#I know the second they cross the threshold of Comfortable they are just fiddling with each others hands absentmindedly and twirling

[kirbsto]

Snow Owl- The Mountain Goats

[lisbonsteresa]

need a pick me up?  (2x16....technically)

When she talked Celia down from sending a chauffeur earlier that morning, Nancy had considered it a small victory. 

Allowing herself another 20 minutes to be Nancy Drew before she had to wrap herself in armor and spend the night as Nancy Hudson. But despite her best efforts, the dread and guilt she’d been dealing with since the incident at the paper mill had only gotten worse as the day went on. 

And now that she’d finally gotten to the point where she couldn’t avoid leaving any longer, her thoughts had gotten so scrambled that she was starting to wonder if she should just call her grandmother back to say she’d reconsidered. 

She called out one last goodbye to Carson as the front door closed, struggling to pull her phone out of the criminally small clutch she hadn’t used since freshman formal without dropping the coat she really regretted not putting on before she stepped out into the November evening. 

All the while she was still trying - and failing (again) - to figure out the best way to tell a billionaire patriarch with a tendency of permanently removing any slight obstacle that she was his secret out-of-wedlock townie granddaughter. She was so caught up that the low whistle from her driveway nearly caused her to drop the clutch altogether. 

Her head snapped up to see Ace, silhouetted against the sunset as he leaned against Florence. “Tom was right - that really is some dress.” he remarked as she approached him. She ignored the way his eyes looked her up and down too many times to just be appreciating the dress, and hoped he was ignoring the way the flush on her cheeks grew every time. 

(They were ignoring more and more around each other lately. She was trying to ignore how that made her feel.)

“Thanks,” she held out the clutch to him and he took it without question, freeing her hands so she could pull on her coat. “but what are you-”

“Carson called me.” he answered before she could finish asking, his attention flicking to a point behind her with a smile and a wave. Nancy turned to see Carson waving back from a side window. “Said he thought you could use a lift.”

She turned back towards him, tamping down a sudden rush of fondness for both men until she could manage an amused smirk. “Sometimes it’s weird how close you two are.”

His response was an unbothered shrug and a grin as he passed the clutch back to her. “You’re just jealous that he gave me first dibs last pizza night.”

“How could I be?” She shot back with a roll of her eyes. “You went right for the pineapple.”

“Hey, don’t knock pineapple on pizza - it’s a work of underrated genius.”

That seems to be a theme with you, she thought, pausing for moment to consider if calling your best friend a genius while he smiled warmly at you in the dying sunlight that turned the edges of his hair gold was toeing a line. “Whatever you say.” she said instead, shaking her head and walking around Florence to open the passenger door with a sigh. “Now let’s get this over with.”

The smile dropped off Ace’s face at the reminder of why he was there. “Yeah, let’s go.” They climbed in and after coaxing Florence into a squeaking start, they were off.

Most of the drive to the yacht club passed in a comfortable silence - just the quiet hum of whatever 70’s rock station the radio was tuned to and the sporadic popping of Florence’s exhaust. If Nancy closed her eyes, she could almost imagine they were headed to the Claw for a late shift, or Nick’s for movie night, instead of straight into the metaphorical lion’s den. (Maybe even literal - at this point there wasn’t much she’d put past Celia).

There was something bothering Ace though, she could tell. The closer they got to the club, the tighter he gripped the wheel, clenching his jaw like he was trying to hold back whatever words were running through his head. They pulled into the long semi-circle driveway, the lights decorating the entrance of the club shining in front of them and the valet eyeing them with confusion from his podium. Ace cut the engine but didn’t move otherwise, and so Nancy didn’t either. She could wait him out - after all, it was far better than the alternative.

A beat passed, then another, and then: “I just want to say I’m sorry.” That threw her for a loop - what did he have to apologize for? “For what I said yesterday.”

She could feel her eyebrows furrowing as she ran through the conversation she knew he meant - their brief talk in the kitchen before the intergalactic crisis overrode their local one. “No, you were just being honest.” she replied. “This,” she raised her gaze towards the twinkling lights, feeling the pit of dread in her stomach more than ever, “could change everything. And even with Swift-approved armor, I’m afraid of what happens to Nancy Drew once Nancy Hudson is out in the open.” her voice sounded small; vulnerable; honest in a way she wasn’t sure she could be with anyone but him.

“I’m not.” his jaw was set; his face determined when she looked over at him. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in there, and I don’t know what they’re going to ask of Nancy Hudson, but I was wrong when I said this would be the end of Nancy Drew.” he turned to meet her eyes, his own imploring. “Nancy Drew is smart, and caring, and sarcastic, and determined, and self-sacrificing to an almost dangerous degree, but she’s good.” 

The back of Nancy’s neck felt hot; the car suddenly felt a thousand times too small. She wanted to wrench open the door and run, but she couldn’t make herself look away from his eyes; she was almost afraid to blink and end whatever this moment was. “You’re good Nancy. You’re a good daughter and a great detective, and you’re a really, really good friend. You’re one of the best people I know, and no Hudson blood or last name is going to change that.”

There was a pause as he opened his mouth like he was going to say more, but then he closed it and dropped his head, avoiding her gaze as he fiddled with Florence’s gearshift. “Anyway, I know you’ve been dealing with a lot, and I know I’ve been acting like part of the problem, but I just want you to know that if you ever get confused about who you are, I’ll be here to remind you.”

There were a thousand thoughts running through her head, trying to line themselves up in way that she could make enough sense of to put them into words. How what he’d said had almost made her forget what she was about to walk into. How she didn’t think he could be a problem for her if he tried. How similar this felt to another conversation, maybe just over a month ago, when he’d been there to offer her understanding and someone to come to when things got hard. 

She hadn’t had the words then - she wasn’t sure if she would ever find them - but somehow hearing that he still wanted to be there for her after all they’d gone through made her feel like she could face down a hundred Everett Hudsons. But she didn’t say any of that.

Instead, she reached out and covered the hand he was still resting on the gearshift with her own, waiting until his eyes met hers again. “Thank you.” she said softly, giving him what felt like her first genuine smile of the day. “That really means a lot to me Ace.” It wasn’t much; it wasn’t even close to everything she wanted to say to him, but it was all she could manage for now, and she thought he’d understand that. Hoped he would. He seemed to understand her better than she did herself, most days.

“‘Course.”  he replied with a grin, and she felt a little bit of the weight on her shoulders fall away. His eyes dropped down to her hand covering his before meeting hers again. “Nancy -”

But whatever he was going to say was interrupted by a loud knocking on the driver’s side window, causing them both to jump and look to see an anxious valet staring down at them. “Um, excuse me sir,” he began once the window had been rolled down, “but if you aren’t going to use the valet services I’m going to have to ask you to pull forward to the main parking lot. The other guests will be arriving soon and they can get…unhappy if we’re not able to help them quickly.”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Ace shot the teen an apologetic smile. “One more second and we’ll be out of your way.” Seemingly satisfied, the valet turned and started to make his way back to his podium, casting worried looks over his shoulder at them the whole time. “Guess that’s your cue.” Ace continued, turning back towards Nancy with a resigned expression she was pretty sure matched her own.

“Yeah, guess so.” she turned her attention to the doors of the club as an employee around the valet’s age pulled them open and let the light from inside spill out. She wondered if Celia was in there, looking for her. She wondered what she might have already told her husband; wondered just what she was going to find once she crossed that threshold; what risk she was putting herself in; exactly how far she’d be able to push her luck.

Ace’s “hey” pulled her back into the car. “You’ll call if anything happens? I’ll get the whole crew here for backup.”

She noticed he didn’t ask her to wait for them - they both knew she probably wouldn’t. “I’m not sure Florence could handle a full cabin in such a rush.”

“Hey, Florence is tougher than she looks, and you didn’t answer the question.”

“Of course I’ll call.” she gave his hand a quick squeeze before releasing it and grabbing the clutch instead so she could be ready to go (and not so she could avoid seeing his reaction). The passenger door opened with a high-pitched squeak, and Nancy stepped out into the cool night air. “And Ace?” she turned back to him before closing the door, lingering in her one final moment of only having to be Nancy Drew. “Thanks for the lift.”

He looked up at her with one last grin. “Anytime.” And then the door was closed and Florence was roaring to life and rumbling down the driveway. Nancy stood watching until she couldn’t see the tail lights anymore, then squared her shoulders with a sigh and started up the path to the club entrance. Time for the world to meet Nancy Hudson.

[greenteabtch]

16 for the physical affection prompt?

hiii thank you so much for your ask!! ;_; Literally had SO much fun writing this.

Kissing Knuckles

pairing: sebastian vael x f!hawke

rating: g

word count: 1516

genre: fluff :)

-

“Do we all have to go in?”

“Yes,” Helena clipped.

A deep scoff sounded. “But we’re covered in blood. They’ll kick us out the minute we enter”

“Or they’ll just start screaming,” Aveline offered.

“Nothing new for you then, eh Junior?”

Carver sputtered, Helena sighing but choosing not to intervene as she climbed the steps to Kirkwall’s Chantry. Its spires reached towards eternity alongside the gilded statues of Andraste, like holy spokes against a gray fresco sky. Absently, she rubbed her fingers together, feeling dirt from the coast pill and disintegrate in the wind.

It took the entire weight of her body to pull open the doors, something she scowled at Varric for snickering at. Incense and cool air whispered through the opening, and very suddenly Helena found herself stepping back.

Hand fingering her combat vest, the mage looked towards her companions. “Go first. I’ll follow.”

Their puzzled expressions were obvious, but it only took a moment for them to shrug and continue on their way. Helena watched them start to disappear into the dark interior, breaking her vision away to dust off as much of the evidence of a fight as she could. The dirt was alright enough, but the bloodstains were another story. Regardless, once Carver’s black hair had been swallowed by the dark, it was her turn to enter.

Helena straightened her posture, taking a breath as she began her walk into the Chantry. Her chin lifted against ensuing whispers from the sisters that watched her entrance, nervous chills dropping down her spine. Whatever their opinions, she knew that her mission lied not with the red robed clergy today, but instead, a prince in white.

“Hawke!” 

She had been found.

“Sebastian,” she acknowledged, nodding awkwardly in her approach. 

As handsome as the last time she saw him, Sebastian Vael walked toward her through the scattered groups of faithful. He met her halfway, offering his hand with a charming smile. 

Hesitation gripped her as she stared at his soft unmarred skin. Beautiful uninterrupted swaths of sepia shone like velvet in the red candlelight, his fingers well kept despite the few callouses she could identify. By the time she blinked she realized it would be more than rude to decline, so she submitted, taking his hand in hers for a shake…

Which never quite occurred, given that in one deft movement he had coaxed her fingers to lie neat inside his grip while he brought his lips to the surface of her hand.

A flush tore through her. Helena’s vision was glued to the sight, the heir to the throne of Starkhaven kissing her knuckles. Knuckles that were blistered with the efforts of her twirling her staff, nicked from stray slashes of mercenaries who pressed too close. Her surroundings spotted black.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said, releasing her hand, which she tucked to her chest. “I’m hoping that your arrival brings good news.”

“Y…” she mumbled, eyes frozen before she shook her head. “Yes. Right. The, uh, mercenaries—“

Sebastian’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “The Fl—“

“—Int company! The,” she cleared her throat. “Flint company. As you requested, we have eradicated their presence from Kirkwall.” Helena fumbled for her belt loop, finding the prepared bag of collected badges and offering it to Sebastian. “Your proof. Sixty five badges for sixty five mercenaries.”

He wasted no time opening the canvas pouch, fingers combing through the clacking metal.

“You did all of this…” he met her gaze, snapping her out of the dream like haze she had dipped into while her fingers caressed her still-warm hand. “Thank you. I can’t emphasize enough what this means for my family.” The starting lines of frustration were fading into his skin, eyes falling. “Lives for lives, and yet, these people will never know what they stole. All I can pray is that my family wasn’t made to suffer.” His voice wavered. “Still that doesn’t seem like enough.”

Helena’s brows furrowed, heartstrings pulling at the sight of the man before her. “It’s a beginning.” she eventually offered. “That’s more than many people get.”

He looked up, eyes glossy. “I suppose.” A small tilt pulled his smile. “Well, in any case. Your aid has eased my spirit, and hopefully my family’s. As promised.” He produced a coin purse, which Helena accepted.

The second she felt its weight her brows shot up.

“This is more than the listed reward.” 

A hissed ‘just take the money’ came from behind her, to which she sent a bone-chilling glare over her shoulder.

Low chuckles drew her back, Sebastian’s picture perfect smile warming her skin like the sun. “Please. The Vael’s coiffeurs run deeper than I’ll ever have a use for. Besides, it reassures my troubled heart to know someone is making good use of it.”

Her eyes were wider than saucer plates. “Thank you. Really.” She swallowed, heart-thumping while she pocketed the gold. “You’re… going back to Starkhaven now?”

“For a time, at least. I have some affairs to sort out with the remaining councilmembers,” his speech slowed, a pause blanketing between them. “I do plan to return to Kirkwall after, though.”

Helena’s skin felt electric, her fingers curling around her lower face. “Oh. Well. If you… ever find yourself in need of services again…” she tried not to pinch her eyes closed at the snicker behind her. “Or, if you want to come along with us— you seem very handy—“ Wait. “With your bow.” Sigh.

She was ready to give up and break into a full sprint out of the chantry, her brother’s ‘what is happening right now’ and subsequent chuckles from Aveline detrimental to her situation. The archer, though, was forgiving, a smile crawling over his face as his brows raised.

“Thank you for the offer. I… it would be nice to have friends to return to once business has been settled. I have to admit, it’s been difficult to find comfort amongst the Chantry as of late.”

“No, please. We’d be lucky to work with you again.”

“Perhaps as partners next time?”

Rose covered her skin as she looked away, then back, letting a smile slip.

“It would be a fortunate match.”

Again, a light chuckle left him.

“I’ll send a letter when I return then, ah— Maker forgive me, I haven’t even asked your full name.”

“Oh, no it’s… it’s fine. Helena. Hawke.”

“Helena.” He smiled when he said it.

She thought she might melt in his stare, yet another blush creeping up her neck as she fiddled with her hair. To break the silence she attempted to ask about his skills, but was interrupted by her brother walking up and planting his feet beside her, arms crossed.

“Well, thanks for the job. Good luck in Starkhaven!” He waved to Sebastian, before whispering as an aside “let’s go sister.”

She all but shoved him away, casting a tight-lipped smile towards Sebastian.

“I’ll see you.”

And just like he did before, Sebastian took her hand in his and swept it to his lips for a kiss. Ears burned as she marveled at the sight again, her lips creeping up at the tingles that ran through her body.

When he parted from his kiss, he laid another hand over hers, clasping her palm in a firm embrace.

“Walk in the Maker’s light, Helena. I pray fate allows our paths to cross again.”

“... Thank you… and good luck.”

“To us both.”

It was disappointing to leave the Chantry after that, but there was hardly anything she could do to prolong her stay. Besides, she had made enough of a fool of herself for a lifetime. Carver made that clear after they crossed the threshold.

“So that was…”

“We don’t need to talk about it.”

Carver raised his brows beside her, “No, that was weird. I have never seen you smile like that before.” 

“I wasn’t smiling!” 

“Okay, now I’ve never heard you defend yourself like a thirteen year old boy.”

Helena let out an exasperated noise, increasing her speed to stride ahead of the group.

“And… now you’re running away.”

“Oh, let her go Carver. She’s clearly smitten by prince charming.”

“Who kisses hands these days? This kid’s got to update his literature.”

“Not everyone wants to have their bedroom broken into for a meet-cute, Dwarf.”

“So you HAVE read my books!”

