dry your hair - the morning air outside is bound to be freezing. Sighing, you tie it up tightly, mourning the days you could let your precious tresses fly freely. Stupid military, stupid titans, stupid lieutenant. You dislike all of them greatly. In that order.

When you join him outside, he’s leaning against a tree, looking at you dully.

“Managed to have a tea party before you got down here, (L/N)? Or have you always walked at the speed of a snail?”

Holy hells help you, this is going to be a long day.

You salute, and he lets out a small tch, walking up to you and sizing you up. You tense up immediately, you wouldn’t put it past him to knock you down again for the heinous crime of making him wait.

“This is how this is going to work, Cadet.” He stands right in front of you and you force yourself not to look in his eyes, choosing to look at the pretty leaves on the birch tree behind him. “Every morning, from 4 AM to 6 AM, you’re here, and you’re doing whatever the hell I tell you to.” Probably allowing him to punch you in the face repeatedly. “Then you go back, get two more hours of sleep so that you don’t look like shit at breakfast.” It’ll take more than the likes of him to get you to look like shit, but sure, he can flatter himself. “If I’m on an expedition or not here for some other reason, you do a basic routine regardless.” Right, like he’ll know if you skip out. Nice try. “I might have you do other bits of training at another part of the day sometimes, but for the most part, we’ll be doing the brunt of it in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with your classes and shit.” Okay, that’s fair, and you can’t find a complaint with it no matter how hard you try. “Questions?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to actually ask anything before barking out an order. “Twenty-four laps around the grounds, now.”

Twenty-four? Okay, okay, you can do this, you knew what you were signing up for. He’s going to be harsh. He’s going to wear you out. You’re not going to break. Even if it’s the crack of dawn and he’s certifiably insane.

When you start running, his eyes follow you. You briefly wonder how he’s going to keep himself entertained throughout this, but then you remember that he’s cruel and terrible, and he’ll be entertained plenty watching you suffer. Besides, you have other things to focus on besides how much fun he’s having.

The maximum amount of laps Grumman has had you run so far is twelve, and that was with everyone else, so all the cadets could feed off each other’s energy and boost morale. Right now, there’s no one with you, no one to complain to, no one to hide behind so you can spend a few seconds walking instead of running. Oh, and it’s way too early. Have you mentioned that it’s way too early?

Half way through the fifteenth lap, you drop down on your knees and start panting. You’re tired. You want to go back to sleep. Screw your plan. Screw getting revenge.

“Oi!” The lieutenant calls out from his cozy spot under the birch tree. “I didn’t say you could take a nap!”

Most all all, screw him.

You hear him approaching, but you can’t bring yourself to get up. The grass is damp against your fingers, looking like a nice and cool spot to just lie down and rest your head for a few seconds. Sure, not as nice as a regular feathery pillow, but -

He kicks you on the side. It’s not that hard, but you still hiss in pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him -

“Get up,” he snaps, impatient. “You’ve got nine more to go.”

Everything about him is grating, from his voice to his polished shoes to his gorgeous grey eyes. How you wish you could shut him up.

Clearly not someone who enjoys waiting, he yanks you up by your arm, letting out another tch at your murderous expression. He applies just the slightest pressure against your skin, before speaking in a tone that makes it clear he’s getting fed up.

“You’re the one who wanted to be trained. If you can’t handle a few laps, then forget about getting into the top ten.”

“I don’t want to get into the top ten,” you huff, writhing in an attempt to break free of his grasp to no avail. Why does everyone and their mother assume you’re some tryhard goody two shoes? “And even if I did, running these laps isn’t gonna get me there. So can we just leave it at fifteen?”

Lieutenant Levi pulls you in closer, until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. Your eyes widen as he tightens his hold on you, and you despise that your heart beats faster for whatever godforsaken reason. Unwillingly, you think about what it would actually feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, to have his hands on your waist, to have his lips on your -

Fuck fuck fuck. Wrong and fucked up line of thought. Focus.

“You seem to think we’re collaborating here, (L/N). Let me make it clear,” he drawls lazily, “we’re not. You’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”

“I’m going to ask questions, sir. Blind obedience isn’t good for anyone.”

“I think it’s less to do with blind obedience, and more with you wanting to be a pain in the ass.”

“Very astute of you,” you say without thinking, and his shoulders move in what might have been a laugh, but it happens so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Finish the laps,” he orders, letting go of you and jerking his head, telling you to hop to it.

You glare petulantly, but start running anyways. What he doesn’t realize is he just let you have a break, no matter how short it might have been, and that’s exactly what you needed. Not so clever, this one. You take the small win and feel triumphant, even though you still have to run nine more laps and your hair is still wet and it’s still a forbidden hour for anyone to be awake at.

Once the laps are done, Lieutenant Levi allows no further time for relaxation before ordering you into thirty push-ups, which is just thirty more than your preferred amount of push-ups. The amount of fucking delight he takes in putting his foot on your back, making it just a bit harder for you to get up each time, is unbelievable. He’s a damn sadist, who thrills in your pain.

After the push-ups are finished, you have to do squats. Once the squats are finished, you move on to crunches. Then around five million side kicks, or at least that’s what it feels like. Then forward lunges. Then tricep extensions against the tree. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How fucking long is an hour anyway?

By the time the lieutenant finally tosses you a flask of water - he throws it so quickly it almost hits your face - you’re winded, out of breath, and dizzy. Nothing hurts per se, but your body is desperately begging for you to stop, to take a break, to just sit down for a single second. You know that any second now, you’ll be back in bed, and the only obstacle to that destination besides the fear that you might collapse halfway there is this asshole of a midget in front of you. You technically can’t leave until he dismisses you, a rule that you despise with all your being.

You think that dismissal is coming when he takes the flask back and then gives you another demand.

“Ten calf raises. Just a test run. I’ll see if I can put it into your routine.”

You look at him disbelievingly for two reasons - one, because he’s actually continuing this torture and two, he’s assuming you know what the hell calf raises are.

He sighs exasperatedly and then demonstrates. It seems simple enough, it’s just standing on your tippy toes, spreading your feet out, repeating the action, spreading them out even more, and then doing it again. Three angles, just a bit of balance for a few seconds.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back to bed.

So you start. You do three (there’s three angles, so technically nine, but who’s counting? certainly not you) and everything’s fine.

The fourth set leaves you a bit sore, but whatever.

The fifth set hurts.

The sixth set stings like a bitch.

After the seventh, you cry out in pain. It’s quiet, but mortifying.

Great, just great. The whole point of this was to pick up on his weaknesses, and here you’ve accidentally exposed your own. You freeze completely, eyes on the ground, waiting for the lieutenant to say something about how weak you’re acting.

But he doesn’t say anything, and you’re too nervous to look at him in case he catches the embarrassment playing out on your face.

Eight. Your calves are killing you, but you’re not going to cry out again. Ever.

Nine. Holy shit. Are you on fire? You think you’re on fire.

One more. You can do this. You’ve done all the others.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts through the air, but you pay him no mind.

You clench your fists, muster up all your strength, and push yourself up as hard as you can.

And immediately regret it.

Your legs buckle under you, and you stumble with a yelp. You didn’t mean to. It just hurt so bad, but now you’re going to be on your knees again -

Up until now, you’d seen how fast Lieutenant Levi could move because he was constantly throwing you around like a child would throw around its favorite toy. When you feel a breeze against your skin, your mind is thrown into an alarmed state for a fraction of a second. He’s coming at you, to what? Push you? You’re already falling down, so nice try, jerk, but -

It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s caught you.

With his arms hooked under yours, he lets you put your weight on him, ignoring your astonished expression. Even the blunt pain is pushed aside as you take in the fact that he stopped you from falling. Apparently you can only be knocked down when he decides you can. For the life of you, you truly cannot figure out just what this man’s deal is.

“Well, then,” Levi murmurs against your ear, “we’ll leave that one out from now on.”

____________________

Millie informs you that you look like shit over breakfast, and you tell her to kindly fuck off.

____________________

These lovely morning meetings become routine. Since you’re waking up earlier, you try your best to go to sleep earlier too, but you’re a night owl who can’t be caged, so the operation isn’t really successful there.

Instead, you try to rest any second you can during the day. While Millie, Stephen and Ricky are reading over their notes under the same birch tree that you and Lieutenant Levi meet at, you’re lying on the grass with an arm thrown over your eyes. It’s not like you need to study that hard - one doesn’t need whole hours to learn that titans are dangerous.

Besides, your arms are sore from your push-ups this morning. You usually don’t do the same thing twice in a row, apparently the lieutenant likes to switch things up. Which is just fine with you, of course, you’ve never been a fan of the same old thing every day; you joined the military to get away from the feeling that all your days were stationary and felt the same. And the whole dead dad thing, but that’s kinda secondary.

“Try putting ice on it,” Stephen offers helpfully, the only one of the three to take your complaining in stride.

“Try putting a gag in your mouth,” Millie adds.

“Try taking the stick out of your ass,” you tell her pointedly before offering a grateful smile to Stephen.

“Have you considered asking yourself if this is worth it?” Ricky tosses his notes aside and nudges your head with his knee. “Your super duper revenge plan -”

“It’s a mega super duper revenge plan.”

“Yeah, that. Is it worth exhausting yourself like this?”

Surprisingly, Stephen is the one who speaks up. “I don’t think it’s right for a superior to disrespect his subordinate and get away with it without any repercussions.”

“Look, what he did was...sketchy,” Ricky concedes, “but he’s him, y’know? Some people are good enough to act like that and get away with it.”

“No one’s good enough to act like that. Do you know how hard he runs me into the ground every single day? He’s never satisfied, not until I’m fucking collapsing. The only reason he’s stopped dumping water on me is because he says it’s a waste of resources.” You blow out a puff of air, frustrated. Why does no one understand how not okay the lieutenant’s actions are? “And he never does anything himself. I haven’t picked up any weaknesses. I have to keep going until I find one.”

“That’ll take you your entire time here.”

“So be it,” you say dramatically, before finally sitting up.

You’ll stick to it for however long it takes. There are boundaries that should never be crossed, and Lieutenant Levi’s managed to cross every single one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure. It’s him, of course it’s him. It’s not enough that he disturbs your sleep, no, he has to make his presence known during the day too. Sure, maybe he’s just going about his day and not actively trying to aggravate you, but he’s still in your line of sight and he has such a punchable face.

Maybe Lieutenant Levi senses that he’s being watched, because his head turns and he catches your gaze.

You wave with a sugary smile, acting like you weren’t just fantasizing about punching his face.

Without so much as an acknowledgement, he looks away and keeps walking.

You scoff. Rude fucking midget.

____________________

The best parts of your days are undeniably after hours. Or more specifically, that small period before dinner and bedtime, when there’s nothing required of you, and you can slip away. You like leaving a bit earlier than everyone else, just to enjoy the cool night outside. It’s funny, how there are so many rules and restrictions here at the military, but a girl can still just get up and wander outside at night and no one will look at her strangely. It’s a wonderful feeling, freedom.

You’re just about to begin what’s sure to be a leisurely walk around the grounds when there’s suddenly a vice-like grip on your arm. You gasp, the first instinct to defend yourself. You raise your fist and immediately launch it, only for it to be caught rather easily.

The lieutenant rolls his eyes at your attempt to defend yourself. “I sincerely hope you never get mugged.”

If he followed you out here, that’s frankly quite creepy and he should feel ashamed of himself.

“I hope someone steals your cravat,” you mutter, and the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “Can you let go? Sir,” you add quickly - it was becoming easier to forget that you had to refer to him properly. “I have a walk to take that doesn’t involve doing push-ups or crunches.”

His eyes are alight with cruel intentions. You hate that you still find them fascinating. “I have a training exercise for you.”

“You’re a few hours early, Lieutenant.” You give him a condescending smile. “See, 4 AM actually isn’t until much much later. It’s okay, I know telling time can be tough.”

His lips purse in displeasure, and you mentally do a small, victorious dance.

“Be that as it may, I recall telling you that your training can take place at any time that I see fit.”

“But,” you protest, stomping your foot childishly, “you also said you didn’t want to interfere with my regular training!”

He makes a point of looking to the right and then to the left and then finally back at you. “I don’t see any drills going on around here. Do you?”

If you say you do, will he let you off? Probably not, he’ll just cart you off to the infirmary and declare you mental.

“Fine,” you mutter with gritted teeth, “what is it now?”

Without answering, he turns and beckons you to follow. Like a good little obedient soldier. You fume silently, walking behind with clenched fists. First he cuts into your rightful nap time, and now into your wonderful walking time. Is there no limit to the amount of serene, private moments he plans to intrude on?

For some reason, the two of you head indoors, towards the rooms and offices. You may just be a dumb cadet, but even you’re pretty certain that none of the exercises are done in here. Is he taking you to his room? Why would he -

Wait.