The rest of their conversation tickled Helena’s ears as she walked, but their voices soon flowed into the musical hubub of Hightown, leaving her with her thoughts. In hazes of red and pink, her mind replayed the scene at the chantry. Clutching her hand close, she couldn’t help but blush. 

Would she see him again? Would the prince remember the refugee mercenary who aided him through a difficult time? Would he kiss her hand just the same? And would they be different…

She didn’t know. She couldn’t. 

But maybe… this moment would be enough until she did.

Till then, she held her hand close and decided to keep an ear out for her charming prince from Starkhaven, with the hopes that someday their paths might have the good fortune of crossing again.

[limerental]

ficletvember - day 2

yennskier/yenralt/geraskefer - prompt: amnesia

"Ah, Geralt! There you are!"

Geralt looks up from his untouched morning meal of soggy groats, peering through the haze of cigar smoke that fills the mess hall of the boarding house even so early in the day. He does not quite have the patience or time to deal with the bard's theatrics, not when last night Yennefer had not met him at their first planned rendezvous or their second. Geralt has been reluctantly forced to fall back to their third option which is, infuriatingly, wait as instructed until something happens.

Jaskier, ignorant of or used to his tense mood, flops onto the stool across from him and leans to inspect Geralt's meal for anything worth stealing.

"Morning, good morning, I've uh, well, I've acquired something of a charity case since we last parted."

"Is that some code for something I’m meant to be savvy to?"

"Yes, yes, you old man, it's code for I found a lost girl last night with not a lick of memory. Must have bumped her head or something. And very poorly dressed. Barefoot on the streets. Brought her back to my room to--"

"Jaskier."

"Oh hush, always thinking the worst of me, Geralt. It's truly offensive. I fetched her some clothing and was quite gentlemanly. She's still sleeping."

"And?"

"And we're going to help her."

"I'm busy."

"What with your erm… what were you doing with Yennefer again? Tracking that mage?"

"She didn't meet me last night."

"Oh."

"Could be trouble."

"Right, yeah, and what's the plan then?"

"Wait for her," Geralt grits out. He hates this plan. But trusts Yennefer. The mage is dangerous and potentially ornery, and this is Yennefer's business, Geralt involved only by chance meeting and because she allowed it. Nothing to be done. 

"Mmmm riveting. Sounds like you simply have too much on your plate to help one poor young maiden. Booked full."

Geralt sighs.

If this is just another of Jaskier's more elaborate methods of wooing some poor, confused, likely hungover girl, then he will have some choice words to say.

*

The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard's rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.

The room is sparse but comfortable, a spare cot placed by the crackling fire and a lumpy shape on the mattress by the window. A woman, curled in a fetal position, slight and olive-skined, lies dressed in one of Jaskier's blue undershirts, her dark hair tangled across the pillows. At the sound of the door closing behind them, she startles awake and shoves herself up, the oversized shirt slumping off one shoulder and hair a mess of frizz.

Geralt knows her at once and in the same breath, she is a stranger. He grunts, his mind blurring as he resists whatever magic lies heavily on her. Simply requires some concentration.

"Here she is then, Geralt this is-- ah yes, she's forgotten her name. Poor dear. We can fix that though, yes? My friend is here to help you."

"I know her."

"Er…"

"It's a memory enchantment. I could push through it with a bit of time."

"Right, right, don't allow me to hold you back. Get right on that. Push on through."

"And quiet."

"Peace and quiet, yes, yeah. Undoubtedly. Makes a good bit of sense."

"Jaskier?" asks the woman, her voice soft and touched by uncertainty. "Is it too late to come back to bed? My head is killing me." 

She gestures with an open palm, the other resting on her folded knees, as though expecting the bard to settle down with her on the mattress. 

Jaskier reaches to take her hand.

Geralt gives him a Look.

"Thought you didn't--"

"I didn't! She had a nightmare. She--"

"I'm no maiden," says the girl. "I don't need your protection."

"Haven't you lost your memory? How could you know that?"

She goes a bit cross-eyed in consideration of this. Jaskier settles onto the bed beside her, his arm snug around her shoulders. She lets out an unsteady breath and slumps against him, turning her forehead into his side. Jaskier ignores Geralt's disapproving look to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Geralt can help. He'll moan about it, but he’s plenty good at helping. Except with sums, I swear, that man cannot count to ten to save his--"

"Jaskier. Concentration."

"Right. I'll just let you--"

"Jaskier!"

Geralt breathes through his nose, eyes closed, allowing the room to fall away and the enchantment to thrum around him. Wood-ash and smoke, a sharp, acrid scent, then lilacs and--

He opens his eyes to see Yennefer cradled under the bard's arm, brow relaxing its deep grooves as he hums something into her hair.

It may take only her name to dispel the fog in her mind and lift the curse.

Geralt hesitates.

"Would you sing the one you did last night?" Yen mutters, meant for only Jaskier to hear. How vulnerable she looks, voice heavy with sleep. "The one about the nightingale?"

He relents at once, whispering the lyrics against her hair, shifting subtly back and forth in time to the melody. How small Yennefer looks curled up next to Jaskier, how strangely well-suited they appear to one another. They scarcely can stand each other at the best of times, falling into nagging and bickering when forced into close proximity. 

Not so now.

Yennefer balls her hands into fists against her the bard’s chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Jaskier's eyes drift shut, cheek against the crown of her head, shaping the lilting tones of the lullaby with rounded mouth.

Oh, neither of them are ever going to live this down.

"I know who she is," says Geralt softly, loathe to break the moment. 

"And?"

"It will have to break naturally. Memory is fickle. Dangerous to mess with."

"And when will that be?"

"Not long. It's a strong enchantment. But not for one such as her."

"Come to bed," whispers Yennefer against Jaskier’s neck, her jaw stretching in an exaggerated yawn. "Fucking exhausted. Sing me the one about the housecat and the fiddle."

"Right away, my lady."

*

Geralt feels the curse break just past midday, Yennefer tensing suddenly in the sleeping bard's arms, her head lifting from his chest. 

"Geralt," she says stiffly, rousing him from his light meditation near the threshold of the room. "How much did I fucking drink last night? And please, if I embarrassed myself -- which I clearly did -- tell me it wasn't in public."

"You'll be the talk of this town for ages."

"Shut up, Witcher. What did I--"

"Memory curse. On you and around you."

"Amateur bastard," she cursed. "He could have at least cast something more creative."

Jostled by her shifting and griping, Jaskier awakes with a sleepy moan, soon swallowed by a shrill squeak of alarm as he recognizes his bed partner. He seems ready to attempt a dramatic escape off the other side of the bed if not for the body pinning his arm.

"Yennefer! Lovely to er… remember you!"

"Good morning, darling. Give us a kiss," drawls Yennefer.

Jaskier blanches, looking from the mage in his arms to Geralt and back again, until his floundering is finally interrupted by his brain properly kicking back on.

"You!" He points at Yennefer who blinks at him innocently. "You made me sing you lullabies."

"Mmm doesn't sound like me."

"And you!” He swings to point at Geralt. “You knew and didn't say anything! Gah!"

Yennefer shoves herself up, narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh.

"You knew? And allowed this idiot to rock me in his arms like a babe?"

"You looked peaceful," says Geralt. 

"Mmmm," hums Yennefer.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaims, his hand curling around Yennefers hip as he snuggles down into the warmed linens. "I slept with Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yennefer’s violet eyes gleam.

"You have permission to beat him," says Geralt.

"When did I ever need your permission to do anything?"

Alarmed shouts echo through the walls of the boarding house. 

But that night, music.

[mymelodyheart]

All I Want For Christmas Is You Chapter 7 ~The Holiday Feeling~

Picture Source

WARNING: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in Christmas Treats ...

After Annalise had left for a night out of bowling and dinner with Willie, she'd put on her new pyjamas, a long coat so no one in the street would notice what she was wearing underneath when she walked to Jamie's cottage and a pair of Ugg boots. All the while, her stomach did a mad flip-flopped, and she continually found herself staring into space, almost tripping on the way to Jamie's house.

Obviously, she hadn't finished staring into space because when Jamie opened the door after she'd knocked, sending her hurtling back to the present, she was speechless. Rollo dashed out of the house and circled her happily, jumping on her.

Jamie grinned and opened the door wider. "Sassenach! Get in here! We have a guest."

"Oh!?"  I thought we're alone.

She pulled the coat tighter and patted Rollo's head. She remembered Annalise's word not to brace herself too hard, took a deep breath, relaxed and stepped into Jamie's house.

What she saw next, took her by surprise.

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

Tumblr link

 "Oh, it's alive. I thought it's a toy. What's that?" Claire asked as she stepped into the cottage and saw movement in the shoebox on the floor. Rollo flopped himself down beside it like he was the keeper and protector. "Is this the guest you're talking about?"

"One of them." Grinning, Jamie shut the door and followed her gaze. "Can't ye tell what's in the box? Harry found the poor wee thing mewling under the bushes in the park. It cannae be more than a week old. Probably wandered away from the litter and got lost. It's good Harry found her when he did. I dinnae think it would have survived tonight in this cold."

"It's a kitten!" Placing the paper bags she had on the rug, she got on her knees, picked up the ball of grey fur and held it against her chest. Half of its body was cocooned into a red child's sock, and its tiny head had a comical covering. "Goodness, it's even got a hat with earholes. I've never seen anything like this." 

Jamie beamed. "Not my doing. Harry brought it all bundled up like that already."

"Who's Harry? Another sibling?" she asked, nuzzling her face into the tiny furry body before carefully depositing it back into the shoebox.

Ach, Harry! He was here a minute ago. "No. A mate. He's here somewhere. I invited him to stay for dinner. Give me a sec." He'd been distracted by Claire's arrival, he'd forgotten all about his unexpected visitor.

Jamie left Claire in the living area and went to look for his friend. When he felt a draft of cold air, he went into the kitchen thinking Harry probably went to have a peek at his back garden. 

He poked his head out the back door. "Harry!" he called out. There was no answer. Where the bloody hell has he disappeared to?

All throughout the day he'd been looking forward to tonight after he'd spent the afternoon putting up a Christmas tree he'd bought at a tree farm and decorating it with ornaments belonging to his grandmother from his mother's side. And of all days, Harry had to drop by. Not that Jamie wasn't glad to see him, but the timing was terrible as spending some alone time with Claire was on top of his agenda. Nevertheless, he'd invited the Englishman to stay for dinner. But where the hell is he?

He scoured the yard, but he couldn't find Harry. Suddenly feeling the cold, he slipped back into the kitchen to check the pot roast. It was already ready after he'd left it in a slow cooker to cook all day.

Earlier this morning, after he'd dropped by at Claire's B&B cottage and kissed her, it had been a mammoth task to leaving her side, so he'd kept himself busy all day to make time go by faster. It was becoming apparent spending time away from her was starting to feel like the tension on a bungee cord. The longer the time they spent apart, the greater the urge to see her. And the line felt like it was getting shorter, like his threshold for not being with her was diminishing. If Harry was joining them for dinner, he hoped he wouldn't stay too long after dessert.

"Jamie?"

He glanced up to find Claire holding up a bottle of red wine.

"I splurged a bit. I hope this bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon will go with whatever you're cooking?"

Perfect! Putting the teatowel down, he grinned and approached her.

"It's a classic," he said, taking the bottle from her hand and putting it on the counter. He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips against hers. "I'm sorry Sassenach, I havenae given ye a proper greeting."

She smiled against his mouth. "Where's your friend?" she asked when he was done kissing her.

He pulled away and ran a hand through his hair. "God knows! He probably left. Harry does that all the time. I've invited him to Lallybroch for tea countless of times, but he’s always refused. I guess he's just not a people person." Jamie decided not to worry about it. "Hungry?"

"Very." She glanced past his shoulder. "What are we having?"

"Pot roast."

"Hmmm, nice. Smells heavenly. Need help?"

"No, I have everything under control. Want something to drink?" Jamie asked, taking out wine glasses, plates and cutleries.

"Not just yet. I had a cuppa before I left the cottage." She smiled at him. "I love your home, especially that fireplace. Is it original?"

He checked the roasted root vegetables in the oven for doneness and shoved them back in again. "Aye, it's an original. This is a crofter's cottage from the eighteenth century, and I've salvaged most of the original fixtures and fittings."

"Love the Christmas tree too. Did you put it up today?" she asked glancing around the kitchen, peering out of the window and touching his collection of fridge magnets.

"Aye, I did."

"Those antique Christmas ornaments are stunning and much better than those plastic baubles you get in shops. I have a few antique ornaments myself. Just too bad, our London flat is not big enough to accommodate a proper Christmas tree." She lifted the lid off the slow cooker and took a whiff. "Mmm, this smells lovely."

He straightened and glanced at what she was wearing. "Sassenach?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why are ye still wearing yer coat? Are ye cold? I thought I put enough wood in the fire."

She grinned. "Oh, this. It's a surprise. Hang on a minute." She turned her back to him, and he waited with anticipation, watching her movements of undoing her coat. If she was wearing a negligee under that coat, he knew he would have a heart attack, and dinner would definitely be put on hold if not cancelled. But he rubbished his thoughts immediately, knowing she wasn't that type of lass. "Close your eyes!" she instructed, and he did.

"Ye're killing me."

"Patience!"

"Are ye naked under yer coat?" he teased.

"You wish!"

He heard rustling followed by footsteps.

"Right, you can open them now."

He slowly opened his eyes, and his gaze immediately landed on the front of her top. It was a Rudolph the Reindeer's face applique complete with a protruding shiny big nose. She was a bundle of red, wearing  red fleece pyjamas with plaid bottoms, and her feet were covered in thick, red woollen socks. He laughed out loud.

"Wait for this. You haven't seen anything yet." Claire fiddled with something from under the hem and pulled the reindeer antler's hood from behind. The reindeer's nose on her front lit up, and the antlers stood lopsided on her head. The hoodie was far too big for her, and it hid one eye. "Ho, ho, ho!" she intonated in a low voice.

He chuckled and pulled her against him. "Ho, ho, ho, indeed. Where did ye get this? This is something for Christmas morning. It's almost as ridiculous as the Christmas jumpers."

"I know, right? As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to get it. Bought it today in Inverness. I thought since we've been doing all sort of Christmassy things together, I'd stick with the theme."

"That red nose is not going to keep flashing like that the whole evening, will it? It's very distracting."

She pressed something from under the top. "Nope. The show's over."

He arched an eyebrow and decided to tease her. "Really? What's underneath that top?"

She blushed, but the smile never left her face. "A hungry tummy."

"Brilliant! Shall we eat then?"

"Sure! I'll help set up the table."

Claire rattled off the things she did with Annalise that day. He was glad her friend had agreed to stay until Three Kings which would buy him more time getting to know Claire better. Jamie didn't want to think of the day when she would go back to London, even though it had been lurking all day at the back of his mind. Watching her work beside him in the kitchen, he was glad she felt comfortable and right at home. He wanted to make good memories with her just in case this was all they would ever have.

They served dinner like they'd been doing it together for years, pouring red wine, plating food he'd prepared and chatting the entire time. They sat opposite each other so Jamie could see every blush, expression and emotion that crossed her face, appreciating the fact she had an appetite, a sense of humour and took a keen interest in his work, life and Broch Mordha. He might have sounded a tad bit like a salesman trying to sell a lifestyle in a remote Highland village, and if she noticed, she didn't give any hints.

When they touched the delicate subject of his PTSD, he realised it was easier to talk about it this time. Claire spoke with refreshing candour, even suggesting alternative healing such as meditation and acupuncture, which he liked and made a mental note to look into it.

Throughout their meal, Claire spoke of her childhood, and in exchange, he talked about his family. From time to time, he would reach out to squeeze her hand so he could see the blush blooming on her cheeks or kiss her, to see the shy smile spreading across her face. Every second with her was a pleasant discovery, and he knew what a lucky bastard he was. How she was without a boyfriend was beyond him but thankful that she didn't have one.

After dinner, they cleared the table and did the dishes. And when Jamie took out Rollo for a short exercise, Claire fed the kitten with a wee bottle Harry had left him.

They took their coffee, a box of chocolate Claire loved, and the unfinished bottle of red wine into the living room. As Jamie put another log into the fire, Rollo curled up next to Claire. It was quite apparent, he wasn't the only one smitten. Smiling, he plopped down next to her and turned on the TV to watch Home Alone.

..........

When the film credits started rolling in the end, Jamie turned off the volume and stretched. He glanced over to Claire just in time to see her unwrapping a Ferrero Rocher chocolate. When she realised he was looking at her, she offered him the already unwrapped sweet. 

He shook his head and smiled. "So, what do ye want to do?"

The room filled with silence as she exaggeratedly contemplated, tapping her chin and scrunching her nose while rolling the chocolate in her mouth. 

His eyes dropped to the delicate lines of her jaw. The smooth, pale skin of her neck and the movement of her throat as she swallowed wreaked havoc with his concentration. He had a very vivid image of what they could do, and they involved running his tongue along the neckline of that ridiculous pyjama top. Since that option would probably send her running out the door, he quickly dismissed the idea. "More movies?" he suggested.

"No. Had enough. Do you know how to play poker?"

"Do I know how to play poker?" He laughed out loud. "I'm a master at the game."

Her eyes lit up. "You have a deck of cards?"

"Aye, I will go and get them." He got up from the sofa and headed towards a desk in the corner of the room. "Always love a game of poker."

"Oh, good. I haven't played for ages."

"What do we play for?"

She cleared the coffee table and crossed her legs. "We'll play for pennies, how about that?"

"I dinnae think I have any loose change."

"We'll think of something else. I'm dealing."

He handed her the deck of cards, put on some classic Christmas song, and then refilled their glasses. He sat beside her and watched with amazement as her fingers expertly flew through the cards with ease, shuffling with lightning speed. While concentrating on his hand, he wondered where she learned how to deal and surmised probably her uncle, the same man who taught her to play pool.

"Alright, here we go, dealer's choice. Five-card stud, ante up."

He glanced up at her. "Wait! We havenae decided what we're playing for." 

"Oh, I forgot. You said you don't have any loose change."

"Maybe we ought to play for the family jewels."

She slapped him on the thigh. "Ha-ha! You funny man!"

His lips twitched. "Weel, any ideas?"

"Can't think of one at the moment."

"Wait a minute ...I have a verra interesting one."

Claire glared at him. "If you're thinking of strip poker, forget it."

He laughed out loud. "No, I didnae mean that. Although I wouldnae mind that." When she arched an eyebrow at him, he grinned. "I meant we'll play for favours."

She bit her lower lip. "Favours? What kind of favours?" she asked suspiciously.

"The first to win three hands gets a free favour from the other. It can be used at any time, like a voucher per se."

Her face suddenly became animated. "Can you use the favour for anything? How about the rules?"

He grinned. "Nae rules and ye can redeem yer favours on anything. Anything at all."

The challenge lured her in like a true gambler following the scent of a big stake. "Very well then, we're playing for favours."

He smothered the jubilant smile threatening to surface and quickly fixed his expression into poker-face, almost licking his lips with glee when she'd agreed.

She dealt, and he almost pumped his fist in the air at the obvious outcome, but he remained silent, watching her replace one of her cards.

After a while, he laid down his cards. "Flush."

"Cool. Two queens. Your deal." Her expression remained inscrutable. God, her poker face is good!

Jamie had to give her credit for keeping her emotions under control. Whoever taught her to play, taught her well and if it wasn't for his past experience, he felt in his guts she'd be one hell of a player to beat. Next, she threw down a pair of aces and yielded gracefully to his three twos.

"Alright, one more hand to go," he announced, subduing the mirth in his voice.

"My deal. I can count, ye ken," she said, imitating his accent. He kept his face impassive as he watched her dainty fingers flitting over the cards. "Care to share where you learn how to play poker?"

He inspected his hand casually. "Played a lot with my unit during my SAS days. Beats sitting around and twiddling my thumbs during long intervals."

"My uncle taught me," she shared. "As well as backgammon and chess."

He threw in a card and replaced it. "I have backgammon and chessboards if ye feel like playing for another time. I'm quite good at both games, in case ye're up for a challenge."

She let out an unladylike snort when she laid down her cards, displaying straight as victory gleamed in her eyes.

Jamie almost felt sorry for her. Not quite but almost.

He whistled low and shook his head. "Good hand." This time he allowed himself to smile. "But, sorry lass, it's no' good enough." He threw his cards down, showing four aces and then cockily stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back on the sofa. "Nice game, though."

She gasped and looked at him with those beautiful golden orbs. "Jamie, the probabilities of four aces in five-card stud are ..." Her eyes widened. "Oh my word, you didn't!"

"What?"

"Why you cheeky sod ..."

"What, Sassenach?"

"Don't Sassenach me. You cheated!"

"No!"

"Yes, you did!"

He shook his head in feigned horror and tried to look offended. "Och, how could ye think that? Surely not! I ken ye're verra good at it, but this is all on luck."

Her pretty eyebrows slammed together. "No way you can get those four aces unless you palmed the cards. Admit it, because I was thinking of doing it myself, but I refrained from doing so!"

"Don't ye think yer accusation is a tad bit harsh?"

"Jamie, you cheated! I know you did. I can't believe you cheated on our date night. Oh, my God! How could you?"

"I did no such thing."

"Jamie!"

"No cheating occurred, Sassenach." He straightened up from his sitting position and smiled. "Now about that favour I won ..." But his voice trailed off when she abruptly stood up and placed her hands on her hips. "Sassenach?"

"You cheat!" Without warning, she propelled herself over the coffee table and into his arms. Air whooshed out of him as she toppled him back onto the sofa and slipped a hand under the sleeves of his sweatshirt, looking for the suspected hidden cards. Jamie grunted as the full weight of Claire landed on him, her intent on finding proof of foul play resolute. He attempted to regain his balance, but she shifted her attention somewhere else, making him fall back again. When her hands slipped into his pants pocket, he realised if she delved any deeper, she wouldn't come up empty-handed. Ah, sweet Jesus!  With no other options, he flipped her onto her back and pinned both hands above her head.

The tie holding her hair somehow became undone during the struggle, causing her chocolate brown curls to spring forth and tumble down, and a few unruly locks to settle on her face. Jamie stared at the snapping golden eyes peeking between the strands, filled with determination despite his more considerable strength. Her chest heaved against her ridiculous top, the appliquéd Rudolf the reindeer staring mockingly at him. Without meaning to, his weight forced her thighs apart, and he wondered if she was aware of both their predicament. Or at least his.

Jamie knew he would be in deep trouble if he remained where he was, as she continued to wriggle under him.

"I know you're hiding the cards somewhere. I wasn't born yesterday, you know! Admit you cheated and I will forget this ever happened."

"Will ye keep still, Sassenach" he muttered. "Ye're torturing me."

She stuck out her bottom lip and blew a hard breath, the wayward curl lifting and blowing sideways, clearing her line of sight. "That's your conscience doing that. Did you know there's a special place in hell for cheaters?"

He muttered a curse under his breath. "Don't ye ever think of the repercussion to yer actions? Ye cannae just tackle a man like that."

"Oh? What are you going to do about it? Tell Santa to put me on his naughty list?"

Her body suddenly started to shake when she burst into fits of laughter at her own words, causing the heat in his groin to surge through his body like a wildfire gone out of control. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! His blood buzzed in his head like a swarming fog, and even though he tried to shift all his thoughts on the fat man sliding down the chimney and getting stuck halfway, all he could only think of was the soft body beneath him. He tried not to breathe and held his body in a tight muscle lock and prayed Claire wouldn't make any more sudden big movements; otherwise, he was going to explode like a schoolboy and look like a glaikit idiot.

But when the realisation of his plight swiftly dawned on her, her mouth formed a comical O, and her face turned bright red, her previous intent on extracting a confession of his cheating, dissipating. 

"Jamie?" Her voice was husky.

He swallowed hard and ignored the fact he had a big fat boner wedged between them. "Did I hurt ye? Didnae mean to be so rough."

"No. I'm fine."

"Are ye sure?"

She smiled, and he inhaled deeply to regain his composure. She smelled like shampoo and flowers and just a hint of fruit flavoured lollies, and he could just about see the pulse palpitating on her neck. Their position made his erection harder, and the way she was looking at him wasn't helping at all.

"You're a big lad," she gulped. 

Ah, shite! "And ye're not helping," he said hoarsely, tamping down a groan.

"Shall I go?"

"No!" He took a deep breath and forced a smile. "Just be still for a moment, aye?"

"Alright."

They laid still for a while looking at each other.

Carefully, he let go of her wrists above her head and stroked her cheek with his thumb. "I can stare at ye like this for hours and never tire of it," he whispered. She smiled, and he kissed the smooth line of her jaw. When she tilted her head back, his lips trailed down of their own accord, bowing his body over hers as he worked his way to the side of her neck.

Hard as he was, he didn't move against her. He wanted her to feel safe and everything to be on her terms, letting her know this attraction went beyond sex. He held on to his control with a mental vice grip and simply appreciated the moment. 

His combed his fingers through her curls, feeling the softness of it in his hand as he kissed her softly, never demanding or pushing even if it pained him a lot.

He heard Rollo sigh from somewhere in the house and the crackling of the fire in the hearth. He almost shot out the sofa as small hands tentatively explored his chest and shoulders, before sliding around his neck and up through his hair. Then they moved down his side and waist before her palms settled over the ridges of his stomach. He loved the small sounds she made at the back of her throat and the softness against every part of him that was hard. Every movement and sigh she made, her scent drifted and surrounded him, a heady pheromone, pulling him in closer.

When her hands slipped under his sweatshirt and settled at his lower back, his breath broke and went ragged, and an instant electric tension rose between them, turning their soft, playful kisses heated and more urgent.

As much as it hurt him to do so, he tore his lips away and looked into her eyes. "We dinnae have to do anything ye dinnae want, Sassenach. We can stop right now," he whispered, his voice sounding oddly gruff in his ears. He felt his cock protesting against his boxer shorts, but he ignored the mounting discomfort in his groin.

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to stop. Kiss me again." 

Relief slammed through him as a ton of weight lifted off his back. "Sassenach, are ye sure?"

She nodded. 

He was about to kiss her again when a gentle push of her hands on his chest stopped him.

"I've never done this before," she whispered. 

"What do ye mean?" 

She rolled her eyes. "I meant sex!"

Ah, Christ! A virgin living in London! How is that possible? Even for Broch Mordha, a virgin was a rarity. He shut his eyes for a few heartbeats, and when he opened them again, suddenly she looked unsure, almost embarrassed, and he felt she needed him to step up. He gave her a slow smile to put her at ease. "Do ye come with a user's manual? Never been with a virgin before."

Her face broke into laughter, and the tension eased a bit. "No! And before you start having all sorts of notions about virgins, I'm not all that naive. I have a fair idea of how it suppose to happen."

"Weel, no crash courses needed then," he joked before his face turned serious. "But why me, Sassenach?"

She gave him an unwavering look, her chin tilting up slightly. "Because I've never felt like this before." 

Neither had he, but the wee voice in the back of his head reminded him this lass was the type of lass you brought home to introduce to your parents. Getting involved with her on a deeper emotional level wouldn't bode well for both of them as her life was in London, and he belonged here. He didn't want to hurt her. She deserved a man who could live in her world without falling down to his knees and having one of his episodes. But the gravitational pull between them was unrelenting. He needed her badly, but his conscience compelled him to offer one more out. One more, before he lost sight of the right thing to do.

"We can just continue kissing ...nothing needs to happen," he rasped, brushing their lips together. "Just say the word, Sassenach. I promise ye I wouldnae mind. I'm perfectly happy just to kiss."

Claire's breath caught as she scrutinised him, the weight of what could follow once they'd stripped each other's clothes written in her eyes. Probably in his, too. "I want this Jamie ... I'm ready."

He studied her for a long while, before making up his mind and nodding. "Wait here."

Getting up, he grabbed some blankets and throw cushions from the sofa and laid them out on the floor. And then he went to retrieve some condoms from the bedroom. After a couple of minutes fussing and finally satisfied with his handiwork, he picked Claire up and gently carried her by the fireplace. Though the fire was already slowly dying down, the embers still glowed, lending the room a cosy feel and warmth.

Claire looked up at him and beamed. "Well, I suppose this is the part where you take off your top."

He laughed out loud despite his balls almost on the verge of mutiny. What supposed to be a tense and awkward moment, was turning out to be fun. He didn't need telling twice. Grinning, he dragged his shirt over his head and was hovering over her under a split second. She looked mightily impressed as she pulled him down. "Wow, never seen anyone take their shirt off so fast," she breathed as he pressed his lips on the hollow of her throat.

"Ye should see how fast I can get yers off," he muttered against the crook of her neck. 

She laughed and gently pushed him away. "I don't want my Rudolph top damaged. I'll take my own clothes off, thank you very much."

With his heart in his throat, he watched her stand and peeled off her pyjama bottom first. She had her back to him, and he figured she was trying to hide her blush. And when she took off her top next, his cock roared back to life, and he hurriedly followed suit, taking off his sweatpants, his eyes fixed on the smoothness of her long legs. Leaving her red bra and knickers on, she swiftly slipped next to him, her teeth clattering and her beautiful pale skin covered in goosebumps.

He gathered her immediately under him, rubbing her arms and the side of her body. "How's that? Still cold?" he asked, looking down at her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Feeling a lot warmer now."

"Christ, ye smell so good."

"And you're so hot." When she realised what she just said, her eyes widened in horror. "I mean you're like a heating pad."

He grinned at her. "I know what ye meant, but I'll take the other meaning any day. It will do wonders for my ego."

She slapped his arm. "Your ego is perfectly intact, I can assure you."

He smiled as he skimmed his hand up her side and gently cupped her breast, waiting for her reaction. When he felt her back arch a little, he brought down his lips to hers, gently thrusting his tongue into her mouth. She let out a tiny whimper, opening and taking each thrust, conscious of her fingernails digging into his shoulders.

He reminded himself to take it slow and make it memorable for her, but when she parted her knees and allowed him to settle between her thighs, he groaned out loud and changed position, so the tip of his erection pressed right into her through their undies. The slow tease of their movements was maddening, and he wondered if she was aware of it. His cock was straining against her where it would slide in effortlessly if there had been nothing between them.

He felt her hooked her thumbs at the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down. He helped her by kicking them off while putting his fingers under the edge of her knickers. He paused with bated breaths, waiting for her permission, and when she lifted her hips, he groaned and kissed her long and thorough, pushing the flimsy scrap down her thighs.

He nipped at her lips, then trailed down with his tongue to nibble her neck, his fingers unsnapping the clasp of her bra. Claire flailed her head, seemingly unable to verbalise the reactions her body was experiencing, and he watched her with fascination. Emboldened, he cupped the weight of her breast, rolling her nipple, then gently tweaking it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh, God Jamie ..."

"It's good?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut and rolling her lips in.

Jamie lowered his mouth and sucked her nipple, his tongue flicking and never letting up the frantic pace, his fingers trailing along her inner thigh, causing goosebumps to erupt on her skin. When he touched her core, she was already wet with need, making his head spin out of control. Fighting the urge to take her now, his index finger traced her folds, rubbing her wetness on her nub. The delicate hitch of her breath hit his ears the exact time his mouth abandoned her breast. 