Your mouth falls open, but your steps don’t falter. This is highly inappropriate. You don’t know what kind of woman Lieutenant Levi takes you to be, but you did not sign up for this. So you ask him to train you and call him sir a few times, and the man thinks you’re all good and willing, does he? That since he’s Humanity’s Strongest, he can have whoever he wants? What an insult to the name of courting. Where he finds the nerve to keep pulling stunts like these, you’ll never know.

Training your ass. This is an indecent night call. And you would never, ever -

Well.

Maybe. In a hot, scandalous kind of way that you would only ever tell Millie about. Not that you’d enjoy it, not with him. It’s more the forbidden aspect that’s attractive. It’s certainly not about the lieutenant, even with his nimble fingers and cold eyes and sharp tongue that you’re sure he could work wonders with - okay so maybe it is about him a little bit.

But it would also be delightful to turn him down. To watch the light leave his eyes (not that it was there in the first place) as you proudly tell him you respect yourself too much to sleep with a man who’s so arrogant and callous. Yeah, that’ll show him.

His fingers, though.

You’re so caught up in your little debate that you almost crash into him when he stops in front of a door. Ah, a private area. The barracks? How many members of his squad does he share a room with? You twitch uncomfortably.

“Here we are.” Even his voice sounds sultry. Or maybe it always sounds like that. Who knows.

“Why are we here, sir?” Your throat feels dry.

He turns and gives you a look that is decidedly not sexy. Rather, it seems like he thinks you’re the most idiotic person he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“You’re going to clean up in here, did you not hear me the first time?”

What?

You’re not sure what feels the most embarrassing. The fact that he’s apparently decided you’re the official Training Corp maid, or that you had actually been so comfortably considering sleeping with him that you tuned out what he was saying.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you frown. “Sir, I mean no offense -” He raises a brow, clearly ready to get offended - “but your, er, sanitary habits are pretty much known to everyone here. I doubt that I’ll be able to make your room sparkle more than it already does.”

Lieutenant Levi scoffs. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t my room.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls open in horror.

“This is Lieutenant Hange’s lab,” he explains as he steps in, “and before you ask, I’ve already secured her permission for you to clean up.” Producing a broom out of thin air, he shoves it in your waiting hands.

“Lieutenant, I...this is…”

“Disgusting. Yeah. So better not waste any time. You need to get some sleep if you want to survive your morning drills tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant, I’m from Stohess.” Too late do you realize that you’re pleading. “I’ve never even seen a pig’s den that is as messy as this.”

Countless exercises at the crack of dawn, and this is what’s broken you. The room is horrifying. It’s straight out of any neat freak’s nightmares. You don’t know how the lieutenant even stomachs looking at it.

“Never cleaned your own room, huh? Not surprised,” he muses, and you shoot him a dirty look.

This isn’t the spoiled brat in you talking, no, this is the sane human who knows that this room is basically hell incarnate.

“How does this count as training? You just need someone to do the Survey Corps’ dirty work!”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” he demands, but oho, you are ready.

“Exercising I can understand. Your random bursts of physical violence - harsh, but whatever.” Not like you’re trying to get vengeance for them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “This is just work, and I want to be paid if you’re making me do work.”

This makes him snort, shaking his head at you like he’s your teacher and you’re not understanding the most basic of concepts. “You’re not a merchant, (L/N), you’re a soldier.”

“A soldier, not a servant!”

“I am ordering you to do this,” he says softly, “are you disobeying an order, Cadet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, you’d rather not get kicked out of the military before you even complete your training. And certainly not before you make the lieutenant pay with everything you have. Oh, revenge will be sweet.

Begrudgingly, you step into the lab, swallowing your nervous inhibitions. This place is a dump, you wonder how Lieutenant Hange even gets any work done in here.

Goddammit, you are never going to clean this place up, no matter how hard you try!

“Like I said, we still need you to sleep,” the he-devil murmurs behind you, “so this better be done in an hour. I’ll come check on you then.”

Oh, fuck him. You wait until he leaves, and then get to work.

____________________

His royal highness comes back an hour later just like he said he would. When he opens the door, he finds you sprawled on the floor against the wall, tired but with your chest puffed up proudly, eyes zeroed in on him to see his reaction.

The room is spotless and distinctly organized. Papers that were strewn everywhere are now in one pile next to a stack of Lieutenant Hange’s many, many journals. Vials and flasks have been placed on top of one another by the sink, where they can be quickly washed and ready for use. The tops of the desks are spotless and dust-free. The floor is not only clean, but shiny.

There’s a brief flash of surprise on Lieutenant Levi’s face as he looks back at you. You allow yourself to smirk. Sure, your arms hurt even worse than they already did and you still feel like a maid because you’ve done more cleaning in the last hour than you have in your entire life (not because you’re spoiled, just because no rooms back home are ever this messy), but it’s worth it to see that he’s impressed by you, no matter how he tries to hide it.

You don’t know why you want him to be impressed in the first place, but you decide not to question it right now.

“Not bad,” he finally relents, walking up to you. “You plan to sleep here, or are you gonna get up?”

You snort. Such a charmer, this one. Well, you’re too lazy to stand on your own, so you hold your hand up expectantly. It’s really the least he can do after being no help at all.

After giving you a long look, he takes your hand and pulls you up to your feet. Your legs feel a little wobbly, and you wryly think about how you’d figured you’d be leaving the base with wobbly legs anyway. What a ridiculous fantasy. You hate him, and he probably hates you too. You would never do anything of any sort with him.

“Go to bed,” he orders quietly, taking note of how tired you look.

“So, 5 AM tomorrow, right?”

Again, he looks dryly amused like he always does when you say things like this, as though you’re just the funniest fucking person he’s ever met. “Nice try, (L/N).”

“When do you even sleep?” you question, brows furrowed in curiosity. You’ve wondered for a while.

Lieutenant Levi shrugs. “Usually from 1 to 3.”

You blink in disbelief, shaking your head. “Sorry, what?”

“Got a problem with that?” He’s clearly not fond of where the conversation’s headed, since he grabs you by the back of your collar and pushes you forward, out of the room. You comply, but you’re not done with this line of questioning. No one can just get two hours of sleep daily and continue to function normally.

“Is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?”

“You have no respect at all,” he quips, still shoving you ahead. The base is for the most part, bare and empty, since nearly everyone’s gone to bed by now. There’s only a few people still around, and they pay the two of you no mind.

“Have you always been an insomniac?”

“Fail to see why it’s any of your business.”

“Are you trying to make me an insomniac?”

The lieutenant sucks in an exasperated breath. “No, then I’d be punishing all insomniacs.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You don’t know why it’s so easy to engage in banter with him. He never discourages you, as much as he points out how unruly you are. In fact, he seems to enjoy it almost as much as you do.

And you do enjoy it, as much as you don’t want to.

“Lieutenant,” you begin hesitantly, not sure why you’re saying this, “I hear chamomile helps people go to sleep.”

“So it does,” he mutters dryly, “thanks for the observation.”

Fuck him, you were trying to be helpful.

“Are you going to walk me all the way back?” You hum thoughtfully, craftily. “People might get the wrong idea.”

At this, his footsteps stop, and you wince. God, your mouth really just runs a mile ahead of your brain at all times, doesn’t it? It won’t be satisfied until you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you just can’t get out of. Implying to Lieutenant Levi that people would think the two of you had sex is just the icing on top of the snarky cake you’ve been baking him since you got here. When you turn around, he’s looking at you with an appraising expression.

“What wrong idea will they get, Cadet?” he asks softly, grey eyes piercing through you.

Your mouth is dry. Surely he knows, does he need you to say it? Of course he does, he wants to make you uncomfortable. You can’t even blame him, this one’s all on you.

Screw it, you might as well be blunt.

“They might think we slept together.”

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. “I see. And what would you do if these rumors spread?”

You take a deep breath. “Gouge my eyes out, sir.”

This time, you can’t chalk it up to your imagination or a trick of the light. He scoffs, but he’s laughing, normally cruel lips twisted in a humorous smile. You’re surprised by how pleasant the sight is, like looking at a lily in a field of roses. Out of place, yet so very beautiful, a sight you can’t take your eyes off of. Just how does one man manage to be so fascinating? It takes a lot to make you want to swoon, especially for someone who you harbor such negative feelings for. How does he manage it so easily?

“Can’t have that.” His expression is still lit up in mirth. “You better go the rest of the way yourself.”

You salute, and turn around. Even as you walk, the image of him laughing - laughing at something you said - is burned into your mind, and it makes something in your chest clench in an all too unfamiliar way.

Maybe he watches you go, but you’re too proud to look back and check.

____________________

The air is abuzz with excitement. Everyone’s been waiting for this day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that everyone joined the military simply so that they could do this.

This being using the ODM gear, of course. Everyone has mastered the basics by now, or they’ve dropped out. The one who stayed have perfected balancing and not falling flat on their faces, they’ve watched senior veterans use the gear, and they’ve gotten a brief example of what it feels like to be shot forward through the air. Utilizing the blades properly will eventually be taught too, but for now, they get to practice flying. Actual flying. How amazing is that?

While people usually pair off on their own, Grumman sees fit to assign pairs himself today, much to everyone’s chagrin. By some shitty luck, you’re not paired with Millie, Ricky, or Stephen. You’re not even paired with Nifa or Jack, who you’re friendly enough with.

No, you’re paired with Petra fucking Ral.

You probably wouldn’t even know or care about who Petra was if not for Millie’s incessant complaining about her. Petra is one of the few people who balanced in the gear belts perfectly on her first try (you were also in that group, but Millie’s not gonna complain about you to you), Petra is all their teachers’ favorite because of how easily she retains information, Petra doesn’t have a hair out of place even when she fights. Petra this, Petra that.

Petra is Millie’s main competition for the number one position.

Frankly, you think your best friend is projecting.

“Do you feel a bit ridiculous too?” she asks after the two of you have put your gear on.

“Just a little.” You face her and strike a pose. “Do you think the titans would appreciate some more flair?”

Petra laughs, nodding. “Some eye candy would go a long way, I’m sure.”

The two of you exchange grins, straightening to attention when the instructor passes in front of you. He looks between you and murmurs something to himself before shouting out loud for just about everybody to hear. “(L/N) and Ral will go first! All the rest of you little shits, pay attention!”

Apparently being paired with golden girl Petra Ral means that you’re supposed to be a role model or something now. You groan inwardly - it seems everyone is convinced you want to be a model cadet. When will they get it through their thick skulls that you’re not that boring?

You and your partner step apart until there’s a safe distance between you two. In front of you is a forest, a forest that is the perfect place to practice with the ODM gear. You grip the handles firmly, knees crouching a little. Excitement bubbles inside you as you tense in anticipation. This is it! This is the first step to you becoming a full-fledged soldier. You’re one step closer to everything you’ve worked for.

“On my mark! Ready, set…”

You toss your shoulders back and push your chest forward and out of the corner of your eye you see Petra do the same.

“Go.”

Whizzing sounds are heard as the two of you fire your cables at the same time. You gasp as you’re shot forward, hurtling through the air at an electrifying speed. The trees rush past you in a blur of green and brown as you go up, up, up into the sky. You let out a breathless laugh as the hooks come free. This feeling, this feeling of your stomach jumping, this nerve-wracking feeling of doing something so dangerous and so thrilling at the same time - you’ve been craving it all your life. And here you are. You’re doing it, you’re actually up in the air and you’re flying. It’s incredible. You could stay up here forever.

So enthralled are you by this experience that you forget to hook to the next target, and with an unceremonious shriek you tumble through the branches and fall on the dirt below. Some gets in your mouth, unfortunately, and you hear loud chortles behind you. You spit out the rancid soil, shooting a glare behind you when you hear another whiz.

Up above you, Petra is still in the air. She’s slowly lowering herself down, though, concern dancing in her eyes as she stumbles to a stop a few feet away from you and rushes to help you up.

“Are you okay?” She looks genuine.

You sigh. Fucking Millie, she couldn’t share your distaste for Lieutenant Levi but she found it in her to hate this girl?

“I’m alright.” You take her hand and stand up, dusting dirt off your clothes. “Just got carried away.”

Petra giggles. “You were saying something about flair, right?”

You smile wryly, beckoning for her to come closer as an idea pops into your head. “We’ve got about two minutes before Grumman sends in the next pair. I bet I can get deeper into the forest than you can.”

Her eyes shine competitively, and she nods.

And without a beat, you two are up in the air again. You’re not a natural like she is, but you sincerely doubt that she or anyone else appreciates the wind whipping through their face quite like you do. You belong up here. You can feel it. For the first time in your life, you know instantly that you’re creating a memory that you will cherish for however little time you might have left.

____________________

Your heart beats with excitement as you bounce on the heels of your feet, looking behind your shoulder nervously. “Hurry up, Ricky!”