He met her gaze and sank into the amber depths of her eyes, so far gone with pleasure they turned to molten gold, full of feminine demand that battled past all obstacles and shattered them to pieces. The raw need etched in her features told Jamie she was past the point of no return, that she wanted him now and he knew the feeling.

"Sassenach ...are ye sure?"

"Oh, sweet Mother of God, if you stop now ..." her voice trailed off in a hiss.

"I need to hear the words."

"For God's sake, I want you, Jamie. Now."

Knocking back the reluctance to untangle himself from her, Jamie reared back and reached out for the condom he'd left beside the cushion. He quickly sheathed himself in stretched latex and prowled up her body, settling between her thighs and muffling her requests to hurry with a hard kiss. 

"The first time ye come, I want it to happen while I'm sunk so deep in ye, ye'll never forget who broke it in," he muttered, words muffled by her lips.

"Oh, dear God ..." she moaned.

"Open yer legs wider for me, Sassenach."

She nodded, her fingers running over his cheekbones, lips, chin, as she hiked her knees up. Their breaths raced out of their mouths as he reached down and guided his cock to her opening. Slowly, he pushed inch by inch, allowing her to get used to his girth. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he collapsed and dropped her forehead to hers. 

When he got his breath back, he braced himself on his elbow and looked into her eyes. "Did I hurt ye?"

"Just a little. I hardly noticed. Keep moving." She wrapped her legs around his hips, her fingernails scraping his back lightly on the way down to his arse, which she gripped with hesitation at first, then with more confidence.

With a groan, his hips started to roll of their own volition. He held his breath as heat threatened to flare up in his balls. "Oh fuck, ye feel so good."

"Don't stop ..." she gasped frantically moving her hips against him.

With a hand on her bottom, he lifted her hips effortlessly and drove himself deeper, the last shreds of his control dissolving as he fell on top of her like a dying man. His mouth travelled over hers, and she responded in kind, their tongues twining, their bodies moving in synchronicity to the erotic rhythm and dance. The root of his erection grated against her core and her hips lifted to meet his thrusts, her breaths coming out in pants. It was so breathtaking to watch her pleasure, and what his body is doing to hers, it constricted his heart.

When she dropped her legs from his hips to spread them wider, she let out a strangled moan, and his cock bore down, working her nub. He angled his body for more friction, watching and always conscious of her reaction. When her back arched, and her right leg extended further out, they descended into what felt like wanton madness. She whimpered and raised her hips to meet his thrusts, her inner walls beginning a slow, tight suction of his cock. Jamie was almost afraid to look at her, worried the sight of her would make him lose his restraint and come before her. But it was an impossibility to keep his eyes away when she looked so beautiful beneath him.

He watched her writhe and finesse flew out the window. He fell on her, grunting, sucking in huge gulps of air, pushing her thighs open as he drove faster, listening to her moans of his name, treasuring the throaty awe of them in his ears and all around him. Their mouths joined and gorged, her hands slapping down on his buttocks to pull him in deeper and push him faster. All thoughts of logic, questions and issues suspended as he dipped his head, lowered his mouth over her jiggling tits and continued to pump like a wild beast.

Her body suddenly stilled, before trembling violently underneath him in a climax accompanied by a soft moan, her inner walls squeezing his cock tight. Cursing under his breath, he yanked her legs up and drove himself with a few more hard thrusts to his own peak, a loud groan reverberating from his chest and echoing into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut as his body exploded and spilt his seed. He went from being a bundle of tensed nerves to being utterly devoid of it. 

Utterly spent, he collapsed on top of her, gathering her against him, almost smothering the air out of her. His insides were totally decimated, mind blown and floated down like confetti. 

Moments later, when he lifted his head and searched her eyes, he couldn't stop the widest grin from spreading across his face. And when she returned it with a twinkle in her eye, he fell irreversibly and completely in love with Claire Beauchamp.

..........

The next morning, Jamie got up extra early to let Claire sleep while he did a few chores around the house. He'd kept her up all night, making love and sometime in the early hours of the morning, he'd carried her to his bed. Sleep had been evasive, but this time the cause hadn't been his nightmares or one of his episodes. His thoughts had been filled with the future and its uncertainties instead of being plagued with the past. There were still some niggling doubts lurking in the recesses of his mind, and one of them was his concern when Claire returned to London.

How often had he asked himself in the past twenty-four hours if he could live in London to be closer to her? But now that he had an arboricultural business with Willie, it was doing very well and planning on expanding. He was excited about the community projects he was involved in and committed himself to working long-term. With his episodes and PTSD, the idea of being surrounded by busy streets, chaos, traffics, loud noises, and shoes on the pavement rather than fresh earth paralysed a piece inside him.

Jamie had spent the rest of the night staring into the darkness, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Eventually, some choices have to be made. And he wasn't sure if love would be enough for either of them and if Claire felt the same way.

Taking that leap would only end in heartache and worsen his condition. There had to be some other way. But he couldn't ask her to give up her life and career in London. Or could he? Could he give her what she needed? He shook his head and pushed the bugging thoughts away. They still had the time, and he should focus on that.

After letting Rollo out and bringing in more logs for the fireplace, he made some coffee, answered his emails and read some news on the internet. When his phone chirped and realised it was from his sister Jenny, he groaned. He decided to answer and get it out of the way.

Jenny: I heard all about the lass you're seeing. A city lass, no less. Have you gone mad? Haven't you learned your lessons?

Ah, fuck, I don't have time for this.

Jamie: Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry about me. It's just a winter fling. OK? She's on holiday, and she'll be going back to London. Soon. Happy now?

He left his phone on the kitchen counter and shook his head. This wasn't the text conversation he should be having about Claire. But if it would keep Jenny from busting his balls of all days, he'd play along just to pacify her. He slipped into the bedroom, and when he saw Claire still asleep, he decided to have a shave and shower.

After he was done, he walked into the bedroom and noticed the bed was already made. He searched for Claire, humming under his breath and planning what breakfast he should prepare.

"Sassenach?" he called out. 

No answer. 

She probably went back to her cottage to get a change of clothes, he thought.

He shrugged and went ahead and prepared breakfast, singing along to the song playing on the radio. All I Want For Christmas Is You.

Dear Readers,

Thanking you all for reading and leaving your feedback on the previous chapter. Very much appreciated. It's crunch time now with my writing and preparation for Christmas, but thank God, I'm still on track.

Anyway, I hope this story has given you Christmas joy so far and looking forward to reading what you thought of my latest update. Sending you best wishes and positive vibes. Take care of yourselves and until next time, much love. x

[asphyxiateher]

Only Monsters Come Out at Night

Chapter 5: I’ll Tell You My Sins So You Can Sharpen Your Knife

Summary: Desdemona is slowly losing herself but survival is still critical, especially when she must spend time with Daniela alone. A/N: Thank you all for the support, I’ve been busy with work but this story in my head needs to be written so I can get it out of my system. lol I’ll polish and edit this when I can. :) 

           To say the previous night was eventful would be an understatement but to Cassandra’s credit, she did not push for more than what Desdemona was willing to give. Now, Desdemona wasn’t saying that Cassandra was gentle or pleasant when she declined engaging in more intimate activities, but Cassandra understood the meaning of “no” and backed off in exchange for learning more about Desdemona. The smaller girl thought she was being clever by saying she would only get physical with her if they took the time to get to know each other better first and she was surprised when Cassandra reluctantly agreed. Des introduced Cassandra to the laptop she had brought with her on their trip and the woman was in absolute awe of the power of modern-day technology. She had begun explaining about what movies were and what she currently had downloaded onto her pc when Cassandra astonished Desdemona with a personal question.

“What brought you all the way out here in the first place anyway, Little One? Don’t get me wrong, you’re the most fascinating group of visitors we’ve had in such a long time, but for a pretty face like you to be stranded out here on your own with me? Seems foolish.” Cassandra asked as she lay on the bed next to Desdemona who suddenly snapped her laptop shut.

“Desmond and I graduated from college and we had money saved up to go embark on what was supposed to be a memorable adventure. I’ve always been into horror and science fiction movies as well as novels and comic books so I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to tour the castle that inspired Bram Stoker’s Dracula, one of my favorite classics. Look how well that turned out.” Desdemona says bitterly, nervously fiddling with her fingers.

Cassandra attempted to reach out and wrap her fingers around Desdemona’s hand, but she became hesitant and pulled back instead as if she were unsure if the gesture would be welcome.

“Your brother is dead. That is something we cannot undo but I understand your anger. Bela and Daniela are trying at times, but I do love them more than anything really. I have the power to kill at will and I will not falter should anything happen to my dear sisters. You, on the other hand, are persevering in a way that’s admirable, Desdemona. You are innocent and you want to survive. You are stronger for that more than you’ll ever know.” Cassandra tells her quietly, her teeth wedged between her lips as though she may have said too much to her human plaything.

Desdemona was taken aback by what Cassandra had said and it must have shown on her face because Cassandra suddenly looked irritated with how deep the conversation was going.

“If you are not going to allow me the pleasures of your flesh, then allow me to drink from you as I’m quite parched!” She snarled before she pounced on top of Desdemona, her razor-sharp teeth flashing dangerously. One minute, she’s howling in pain the moment Cassandra pierces through her skin and begins drinking her blood and the very next, she passes out from the blood loss while still laying underneath the ill-tempered vampire. She sleeps for a few hours, only stirring awake when she feels a comfortable presence beside her. She groggily opens her eyes only to find Veronica staring at her, concern clearly etched on her face.

“Shh, shh hey, you’re okay now, Dezzy. C’mere, let me take a look at you. You were tossing and turning the whole time after they brought you back down here. I don’t know what they did to you, but we can switch places if you’d like. I think Lady Dimitrescu might take a liking to you.” Veronica says jokingly as she runs shaky fingers through Desdemona’s tangled locks.

Desdemona sighs at the contact and smiles at her best friend’s attempt to soothe her.

“That’s funny, V. Not sure I fancy calling my dentist and canceling all future appointments ‘cause I found a titan of woman with big tits to pull all my teeth for me. Nah, I think I’ll stick to reluctantly donating my blood to three horny vampire women, thank you very much.” Desdemona scoffs out a laugh when Veronica playfully swats at her arm.

“Fuck off, it was only a few teeth and yeah, that crazy bitch has got fists the size of hams so of course she can knock them straight out of me!” Veronica exclaimed. “Ugh. I’ll be honest though Des, I’m scared. Not for me ‘cause I know what’s coming if I keep putting up a fight, but I’m scared for you.” She continues, her voice now a whisper as she lays down on the cold hard stone floor and placing her hand on top of Desdemona’s.

“I’m scared for both of us. Why aren’t you more worried about you?” Desdemona squeezes her best friend’s hand and rests her head against Veronica’s shoulder.

 “You’re being forced to entertain three vampires who could bleed you dry the way Elizabeth Bathory did her victims. The way they manhandle you and take occasional sips from you is fucking horrific! I don’t understand how you’re not freaking out over it.” Veronica licks her chapped lips and glances back at Desdemona. “These could be our very last moments alive together. I need you to promise me that you will look for weaknesses that we can use against them. Fight for your right to live, babes, fight for Desmond the way he would have wanted us to. We can’t keep taking what they’re giving us, it will kill us.”

Deep down, Desdemona knew her best friend was right but how could she expect her to put up a fight against three undead creatures that can transform into a massive ball of insects at any given time? She felt so helpless and utterly alone in the way that made her feel insignificant next to her best friend. Veronica was fearless in the face of death and Desdemona felt like a coward. She wanted to survive this ordeal so badly, she practically groveled in submission to be spared from any form of punishment and observing the bruises and cuts along on V’s skin, she felt so incredibly guilty for not putting up a hard enough fight.

 “V, I don’t know how to explain it. I want to get out of here as much as you do, but as soon as my mind tells me to do something logical, I do the exact opposite. It’s like I do not want any of Alcina’s daughters to hate me, so I go out of my way to please them. It’s driving me crazy, and I don’t know if I’m just weak willed when it comes to them but fuck it…I just don’t want to die.” Desdemona admits, turning her head to face Veronica who meets her gaze at the same time.

 “Nothing wrong with wanting to live a little longer but don’t throw away your dignity for these monsters who don’t give a flying fuck about you. From what the countess herself has said about her daughters is that they entertain whatever pretty little maiden comes their way for a minute before they get bored and eat their corpse when they’re done. Don’t let them belittle you, use you, and kill you when you’re worth more than you’ll ever know.” Veronica tells her before placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Feeling renewed, Desdemona continues to enjoy the few moments of peace with her best friend before they hear the dreaded sound of heels clicking in the dungeon.

“Well, cur, you know what it’s time for and you’ll be delighted to know I have so many wonderful things to show you. Get up, and brace yourself because after this, I guarantee you that you will not be the same after today.” Alcina declares as she unlocks the chamber door to their room.

Veronica grudgingly sits up and sighs, squeezing Desdemona’s hands one last time before standing. “Alcina, what a lovely surprise. I was just beginning to miss you, my lady. Oh, how I’ve been withering away down here knowing that I’ve gone a day without a beating. Thank you oh so much for finally blessing us with your presence.” Veronica says with a smirk only for it to be smacked off her face a second later.

“Silence, heathen! You will speak only when spoken to. For now, you will only be required to observe and shadow a maiden I no longer have use for. As for you, Desdemona, Daniela will be waiting in the library. Do not keep her waiting, dear.” Alcina says ominously, a chill running down Desdemona’s spine at the mere mention of her youngest daughter’s name.

Veronica casts her a fleeting sympathetic look before they both follow Lady Dimitrescu out of the cellar. Once they had gone their separate ways, Desdemona’s anxiety climbed to seemingly immeasurable heights. She came out of her previous encounters with lady Dimitrescu’s other daughters alive so that was good, but what of Daniela? She already gave off the impression that she was delusional and violent when provoked so Desdemona’s chance of survival at this rate was questionable at best.

When Desdemona arrived in front of the entrance to the library, she took a few deep breaths to calm herself. After a few more minutes of contemplating whether she should enter Daniela’s realm, she makes up her mind and crosses the threshold. Her jaw drops at the magnificent sight behold her. She’s in a vast circular room that is surrounded by sumptuous bookshelves and brilliant décor that has her almost envying the fact that this space belonged to someone like Daniela.

“Are you looking for me, darling? Come play with me, I’ll let you live in the meantime.” A shrill voice from behind one of the bookcases catches Desdemona off guard and she nearly trips over herself when she turns to find Daniela quickly approaching her.

“H-hi Daniela, I came to s-see you. How are you doing?” Desdemona asks as she continues to back away from the dangerous woman staring at her with the unmistakable look of hunger in her eyes. Daniela laughs uncontrollably and covers her mouth when she’s done. The red headed woman gives Desdemona an agonizingly slow once-over and licks her lips as though she were feeling ravenous at the sight.

“You’re so sweet to ask. You must have fallen hard for me, but you shouldn’t be surprised; everyone falls for me in time.” Daniela says in an almost sickeningly sweet voice. ‘Ok, so this fucking lunatic thinks you’re in love with her. Good, maybe she’d be less inclined to kill you.’ Desdemona thinks to herself, her back now pressed against a polished marble column.

“Y-yeah, I wanted to see you but only if you weren’t busy. I just thought you could use some company.” Des replies. This pleases Daniela immensely, so she takes a step closer to inhale the other girl’s scent. She was terrified and her blood smelled so delicious because of it. She needed to taste her, absorb everything that was Desdemona and revel in the symphony of her screams when she was done with her.

 “I could always use company, especially yours, my love. A few moments ago, I would have been just fine snuggling by the fireplace and having you read with me. Now that you’re here smelling quite tasty, there’s something else I want.” She says with a giggle before instantly making moves so that she was now only a few inches apart from Desdemona’s face.