“I’m hurrying, now be quiet, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t see how. No one is wandering around the kitchens right now. The cooks who prepare the food left their stations ages ago, and no one else in the base would have any reason to be wandering down here. Normally, you wouldn’t have any reason either, but today is a bit of a special day. Or more accurately, it’s a precursor to a special day. The day after tomorrow will mark the Survey Corps’ next expedition and as always, the cooks are preparing something special for the heroes and fools. An energizer for some, and a last meal for others. While you know that the lowly cadets haven’t done anything heroic - yet - you and Ricky agreed that some pastries would surely make everyone happy. Just a few measly sweet tarts, the Scouts wouldn’t miss them. You didn’t lay a hand on the meat, knowing fully well that most of the people going out in two days would savor it much more than you would.

Ricky is quickly shoving the tarts into a pouch, taking his sweet time counting so that everyone got the same amount. Fucking outer city peasant, concerned with fairness. You sigh impatiently, bouncing on your feet. You’re hungry. The bread at dinner seemed even more stale than usual today.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

Your eyes widen at the same time as Ricky’s - why in the holy hells is the head chef still here? Does he sleep here? Before you can consider the disturbing implications of that possibility, you’re grabbing Ricky’s arm and running for all you’re worth. You’re counting on the fact that it’s dark in the kitchens, so hopefully he didn’t see your face. Unfortunately, the chef seems intent on finding out who broke into his precious kitchen, because he clambers on out after you.

After running for two minutes, he shows no sign of stopping.

“S-split up,” Ricky pants, wheezing as you two flee.

“Fine,” you huff, a bit proud of the fact that you’ve got more tolerance than he does, “but I want leverage.”

Without waiting for him to respond, you snatch a pastry from the top of the bag and skid to the hallway on the right while Ricky keeps running forward. The chef chooses to chase him, and you cackle maniacally at your friend’s terrible luck. You’re home free, and you have your dessert as a trophy too.

You turn your head to double check, turn back, and then crash face first into someone’s chest.

Rough hands grip your wrists to catch and steady you, and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you want to scream.

Why is he everywhere?

Lieutenant Levi’s gaze goes from the tart in your hand to your panicked expression, and he understands what’s going on without any need for an explanation from you. He takes a step closer to you, tugging you firmly so you can’t move back. You swallow nervously, stuttering out apologies for crashing into him and for being up past curfew. He listens to you ramble, but doesn’t let go. His eyes flicker to the pastry again.

“Those are for the Scouts,” he murmurs lowly. Is it your stupid imagination again or does his voice sound more husky than usual? “Not for fucking brats, (L/N).”

Normally you’d answer with some witty comeback, but you’re feeling a bit dizzy with how close he is and how hungrily his stormy eyes are watching you. The most you can do is open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re in deep shit now, you know that much.

Without removing his piercing gaze from your face, he lowers his head a bit, and takes a bite out of the tart in your hand.

You could swear your heart stops beating for a second. His grip on your wrists suddenly feels like it’s hard enough to make them bruise, even though you can tell he’s not holding on that tight. You watch him chew, swallow, and then lick his lips, all without looking away for even a second. It’s mesmerizing. Before you can tell what you’re doing, you raise the tart a bit, and let him take another bite. As though you’re fucking feeding him, like a good fucking girl. The lieutenant’s lips curl into a small smirk, and you think you’re going to drop on the spot when he takes a third bite, finishing the pastry, the tip of his tongue just brushing against your index finger.

You wonder if he can hear just how erratically your heart is pounding.

Levi’s close, too close. You don’t know what to do, how to break his scrutiny of your face, or if you even want to. He leans in, just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat. When did you forget how to breathe? It should be easy. Suck in air, let it out, repeat.

He tilts his head a millimeter.

You sigh in anticipation, lean forward, and…

He turns away at the last second, and your lips meet his cheek.

Fuck.

You gasp against his skin, not moving. From his amused expression, he can tell that your face is burning up. Somehow, he’s managed to embarrass you again, even if this instance isn’t public and doesn’t end with you in pain. This feels worse than all the other times, though. Before, you were simply thrown around, his way of calling you weak. Physically weak. Not strong enough, a rookie. But this, this is him telling you that he knows he lords some power over you, something that transcends his rank. Something personal.

“Thanks for the snack,” he says, stepping back only a little (see: not enough) to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now hurry to bed before I decide I want more.”

Heat pools from your stomach right down to your core. If possible, your cheeks grow even hotter.

The lieutenant lets go and turns around, leaving you standing there with a wide-eyed expression, feeling strangely empty as you watch him go.

You’re never going to let him catch you breaking curfew again.

If you’ve never done calf raises before, I do not recommend, they genuinely will leave you sore for a bit if you’re not used to them. But otherwise, yay for exercise I guess.

Reader is very cocky but we love her for it.

We don’t have Petra slander here, folks. I adore her. Millie doesn’t, though. Rip.

Let me know what you think!

[dinsbeskar]

First Time | Darth Maul x Reader

Rating: Teen (fluff with one sex reference)

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Maul has never heard "I love you". Well, there's a first time for everything.

Warnings/tags: angst, miscommunication, mutual pining, fluff, declarations of love, references to sex offscreen, gender neutral reader (no references to gender)

The first time you tell Maul you love him, it slips out and you want the ground to swallow you up.

“I’m leaving.” You regret breaking the previously comfortable silence as he barely looks up from his datapad, nodding softly.

You stand abruptly, surprised he has nothing more to say.

“Really?  That’s it, no asking why or where I’m going?” Your voice is threatening to break, stars, don’t break in front of him.

“Why would I?  You don’t need my permission,” he says with a slight tone of annoyance, brows furrowed as he tries to concentrate on the current uprising in the syndicate.

“Right.  Okay.  Guess I’ll see you around then.”  You turn to leave, tears pricking your eyes.

You can’t believe he’s being so cavalier, not that you imagine he feels the same way about you but you had hoped-

“And what is that supposed to mean?” He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I have neither the time nor patience for dramatics, if you want me to follow you-"

“That’s the thing, I don’t, I can’t-"

“Can’t what?” His anger is building now, something is wrong but one of you is being obtuse and he can’t tell which.

“I can’t stay!” You’re trembling, wanting so badly to stay, to stay with him, but pining for a Sith Lord is hard work. “I can’t stay here, I’m taking my ship and leaving Mandalore, Maul, I’m sorry.”

His hearts drop to the pit of his stomach, suddenly a black expanse through which they keep falling- how could you leave?  He really thought maybe this once... no, everyone leaves in the end, it was only a matter of time.

He’s on his feet without a thought, nails biting into his palm to keep himself grounded.  His lips draw back in a snarl, an expression you’d seen countless times but never directed at you.  Your chest aches and your palms sweat  but you stand your ground.

“Then leave, I’d hate to think I were keeping you here against your will, you must have so many pressing appointments.” Sorrow has quickly turned to rage and he needs you to leave before he does something he’ll regret.

“You know that’s not the case, don’t be so kriffing cruel.  Force, if I’d realised how you truly felt sooner I’d have left sooner, I do apologise, my Lord.” Your words come out harsher than you mean them, laced with spite in retaliation.

“Cruel?  You haven’t seen cruel, get out before that changes.” He’s shaking too now, desperately trying to control every urge to scream and rage until you’ve gone.  Abandoned again, no, he is fear, he is hunter, he is nothing.

You can feel his rage rolling off him in waves as he paces the hall, looking anywhere but at you.  Why would he care so much?  You’ve never truly known what goes on his head, but you assumed he was fairly indifferent towards you.  Yes, he tolerates your presence more than the others in court, allowed you to get a little closer than most too, the only one he would ever request to join him aside from his brother.  And it wasn’t as if you hadn’t shared his bed a few times, but you had assumed that was boredom, a way to pass the time for both of you.  He wasn’t the type to get attached and you knew that, fought your own feelings, there was no way they would ever be returned.  Unless-

“I can’t believe I loved you.” You’re taking a chance, gambling on the possibility that his anger has something more to it, force, please have something more to it, this was such a risky move.

He stops his pacing, still refusing to even glance at you, but his black towering rage becomes slightly less black.  Very, very, dark grey.

“What did you say?” Is that hope you detect?

You clench your jaw a little and reply, “I loved you.  It was foolish, I see that now.”

He starts to pace again, less in a temper though, more out of the confusion written all over his face.  It couldn’t be.  And even if it were, you said loved, past tense.  Cue the longest, most tense silence you’d ever experienced, during which all you could do was stand there nervous, so nervous, nausea building as you watch him pace back and forth, wringing your hands a little.

“Maul, please say something, anything,” you hate pleading like this but he won’t be the one to break the silence, having to admit everything he’s thinking, feeling, terrified that you really will leave when he says the wrong thing.

He seems to choose his words carefully, still not looking at you, refusing to look because if he looks he’ll break.

“You said... loved.  You... loved me.  Why did you say nothing?” It comes out as a whisper, almost as if to himself.

“How could I?  We’re... friends, aren’t we?  At least you have me around when you don’t really need me-"

“I do need you.” He’s louder this time but not by much, you’re not even sure you heard him right.

“What?” You need him to say it again, need to hear it a thousand times more.

He turns and finally looks into your eyes, expression softening instantly when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks.  He wants to brush them away, to hold your face and tell you he wants you by his side, that you can’t leave him, to make you promise to never leave.

“I need you.  And if you no longer feel the same, I understand.”  He can’t hold your gaze, he tries but a heat rises in him that any other being would identify as embarrassment.

Your eyebrows crease in astonishment, a smile working its way to your lips, threatening to crack your face in half.  Need.  Need would do.

“I’d follow you to the ends of the galaxy if you asked me to.”

His hearts skip a beat or three as you speak, a pressure building in his chest that feels so warm, so kriffing pure, he’s never felt anything like it.

“I love you, and I’ll keep loving you, and if you have to hear it again and again, I’ll keep telling you, until you’re sick of hearing it, until you beg me to stop.”

“Go on then,” he says, his features so soft your heart melts. “Tell me again.”

“I love you,” you huff a laugh, small and quietly ecstatic, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Placing emphasis on every single word, huffing a laugh as you do so, enjoying seeing him melt at your words.  Bringing a Lord of the Sith, former as he would so often remind you, to his knees could soon become a much beloved pastime, judging by the warmth that envelops you every single time you tell him how you feel.

He’s scarcely able to believe it, even after hearing it from your lips so many times, that he might no longer be nothing, that he might actually be something to someone like you.  He whispers your name in reverence, like a prayer that keeps you spellbound and breathless.

You reach out for him, hand on his chest while the other searches for his hand to hold, to reassure him that it’s okay.  He holds onto you like you’ll disappear, dissolve through his fingers into the ether, and you pull him closer and sigh into his chest.  He lifts your face with a finger and actually smiles.  You’ve only seen him smile a handful of times and it’s not always because he’s happy, not that he knows what happy means.  It’s warm and genuine and content, you’ve never seen such a sight and it reignites the ache in your chest, that you’re sure can only be quelled by one thing.

When his mouth claims yours, everything burns, warm and bright and glowing, an unmistakable feeling that, well, it feels like home.

[imkylotrash]

Damsel In Distress

Pairing: Hardin Scott x reader

Request: Shy reader who never notice Hardin and Hardin never notice her. Until one day a guy slap her butt and she literally throws him over her shoulder and shocks everyone. Hardin tries to talk to her but she ignore him but slowly falls for him. (can u please do the reader Muslim) Anonymous

Warnings: Swearing, non-consent

A/N: I’ve tried to incorporate the reader being Muslim as much as I possibly could without using any knowledge that I didn’t fully understand. If I’ve written something that’s offensive or gotten a fact wrong, please let me know. I will correct it immediately! x 

Another day on campus and another day of keeping to yourself. After moving across country and away from your family your shyness had been taken to a whole new level. Even now on your second year at school, you’d managed to make three friends though having been in many classes. It’s difficult coming to a new school with no safety net and with a job most days to pay the bills, you’d just about given up on a social life. It would be a distraction you could not afford right now. Thankfully, your close group of friends understood this and never bothered you with party invites or guilting you into joining them after school. On a rare occasion, you would join them in getting a cup of coffee after classes which worked just fine for all of you. In emergencies you were all there for each other instantly which is what mattered most to you. 

“Y/N, did you finish the assignment for Siwa’s class?” You look over to find Andrea talking to you. Sweetest girl you’ll ever meet but hopeless at finishing projects on time. 

“Of course,” you smile already prepared with a USB drive. In return she offers a coffee. It’s almost a ritual at this point. 

“Is that a new hijab?” she asks looking at the top of your head. You raise your hand almost reflexively to your head looking for any strands of hair that might be showing. Of course there isn’t because you’ve perfected the art of tightening it just right. No hair falls out but it’s not tight on your head. 

“I just got it yesterday. I just love the colour,” you reply. Your aunt had visited some family and brought back the most gorgeous coloured hijabs. You had gotten the dark green one that really brought out your eyes. 

“It’s just absolutely perfect, darling.” She does her very best British accent making you laugh. But your conversation is cut off by some frat dude who’s decided to make you his victim today. His hand connects with your butt and you hear the loud slap. 

“What the hell?” Andrea yells making the guy laugh. You’re frozen in time. This just can’t be happening. Everything about this is so wrong. You don’t want attention from boys and especially not boys like him. 

“Just appreciating what I’m seeing,” he smirks. 

“Listen up, you fucking asshole. You do not touch women without consent!” 

“Oh yeah, watch me,” he says before reaching over to touch your butt again. The movement wakes you up and you go into defense mode. Grabbing his arm, you spin around so your back is turned towards his chest. His arm is dragged over your shoulder as you push back with your hips and throw him over your shoulder. He rolls a few times before jumping back up. 

“You little bitch!” he spits getting ready to come at you when a guy gets involved and steps in front of you. Without even saying a word his fist connects to the other guy’s face. 

“Listen, mate. Don’t ever fucking do that again.” The frat guy scrambles and the violent guy turns to you with a cocky smile. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you immediately says. 

“I think you meant ‘thank you’,” he laughs extending his hand, “I’m Hardin by the way.” For a second you look at his hand before deciding you don’t need his drama. 

“I’m supposed to thank you for doing something I could’ve done myself?” You don’t believe this guy. Andrea takes your hand offering some much-needed support. 

“Come on. I totally saved you.” It’s not worth the trouble. You spin around and start walking away. You will never be able to explain to him that what he just did just helped confirm to the frat guy that the behaviour is okay because girls can’t fight back. It’s a discussion you’re not willing to have with a complete stranger. Campus is big so hopefully you won’t have to deal with him again. Or so you thought. 

Over the next couple of weeks Hardin seeks you out, in turn making you somewhat uncomfortable. You’re not used to attention and there seem to be nothing but attention where Hardin is involved. He’s loud and cocky and seems to believe that he’s far superior most people. Obnoxious, infuriating, obtuse are other words that can be used to describe Hardin. 

“You want some?” he asks offering part of his cookie one day. 

“I can’t,” you say looking around. You’re sitting on a blanket outside of the library. It’s been four weeks since the incident that started this whole thing and very slowly Hardin’s worked his way into your life. You’re not a couple yet, but you’re not entirely just friends either.

“Of course you can. I haven’t even taken a bite yet.” 

“I mean, I literally can’t. I’m not allowed to eat until after sunset.” The confusion on Hardin’s face lets you know that he has no clue why you would need to refrain from eating.

“It’s Ramadan. I can’t eat or drink anything from sunrise to sunset,” you explain matter-of-factly. 

“Right,” he says getting up. You’re confused until you see him drop the cookie into a trash bin. 

“You can eat though. It’s fine,” you say probably a little too late. 

“I’ll join you. It’ll be fun,” he says hooking his arm around you. 

“You realise this means no sex either, right?” To this Hardin groans loudly making you laugh. Although not being quite at a point where sex is even on the table, you and Hardin have joked about this plenty of times due to his experience and your lack of. 

It’s another five weeks before you and Hardin share your first kiss. It’s short but sweet. He doesn’t push you for more making you fall even harder for him. At this point you can’t continue to avoid introducing him to your family. But you’re worried what they’ll say when they see all his tattoos. It’s not something commonly accepted by Muslim belief but you eventually introduce him anyway. Thankfully, your parents are very sweet about it. 

“So, you’re the boy that’s been making my daughter so happy?” your dad asks as grips Hardin’s hand tightly.

“I sure hope so. Because she’s been making me very happy,” Hardin replies obviously on his best behaviour. That night your parents begin their own journey to falling for Hardin’s personality and you truly can’t blame them. Coincidentally, it’s the same night he asks you to be his girlfriend. Of course there’s only right answer to that. 

[princessphilly]

Hockey Fic Exchange: Second Chance in Chicago

This is for the @hockeynetwork​ winter gift exchange. I was matched with my friend, @texanstarslove​ and it was relatively easy to give her what she wanted. 

Title: Second Chance in Chicago

Player: Jonathan Toews

Genre: Angst, smut

Word count: 6410 words

 March 2007

“Wouldja look at that? There’s the future NHL star, looking like the dork he is.”

Lizzie stuck out her tongue as Rachel announced the presence of the asshole himself, Jonathan Toews. They were all sophomores at UND but he had gotten drafted third overall by the Chicago Blackhawks last year. Hockey ruled UND so the team already had a high profile. But this year’s team looked like it would do some damage in the tournament so all eyes were really on them.

Tonight, Lizzie and her friends had decided to go to a frat party at the Beta house. It was a cold early March Thursday night but she had been in the mood to party. Unfortunately, the party had been invaded by the hockey team.

Jonathan grinned, his deep brown eyes sparkling like he had already pregamed. “Hey ladies,” he greeted before grabbing Lizzie and giving her a hug.

“Ew!”

Lizzie pushed Jonathan away. He definitely had pregamed, he smelled like good old Vladimir vodka. He was going to have a fucking hangover tomorrow.

Jonathan pouted. “I thought we were friends, Lizzie,” he exclaimed as he wrapped his arms around Lizzie again

“When did you think that?”

Rachel and Bethany snickered. It was a bit of a running joke, this animosity between Lizzie and Tazer. No one quite knew how it really started except it had been a freshman year hook up that ended bad. At least, that was the rumor. Ever since, Lizzie couldn’t stand Jonathan and Jonathan did every thing possible to needle her.

Lizzie flipped her hair over her shoulder before elbowing Jonathan in the ribs. Giving him an angelic smile, she ordered, “Don’t touch me.”

Being the drunken asshole he was at the moment, Jonathan leaned down and murmured in her ear, “You didn’t say that last weekend.”

“Ugh!”

Lizzie pushed Jonathan away before stomping towards the keg. Jonathan shrugged as TJ and some of the other hockey players came in. She was able to avoid him for the rest of the night and even flirted with a couple of junior guys she hadn’t met. Of course, as soon as she went to get a breather from the hot party, Jonathan was already outside.

Shivering, Lizzie huddled close to the door, planning to ignore Toews. There had been a snowstorm the other day and there was a good ten inches of snow on the ground.  

“Supposed to snow again tomorrow.”

Lizzie let out a loud sigh. Of course, he couldn’t respect her silent plea to be left alone. “This is North Dakota. It’s always snowing.”

Turning to her left, Lizzie looked at Jonathan. For once, he didn’t have his cocky, self-assured, ‘I’m the one in complete charge’ look on his face. He looked slightly pensive and a bit unsure. “Here, have my hoodie.”

“I don’t-,” Lizzie started to say but she relented as Jonathan put his hoodie over her head, pulling it down. She was cold as fuck, shivering in just a short-sleeved shirt and her jeans. “Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome.”

They stood there for several moments, breath turning into puffs of icicles before Jonathan finally broke the ice. “Ridley, really?”

“Oh, you know him?” Lizzie tensed, UND wasn’t as big as other schools but she could at least have found someone that Jonathan didn’t already know. But then, hockey ruled here and he knew more people than her so yeah, just her fucking luck.

“He’s cool.” Jonathan shrugged, suddenly feeling nervous as fuck. It really wasn’t his area to talk, he didn’t really want to be a cock-block, but fuck it. “He’s not an asshole or anything. But we both know that’s not who you really want.”

“Oh really? Who told you what I really want?”

He hadn’t really planned to do it now; Jonathan had planned to go for it next month. But he already had told coach and his teammates that he was going pro after this season, so he might as well do it. “We have unfinished business, Elizabeth.”

Lizzie froze at Jonathan’s use of her full name.  He was the only one here at UND who ever used her full name. It brought back memories, those first weeks of spring semester of freshman year. Memories of doing things that would have had Momma reaching for her rosary and Papa yanking her out of UND to go into a convent. She bit out, “No, we don’t.”

“So, that’s why you called me last Saturday, asking me to come over after the game?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I was drunk,” she very primly replied, staring at her nails. She thought to herself, ‘I need a manicure.’

“Then last weekend, you came over and you definitely weren’t drunk.”

Lizzie shrugged, pretending she didn’t hear what Jonathan said. She didn’t want to admit the truth; Jonathan made her nervous. She was 19 and every time she was with him, she felt like this could be something that could be forever. But Lizzie had plans; she was planning to go east for law school, get out of North Dakota forever. This wasn’t the time to even think of settling down with anyone, especially not with Jonathan since he was going pro. Even though, her traitorous pussy reminded her, Jonathan made her cum better than anyone else and wasn’t scared to choke, bite, or spank her unlike other guys.

Jonathan growled, of course Lizzie would be acting obtuse. He wasn’t looking to settle down or anything serious, he was just about to turn 19 and about to go to Chicago in five and a half months to start his pro career. Jonathan did really like Lizzie a lot and wouldn’t be against putting a label on what was going on. Then, Lizzie got cold feet last year and had been stringing him along for over a year. It would be nice if Lizzie actually admitted that they had something going instead of being nasty to his face but fucking with him late at night.

“Okay, since you don’t want to face reality, I’m just going to say it. It’s not fair that you like to treat me like shit in public but you want me to fuck you when no one is looking.”

Lizzie opened her mouth before closing it. From the tone of voice that Jonathan had used, it sounded harsh. Like she was using him like a whore. But Jonathan wasn’t done.

“Don’t worry about my hoodie, I’ll get it before I leave.”

Jonathan turned around and went back inside of the party. Lizzie stayed outside for several more minutes, pensive. Then she harrumphed and rejoined the party, resolute that she was going to ignore Jonathan once she gave him his hoodie back.

**

Twelve years later

Lizzie brushed her ginger hair over her shoulder. It was weird to be ginger for the first time since she was fifteen. The past years, she had been a very faithful blonde but it was time to do something very different.

“Not bad for a rancher’s daughter.”

Lizzie twirled in her full-length mirror, admiring the way the navy-blue dress fit her body, accessorized with her diamond hoop earrings, tennis bracelet, class ring, and the brand-new patent leather heels she had managed to score on clearance at Neiman Marcus. Very much the uniform of an intellectual property litigator who had just made partner, not the yee-haw who had went to UND. But right now, as she thought about tonight, Lizzie felt like the yee-haw she tried to suppress.

Tonight, there was a fundraising cocktail hour for her firm, Bradley, Lewis, and Cooper. This would be the first one that Lizzie attended since she transferred to the Chicago office from Atlanta. She was good at gladhanding and charming people, attending Penn Law had sucked the yee-haw from Lizzie’s accent. Now, she was Elizabeth Romanelli, ready to make connections while raising funds for the Children’s Miracle Network.

Only fly in the ointment was that this fundraiser was being held at the United Center. Not only that, it was rumored that the firm was able to get a couple of players for the Blackhawks to appear. Bradley, Lewis, and Cooper did some work for the Blackhawks, mainly with local TV contracts and sponsorships. Lizzie took in a deep fortifying breath. “It has been years,’ she told herself. “There’s no need to be nervous seeing Jon again.”

She turned around and grabbed her coat. It was mid fall but the temperature dropped enough at night that Lizzie wanted to wear her coat just in case. Before she left, she looked at her left ring finger. Taking a deep breath, she slid her old wedding ring off her finger. It was a new start, time to act like it.

**

The fundraiser went pretty well, in Lizzie’s eyes. It was her first firm social event in Chicago so most of it was spent shaking hands, exchanging business cards, and talking some shop. There were a couple of Blackhawks players there, none of that Lizzie recognized. She admitted several times while in conversation, that she was more of a college hockey than pro hockey fan.

Then, the one person she was hoping wouldn’t show up, showed up. Lizzie worked hard not to check Jonathan out but he had the kind of presence that commanded attention. His hair was cut short and the once lanky frame had filled out completely. Lizzie smirked when she saw one of her fellow attendees lick her lips but she couldn’t blame her. Jonathan looked delicious in a black suit with a pristine white shirt, no tie. He looked like casual, dominant elegance in a hockey player package as he made his rounds the room.

“You’re lucky that your department doesn’t work with the Blackhawks on anything,” said the woman who licked her lips. Lizzie looked down and looked at her name tag, it said ‘Elise’.

“Oh why?”

Lizzie took a sip of her pinot grigio, waiting for a reply. Elise didn’t disappoint as she whispered, “He’s single and my law school loans say he would be perfect for them.”

She couldn’t resist laughing at that statement; Lizzie totally understood where Elise was coming from. But as soon as her laughter faded, there was Jonathan Toews, right in front of them. Elise looked up at him, obviously starstruck. Lizzie put her best courtroom face as she stuck out her hand. “Hello, I’m Elizabeth Romanelli. You are?”

Jonathan blinked when Lizzie introduced herself as Elizabeth Romanelli. She was Lizzie MacArthur in the flesh, all these years later. Grasping her hand, Jonathan said, “Jonathan Toews, but you know who I am.”

Jonathan kept his best PR smile on his face as he processed his thoughts. This was Lizzie, the only one who got away. She was a redhead now, not a blonde, but those green eyes were still the same. Deep green eyes that always brimmed with an intelligence that had made Jon feel like he was an idiot when they first met at UND.