Desdemona gasps when Daniela reveals her hidden sickle and suddenly tears a long cut through her shirt and pants. Moaning in ecstasy, Daniela begins to pick apart her torn clothing and caresses the smooth expanse of skin that was exposed to her. Desdemona shuts her eyes and turns her head to the side when the other woman lunges at her with an open mouth.

“Ugh, why are you rejecting me? Don’t you love me? Apologize at once and I’ll forgive you. Everybody makes mistakes.” Daniela whispers in a low, threatening tone. Desdemona feels tears begin to form when Daniela lowers her head and begins to suck and gently nibble on her neck. Veronica’s words come to mind about not putting up with whatever form of abuse they were going to give and she tries to summon every ounce of bravery she could muster. She pushes hard against Daniela and frees herself from her grasp. She twists and begins running in the other direction, not looking back at the crazed woman shrieking at her.

“Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!” Desdemona was about to reach the doorway that led out of the library when a massive ball of insects appeared before her. She wasn’t able to react quickly enough so when she tried to turn again, she felt Daniela pounce on her from behind, tackling her to the floor. There was no use struggling against the immortal creature that perched herself on top of her so when Daniela forcefully flipped her onto her back, Desdemona saw her life flash before her eyes the moment Daniela raised her sickle, as if she were ready to swing at her. The logical part of her brain wanted this to end quickly, to spare herself from further embarrassment every time she pleaded for her life. But then there were dark whispers from an unknown entity, her broken survival instincts or those pesky intrusive thoughts perhaps, that were telling her to kiss Daniela in order to calm her down. She doesn’t know why or how it makes perfect sense but it does; Desdemona could either choose to die on her own terms or she could appease this goddess before her and worship her.

‘Where the hell are those thoughts coming from and why do I have a sudden urge to kiss Daniela? Gods help me.’ The frantic thoughts are the last to cross her mind as Desdemona leans up and yanks Daniela close to her level by her pendant.

Daniela’s eyes widen in surprise when she feels Desdemona’s lips press themselves against hers. After a few tense moments of not receiving the response she was hoping for, Desdemona begins pulling away but then she’s pulled back into a more frenzied, intense kiss. Daniela sighs against her mouth, her sickle dropping and causing the sound of metal clanging against the floor to echo in the room. When the need for air becomes too great for the smaller girl, she gently breaks the kiss and Daniela is suddenly looking at her with hooded eyes, desire visible in those beautiful golden hued orbs of hers. “Why did you run away from me? I hate it when my pretty playthings run away from me.” Daniela asks softly, the delicate tone in her voice surprising the both of them.

Desdemona’s voice wavers when she speaks, but she steadies herself by cautiously wrapping an arm around Daniela’s neck. She doesn’t know why she’s actively reaching out to touch the dangerous red-headed woman, she can’t explain why she’s craving for more contact, but she does and it’s scary as hell. “B-because I don’t want my f-first time with anyone to be meaningless. I’ve n-never gotten this close with anyone before and…I want it to be special. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather you slit my throat right now before I give myself to you. I need to know you on a deeper level.” Desdemona’s cheeks are flushed a deep crimson color as she admits this, not knowing why she’s opening herself up like this to Daniela but those darker thoughts that linger somewhere in her mind are praising her.

Daniela takes a sharp breath in response to Desdemona’s words and quirks an eyebrow at the smaller girl. She was completely stunned by the revelation.

“Wait, you’re running away from me because you haven’t…not with anyone else before?” Daniela asked carefully.

Desdemona nods, wondering why this would matter to her at all. Daniela was going to slit her throat for wasting her time and-

“Oh Desdemona, why didn’t you tell me sooner? I didn’t mean to make you so nervous! Don’t get me wrong, I’m disappointed that I don’t get to make you mine tonight but I’m willing to wait for you. You’re my soulmate and if you want to get to know me before we get close, then we’ll do just that.” Daniela says, her voice huskier now than it was a moment ago. She reaches in between their pressed bodies and lowers her hand so now that her fingers were skimming along smooth skin until Daniela reaches Desdemona’s underwear.

 Underneath Daniela’s fierce, lust filled gaze, Desdemona moans into the other woman’s ear when she feels Daniela cup her womanhood possessively. This prompted Daniela to capture Desdemona’s lips in a ravenous kiss that left her feeling both thirsty and wanting more. The smaller girl, on the other hand, was quickly losing herself in the kiss, not understanding why the dark voices in her head were pressing her to do more. She couldn’t hear Veronica’s words of warning but instead sinister whispers that poisoned her thoughts. Desdemona was almost fully convinced to give herself to Daniela in that moment but then she remembers the conversation she had with her best friend earlier. This was all about survival, that’s all this should be about. She should not be indulging herself like this with these…creatures. ‘Your masters. Address them appropriately.’ The wicked voice in her head is not her own. Alarmed, Desdemona breaks the kiss with Daniela, who dives in again to lick Desdemona’s lips.

“Mmm, judging by the way you kissed me, you want me to be your first, don’t you? I can wait for you darling, but only if you promise that when you’re ready, you’ll come find me. Not Bela, not Cassandra nor my beautiful mother. I want to be the one to break you in. My sisters always get what they want but this, I want this more than anything. Pledge yourself to me.” Daniela murmurs darkly, her teeth gently nibbling on Desdemona’s earlobe.

Desdemona wants to shove her off and run away again while she has the chance. She wants to take Veronica’s hand and escape Castle Dimitrescu together. She just wants to go home, mourn her twin brother with her family and be somewhere safe and quiet and away from all of this.

Instead, Desdemona smiles at Daniela and tucks a few stray strands of red hair behind her ear. It was adorable how Daniela quickly leaned into the touch, a smile of her own gracing blood smeared lips.

“I’m yours, completely. I’ll take good care of you if you promise to do the same to me.” Desdemona says, her voice not following what her brain was trying to command her to say. ‘Kick, scream, run! Don’t let them control you, don’t let them compel you to do anything you don’t want to do –‘ ‘Obey. Listen to your masters, they own you and your body. You are theirs to do as they wish. You belong to them and nobody else. Do not disobey or you will be punished.’

There it was again, the sinister voice that did not belong to her and it was overwhelming.

Whatever rational thoughts Desdemona had as she continued to embrace Daniela in her arms had left. The last thing Desdemona remembers thinking about before she got up to join Daniela in her favorite corner to read was how much darker and menacing the bruises and hickeys all three sisters left on her skin were starting to look. They were deep red and purple, black spider veins were also beginning to sprout and spread throughout her body.

Were Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters subtly infecting her with some kind of disease or were they creating a bond with her every time they bit and clawed at her? Desdemona’s thoughts lingered on the last part before she uncharacteristically ignored what had just transpired between Daniela and herself. Ties had been indeed created but what Desdemona can’t help but wonder what the cost to sharing a dangerous bond with all three women was? She doesn’t think on it much longer as she’s seated on Daniela’s favorite couch and Daniela rests her head on Desdemona’s lap, a chosen book for her to read aloud in hand. Her mind is placated and the desire to please her Mistress takes over. Nothing else mattered anymore.

[firefly-in-darkness]

Kiss Goodnight

Kiss Goodnight

Characters → Y/N & Bucky Barnes

Summary → Y/N lets Bucky in.

Word Count → 2.6k

Warnings → Angst, Self-harm, blood, injury. Lots of fluff in the end.

Beta → the superstar that is @princessmisery666​ // all mistakes are my own.

Dividers → @firefly-graphics​.

A/N → This for @distractedgemini​ challenge - the prompt was Just A Kiss by Lady A. Hope you enjoy! 

Three am. A time for those in hope of finding a slither of peace when sleep prevails, emotions overrule, and thoughts run wild.

Bucky Barnes silently followed the strict lines of the corridors that lined the various quarters of the compound. His thoughts were erratic in comparison to his steady pace. He hoped that each carefully calculated step would subdue his fears, to allow him to sleep without the nightmares creeping in. It didn’t work half of the time, and the other half would usually involve him staring through the eyes of the Winter Soldier, carrying out the horrors he’d been trying to atone for.

Y/N was in the gym, punching the bag with all her strength; nightmares had plagued her sleep and guilt wreaked havoc on her mind. Her sloppy form paired with her overwhelming emotions had her hissing as the skin around her knuckles cracked apart. Regardless of the pain, she continued to pummel the leather as the wrappings turned red with her blood.

Whilst Bucky wandered his way through the main hallway leading to the gym, he heard the slapping of leather, and groans of frustrations. He watched her punch the bag. Y/N. He knew her sloppy form anywhere. But tonight, these punches were full of emotions. He’d offered on many occasions to help but she had continuously declined. 

Sam had joked that it was because she was intimidated by him and his brooding glare. Bucky was certain it wasn’t the reason, he couldn’t put his finger on it, but he thought she liked him, or at least tolerated his presence. Over the last few months, he’d noticed her smile shining a little brighter when it was directed at him or her eyes glimmering with happiness as he joined her for coffee in the morning.

The whoosh of the automatic doors opening didn’t pull her attention completely but slowed down her assault. She peered to the right, using her peripheral vision to see who had entered the room. With no further movements heard she turned to come almost nose to nose with Sergeant Barnes. She gulped at the Super Soldier as she realised what a mess, she looked in front of the beautiful specimen before her.

“Sergeant Buc-Barnes. Sir, erm.” She stuttered around her words, breathless from her fight with the bag and the shock of seeing him. She stood to attention, internally scolding herself for her lack of togetherness.

Bucky hadn’t realised he had crowded her space until Y/N turned and looked straight at him. He almost faltered as he took in her appearance; puffy eyes, wild hair and her knuckles blood raw. His mind whirled with uncertainty; he’d invaded her personal space without considering that she might be battling her own demons.

“Bucky. At ease, are you okay?” He internally scolded himself; of course, she’s not! He watched her thoughts cross her features; confusion and, possibly, fear.

Y/N felt herself freezing at his question, she was nowhere near okay and she hadn’t expected the kindness at such a late hour. She didn’t want to talk about it, she knew Bucky had his own problems to deal with and she would be nothing but a burden. Her worries were nothing compared to what he had dealt with in his lifetime.

“S’okay doll, we don’t have to talk about it. But I’d recommend we fix your hands before you cause some serious damage.” Bucky nodded towards the bench and grabbed the first aid kit attached to the wall.

Y/N’s body shivered at his touch while he gently applied the ointment to the exposed flesh of her knuckles. She hissed at the sting and her own stupidity for taking out her emotions on herself, for not dealing with her pain and self-torment properly.

Bucky’s soft hum shocked her, and the way his thumb delicately stroked over her fingers had her relaxing into his touch, softening into his hands. “No bare-knuckle boxing for you, not for a week or two at least.” 

Bucky gave Y/N a lopsided smile, but she couldn’t return it, tears formed in her eyes. The emotions couldn’t be held back anymore, and she just let them pour out. 

Without hesitation, Bucky wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her towards him. He surprised himself and stiffened at his actions, but the moment he felt her head burrow into the crook of his neck, he knew he would never let go until she wanted too. 

Y/N’s hands clutched his shirt, her knuckles probably splitting open further under the harsh grip, but she didn’t care. Her body shook as the sobs escaped her, her hot tears falling onto the exposed skin of Bucky’s neck. Her hand snaked up his chest and gripped his t-shirt like it was a lifeline, 

“I’m-mm s-sorry.” “I’m-mm s-sorry.” Her quiet shaky voice shocked her, but his touch soothed her, his warm hand brushing up and down her back was more comfort than she had ever expected from the soldier.

Bucky’s skin was electrified as his palm glided against the bare skin at her back, “S’okay, no need to apologise. Do you want to go somewhere more private?”

Y/N pulled herself away from Bucky’s embrace, embarrassment heating up her face as she stood up and tried to mask it by stretching out her arms.

His heart sank from the loss of her body heat. His thoughts focused on how he had reacted to Y/N’s movements, and he felt the tingle of a blush forming on his cheeks. He knew now that he didn’t want her to be physically away from him ever again. 

Without a second thought, Y/N grabbed Bucky’s hand and pulled him out of the gym. He was full of surprises tonight, he let her guide him without questioning. She expected him to question her, put up a fight or something but he just followed her, his fingers intertwined between her own like they were meant to be.

Bucky followed blindly, a first for the assassin, being directed somewhere was very different from being dragged down empty corridors with no knowledge of the destination in mind. His heart hammered in his chest as they arrived in the residential quarter and she pulled him into her apartment. He’d never been inside her apartment before, always standing at the threshold as he called in before or after a mission.

Once inside, even in the dim light of the lamp leading them to the lounge, Bucky could see the personal touches Y/N had made. From the coloured wallpaper on one of the walls, to the bookcase stacked full of titles he’d never heard of and displaying photographs of the team, her family and friends. Nothing in the room screamed “Avenger!” or “Spy!”

Y/N guided Bucky to the corner sofa before dropping his hand to take a seat. She crossed her legs and pulled a cushion into her lap, holding it tightly to her chest. At his hesitation, she patted the seat beside her with an attempted smile. He saw the anguish through the fake smile and perched on the edge of the couch, turned towards her.

“I don’t really open up to people. Well, anyone.” Y/N started, her eyes down casted and she fiddled with the trim of the cushion, “I can’t stop thinking about what happened on my last mission.”

Bucky nodded, he’d had an inkling; she’d shut herself away for over a week and normally it only took a few days for Y/N to bounce back and prance around the compound in her bubbly way. He sank back into the couch, showing that he wouldn’t leave until she wanted him too.

“I could have saved them Buck.” She looked at him, tears in her eyes once more. “I know I could have, but I chose myself. I was selfish.”

His heart wrenched at the sight, she shouldn’t feel guilty for this, he leant forward, cupping her face with his hands, “Listen to me, Y/N. You have saved more people in your lifetime than anyone could have asked. You will feel guilty for those you haven’t but please try to look at all the good you have done. And think about what would have happened if you had gone back into that building, you could have jeopardised other people or gotten yourself killed. You made the right decision, even if you feel shitty about it.”

Y/N was taken aback by Bucky’s frankness, she had seen it when he spoke to the other Avengers, but she had never been on the receiving end. She looked deep into his blue eyes, only seeing his determination to make her see the sincerity of his words. She sniffled, and he loosened his hold on her face, his hands dropping to hers and holding tightly.

“You will feel guilty, you will hate yourself, you will feel the pain deep in your bones and feel that your soul is tarnished.” Bucky all but whispered, “But you have to keep going, you have to make sure you continue to protect, save and avenge those that cannot do it themselves.”

She squeezed his hands, and then threw herself into him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, “Thank you Bucky.”

Bucky leaned his cheek against her head, burying his nose into her hair, feeling content in her embrace, “Anytime doll. Have you got any hot chocolate?”

Y/N nodded, eyes sparkling with adoration rather than the pain that Bucky had seen since he walked into the gym. It made a warmth grow inside; he was able to bring a little bit of joy during her pain. He navigated towards the kitchen, giving Y/N one last check before he left her alone and was greeted with a smile that had his heart thumping against his chest.

With a belly full of hot chocolate, and marshmallows, Y/N sunk back into the cushions, relishing in the quiet that Bucky had brought to her thoughts with merely his presence and his authoritative tone as he put everything into perspective for her.

Bucky preened at the way Y/N’s body relaxed and her features softened from the frown and distress of her thoughts. He felt pride bubbling within, and he had to squash the grin that he wanted to beam in her direction. Even more so when Y/N rested her head on his shoulder and her fingers traced his Vibranium arm while the other wound around and held his hand.

Sleep was falling heavy against Y/N’s eyes, she wormed her way into Bucky’s arms, not that he put up a fight, and she knew that she would soon fall asleep if she wasn’t careful. Y/N hadn’t been this affectionate or open with anyone in such a long time, let alone this close to Bucky in the years she had known him.