“Oh, how do you two know each other?”

Lizzie managed to keep her expression completely neutral while Jon reddened a bit. He dropped her hand as he said, “We went to college together.”

“Where was that,” Elise innocently asked and Lizzie wasn’t sure if she was truly curious or if she was being a bit catty.

“I went to University of North Dakota with Mr. Toews for undergrad,” Lizzie said. “Then I did Penn Law.”

Elise replied, “Oh. I remember reading that once.”

Lizzie refused to roll her eyes as Jon made small talk about the hockey season with Elise. Spotting a waiter, Elise raised her hand for another glass of wine. Tonight, was looking like it was about to be long. Before she could make her escape, Elise exclaimed, “Oh, there’s Mr. Schmidt, I need to talk to him! It was so nice to meet you and talk to you, Mr. Toews, Ms. Romanelli.”

Lizzie sighed as she scampered away, leaving her alone with Jonathan.

“Long time, no see,” Jonathan said, taking a sip of his water. Tomorrow was a game night and while he enjoyed drinking, he had no interest in doing anything that would keep him out of peak performance. But looking at Lizzie, he wished he had something stronger. The years had done her good; she looked curvier, stronger, hotter. He felt his pants tighten and Jonathan thought of his smelly hockey gear to deflate his hard on.

Lizzie stroked the curve of her new wine glass before replying, “I know. Wasn’t necessarily planned.”

“Romanelli?”

“I was married,” Lizzie’s smile tightened.

Jonathan quickly replied, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask anything that would make you feel- “

“It’s okay, let’s not go there, okay. Before you ask, I’m a widow.” Lizzie looked down at her wine. It had been long enough that she knew she wouldn’t break down but it was awkward to talk about it with her first college hookup/almost boyfriend. After all these years, Jonathan still had an affect on her. She felt a bit lightheaded but her once dormant libido had flared up as soon as they shook hands. It was as if her body had decided that someone worthy was nearby and it was time.

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan repeated, his voice low as he ran his fingers through his short hair. It was a bit overwhelming seeing Lizzie again but he was already damn sure that he needed to see her again. As they exchanged pleasantries, Jon moved on to another group at the fundraiser. But every now and then, he made sure to catch her in the crowd.

At the end of the night, he was finally able to get Lizzie alone, again. “Now that you’re in Chicago, why don’t we go out? As old friends?”

Lizzie laughed as she waited for her coat. “We weren’t old friends and you know it.”

“But who said that we can’t be at least friends now?”

Jonathan gave Lizzie a big smile while she scoffed, “I can tell by the way you’ve been looking at me all night that you aren’t interested in being just friends.”

“How was I looking at you?”

Jonathan leaned into Lizzie as he noticed that Seabs was nearby. While he loved Seabs as a brother, he didn’t want him to have any idea of what he was planning, yet.

Lizzie batted her lashes at Jonathan before replying, “Like you never seen a woman before. I have to keep the conversation business casual but we both know what I’d really like to say.”

“Then, you should let me have your phone number.”

“Smooth, Toews,” Lizzie commented. “Very smooth.”

“I try.”

Jonathan couldn’t help himself; as Lizzie received her coat from the coat check, he helped her put it on.

“Wow, I don’t know if you’re actually a gentleman now or if you’re trying to get points,” Lizzie quipped.

Jonathan gave her an aw-shucks grin and a shrug. Despite her better judgment, Lizzie figured that it couldn’t hurt. She didn’t really know anyone yet in Chicago and it would be nice to talk to someone who she at least knew from college. But she didn’t want to openly give it to Jonathan so she took the moment to turn and grab paper and a pen from a table. Writing her number and snap down, she slid it into Jonathan’s pocket.

“There, now you can never say I never gave you anything.”

Lizzie turned and sauntered away. Jonathan fished through his pockets and grabbed the paper, grinning and laughing to himself.

**

Lizzie had to give Jonathan credit. He knew how to attempt to get a woman’s attention. The flowers were a nice touch; not too ostentatious and he was smart enough not to attach his name to them. But Lizzie knew exactly who they were from because there were exactly nineteen pink and nineteen white roses in Monday’s bouquet. Yesterday’s bouquet was a set of nineteen purple flowers that after she looked them up, Lizzie found out that they were purple columbine. Today’s bouquet involved nineteen white camelias and nineteen red chrysanthemums.

“This guy must really like you.”

Lizzie turned around to see Peter, her paralegal. He was pointing at the flowers, a pensive look on his face.

“Really? He just wants my attention.” Lizzie dismissively waved towards the flowers but inwardly, she was loving it.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Okay, whatever you say. Anyway, I have five messages from the managing partners.”

“I already know what they want and I already reviewed the files and sent them to Kristin, Jacques, and Malik. They are working on the briefs for the arbitration and they should all be done by the end of the work day. I will prep my own opening argument myself for the hearing when we are done talking. You can quote everything I just said in your email,” Lizzie stated with a smile on her face. This was her first arbitration hearing at the Chicago office with her new associates working under her. But she knew it would go well.

“But the flowers. I’d look them up, Ms. Romanelli. He’s sending you a message with each bouquet. Especially that first one with those kind of pink roses, maiden blush roses? Oh, he’s definitely telling you something.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Lizzie brushed Peter off, her mind already back on work. However, she messaged Jon later, I like jasmine, lily of the valley, the most.

The next day, there was a bouquet with yellow jasmine, lily of the valley, and red pink flowers, the number adding to 19 and a note, looking forward to seeing you tonight.

**

Lizzie was still a mystery and Jonathan was desperate to figure her out. This was their sixth date and every time he felt like he was getting closer to her, Lizzie pulled back. Jon understood but at the same time, he was getting annoyed. He was also horny as fuck and trying very hard not to let his cock dictate his actions.

Tonight, Lizzie wore a little black dress with strappy heels to dinner and all Jonathan could think of was having Lizzie wear those heels while he fucked her hard and fast. It took all his willpower to keep the conversation light during dinner as his traitorous brain filled with all kinds of dirty images. Now, they were having post dinner drinks at a place Kaner had suggested. It was very intimate, the kind of place for seduction. Unfortunately, Jonathan thought, there would probably be no seduction tonight as he stood on the wall with Lizzie.

“I intentionally wore these for you.”

Lizzie fluttered her eyelashes at Jon’s dumbfounded expression. She wasn’t dumb; she knew exactly the kind of affect she had on men. Lizzie had to give Jonathan credit; he was doing a good job of not being a stupid hornball.

“I love them,” Jonathan drawled before taking a sip of his whiskey on the rocks. He told himself to be patient, as they continued to talk but after another half-hour talking about football, Jon finally broached the subject. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Are you,” Lizzie countered. She went out on a couple of dates with a couple of different guys when the Blackhawks were out of town because, in her mind, she was still a free agent. Doing that actually made Lizzie feel more comfortable with going out with Jonathan. Not that the other dates were bad but Lizzie had to admit to herself that there was still something more with Jonathan.

“No,” Jonathan admitted. His DMs were full on all social media so he could go out with anyone he wanted if he truly felt like it. But right now, he really was just interested in Lizzie.

“That’s nice.”

Lizzie twirled the straw in her cocktail. Jonathan thought about what to say but ended up blurting out, “I still think about some of the things we did.”

“Woooooooow.”

Blushing, Lizzie bit her lip. Some of those memories had come back since she had seen Jonathan again. Some of those things that had seemed extra sinful at eighteen and nineteen were mainstream these days. Plus, Greg had tried but he didn’t have that same aura that teenage Jonathan had. Adult Jonathan had that dominant aura in spades and it was tempting.

Lizzie added, “And?”

Jonathan moved closer to Lizzie, his big body bracketing hers, his monotone voice even deeper, “You remember when I tied you up the first time?”

“That was…. interesting,“ Lizzie replied. She felt flushed, that memory now in her brain. They had been fumbling around and Jonathan had tied her up before making her beg and scream his name. But the knot had got stuck and after he cut her out, Lizzie had chafed skin on both of her wrists. “It was an interesting experiment.”

Jonathan licked his lips. He noticed that Lizzie was flushed, her body leaning towards his. It was almost heady, the tension, he could taste it. So, he decided to press into the attack.

“We’ve both grown up now. I mean, I know what I love to do in the bedroom and I’m not a teen boy fumbling around.”

Lizzie resisted the urge to roll her eyes at Jonathan’s pronouncement. Steeling her face so that she looked impassive, inwardly she was freaking out a bit. Jonathan had been pretty good fuck in college, better than the rest of her boyfriends before she married Greg. But this Jonathan, three times Stanley Cup winner and hockey superstar Jonathan, he seemed lethal.

And he knew it as he gave Lizzie a little smirk and a wink.

“Don’t worry Lizzie, no one is going to judge you now if you like a little pain. I definitely won’t. You know I liked giving it to you when we were experimenting.”

Exasperated, Lizzie exclaimed, “You’re still so arrogant! I seriously doubt you’d have a chance to fuck me again.”

Jonathan moved closer and Lizzie backed up, backing into the wall. Jonathan got close enough that Lizzie could smell his expensive cologne but far enough that she could easily move away if she wanted to.

“I don’t know why you’re still lying to yourself all these years later,” Jonathan murmured, his dark brown eyes looking black. “But I’m patient, I can still wait. You still want me and I’ve always wanted you.”

Lizzie bit her lip and Jonathan resisted the urge to groan. He had thought that he had forgotten her but just meeting her again two months ago had brought back those old feelings. Now, he was getting tired of playing cat and mouse but from what he had learned from TJ and Ridley, Jonathan was trying to be careful and tactical with his advances. He at least managed to get her to go out with him. His cock could wait.

Of course, after telling himself that, images from a decade ago filled his head. Ignoring them, Jonathan instead taunted, “Nothing to say? I never thought lawyers could be rendered speechless.”

Instead of replying, Lizzie reached out and touched Jonathan’s sweater. It was super soft and felt like it was made from the finest cashmere. She finally replied, voice low and soft, “Why am I so attracted to you? This shouldn’t really be happening.”

“Fate.”

It was a very simple reply as Jonathan grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed her hand, just a brief touch of closed lips to skin. But it felt like electricity coursed through both of them. Jonathan recovered first before giving Lizzie a devilish smile. “Night, night Elizabeth.”

***

“He’s way too smooth.”

Lizzie took in a deep breath as she watched the first snowfall of the year through her office window. Rachel’s laughter at her complaint registered super loud over her ear pod.

Rachel commented, “Of course he is, he’s had over a decade of practice. I can’t believe he’s still interested; I think Jon has dated models and he could date anyone. You’re lucky as hell, Lizzie.”

Lizzie pouted as she moved away from the window. “I don’t know if I want to be lucky.”

“Well, I remember all of the sneaking around you’d did when we were in college. You had no problems fucking him in private.”

“RACHEL!! Oh, my Gawd, you knew that?!?”

Lizzie put her hand on her forehead, mortified. She thought she had been cautious.

Rachel chuckled before continuing, “No one else figured it out. But it was obvious that sparks were flying. And then Jon goes pro and you end up dating around until you met Greg. But you never were as happy as you were freshman spring.”

Lizzie sighed, feeling a headache beginning to start. “Greg, you know I loved Greg.”

“I know honey, if you hadn’t, I would have seriously considered stopping the wedding,” Rachel consoled. “And he did help you escape the ranch and your parents’ plans.”

“I’ve been a widow for 3 years and this is the first time I’ve been attracted to a man,” Lizzie blurted out. Her cheeks reddened as she realized her admission.

There was an extended pause before Rachel finally replied. “Then you should go for it. Greg wouldn’t want you to give up on sex because he’s gone.”

Lizzie flipped through the messages on her work phone as she pondered Rachel’s words.

“I gotta go, Alyssa is about done with school and the baby should be up any minute. Stop thinking and just fuck him. Just remember to put color corrector and concealer over any marks Jonny leaves on you.”

Lizzie exclaimed, “Rachel,” but she had already hung up. Checking her personal phone for messages, Lizzie grinned when she saw she had a snap from Jon. Opening the snap, she saw a photo of Jon signing jerseys and picks with a note of can’t wait to give you one.

Lizzie responded; too bad I’ll be too busy to get one for the next couple of weeks

Lizzie put her phone down, ready to focus on her work before getting a new message from Jon. I told u I can be patient.

**

Lizzie looked down at her list of pros and cons. All the pros were reasons why she should fuck Jonathan: get rid of all the unresolved tension from college, he’s an already proven great fuck, probably the best guy to be her first fuck since Greg passed away. The cons were that he was Jonathan Toews, he was famous, and he did have the ability to be an asshole. Her skeptical side told Lizzie that she probably couldn’t keep it casual but the other side was like, was that a bad thing?

Shaking her head, Lizzie pulled on a pair of jeans before putting on a sweater. The Blackhawks were back in town and last night, she went to the game courtesy of Jonathan. Lizzie had taken Elise with her and they enjoyed the Blackhawks winning against the Flames. It was actually fun as Lizzie explained some of the finer points of hockey, such as power plays, penalty kills, offsides, and the fact that all refs in all sports were absolutely awful. Tonight, she actually told Jon she would come over after they saw a movie.

Lizzie was curious about where Jonathan lived. She knew it was in an area called Lincoln Park; she lived in the outskirts of the North Side. Her student loans from law school demanded payment so Lizzie moved in the nicest area she could afford, in a gentrifying neighborhood. “Get a taste of how the rich live tonight,” Lizzie said to herself. However, she did put on a matching pair of underwear just in case she decided to do more.

**

Jonathan looked at Lizzie as the car pulled up to his place. He had been on his best behavior tonight; no sly comments, etc. after last time. But Lizzie had been cuddly during the movie and now, she… he couldn’t read her actions.

Jon entered his code and led Lizzie inside. “Very nice,” Lizzie commented as they walked through the first floor of his place.

“Oh wow, you have my favorite flowers,” Lizzie exclaimed as they walked into his kitchen. There was a vase with Spanish Jasmine flowers.

Jonathan shrugged even though he was inwardly pleased. He had ordered them this afternoon, a rush order when Lizzie said she would come over. Now she was here and he felt at a loss. His cock said to seduce her, his brain said to wait for her cues and see if she was actually interested. Jonathan grabbed two cups and got himself and Lizzie a glass of water before guiding her back into the living room.

“More movies,” Lizzie teased as she made herself comfortable on his leather couch.

Jonathan shook his head no, suddenly nervous as he cut on the TV. He didn’t want to fuck it up.

Lizzie smirked as she watched indecision on Jonathan’s face. Tonight, had been their first date since that conversation and it was obvious that Jonathan was still very interested but didn’t want to do anything that seemed pushy. Lizzie thought at first it was because they were out in public but she realized that if she wanted to actually go there again, she would have to bring it up.

“What are you thinking about, Jon,” Lizzie asked, intentionally shortening his name.

Jonathan put his arms on the back of the couch and mentally said fuck it. “Do you want to good answer or the dirty answer?”

“Dirty answer?”

Lizzie grinned as Jonathan gulped then groaned.

“I keep looking at your ass in those jeans and I want to grab it so bad,” Jonathan admitted. Lizzie looked at his big hands and she decided that tonight was the night.

“You can grab it, if you want?”

“Huh, what?”

Jonathan looked so dumbfounded that Lizzie giggled. “I said you can grab it. That’s another way of saying, you can touch me.”

“Are you sure,” Jonathan asked, locking eyes with Lizzie.

Lizzie rolled her eyes before grabbing his hand. “I came here with the full intent of getting fucked. But if you aren’t interested, that’s okay and we can hang out before I go home.”

“Oh, do you really want me to fuck you?”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow as Lizzie flung her hair behind her shoulder. “I want you to kiss me, eat my pussy, maybe I’ll suck your cock, and then fuck me, if you want to get precise.”

“Goddamn,” Jonathan breathed. “Fuck, then why don’t you sit in my lap?”

Lizzie climbed into his lap before locking eyes with Jonathan again. His deep brown eyes looked nearly black and he had stubble all around his jaw. She traced his jaw with her fingers before running her fingers through his hair. His voice a deeper monotone, Jonathan murmured, “I’m not going to bite, unless you want me to do that.”

Instead of replying, Lizzie brushed her lips over Jonathan’s, once, then twice. Then she leaned down and nipped his lip. “I like biting,” she whispered against his lips before kissing him again. Jonathan’s arms came around her waist, keeping Lizzie in place as he began to take over the lazy kiss. Need stretched through their kisses, tongues interacting as over a decade apart melted away. Then Jonathan pulled away. Lizzie reached to pull her sweater off but Jonathan stopped her.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, I don’t want to fuck you for the first time in forever on a couch, at least not this time.”

Lizzie laughed as Jonathan picked her up and nearly ran to his bedroom. She didn’t even get a chance to look around and admire before he was on her. Jonathan’s hands were all over her body as he desperately kissed her. Before Lizzie realized it, her sweater and bra were off and so was Jonathan’s hoodie and t-shirt. She could feel his rock-hard abs against her body as Jonathan rolled so that Lizzie was on top.

“Your tits are still fucking amazing.”

“Thanks,” Lizzie beamed as Jonathan gently kneaded them in his hands.

He murmured, “They are still so sensitive,” as her nipples hardened quickly in his fingers, watching Lizzie’s changes in expression. “So, you’ll tell me right away if I do something you don’t like?”

“Like what,” Lizzie asked.

Jonathan lightly grabbed her throat, something they had never done before but something he had learned that he liked to do. “Like that.”

“Mmmm, this is good,” Lizzie replied. Choking was one of the kinks she had explored with Greg and that she missed.

“Fuck, you got dirtier,” Jonathan stated before rolling Lizzie under him again.

“Why don’t you stop talking and undress me some more,” Lizzie ordered.

Jonathan laughed before idly replying, “Normally, I wouldn’t let you tell me what to do but we haven’t even negotiated that yet. And we aren’t, not tonight.”

Lizzie’s giggled as she shimmied out of her jeans. But those giggles were replaced with moans when Jonathan’s fingers brushed her upper and inner thighs before stroking her pussy through her panties. “So wet for me.”

He had planned to go slow but Jonathan was pretty sure that wasn’t happening, at least not for this first round. He needed to be deep inside of Lizzie, back where he belonged. Jonathan stood up and took off his own jeans and boxers, revealing his very hard cock. Lizzie reached up and ran a hand over his cock before pumping it with both hands.

“I’m not going to last that long,” Jonathan warned as Lizzie began to jerk him off. “I want to cum deep inside of your pussy, Elizabeth.”

“Oh my God,” Lizzie breathed. There was something in the way that Jonathan said her full name, it made her pussy drip even more.

Jonathan reached into his night stand and grabbed a condom. “Be a good girl and put this on me.”

Lizzie took the condom from Jonathan’s hands and opened it. Then she guided it over his cock with a wicked grin on her face. Leaning back on her elbows, Lizzie smirked at Jonathan before sucking her lip into her mouth. “Fuck me, Jonathan.”

Jonathan growled as Lizzie spread her legs, showing him just how wet and ready she was for him. Pulling a leg up and over his shoulder, Jonathan entered Lizzie slowly, making sure she felt every inch. Lizzie moaned, her hands grabbing anywhere they could on Jon as he fucked her, slow soft strokes turning harder with each thrust.

“Fuck you feel so good,” Lizzie groaned as Jonathan gave her a harder thrust, hips grinding with each stroke.

Jonathan managed to reply, “Your pussy still feels like it was made for me.”

He was already close and Jonathan couldn’t hold off even though he could tell that Lizzie wouldn’t cum with him this time. Jonathan’s lips found Lizzie’s as he kissed her while he came. Lizzie let Jonathan ride his high out, she could feel that she was getting closer but she wasn’t there.

Jonathan slumped against Lizzie for a couple moments before withdrawing from her pussy. He took off the condom, telling Lizzie, “Stay there.”

Dumping the condom into the trash, Jonathan pulled Lizzie to the edge of the bed. Spreading her legs, Jonathan knelt in between, fingers spreading her folds. Then his tongue licked her clit and Lizzie arched off the bed. “Don’t worry, I’m going to take care of you,” Jonathan cooed as he played with her clit. Then he dove in, licking her juices from her pussy before tongue-fucking Lizzie’s entrance. His fingers continued to roll her clit with light pressure, enough to keep Lizzie on the edge but not enough to get her to cum. Then Jon sucked her clit into her mouth and bit it very lightly, enough of a shock to get Lizzie to cum with a scream, fingers grabbing sheets to hold on for dear life. Jonathan muttered something in French as Lizzie rode out her high. Then she fell asleep with a light snore.

**

Lizzie laid on the bed, her hair fanned out around her head, body too depleted to move yet. But she peeled herself up as Jonathan was sitting up next to her, a MacBook in his lap.

“Wow, what time is it?”

“It’s a little after midnight,” Jonathan replied. He had changed into a pair of sweats and Lizzie licked her lips. He looked really good in gray sweats.

She shrugged. “At least it’s Saturday.”

“I cleaned you up after you passed out.”

Jonathan gave Lizzie a wicked grin as she blushed. “It’s been a while,” she replied.

Lizzie got up and Jonathan pointed to his left, indicating that was the way to get to the bathroom. Lizzie stepped inside of the master bathroom, still too tired to check it out. After taking care of business and washing her hands, Lizzie walked back into Jonathan’s bedroom. Jonathan handed her a t-shirt and said, “You’re too tired to attempt to drive home. You can stay here; I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

“I like cumming so you don’t have to keep them to yourself.”

Lizzie gave Jon a saucy smile while he groaned.

**

Let yourself be happy. Find that guy again, the one who was before me. I just want you to be happy, don’t shrivel up and die because I’m gone.

Lizzie looked at the note, last note from Greg before he passed from non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. Her wedding ring was on next to it, the simple gold band twinkling in the late winter sun.

Today was her seventh month since her move to Chicago, fifth since she met Jonathan for the first time in years. Tonight, she was going to the game, Elise going with her but this time, they were going to sit with the WAGs. Lizzie had met Jonathan’s closest friends and teammates and it was obvious that there was something happening between them. But Lizzie felt the need to look at this one more time.

“I’m going to be happy, Greg,” Lizzie whispered before putting her old wedding ring and the note in a box, setting it next to a vase of nineteen red tulips that Jon had given her. Then she pulled her hair into a ponytail, sent all work calls on her work phone to voicemail. Picking up her personal phone, Lizzie smiled as she looked at the text from Jonathan.

She wasn’t going to run this time. She was going to embrace a future with Jonathan.

[howtosingit]

Fic: Ice in My Veins, Fire in My Heart

An unexpected, once-in-a-lifetime ice storm in Austin leads to a chaotic day for Carlos and the 126. 

*

Written for @911giftexchange | For @charlie-bradburyss

6K | Also on AO3

A/N: Happy Holidays, Holly! I hope this fulfills all of your “tarlos + fire fam/found family + hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt)” wishes. May the New Year bring you all the love and light that you deserve! 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The thing is, no one’s really expecting Austin to be pummeled by a once-in-a-lifetime freak ice storm.

Though rare, it’s not unheard of for the Texas panhandle to get hit by the southern tip of major storm systems that move across the Midwest, but Austin is typically too far south to really experience that kind of intense winter weather. Sometimes, they’ll have icy nights that lead to dangerous morning commutes, but that’s mostly because the majority of Austinites aren’t experienced with driving on ice-covered roads. There’s always a surplus of vehicular accidents to respond to on those mornings.

But, this is way more than that.

When TK first looks out the kitchen window, he has to do a double-take to confirm what he’s seeing, his coffee burning the back of his throat as he swallows quickly in shock. Every single inch of the world outside is covered in a shimmering layer of ice - every tree branch and leaf, every fence post and door handle; individual blades of grass find themselves trapped inside a shell of frozen water, and the back patio has turned into a miniature ice skating rink, complete with furniture coated in long, thin icicles.

He takes a moment to admire the ethereal beauty of a rare, wintery Austin, how the early morning sunlight dances across the rooftops of the neighboring houses. Then, realizing what all this ice is going to mean for the rest of his day, he glances down at his watch, cursing when he realizes what time it is.

“Babe!” he calls, grabbing two thermoses from the cupboard. He transfers his coffee into one, then fills the other. “Move faster, we’ve gotta get to work!” He quickly preps Carlos’s coffee the way he knows he likes it, then grabs a few protein bars for each of them to eat on the way to work. “Babe!” he calls again when he doesn’t hear anything from the bedroom.

“What the hell are you yelling for, TK? We still have an hour before our shifts,” Carlos gripes as he comes around the corner, uniform already on and shoes in hand. He gives TK a look of mild annoyance, his signature sass on display, and TK honestly adores him even if he is being obtuse at the moment.

Instead of answering, TK just points out the window, watching as Carlos takes in the icy spectacle, his eyes widening as his jaw drops. “Wow,” his husband breathes out, clearly in awe. Then, having the same realization that TK did, he glances down at his own watch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah, I thought you might say that,” TK laughs, moving towards the hall closet to grab their coats. He reaches towards the back, finding the ice scraper that Carlos kind of made fun of him for buying a few years ago. 

“You made me coffee?” Carlos asks when he reappears, holding his green thermos.

“Of course I did.”

“Have I mentioned that I really love you?” his husband questions, pulling on his coat.

“If this is your way of apologizing for getting sassy with me, I’m going to need you to work a little harder, babe,” TK jokes, sliding up next to him and raising his chin. Carlos rolls his eyes, a smile pulling at his lips as he ducks down to press their mouths together in a gentle kiss.