Y/N lifted her head off of his chest to look up at him, his eyes closed yet she could tell he wasn’t sleeping from the way his eyes danced behind their lids, “Buck, I’m going to end up falling asleep here if we don’t move.”

Bucky hummed, and with a swift move, Y/N was pulled up into his arms and was being carried into her bedroom. The lamp flicked off and they were cloaked in darkness, only just making out each other’s silhouettes once he softly placed her down on the mattress, above the covers. 

He curled up beside her, his body framing hers, his torso tight against her back as his arms wrapped around her waist. She felt the heat rising in her body, her heart hammering in her chest at the thought of him being so close to her. It felt so right to be there, and she knew that she couldn’t fight her feelings for Bucky any longer with him lying so close to her. 

Y/N had always had a soft spot for Bucky, and it wasn’t just because of everything that happened with Hydra. She was not giving him a pity party, she genuinely enjoyed his company, as limited as it was. This was the longest and most intimate they had ever been, and she wanted to make the most of it.

A contented sigh escaped her lips and, in his half, asleep daze, Bucky pulled Y/N closer. His thoughts wandered to what this could all mean. He didn’t want to take advantage of her vulnerability. It might be a shot in the dark that she just might feel the same way, yet, deep down he’d always known that she was very important to him. More than a teammate, more than a friend.

She had always made his day a little brighter; the delicate smiles, the refill of the coffee pot with a wink in his direction, and the way she’d reduce the sound she’d make as she pottered around the lounge as he read the newspaper or a book. Bucky sucked in a breath; realisation dawned on him that this was something he didn’t want to mess up.

As if on cue, a mind reader to his thoughts, Y/N turned around to face him, her hand resting against his chest and his Vibranium arm remained wrapped around her. Doe eyes, wide with a tinge of fear and a small smile on her lips. He knew she was thinking about how to approach this and he nodded gently.

“I don’t want to push you.” Y/N’s voice was small in the silence. “I like you; I really like you, Bucky Barnes.”

“I really like you too sweetheart,” Bucky pressed his lips to her forehead, momentarily pausing to take in her words.

Y/N felt the weight of her secret lift off her shoulders, her body humming with excitement that he felt the same way. She relished in his kiss and gripped his shirt a little more. “We don’t need to rush this. Let’s just take it slow.”

Bucky backed away to look at her, a lopsided smile on his lips, “That’s okay with me doll.”

Y/N was enraptured by the glow of the moonlight cascading through the window and over Bucky. His soft gaze on her, she’d seen it a few times before, but she’d always thought it was one shared with the rest of the team, and his friends. At that moment, Y/N knew it was just for her, she brought her face level to his, their lips almost touching, she glanced up at him for his permission. 

Bucky wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, and with his eyes closed, he dipped his head to the side. As soon as he pressed his lips to Y/N’s, he felt a rush of electricity jolt through his body. It left a smouldering burn in its wake as their limbs tangled together and their hands caressed one another over their clothes.

Breathlessly, they pulled away from one another. Y/N grinned up at him, a beam that he would never stop his heart from skipping a beat. Bucky cupped her face and pressed a light peck to her lips, her cheeks and then rested his forehead against hers.

“I don’t want you to leave.” Y/N whispered, her warmth breath against his lips.

“You need to sleep. I’m alright with just a kiss goodnight.” Bucky kissed her once more.

They untangled themselves from one another, and Bucky pulled a blanket over Y/N as her eyes began to droop against the pillow.

“Sweet dreams Y/N.” Bucky tucked the blanket around her and leant back against the pillow, letting the soft snores calm his racing heart.

He knew she’d be in his dreams tonight, and he couldn’t wait to see what morning would bring.

the end.

Everything Tag List: @reann-loves-sebstan​ / @aroyaldarknessblr​ / @thefridgeismybestie​ 

Marvel Tag List: @natasha-danvers​ / @musesforart​

[snowdice]

Little Kestrel (Part 10)[Birds of Different Feathers Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Logan & Patton & Virgil (future Virgil/Patton but not in this story)

Characters:

Main: Logan, Patton, Virgil

Appear: Thomas

Mentioned: Janus

Summary:

It was supposed to be a quick job either way. Either Virgil would assassinate King Thomas of Prijaznia or he’d be caught and get executed. Yet, when Virgil gets the wrong bedroom and gets caught by Prince Logan and his future royal advisor, Patton, the job ends up getting way more complicated for the 14-year-old. He also ends up sleeping in a (actually pretty comfortable) closet for a few weeks…

Notes: Implied/referenced child abuse, assassination attempt, knives, torture mentioned, captivity, teenagers being really dumb

This is a prequel to Kill Dear. I wrote it 100 words at a time on my blog, but this is the edited version. If you want to see how it was crafted, look at the tag proofread stories.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Patton spent most of his day setting up the closet into a makeshift bedroom. Logan helped him move the clothing that had been in that closet to a storage area in the potion’s lab, and Patton fussed over the arrangement of the pillows and blankets for far longer than necessary. Now he was putting up little decorations on the walls. He continuously asked for Virgil’s opinion, and Virgil continuously seemed startled by that fact. Logan observed their interactions from across the room as they sat halfway into the closet. He was currently fiddling with the star shaped lights Patton had wanted him to make.

He figured Virgil would appreciate having multiple light setting options for the lights since they’d be above his head all night. Logan had only ever made them with on and off settings before, so he’d grabbed a few of his books; he currently had one in his lap. While he’d already figured out how to make preset settings and had programmed four: off, 100%, 50% and 25%, now he was working on the possibility of making a sliding dimmer and options that affected different groups of lights differently. It was a bit more complex of a task, but it should be doable.

“There!” Patton said. “Nice and comfy!” Logan glanced up to see the way Virgil’s head tilted like he was trying to puzzle Patton out. Patton just smiled at him. “Go ahead and test it out!” he suggested. “We can switch things around if you want.”

Virgil obediently crawled into the closet and onto the makeshift bed Patton had made.

“Lay down and make sure it’s okay,” Patton coaxed.

Virgil did, laying down on the pile of pillows and blankets and laying his head on the pillow that had been reserved for that purpose.

“Is it okay?” Patton asked.

Virgil blinked long and slow like he was very much contemplating going to sleep right then and there. Logan wondered if the potion was still affecting him or if he was just still exhausted from before. Perhaps it was both. “Yeah,” the boy answered softly.

Patton turned to look at Logan. “Are the lights done?” he asked.

“Not quite yet,” Logan said. “They will be ready before it is time to sleep.”

“Sounds good!” Patton said. “We should probably think about dinner soon.”

Logan hummed in acknowledgment and waved his hand over the light he’d been working on. It lit up dim and then slowly increased in power as he moved his hand. Perfect! Now that he’d figured it out, it would not take long to get the rest of the lights working properly. Then he’d just have to make the control panel to control which light turned on when and install them.

He was just about to shut off that first light when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom’s voice called.

Logan shared a panicked glance with Patton. “Just a second,” Patton called back. “I told her you were sick,” he whispered just loud enough for Logan to hear him.

Logan jumped into action. He shoved the unlit lights under his desk along with his books and lobbed the lit one towards the closet. It missed and bounced on the ground, but Patton seemed to get the idea and picked it up, handing it to Virgil. “Sorry, sorry,” Patton said to the boy. “Just be quiet please.”

Logan hurried over to his bed and pulled the covers up over himself. Patton was there in the next second tossing a cloth over his forehead; hopefully she wouldn’t notice that it was not wet. Then, Patton was zipping to the door. He glanced back at Logan when he got there who nodded, laying back. He pulled open the door. “Hi Mama!” Patton said cheerfully.

“I brought you boys up some dinner,” she said.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Patton said sweetly; for someone who always preached the virtues of truthfulness, he was an awfully good fibber. “I could have come down and gotten us something. I was actually thinking about it right before you knocked.”

“It was no trouble,” Patton’s mom said. “I brought chicken and noodle soup for Logan since he wasn’t feeling well.” She looked over at Logan and smiled softly. “How are you feeling, sweetie?”

“I’m doing better. Ms. Heart, thank you,” Logan said.

She pushed a small cart past Patton loaded with food then and brought it to his bedside. “I brought chicken and noodle soup, some bread and butter, and a few apples from the garden for you two. Do you want anything else?”

“No thank you, ma’am,” Logan said.

“This is great, Mama,” Patton said. “Thank you.” He seemed to be subtly angling to hurry her out of the door, but she did not leave right away.

“What did you two do today?” she asked.

“I mostly slept,” Logan lied. “And I read a bit.”

“I mostly just read too and helped Logan out.”

She continued to talk to them for a few more agonizing minutes before standing to leave. “Are you staying with Logan again tonight, sweetie?” she asked.

“Uh huh,” Patton said. “If that’s okay.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll come check on you both in the morning.”

They both smiled and nodded as she left the room. Patton slumped against the bed when she was gone. “Hiding an assassin in your closet is stressful,” he said.

“Indeed,” Logan agreed, sitting up in bed.

Patton got off the bed and went back over to the closet. “Sorry about that,” he said. Virgil was still sitting in the closet with the light in his lap. “But we have dinner! Want to come eat?”

He nodded immediately and crawled out of the closet. His bracelets vibrated slightly when he crossed the threshold and they shifted from the mode that let him move freely to the one that made him move slowly.

They split the dinner. Luckily, Patton’s mom always provided more than enough food so there was plenty for each of them. Virgil seemed content with all the food but seemed particularly fond of the apples. Between that and his reactions to the honey and pancakes, Logan wondered if he had a secret sweet tooth. After eating, Logan quickly finished up the other lights and worked on installing them as Patton went poking around in Logan’s other closet and drawers for something Virgil could wear for sleeping and possibly a change of clothing or two for future days.

“I’m going to go get some stuff from my room really quick,” Patton said once they’d found suitable clothing. He set the clothes in the closet next to the bed so Virgil could change in privacy later. “Will you two be okay?”

Logan hummed his assent, continuing to work on getting the lights in the exact right place.

Once he was satisfied, he motioned Virgil over. “These are your lights,” he explained. “You can control them with this panel I set up.” He pointed to it and then flicked through the four preset light settings. “You can also customize how much brightness you wish to have by waving your hand over the panel slowly.” He demonstrated. “You should be able to reach it fairly easily with your right hand when you are laying down.”

Virgil nodded and then tilted his head up so he could look at the lights on the ceiling. Logan had set them to 25% intensity. “It’s the sky,” Virgil said awed.

Logan smiled, please that he’d noticed. “It isn’t completely accurate, but I did my best, at least with the brighter ones.” Virgil looked over at him and for the first time, Logan thought he didn’t see any fear in his eyes. “Is it adequate?”

“It’s great,” he breathed. After that brief moment of calm, he seemed to remember himself, growing wary once again. The contrast between his usual countenance and the one from the moment before inexplicably saddened Logan.

“You must have watched the night sky many times if you can recognize it in a glance,” Logan said.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “I did every night at the orphanage in the summer. There was a book on constellations that I found. The matron used to be willing to read me up to three of the names every night. I don’t remember them all, but I remember a few.”

“Which is your favorite?” Logan asked.

“I really liked the one of the Girl Who Sowed the Forest.”

“I made that one,” Logan said. He leaned over and fiddle with the panel a bit, causing most of the stars to dim except for a dozen.

Virgil smiled at it, and even held up a finger to trace the design of the girl with her basket.

“Do you know the myth behind that constellation?” Logan asked.

Virgil shook his head.

“It’s about a young girl,” Logan began, “who lived in a town at the edge of a forest. Her exact age varies in the retellings, but usually she is somewhere between 10 and 12 years old. She loved the surrounding forest and would spend hours in it some days picking berries, watching animals, and just exploring. One day, there was a fire. In some stories, a group of soldiers came through and set it; in other’s it was a god who was angry at them. Yet, in most it was a member of the village who was careless and accidently set their village on fire during the night. The village burned down, and the fire spread to the forest. It killed most of the people in the village and burned for weeks. Eventually, it was put out by a rainstorm. The girl was taken by the surviving members of her village somewhere else to finish growing in a less baren place. Years passed until she hit adulthood. Her people sent young men and women on soul searching trips when they came of age. She did not mean to return to her old village and the still destroyed forest, but she stumbled upon it anyway. She looked upon the landscape that had once been her home. The land had not healed since she had left. It was still all ruined and it made her heart ache. She decided then and there that she would take it upon herself to heal what had been broken. She remembered from her childhood what plants and trees used to grow there and went and found seeds from other places and people and brought them back to her home. She spent the rest of her life living in a house she built in her old village, planting seeds, and helping the forest grow once again. By the time her life came to an end, the forest was returning. They say when the trees of that forest finally grew tall enough, years after her passing, they themselves placed her image in the sky.”

“Wow,” Virgil said. “I didn’t know the myths were that complex.”

“I also enjoy watching the stars,” Logan said, “and constellations are good for navigation. I’ve found the stories people have made up about them more often than not are meant to help one navigate life.”

“Do you know others?” he asked tentatively.

“I do,” Logan confirmed. “Would you like to hear another?” He nodded, and Logan reached over to turn all of the stars back to 25%. “Which one would you like to hear about next?”

When Patton returned, he didn’t disturb their conversation. Instead, he just sat down silently next to Logan and listened to the stories.

Virgil started to droop part way through the third story, and Patton suggested he lay down. He tucked the boy in as Logan continued the story. Eventually he fell asleep, face lit lightly by the hanging stars.

“Okay,” Patton said when Logan ended the story and Virgil still didn’t stir.” I think it’s probably time for us to go to bed too. Logan nodded and they both stood. Logan quietly shut the closet door and checked the binding spell around the closet’s exit to make sure it would hold. Then, he and Patton got ready to go to sleep themselves.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

[queenk00k]

but what if we were pure gold all along? jj maybank (chapter 4)

Summary: After the assumed death of their best friend, the Pogues are falling apart at the seams. With Pope and Kiara getting closer and JJ left with nowhere to go, he finds himself left to his own devices. Feeling lost and rejected, his luck seems to turn when he meets Scarlett - a Kook who doesn’t treat him like shit and has an affinity for partying. JJ gets sucked into her world as she promises to help him forget.

How much longer can he keep running from his demons? And what happens when he starts sharing a bed with one?

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, child abuse, angst, sexual content, drug use, underage drinking.

Author’s note: Hi all, this is my multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on. My oneshots & Rafe series have taken off so I thought it was time to share this one too. Let me know what you think!

Word count: 2K

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

the one where JJ makes his choice pretty clear

After two weeks of spending almost every waking minute with his new friend, JJ is starting to wonder if he’ll be able to keep up with her for much longer. Scarlett’s appetite for debauchery and disaster was insatiable and despite JJ’s best efforts to slow her down (“why don’t we just get lunch?” “why the fuck would we do that?”), she seemed intent on showing JJ a good time, Kook style.

After the initial night at Scarlett’s family mansion, where JJ climbed in her bedroom window like some sort of roughed up Edward Cullen and they drank their way through her mother’s gin collection, it had become a habit of JJ’s to seek Scarlett out at any opportunity. Not only was she the only person who seemed to want to spend time with him, something JJ was still reconciling, but God was she fun. Scarlett took quickly to riding on the back of JJ’s dirt bike, sharing a joint and even had a go at shooting JJ’s gun (a short lived adventure, since a firing mishap caused JJ to leap to the side of the yard to avoid losing a pinky toe). Scarlett was easy to spend time with, a breath of fresh air and a reprieve from the drama and darkness JJ had been experiencing when he last saw the Pogues.

Who, by the way, have still neglected to get in contact with him.

JJ has been holding onto false hope. He’s swinging between complete disbelief and hurt that his friends haven’t spoken to him in two weeks, and almost blinding rage that he apparently means so little to them. He doesn’t often have that much time to dwell on it though, since every time he’s remotely upset or quiet as a result of his former-but-the-jury’s-still-out-on-that friends, Scarlett is there to pick him right up and distract him in all the ways she knows how.