“How about I give you a ride to work?” Carlos suggests, still close enough that his lips drag against TK’s as he speaks.

“That’s a very sweet offer,” TK says, staring into his husband’s twinkling brown eyes, “but you were going to do that anyway.” Carlos’s police cruiser drives better on ice, so he always drives TK to work if there are hazardous conditions. “Try again.”

“How about,” Carlos starts, his voice going deeper as he trails his lips along TK’s jaw and up to his ear, “I drive you to work now, and then when we get home later, I run you a bath to help warm you up?”

TK hums, his heart rate picking up. “Make it a bath for two, and I’ll consider all of your indiscretions forgiven.”

Carlos huffs out a laugh, moving to press another kiss to his lips. “You are quite the negotiator,” he says, stepping away and grabbing two protein bars off the counter. “I accept your terms.”

The drive to work takes twice as long as usual, Carlos driving as carefully as possible through Austin towards the fire station. The roads seem somewhat deserted, and TK wonders if most people got stuck in their driveways before they could get far enough to cause mayhem in the streets. For the most part, the ice seems to be sticking around longer than it usually does. Carlos pulls to a stop outside Ladder 126. 

“See you later?” TK asks, leaning over the console to give him another kiss.

“Probably sooner than that, I’d guess,” Carlos says, knocking their foreheads together gently, the way he always does when they’re saying goodbye at the start of a workday. TK smiles, reaching for the door and climbing out onto the slick pavement. “Be careful out there.”

“You too, officer,” TK responds, giving him a wink before closing the door. He turns, heading into the station to being what will no doubt be a non-stop day.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Carlos is right. 

Almost immediately after his husband texts him that he made it safely to the police station, they’re called out to an accident on Lakewood Drive. When they arrive, TK spots Carlos in the distance, directing cars to use an alternate route.

A large semi-truck takes up the middle of the bridge, the trailer sitting nearly perpendicular to the tractor section. It still seems to be standing upright, so TK doesn’t immediately understand what accident they’re responding to.

“Officer,” his dad calls when Carlos spots them and starts moving their way, careful on the patches of ice that still remain on the bridge. “What’ve we got here?”

“Semi swerved a bit on the ice into the lane of oncoming traffic. Passenger car coming from the north then swerved to avoid it, completely lost control on the ice, and hit the guardrail on the passenger side,” Carlos reports, pointing in the direction of a mangled section of the barrier. “Car flipped and slid down the embankment.”

“How many passengers?” his dad clarifies, and TK can tell the way he tenses, his brain already working on a plan of action.

“Just the driver, an adult woman,” Carlos answers, his breath visible in the cold morning air. “My partner made it down to her and she’s responsive, but definitely stuck.”

“Okay,” Owen says, turning to face his team, jaw tight. “Jaws of life, everyone down. Medical will be here in a minute, let’s try to have her out for them.”

There’s a near-collective nod from all of them, but before they can move, they hear a crash in the distance. Turning, TK watches as the line of traffic becomes a danger zone of its own when an approaching car is unable to stop before it runs into the car ahead of it. Like, dominoes, the line begins to splay, cars trying to move to avoid being hit. 

“Damn,” his dad sighs, shaking his head. “Change of plan. Ryder, Strickland, Strand-Reyes, you’re down with the jaws of life. Marwani and Chavez, let’s see if we can keep things from getting worse up here.”

TK follows Judd and Paul to the truck, grabbing everything that they might need. As they head towards the damaged guardrail, he passes close to Carlos, nudging him in the side. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love to watch you work?” he says, giving his husband a wink as he moves past him. Carlos follows after him, laughing softly.

“TK, for God’s sake, will you stop flirting with your husband for one day,” Judd cries, and TK looks over to find him smiling at him, his eyes dancing with mirth. 

“Now, come on, Judd,” Paul adds, his tone teasing. “They’re just being newlyweds.”

“Newlyweds?” Judd scoffs, rolling his eyes. “They’ve been married for two years!”

“Oh, wait, you’re right,” Paul says exaggeratedly, like he’s just remembered. He turns back to TK and Carlos, now walking side-by-side, his face morphing into a look of disgust. “Stop being so in-love, it’s getting weird now.”

TK huffs out a fake laugh, his breath swirling through the air as he sticks his tongue out at his friends. They reach the top of the embankment, looking down at the wreckage. The car still seems to be pretty intact, so TK is hoping this won’t be too bad. He feels a solid hand on his back, turning to find Carlos looking at him, his face serious.

“Don’t do anything reckless down there, or I will arrest you,” he jokes, beginning to walk away.

“On what grounds?” TK gasps, his jaw dropping.

Carlos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he thinks about it. “Trying to give me a heart attack before I’m 35,” he finally decides, shooting TK a wink before leaving them to go help with the traffic pile-up.

It’s slow-going, but TK, Paul, and Judd finally make it down the hill to the overturned car. Paul moves over to the window, speaking to the woman, while TK and Judd set down their bags. From what he can see, it looks like it’ll be a pretty straightforward removal.

They’re just prying the door open when his dad radios that medical has arrived. TK moves back to one of his bags over by the bridge, looking for more gauze to press to their patient’s shallow head wound, when there’s a loud crack to the right. He looks over, watching as a somewhat large icicle drops from the bridge and shatters onto the frozen creek below. Looking up, he watches another icicle detach itself and rapidly fall to the ground. 

“Shit,” he says, jerking to the side to avoid another one. He feels his feet slide out from under him, unable to gain traction on the ice, and before he knows it, he’s falling flat on his back, his head slamming hard against the solid ground beneath him.

His vision swims, pain coursing through him. His stomach turns, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He closes his eyes, trying to breath. He thinks he hears a voice in the distance, maybe Paul or Judd calling to him, but he can’t make it out. There’s another loud crack from above, and he opens his eyes just in time to watch a rather large icicle grow larger as it flies towards him.

Pain bursts from his abdomen as he lets out a gasp, his vision swimming once more as his body tries to handle all of the trauma it’s currently experiencing. He clenches his jaw tightly, refusing to let out a yell. He can handle this, he’s done pain before. Between a gunshot and falling through the floor of a house and then falling off the roof of a house just last year, he can handle this. It’s no big deal, so he’s not going to make it one.

He lifts his head, blinking to clear his vision. There are voices around him, fuzzy shapes moving in his peripherals, coming closer. He ignores them, instead looking down towards his stomach. The sight causes him to gasp again, the pain coming back full force now that he has eyes on the source.

There’s an icicle buried inside of his abdomen.

From what he can see, it looks to be as round as his fist and about two feet long, the top of it gleaming threateningly in the sunlight, almost as if it’s proud of itself for the damage it’s just done.

“Fuck,” TK moans, lowering his head as Paul and Judd finally reach his side. He still can’t hear what they’re saying, so he just looks up at the clear blue sky instead. A thought pops into his head, almost making him laugh.

Carlos is totally going to kill him for this.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Sometimes, Carlos really hates living in Texas.

Well, that’s an oversimplification. It’s more that he hates the kind of stereotypical attitude that many straight men from Texas possess. The kind of “I’m built Texas tough” mentality that leads to reckless, dangerous, and truly annoying behavior. The kind of attitude that causes a fully-grown man responsible for a six-car pile-up to scream in his father-in-law’s face about how stupid and moronic everyone else is, including the firefighters currently fixing the mess he’s made, forcing Carlos to handcuff him and stick him in the back of his cruiser just so that they can all get a moment of peace. 

“Did you see the size of that vein in his neck?” Mateo asks as they move from car to car, making sure that everyone’s okay. “I thought he was going to collapse or something, his face was so red.”

“TK’s gonna be so upset that he missed you wrestling him to the ground,” Marjan pipes in from his other side, elbowing him in the ribs. Carlos just rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

“You know that’s not a turn-on for him, right?” 

Marjan scoffs. “Sure, okay, I definitely believe that.”

Captain Strand approaches the three of them, effectively ending the conversation. “No one’s injured in those three cars, so I told them all to sit tight until the tow truck gets here. We may be able to help them once we’ve got the driver down there stabilized.” They all nod in agreement. “Marjan, Mateo, why don’t you keep making the rounds, keep people from trying to get out of their cars. We don’t need any unexpected accidents or falls.” The two firefighters accept their orders, moving away. “You’ve got someone directing traffic further down the road?” Owen asks Carlos.

“Yeah, at Lakewood and Carpenter,” Carlos says, pointing in that direction. “We shouldn’t have any traffic through here from now on.”

Before Owen can respond, they hear a sound from the bridge. They both turn to see the ambulance arrive and begin to walk towards it, eager to fill Michelle and her team in on what’s happening. At his side, Owen radios to his team that medical has arrived and will be down soon. 

They’ve just made it onto the bridge, Michelle already making her way towards them, when they hear a shout from down below. They both freeze, trying to listen, but then can’t make out the words. Then, Owen’s radio crackles to life, Judd’s voice coming through, his words rushed.

“We need medical down here ASAP, I’ve got a firefighter down.”

Carlos feels the blood rush from his face, his heart slamming into his ribcage. He shares a look with his father-in-law, and it’s clear that they both know who Judd’s talking about.

“Talk to me, Judd. What’s going on?” Owen says, already heading to the edge of the bridge, Carlos following right behind him. 

He stops short when his eyes land on the scene below. He doesn’t even need Judd's report to confirm what he’s seeing. At the bottom of the embankment, almost under the bridge itself, he sees TK laying on the ground, unmoving, a giant shard of ice sticking out of his midsection.

He doesn’t even think before he takes off down the slope, moving as quickly as he can without falling.

“TK!” he shouts, not even sure if the other man can hear him. He finally gets to the bottom, rushing over to his side. “TK!”

Paul moves aside, allowing him to kneel down by his head. He takes his face gently in his hands, watching as TK’s eyes blink dazily, his pupils unfocused and his mouth slack. 

“Nobody jostle him,” Michelle yells, and Carlos looks up to find her and her team closing in. “We don’t want that thing to shift an inch. Paul, hold it steady for me if you can.”

Carlos stares down at the two-foot icicle currently buried in his husband’s gut. Every time TK breathes, it pulses, almost threatening to fall over. Paul reaches out and wraps his hands around the top, keeping it vertical.

“What happened?” Michelle asks, kneeling on TK’s other side as she assesses the situation.

“He slipped on the ice and fell, then the icicle came down on him before he could move out of the way,” Judd explains. 

“He might have a concussion from the fall,” Michelle mutters, moving to shine a light in TK’s drooping eyes. “Seems likely. Rosewater, take over for Paul, Gillian, see if you can stabilize our patient in the car over there. Carlos,” she says, and his eyes snap up to look at her. “I need you to talk to him okay, try to keep him awake and responding. He could go into shock at any minute, and that’s not going to help us.”

He nods, ducking down to press his face closer to the one that he gets to wake up to every day. “Hey, baby,” he says softly, stroking TK’s forehead. “Hey, it’s me. Can you open your eyes for me? Just open your eyes for a minute, okay?”

TK moans, his eyes blinking rapidly a few times before he opens them enough for Carlos to see those green irises that he loves so much. “Carlos?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, hey, it’s me, I’m right here,” Carlos says, his voice a little unsteady as he tries to stay calm. “How are you feeling?”

“Cold,” TK mutters, his breath creating wisps of steam in the air above him. 

“Any pain?” Carlos asks, his eyes shifting down to glare at the icicle for a moment. 

“My head hurts,” TK admits, letting out a small gasp. 

“Anywhere else?”

TK shakes his head, his eyes darting everywhere.

“That’s probably the adrenaline,” Michelle interjects. She stands up, surveying the bridge above them. “I’m worried his body heat’s going to start melting that icicle faster than we want it to. We’ve gotta get him up there.”

“I don’t think we can get him up the slope without jostling him too much, there’s too much ice,” Tim says. 

Michelle turns to Owen, her face grave. “Get the ladder ready, Captain, we’re gonna have to lift him.”

With only a quick, wide-eyed glance down at his son, Owen shoots back up the hill, Judd following him. Off to the side, Carlos sees that Paul and Nancy have managed to remove the driver from the vehicle.

“Carlos?” TK says, and he quickly looks back down at his husband, running his thumbs along his cheek. 

“Yeah, Ty, I’m right here,” Carlos assures him, his bottom lip wavering. 

“I’m a little scared,” TK admits, his eyes glassy as he stares up at him. “It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

“You’re gonna be okay, cariño,” he says, his voice hard and clear. 

“You look scared,” TK tells him, raising a hand to touch Carlos’s mouth.

“I’m not scared, I promise,” Carlos lies, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I’m never scared when I’m with you.”

TK doesn’t respond. He just stares up at Carlos, eyes still unfocused, a wide smile taking over his face. 

Minutes later, the team loads TK up on a stretcher with no major problems, and for one shining moment, Carlos thinks everything’s going to be fine. 

He climbs up the embankment as fast as he can to meet him at the top, Michelle at his side. She’s telling him that she’s called for another medical team to come for the driver, who thankfully doesn’t appear to be in critical condition, when they hear a shout from Tim.

“Damn it,” Michelle says, running towards where TK’s stretcher is now laying on the pavement. Carlos follows, his heart back in his throat, and the sight that greets them nearly causes him to collapse. 

“Tim, apply as much pressure as you can,” Michelle says, throwing her hands on TK’s abdomen, blood rushing from where the icicle has shifted. “We have to get him in the van, we’ll have a better chance of stabilizing him there.” 

Carlos watches as TK’s head lists to the side, his eyes dropping closed.

“He’s crashing, let’s move people!” Michelle shouts.

There’s a mad rush all around him, but Carlos barely comprehends it. All he can do is stare at his husband, his unmoving body, the blood draining from his face while simultaneously gushing from the wound in his stomach. 

He doesn’t feel the way his knees hit the pavement, or Marjan’s arms around him. He doesn’t feel the tears falling on his cheeks, or the way he starts to shake. He doesn’t even feel the cold, unfamiliar Austin air. 

As TK is pulled away from him, he doesn’t feel anything at all. 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

TK wakes up in the hospital.

At this point, it all feels very familiar. Every hospital room seems to smell the same, sterile and uninviting. The sheets are scratchy, which coordinates nicely with the scratchy hospital gown they have him wearing. He can hear the gentle beeping from the monitor next to him, and feel the pinch of an IV in his left arm. 

TK opens his eyes slowly, staring up at the ceiling as he assesses his current state. The lights are low, but it still takes him a minute to adjust, his head faintly throbbing. He recalls how much his head hurt on the scene, how his vision went blurry, and assumes he got a concussion from his fall.

He shifts slightly, gasping as the movement pulls at his midsection and an intense pain radiates throughout his entire body. The sound causes a weight against his right arm to shift, and he looks down, his eyes immediately softening at the sight before him.

Carlos is seated next to the bed, his body bent so that he can rest his head against TK’s arm, which he’s also gripping with one of his hands. His other hand is awkwardly linked with TK’s own, their fingers threaded tightly together. Carlos’s face is turned towards him, his eyes closed as he rests. TK notices how puffy his eyes are, and how his skin is more pale than usual. His heart sinks in his chest, an intense guilt masking his own pain as he stares down at the man he loves more than anything.

Before he can even think about how much pain it might cause, he lifts his left arm across his body to run his fingers through Carlos’s dark brown curls. It’s his favorite thing to do on the rare occasions where he’s the first one to wake up in the morning, and he knows his husband absolutely loves it. Sure enough, Carlos lets out a soft moan, unconsciously tilting his head towards TK’s fingers.

He can tell the minute that Carlos realizes what’s happening by the way his whole body tenses. His eyes fly open, his brown eyes wide as he sits up straight. His gaze finds TK, drinking him in, and TK can’t do anything but smile back at him, squeezing their hands together.

“Ty,” Carlos breathes, his eyes filling with tears.

“Hey, baby,” TK says, pulling gently on Carlos’s hand until he gets the hint.

His husband stands, shifting closer to the head of the bed, before bending down to press a soft kiss to his waiting lips. Carlos tries to make the kiss quick, but TK reaches up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him close.

“How long has it been?” TK asks when they separate, rubbing their noses together. At this point, it’s their traditional question when one of them is in the hospital. 

“They rushed you to surgery when you first got here, which took about four hours,” Carlos explains, his voice shaking as he runs his fingers soothingly through TK’s hair. “You’ve been sleeping for about five.”

“So, still the same day?” TK confirms. It’s an odd question, but after going through one multi-day coma in his life, he’s hoping to never have to do another. Besides, he knows Carlos wouldn’t handle it well.

“Still the same day,” his husband confirms, the first sign of a smile pulling at his lips. 

“That’s good.”

“Very good,” Carlos agrees, leaning in to kiss him. This one feels a little more heated than the last one. “You know how I get when I don’t get to kiss you goodnight.”

“You become the equivalent of a child who’s told he can’t have ice cream right before bed,” TK supplies, enjoying the shocked look that appears on Carlos’s face. “Or so I’m told.”

“Told?” Carlos cries. “Who told you that? Give me the traitors’ names, Tyler!”

“Just for that, I’m not going to,” he laughs, gasping for air when the movement sends a flare of pain through him. 

“Are you okay?” Carlos asks, worry written clearly on his face. He reaches out, his hands fluttering around him but too afraid to touch. 

“Yeah, I just,” TK grits out, holding his side. “Fuck, that does not feel good.”

It takes a few minutes of deep breathing for him to finally settle back down, reaching for Carlos’s hand when he’s sure that his grip won’t break his fingers. Carlos gingerly takes a seat next to him on the bed, running his free hand through his hair to soothe him.

TK’s just about to ask exactly what the damage is when there’s a knock on the door. They both turn to find his dad poking his head through, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Hey boys, sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing behind him at something they can’t see. “There’s just some people here who wanted to say a quick hello.”

TK rolls his eyes, sharing a smile with Carlos. This happens every time someone from the firehouse ends up in the hospital - though to be fair, it’s usually him.

“You know you can always let them in, Dad,” he says, his fondness clear in his tone. Carlos just scoots a little closer, pressing one last kiss to his lips. 

“I love you,” he mutters, his eyes shining.

“I love you, too,” TK whispers back as the door is thrown wide open and the equivalent of a clown car files into his room.

Judd and Grace lead the way, followed by Paul, Marjan, and Mateo, then Michelle, Tim, and Nancy. His dad, the last one, closes the door behind him. Strictly speaking, this is way too many visitors to have in a single room at a time, but there are nurses at every hospital who are willing to bend the rules a bit for familiar first responders, as long as they’re discreet about it.

TK looks around at them all - Grace, with her hand on Carlos’s shoulder, and Michelle at the foot of his bed, her eyes glinting with happiness; his dad standing next to her; Mateo, Marjan, and Paul all standing to his left, Paul reaching out to punch him lightly on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. 

They’re his family, all of them. And they all saved his life today.

“I, um,” he starts, his voice thick with emotion as he looks around at them all. He feels Carlos’s hand slide up his arm, his thumb gently caressing his bicep in support. He turns to look at him, noticing how Carlos still has his back to most of the room as he faces him on the bed. They share a look, just between the two of them, and Carlos nods, a tear falling down his cheek as he squeezes TK’s arm.

“I, um, I wanted to thank you all,” TK says, looking around the room again, his eyes hovering over every face that makes him feel safe and loved and whole, “for saving me today. I - we - will never be able to tell you how much it means to know that we have all of you by our side, looking out for us.”

He feels a tear fall onto his cheek, but before he can reach up to brush it away, Michelle shifts from the end of his bed, coming around the side to stand next to him. She reaches out for him and Carlos, drying his face and gripping his husband’s arm tightly.

“Don’t be silly. You boys are our family,” Michelle says, “so we’re always going to be here for you. No matter what. It’s as simple as that.”

“She’s right,” Judd pipes in, his arm around Grace. “Though, full disclosure, we are gifting you a bulk-size roll of bubble wrap this Christmas.”

“Hey now, c’mon Judd,” Paul says, his hands buried in his pockets. “You weren’t supposed to tell him.”

“Ignore Judd, y’all,” Grace adds, rolling her eyes as she pats her husband’s chest. “He doesn’t do Christmas shopping, and I have much better taste, trust me on that.”

TK huffs out a laugh, wincing at the way it pulls at his injury. No one else catches it, too busy laughing at Grace’s comment and Judd’s offended expression. He glances over at Carlos, seeing a tightness behind his eyes, and knows that his pain didn’t go completely unnoticed. TK reaches over, squeezing his thigh where it’s pressed against his own. Carlos gives him a small smile, grabbing his hand to press a kiss to his fingertips.

The tightness in his eyes doesn’t go anywhere, though, and TK’s heart caves.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The team stays until visiting hours are over, laughing and joking as they fill TK and Carlos in about the rest of the work day. It seems that much of the ice started to melt by the middle of the afternoon, making the end of the day much easier than the beginning. Finally, a nurse comes in, shocked to find so many people in one room, and tells them that visiting hours are over. One-by-one, they come over to hug TK and Carlos, Grace even pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads. 

When only Carlos and his dad remain, the nurse checks his vitals, telling him that everything appears to be normal. Carlos stands by his side, hand on his shoulder, as TK honestly answers her questions about his pain levels. She helps him to adjust his position on the bed, showing Carlos how to help him so he’ll feel the least amount of pain. His husband listens closely, his face set and serious.

She leaves, and Carlos excuses himself to the bathroom, leaving him alone with his dad.

“How’re you feeling, kid?” his dad asks, sitting next to him. 

“A little tender,” he admits, running his hand lightly over the thick bandage on his stomach. They’re quiet for a moment, TK biting his bottom lip. “It was pretty bad, wasn’t it?” he finally asks.

His dad looks at him, his eyes softening, before reaching out and taking his hand. “You crashed right before they got you in the ambulance. The icicle hit a pretty major blood vessel near your liver, and you lost a lot of blood when it shifted unexpectedly.”

TK is quiet, thoughts rolling through his mind. “He saw, didn’t he?” he confirms, his voice barely more than a hushed whisper. 

“Yeah,” his dad admits, his tone heavy. “He wasn’t in a good place when you left, so his partner drove him here and Michelle stayed with him until I could come.” TK nods, his eyes filling with tears. “He’s gonna be okay, though, TK. You both are.”

His dad stands again, looking around the room. “I’m going to head home,” he says, reaching out to run his fingers through TK’s hair. “I know you’re in good hands for the night. I’ll come back first thing in the morning, okay?”

“Yeah,” TK says. Then, he gets an idea. “Can you help me shift a little?”

His dad smiles knowingly before reaching out again to help move him to the left side of the bed, TK breathing deeply through the pain. 

Carlos finally comes out of the bathroom and his dad gives them both a hug, TK watching as he whispers something in his husband’s ear before pressing a kiss to his temple. Then, with a final wave, they’re alone again.

“Hey,” TK says, breaking the silence.

“Hey,” Carlos parrots back, his voice thin and uneven.

“Come here,” TK says, patting the now open space beside him. Carlos moves across the room, glancing down at the spot doubtfully.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Ty,” he says, his eyes full of so much pain.

“Well, I don’t want to go another minute without you laying by my side, so get your ass up here.” The hard tone of his voice leaves no room for questions, so his husband sighs, sliding next to him as gently as possible.

They lay there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, like a dam breaking, Carlos turns onto his side, placing an arm over his chest as he tucks his face into TK’s neck. In no time at all, TK feels tears soaking the collar of his gown, and his own tears finally fall at the evidence of Carlos’s silent pain.

“I’m so sorry for scaring you today, baby,” he sobs, bringing his hand up to press against the dark curls near his cheek. “I’m so sorry.”

Carlos doesn’t respond except to shake his head, his sobs continuing. TK holds him through it, his heart shattering into a million pieces in his chest. Throughout the past four year, Carlos has had a few nightmares of TK bleeding out in front of him - caused by him getting shot before they even started dating - so he knows that today had to be especially brutal for his husband.

“I know it was an accident, and that you’re going to be okay now,” Carlos finally mumbles into his neck, “but I was so fucking scared that I had lost you there for a minute. I’ve never seen Michelle so intense before, and I really thought this was it.”

“I know, baby, I know,” TK says, trailing his fingers along the back of Carlos’s neck. He digs his nails in just a bit, knowing that the feeling will help ground Carlos. Sure enough, his husband shivers against him, letting out a shaky breath. “You didn’t lose me, though. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

“You promise?” Carlos asks weakly.

“Babe, look at me,” TK says, pulling his head back to look down at him. Carlos’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face puffy from crying so much today. He looks so small, so cut open and raw, that TK wishes he could take all of his pain away. “I promise that I am going to do everything in my power to come home to you in one piece at the end of every day, okay?”

Carlos nods, his eyes falling closed. TK stares at his long, gorgeous eyelashes now soaked with tears. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to each eyelid, feeling the way that Carlos relaxes further into his side. 

“I’m sorry that our bath plans got ruined for this evening,” he says after a few minutes, recalling their conversation from this morning. 

“That’s okay,” Carlos says, his fingers lightly tracing TK’s collarbone through his hospital gown. “Once I get you home, I’m probably never going to let you leave again, so there will be plenty of time for baths.”

TK laughs, ignoring the pain when Carlos joins him. “I like the sound of that,” he admits.

Their gazes lock for a moment before Carlos presses up until their lips meet, the kiss igniting a fire inside of him from head to toe. It doesn’t matter how many times he gets to kiss Carlos, TK thinks that each one feels new and different and life-affirming, his body and soul practically singing at the chance to connect with his husband in a way that no one else can. That no one else ever will.

It’s something that he knows he’ll never get tired of for as long as he lives.

Which will be a very, very long time.

He’s sure of it.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️