They spend most of their nights drinking on the beach or at Scarlett’s house, where her parents are never really around, since JJ swore up and down that he was never going to a Kook party with Scarlett. She had tried to convince him to no avail and gave up pretty quickly when JJ pointed out Rafe Cameron would most likely be in attendance, since he wasn’t even trying to lay low after literally murdering someone, and JJ was not going to be held liable for any injuries he may cause.  So they settled for each other’s company – sharing joints that JJ taught Scarlett how to roll, stacking beer bottles, going on late night motorbike rides and in one instance, seeing how easily they could blow something up. It didn’t take much convincing for JJ to change his phone background, the cracked screen now giving way to a photo of him and Scarlett messing about on his bike.

Simply put, JJ is trying his best to forget about the whole “one of my best friends is missing and presumed dead and the others don’t even want to talk to me” situation.

Scarlett is a nice distraction.

It helps that she’s gorgeous.

JJ isn’t stupid, he knows he’s spending time with someone absolutely beautiful and at times he struggles to understand why she would want to slum it with him. He’s not immune to how soft her thigh is when it brushes against his, or how her smile always reaches her eyes where the skin around them creases as she laughs, or how cute she looks with her dark hair tied up. JJ figures she must think something of him too – he notices how her hands linger longer on his waist when he brings his bike to a halt, how she’s affectionately started calling him Jay, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten how Scarlett kissed him on the cheek as he left her house last night.

JJ is as shocked as anyone would be that he’s started hanging out with a Kook, let alone calling her his friend and admitting to himself that he finds her hot. He’d be stupid not to, he is a sixteen-year-old guy after all, and she’s a stunning rich girl with a pert ass and deep brown eyes. He’s only human.

--

A knock on the front door of the Chateau brings JJ out of his reverie and he swings his legs around to hop off the couch where he’s been lying for the last three hours. After another late night at Scarlett’s the evening before, JJ somehow made his way home to crash on the couch to get some sleep before Scarlett was due to come over.

JJ runs his hand through his messy blonde hair and pads over to the door, yawning widely as he pulls it open. Scarlett is standing on the porch steps, dressed in her usual sundress and holding two six packs.

She lifts both arms up in excitement as she says “Jay! Long time no see!”

JJ shakes his head and smiles softly to himself, stepping aside to let Scarlett walk in the front door. She twirls dramatically as she crosses the threshold and makes a direct beeline for the fridge, bottles clanking as she shoves them onto the shelf.

JJ follows her and leans against the kitchen doorframe, accepting a bottle of beer and popping the cap off with his sharp incisor.

“Welcome back, Scarlett. It’s only been, what, ten hours since we last saw each other?”

Scarlett rolls her eyes. “What, you got something better to do?”

JJ laughs hoarsely as he replies, “you know the answer to that.”

Scarlett bumps her hip into his as she squeezes through to doorway and winks at him. “I need to sit down,” she says. “I’m beat.”

JJ adjust the front of his shorts and grimaces. It appears he needed to relax too.

He makes his way to the living room with a half full beer bottle, the condensation coating his fingers and making the neck of the bottle slippery. JJ notices Scarlett has already downed one drink and is making some good headway on her second, before he decides to tilt the bottle down and away from her lips.

Scarlett glares at him and purses said lips, and JJ fights the urge to stare at them, forcing his eyes to remain locked on hers.

“What did you do that for?” She asks, looking grumpy.

JJ thinks she looks cute.

He shrugs. “Maybe you could slow down. It’s 3pm,” he replies.

“Hair of the dog,” Scarlett says as she completely defies JJ’s suggestion and finishes her second bottle, letting out a small burp as she does.

“Oops,” she giggles.

JJ sighs but he’s not mad, not really, and he lets Scarlett know by patting her on the knee, resting his hand there for slightly longer than necessary.

“Drink up wuss,” Scarlett says, winking at him and JJ would be stupid not to do what she says, so he downs his beer too and cracks open another one.

Scarlett is scrolling through her Spotify and trying to get it Bluetooth connected to the old speakers next to the couch (JJ has told her before that it won’t work but she’s stubborn, alright, and insists on trying), and JJ is sat in quiet contemplation on the couch when a sharp knock on the door reverberates through the room.

Scarlett’s head snaps up, her top bun bobbing as she turns towards JJ, eyes wide.

“Who’s that?” She asks. They weren’t expecting any guests.

“Shit,” says JJ, standing up and placing his beer on the floor. “It’s probably my Dad. Fuck.”

“Your dad? What is he doing here?”

JJ shakes his head and presses a finger to his lips. “Stay here, do not come out under any circumstances, you understand? I’ll talk to him for a bit and then hopefully he’ll fuck off, but if anything happens, just go out the back door okay?”

Scarlett narrows her eyes in confusion. “And just leave you here? No way.”

Another series of sharp knocks, this time more urgent.

“Scarlett, I don’t have time to argue. Just tell me you’ll get out of here, okay?”

Scarlett looks like she has the time to argue but nods anyway. “Okay.”

JJ steels himself and sets his jaw as he cautiously walks down the hallway and opens the front door.

It’s Kiara and Pope.

JJ blinks slowly. “What are you doing here?” He says abruptly, skipping the pleasantries.

Kiara looks at him, bemused. “No ‘hey Kie, nice to see you?’”

JJ scoffs. “No offence, Kiara, but I’m not too sure you deserve that right now.”

Kiara opens her mouth to respond, ever the hot-headed one, when Pope has the right idea to butt in.

“We missed you man; can we talk?” He says, fiddling with his cap.

JJ steps out onto the porch, leaving the door slightly ajar. “Yeah, we can talk. Where the fuck have you been?”

“It’s complicated-”

“-I couldn’t see you-”

“-it’s been really hard for us-”

JJ has to laugh at that one, and he turns to Kiara, eyes ablaze with fury. “It’s been really hard for you? Are you fucking kidding me? YOU LEFT ME! ALONE!”

Kiara steps back from JJ, as if she’s scared, and Pope brings his hand to the small of her back to comfort her.

“Come on man, there’s no need-”

“Where were you, Kiara? Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Kiara’s dark eyes fill with tears and her chin starts to wobble. “JJ, you know my parents, they had me on lockdown-”

JJ can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You could see Pope.”

“He’s my boyfriend JJ, and you’ve always known what my parents think-”

Pope has the good grace to stay quiet and let them at it.

“So what the fuck am I then? Huh?”

JJ wouldn’t have noticed Scarlett sneaking up behind him if it weren’t for the sudden hardened look in Kiara’s eyes.

JJ spins around, jaw clenched, as Scarlett asks, “What’s going on here?”

Kiara’s mouth drops open. “A Kook, JJ? Seriously? You’re fucking a Kook?”

JJ’s mouth opens and closes as he struggles to reply. “I-we’re not, we’re friends-we aren’t-”

“This is unbelievable,” Kiara spits. “I thought better of you JJ.”

Scarlett stares Kiara down, folding her arms across her chest.

“She was here for me, Kiara! You weren’t! You were NOWHERE TO BE FOUND! Some fucking friend you are!” JJ shouts.

Kiara looks like she wants to stay more but she decides against it as she simply mutters “unbelievable,” and throws her hands up, walking away.

JJ’s chest heaves and heart pounds with adrenaline as Pope looks at him apologetically.

“Man, I’m sorry, I have to go too, she’s my girlfriend-”

JJ cuts him off. “Whatever man; just leave. You’re good at that anyways.”

Pope looks hurt but simply nods at JJ and turns to run after Kiara as she stalks down the driveway, long cardigan flowing behind her.

Scarlett sighs and places her hand delicately on JJ’s shoulder, and it takes everything in him not to lean into her touch.

“Drink?” She says.

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[samthemarvelfan]

I Won’t Say: Chapter One

 -A Cold Greeting-

Summary: Ellaria Stark is the daughter of a king. When she is unwittingly betrothed to the king of a neighboring city, she isn’t sure how to feel. More importantly, she isn’t sure how the king will feel if he finds out the truth about her.

Pairing: James Barnes x OFC, Ellaria Stark. (Stark!Reader.)

Warnings: Royal!AU, Angst. I think that’s it?

A/N: Eeep! Chapter one! This is my first time writing a Royal AU, please let me know what you think! <3 Taglist is open!

Taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho​ @disaffectedbarnes​ @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

The carriage ride, while not unpleasant, was not nearly long enough. It hadn’t even reached mid day, and you were to arrive to Buchanan at any moment.

As your mind wandered, your fingers kept busy fiddling with the embroidery on your gown.

“Princess, you must be calm.” Wanda kindly urged you. “Would you like me to assist?”

Wanda was a sorceress and your lady-in-waiting, chosen to be by your side—she was also one of your closest friends.

“Wanda, I’m beginning to regret this. I have such an awful feeling in the pit of my stomach...” you fret.

She smiled softly, “Permission to speak freely, your highness?”

You nod, “Always.”

Her hand touched yours for a moment, and you felt a blanket of comfort wash over you. Like a warm bath on a winter’s morning.

“You’re strong. You’re honorable, and kind. Your heart guides you and your head keeps you there—these are necessary qualities for any Queen,” she removed her hand from yours and continued. “If the King can’t see that, then the fault does not lay with you.”

You sighed.

In your heart, you knew she was right. You’d been groomed to be a Queen most of your life. You could easily handle the responsibilities of one after a bit of adjustment—but what of your betrothed?

Could you remain in a potentially loveless marriage? Spending your days with a man whom your heart has not chosen, giving him your life? Your body? Children?

“Ellaria,” Wanda said. “You’re thoughts are like thunder they’re so loud!” She laughed.

“Sorry about that.” You felt the heat rise to your cheeks

She waved a hand, “Don’t be. It’s natural to assume the worst. Just don’t get ahead of yourself yet. Let things play out as they will.”

You heard your Coachman stall the horses. Drawing the red velvet curtain of your carriage window back, you’d seen that you’d arrived.

The city’s gates were tall, black, wrought iron and ornate in design. They bared the Barnes house sigil—a wolf, in the brightest of gold. A horn sounded, and the gates opened. Your Father’s carriage heading in before yours.

“Open your curtain, please.” You ask Wanda.

She obliges, drawing it back on her side, allowing you to see the city better.

It was beautiful. Cobblestone streets, and clean, crisp gardens in front of nearly every home. Smiling families, happy children playing in the streets.

This gave you hope. Surely the citizens are happy for a reason, right? Their King must be a good man to care so much for his people.

“Look, the castle.” She urges.

The palace was as beautiful as you’d expect. Its walls covered in ivy vines determined to make their to the top. There were two large, oak doors adorned with gold filigree, and marble pillars mounted with stone statues of wolves. They were perched as if surveying the kingdom.

“It’s beautiful.” You whisper.

The carriages came to a halt, and soon, your Father was at your door. The guard opened it, and Father smiled at you softly. “It’s time.” He says.

You look to Wanda, who gives a soft smile, before turning back to Father. “Yes.” You agree.

Guards lined the white marble steps leading up to the castle, and at the top stood two men. Both strong and tall. The one with deep umber skin was dressed in armor—gold with golden helmet held at his side.

The man next to him, blonde of hair and eyes that matched the sky. He was in a navy blue tunic, sleeved adorned with black weaving. His lapel bore the family sigil atop a golden hand.

The hand of the King. You thought.

Father offered you his hand, and you placed yours atop it gently as you ascended the stairs. “Just breathe, my sweet.” He whispered.

A chaste nod from you earned a smile on his lips. Wanda adjusted your gown, and you lifted it slightly as you stepped.

“Your majesty...princess.” The blonde greeted happily when you reached the threshold, “Welcome to Buchanan, I am Steve Rogers, his majesty’s hand. This is Samuel Wilson, head of the royal guard.”

Your Father shakes both of their hands, “May I present my daughter, Ellaria Stark.”

The curtsy you fall into is second nature. Sir Samuel takes you hand, placing a chaste kiss on it. Steve does the same.

“A beauty, of that there isn’t a doubt.” Steven says.

Your cheeks flush with heat, “You’re far too kid, Sir.”

The sound of the palace doors opening cause you to jump. The guards lining the steps suddenly stood at attention, and your eyes searched the walkway.

The first thing you saw was the gleam of his sword; It hung proudly on his waist. Soon after that, you saw him. In all his glory, King James Barnes of Buchanan.

He was handsome—anyone with eyes could see that. When you saw his eyes however, your heart skipped a beat. They drew you to him; two perfect pools of cerulean opulence.

The King approached Steve and Sam, who both stepped aside to allow him to walk between them.

He did not smile. He did not seem eager, or excited by your presence, in fact...he seemed entirely uninterested. Not bothering to even look in your direction.

Nerves, surely. You thought to yourself.

Sam saw the look on your face and cleared his throat. This seemed to draw the Kings eye to yours finally.

“May I present his royal highness James Barnes, King of Buchanan. Your majesty, you know King Anthony Stark of the Iron Kingdom...”

He and Father bowed to each other respectfully. “James, allow me to introduce my daughter, my pride and joy, Ellaria.”

For a moment, you forget your place. He was so hypnotizing, just being in his presence felt intimidating. You shake your head subtly, snapping you out of your trance.

“Your Majesty,” you curtsy. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your kingdom, your castle...they’re beautiful.”

His majesty doesn’t speak, he simply looks at you. For what feels like ages, he just stares.

“Perhaps you’d like to welcome them, your majesty?” Steven urges.

James shakes his head. “Yes. Welcome to Buchanan, you must be tired from your trip.” He says curtly.

You smile, attempting to make conversation. “Not as much as one would think, it’s only a half days journey after all.”

He doesn’t acknowledge your remarks as he turns away from you to face your Father. “Tony, will you be staying for the feast?” He asks.

“No, no. My job is done. I should be getting home to my Pepper.” He begrudges.

Father turn and places a kiss on your cheek. “Write as often as you can, my sweet.”

You nod, not realizing how hard it would be to say goodbye. “Give Mother and Morgan my love.”

Father nods, a tear in his eye matching your own. He and King James bow to each other once more, before he heads for his carriage.

As you watch the door shut, your heart aches. Had you made a mistake? Surely if this was right you wouldn’t be feeling as though your world was collapsing.

Once Father’s carriage had left the castle grounds, you turn back to see only Samuel there. The King walking swiftly back into the palace, Steve at his heels.

“Your highness, if you’ll allow, I’ll have a handmaiden show you to your quarters.” He says kindly.

You could tell right away that Sam was an honest man. He seemed kind and decent and eager to serve his kingdom.

“Thank you, and Samuel when were in private please just call me by my name.” You smile, placing your hand atop his as he guided you into the palace doors.

“As you wish, my lady.” He smirks.

“Oh! Where are my manners? This is my lady, Wanda.” You proudly introduce her.

You’d been so caught up in missing your family, it hadn’t dawned on you until now just how strange your interaction with the king had been. He was staring at you for ages one moment, then blatantly ignoring you the next.

Hoping it was nerves, you simply keep you head high, and follow Sam through the corridors.

“I don’t want to hear it, Steve.” James said as he stormed into his quarters.

“Yeah? Well, I hate to break it to you, but you gave me this job, right?” He asked gesturing to the pin on his lapel.

James nodded.

“So it’s my job to tell you when you’re making a fool of yourself. You didn’t even greet the poor girl.” He scolded.

James removed his sword from his hip, sheathing it. “Why would I greet her? I don’t want her here, Steve. None of this was my doing.”

Steve sighed, crossing his arms over his strong chest. “No, no it wasn’t. However, you chose to keep this kingdom alive. You could have elected to dissolve it; become a Lord of whatever land you decided to move to. But you did the honorable thing and kept this city whole. Your people need you. They need their king.”

“Their king is dead, Steve!” James shouts, feeling the pain of his parents passing swell in his chest. “And now I’m to marry someone I don’t know or love? Forgive me if I don’t seem eager.”

Steve watched James as he breathed, attempting to calm himself. His heart broke for his friend. “Bucky,” he called, using the nickname he’d had since childhood. “No one is forcing you to go through with this...no one, but the council members chose her for a reason, she’s of noble birth and she’s Tony’s daughter. Stark is a good man.”

Steve watched his friend nod in response, and felt a cheeky smirk land on his face. He nudged Bucky’s hip. “Then again, you’re a king. You have your blood line to think of after all. It must go on.”

James scoffed, “Already have me bedding her, do we?”

Steve chuckled, “Well, your majesty, I hear the marriage bed is a fine place to celebrate after a wedding.”

The two friends shared a laugh for the first time that day.

“I have a duty. To my people, to my parents...” Bucky said softly.

Steve nodded, “She seems kind. She’s a beauty as well. Start slowly, get to know her. The wedding is in a month, nothing is permanent until then.”

James sighed. “Did you see her face when her Tony left? She looked like she’d been kidnapped.” He rubbed his eyes.

“It’s new,” Steve argued. “I’d bet she wasn’t too keen on the idea of an arranged marriage, either...and after the way she was received by you, can you really blame her?” Steve was defending you.

Bucky sat in the chair by his desk, “You seem quite taken with her—perhaps you should marry her.”

Steve chuckled, “If you don’t, I just might.” He jested. “I’ll leave you. I will see you at the feast.”

James nodded, as Steve left the room.

He kicked his feet up on the desk, rubbing his eyes.

None of this seemed real. He was to suddenly marry and be the man his parents had always hoped he’d be. The man they’d never get to see.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t think he ever would be.

Your image danced in his mind, as he left his head fall back, eyes closed.

He’d be a liar if he said you were beautiful. Bewitching, even.

When he’d laid his eyes on you, he was entranced. The way your ruby colored gown fit your woman’s body—beautiful curves and all. Your lips the perfect scarlet shade, your eyes—bright and bold like your laugh.

James felt his arousal through his trousers, but he didn’t care. Many a woman had gotten his manhood stiff before, and it’d taught him a very important lesson; beauty didn’t equate to love.

Though he couldn’t ignore the feeling that settled deep within his bones.

You were meant to be here, and you were meant to be his.

Chapter Two: Words

[hey-hamlet]

"What is a man but a miserable little pile of secrets" with the urban fantasy AU, which remains one of my favorites and will probably always be one of my favorite aus from you

One day I’ll get through my ask backlog. One day. 

"What is a man but a miserable little pile of secrets"

Izuku paused at the foot of the stairs. Katsuki, only a few steps behind, paused as well.

“Whats the hold-up?” Katsuki wasn’t quite whispering, but he’d definitely lowered his volume. They’d been friends too long not to know each other's tells. Izuku’s magic pulsed a soft warning, someone unknown having crossed the threshold of their dorms.

“Someone’s in here. I don’t know who.” He ached to let his quirk flicker up around him, but it was far too visible. Katsuki pressed his shoulder against his before standing a touch to the side. If they had to fight it wouldn’t do to get in each other’s way.

The two of them had intended to go out to the dorm's courtyard to collect a few of the herbs Izuku had planted, most charms strengthened by moonlight. Nothing magical lived inside UA but there were plenty of creatures looking for favours just over the wall, favours that went much smoother with a full stock. The alert wards had been the first thing’s he’d placed around their dorms – he and Katsuki working quickly to burry the paper sigils before anyone asked what on earth they were doing. It hadn’t taken more than a spark of magic to attune them to the tracking charms he’d already placed on his classmates and the majority of his teachers, but the tracking charms themselves weren’t infallible.

Still, it was disconcerting to feel the alarm finally sound.

Izuku took point, slipping around the corner of the stairs, spinning a thread of shadow through stiff fingers. It was a perfect matte black, strong and most importantly near invisible in the darkness. Katsuki was close behind, hands raised and ready to spark. A silhouette was visible against the faint lights in the kitchen so Izuku crept onwards, the wards on his shoes silencing his footfalls. He paused, irontouch welling under his fingers. It would do little to any human but it was better to be safe than sorry.

He darted forwards, low to the ground, hooking the thread around the mass of the intruder. They reacted quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid being tripped, Izuku pinning them with a hand around the throat, another flickering with his quirk beside his face. Katsuki’s explosions cracked in a comforting cacophony behind him.

There was a bright flash of red and One for All winked out, the explosions behind him falling abruptly silent. Consumed with fear at what kind of monster could negate quirks, his magic flared unbidden, intricate patterned he’d painstakingly worked into his skin catching with a golden light. Sparks skittered down his arm like fireworks as he drew back to do something, anything to protect his friend, his classmates.

Katsuki yanked him off the intruder, pushing him behind and away, shielding him from the intruder. Still panicked with defensive magic falling off of him in waves, he reached out a shaking hand to his friend. Katsuki took it, still shielding Izuku with his own body.

The lights flicked on and Izuku froze.

There stood Aizawa, brow pinched and one hand raised in a placating manner, the other wrapped around a rapidly fraying shadowthread. Izuku stamped down on his magic the instant he saw his teacher, dark iron fading from his fingers, sparks running off his arms sputtering and dying.

It was no use.

He’d seen.

“Midoriya? Bakugo?” Aizawa’s voice was low and gentle but it did little to erase Izuku’s rapidly mounting terror. Katsuki’s hand tightened around his. “Kids, it’s just me.” Izuku felt hot tears welling in his eyes, fear and bone-deep exhaustion from overusing his magic making his head spin. Katsuki must have felt his grip weakening because he was beside him in a second, propping him up with a shoulder to stop his head from cracking back against the tiled floor.

“Fuck, Deku, you still with me?” Izuku nodded, instantly regretting it as the motion made his stomach churn. Tears still rolling down his face he all but hid behind his friend, unable to meet his teacher’s concerned eyes.

“Why don’t we sit down.” Aizawa said gently, picking his way over to the couches, pausing to make sure his students were following. Katsuki helped Izuku up, leading him gently over to the seats, gaze still fixed consideringly on their teacher.  Izuku couldn’t breathe, Aizawa had seen. All Might was one thing and Katsuki had always known - but he’d never been discovered like that. Whispered tales from various fae about sighttouched humans ostracized from their own kind swirled through his head, deafening any logical though.

“I’m sorry.” The words spilled from Izuku’s mouth unbidden, so soft he barely heard them himself. A painful sob tore itself from his throat. “I’m sorry – I – I didn’t, I –“ He buried his face in his hands. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuck, kid, it’s ok. You aren’t the first student I’ve startled.” Aizawa paused as if considering his words. “But what was – after I erased your quirk…?” He trailed off.

“Magic.” Katsuki all but growled, eyes daring Aizawa to question him.

Aizawa’s face hardened, gentle expression vanishing under mounting irritation. “Bakugo, I’m being serious-“

“Well so am I!” Izuku curled inwards, shaking as his panicked mind lost track of the words spoken, only hearing the anger in their voices. “It wasn’t a quirk, was it? Just because you haven’t seen something doesn’t mean it ain’t real!”

“Keep running down this track and you’ll be repeating you last detention. What. Was. That.” Aizawa’s quirk was flicking over his eyes. Katsuki wasn’t cowed.

“I’m sorry, please –“ Izuku’s voice was barely a whisper, quiet, shaking and unheard over the rapidly mounting argument.

“I’m not fucking lying!”

“Don’t bullshit me, kid, I’m better at it than you are –“

“Please, stop.”

“It’s always like this, isn’t it –

“Don’t take that tone with me –“

“I’ll take any fucking tone I want you –“

“Stop! Please - I’m sorry!” Izuku hadn’t gotten any louder but there was a pressure to his voice that let it ring out over the shouting. He was quivering, curled tight where he sat, flickers of light arcing across his skin. Katsuki swore loudly, turning from his teacher and towards Izuku. He reached out a hand but hissed sharply as the light burnt his skin. Aizawa’s quirk flared but nothing happened.  He reached out a hand, gritting his teeth as his skin was singed.

Gently, ever so gently, he rested a hand on Izuku’s shoulder.

“Midoriya? I’m sorry, you aren’t in trouble. It’s ok.” All at once the light burned out and Izuku slumped to the side, any fight left in him burn out. Aizawa breathed a sigh of relief before being pushed out of the way none too gently but Katsuki. He scooped his friend up in a fireman’s carry, stalking towards the stairs. Aizawa followed after.

“I told you I wasn’t fucking lying.” Katsuki hissed quietly, trying to juggle his friend so he could open his door without dropping him. Aizawa unlatched the door, prompting an irritated grumble from Katsuki before he carefully kicked open the door.

“I’m – ok, I’m sorry. I should have believed you.” Aizawa muttered as he lent against his student’s doorframe. Katsuki placed Izuku on the bed, fiddling with random things to avoid looking at his teacher.

“ ‘S ok.” He mumbled, straightening an All Might figure that had been knocked out of place at some point. “I know It sounds pretty batshit.” He turned to his Aizawa, freezing when he got a good look at his teacher. “Fuck, that’s why it didn’t work.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow. “Why what didn’t work.”

“The fucking – the alarm thing. The mark’s on your shitty scarf.”

“My capture weapon? It got shredded in tonight’s patrol, I left it in the support dropbox.”

“You guys have a dropbox?” Katsuki grumbled.

“Your point?” Aizawa ground out, patience running thin. Katsuki didn’t even blink.

“Deku’s got some magic alarm thing around the dorms, it needs some mark thing to work. He managed to sneak them on everyone’s ties and just straight up gave a few out on necklaces, but the best he could do was get one on your scarf. He figured the thing was so strong it’d be good enough.” Katsuki shrugged lightly. “Guess he was wrong.”

Aizawa paused, trying to process everything. He gave up quickly. “You know what, I’m shelving this conversation. You two get yourself to the staffroom tomorrow lunchtime and we’ll talk it through then.” Katsuki grumbled but nodded, pushing past his teacher to make his way back to his own room.

“And Bakugo?”

“Yeah?”

Aizawa smiled slightly. “Tell Midoriya he did well. Not many students have managed to pin me, even with the element of surprise.”

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 6: Friends Will Be Friends •

     Beverly dared not go to Y/n until her father had left for work. The minute he closed the door, she phoned each of the boys and told them her address and to come straight away. The second she was sure his truck had turned the corner, she rushed down the fire escape to the familiar apartment below. Beverly created a rapid series of knocks on the screen door of Y/n's apartment. Seconds later, Y/n approached the door. Beverly could make out the girl's appearance. The bags under her eyes were almost completely gone and she looked brighter than she had been in a while.

     Poor Y/n, Bev couldn't help but think. She seemed to have just begun to return to her old self, and now she was about to dump something else entirely into her lap.

     "Hey, Bev," Y/n leaned against the now open door, a crooked smile on her lips. "What's up?"

     Beverly met Y/n's eye, they were indeed brighter and well-rested, but they shifted slightly in concern. Her smirk began to fade. Bev's eyes flickered to the grated floor beneath her feet before returning to Y/n. A habit she had when she had something important, but very difficult to share with her.

     "Bev, what's wrong? What happened?"

     Without uttering a word, Beverly gestured for Y/n to follow her up the stairs. Confused, but nevertheless compliant, Y/n stepped out onto the fire escape, closing the door behind her before following Beverly up the steps.

     Y/n did not know what to expect when Beverly had taken her upstairs. Her first thought - her first fear - was that Beverly's dad had done something. That he had done something to Beverly, and now she was about to share with Y/n whatever thing the vile man must have done behind closed doors. On the way up and into Beverly's apartment, Y/n had mentally prepared herself for whatever horrible thing Bev had to share.

     But she certainly was not expecting to reach the end of the hallway only for Beverly to make a right turn. The bathroom? She looked to Beverly in confusion, her eyebrows raised.

     "I don't get it," she chuckled weakly.

     Beverly stifled an eye roll and gestured to the door.

     "Just," she shifted on her feet, watching the closed door distrustfully.

     Y/n gave her friend an odd look before something clicked in her head and she sighed stepping forward and reaching the closed door.

     "Oh, geez, Bev is it a spider or something? You know I hate them," She chuckled nervously, hand wrapped around the doorknob and she opened it, her gaze returning to the bathroom. "But you had me thinking something-"

     Y/n had lost the ability to speak when her eyes landed on the room, the words lodged in her throat. Beverly stepped forward and stood by Y/n's side. She looked from Y/n's shocked and horrified reaction back to the bathroom. The bloodied windows casting a red glow over the two young girls as they took in the ghastly sight.

     Y/n had never seen so much blood in her entire life. It covered every square inch of the bathroom, including the ceiling. It had made itself into every crevice, every nook, and every corner. Within a millisecond upon first glance, she thought it had been paint. But to her horror and great disgust, she knew it was blood. The only thing even remotely normal-looking was the inside of the tub, where someone had showered.

    "Thank fuck, you see it too." She sighed, running a hand through her shortened curls, still unused to the feeling of the new length.

    "Uh, yeah, well," Y/n was still struggling for words and for a brief moment, she figured this must be how Bill felt.

     She swallowed, finally finding her voice. "I-it's kinda hard not to, ya know?"

     She chuckled uncomfortably, and looked to Bev, trying to rid herself of her shock.

     "Okay, Bev, you know I love you, and you know I trust you, this is just something I have to ask," Beverly rolled her eyes at what came next. "But was anyone murdered here, cause honestly what the fuck else could have happened?"

     "Jesus, no, I-" Beverly looked at the bathroom, shaking her head exasperated. "I still don't know what happened, I-"

     A heavy sigh escaped Beverly and she buried her face in her hands, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. A vexatious moan was muffled in her palms, frustration and fear all bubbling back up to the top.

     Y/n watched in worry and returned her gaze to the bright red bathroom. She could feel bile climbing up her throat and her nose was scrunched up in disgust. The overwhelming stench was clogging up her senses and she could practically taste the blood on her tongue. Refusing to take another breath, she leaned on the side of the door frame for stability as she reached for the doorknob. She didn't dare cross the threshold, much too disgusted and wary of the blood that covered the tile.

     Y/n finally took a breath when the door closed. She only left it open a crack in the hopes it would air out in the slightest. She turned to Beverly, laying a hand on her friends back before guiding her back to the living room.

     "Let's step outside for a moment. I think you could use some air, I know I sure could."

     Beverly's hands fell to her side and she nodded, letting Y/n guide her out onto the fire escape. The pair sat on metal steps, and Beverly took out a hidden cigarette that had been lodged behind her ear. She retrieved the lighter she always carried in her pocket and lit the cigarette that hung from her lips.

     By the time Beverly had finished explaining the encounter she had the previous night, the cigarette was nearly out. It had grown quiet between the friends, Beverly soaking up every last breath of the addicting substance while Y/n processed everything. The silence was broken after Bev finally put out her cigarette, and Y/n's cheeks puffed out as she exhaled in thought.

     "Damn,"

      Beverly nodded, flicking the bud of the cigarette over the rails at the brick wall. Y/n, who had been leaning on her legs, her hands interlaced, turned to Beverly with a concerned glance.

     "Shit, we should really move, huh?"

     A pathetic but genuine chuckle vibrated through Beverly before silence settled back into the atmosphere. A quizzical look found its way onto Beverly's face and she looked at Y/n.

     "In all seriousness, what happened that night? You never did tell me."

     Y/n nodded, understanding her friend's curiosity. She had a feeling this was coming, and she took a deep breath, focusing her gaze on the trees in the distance. She relaxed slightly when she spotted three dots emerging from the treetops. It was a small flock of birds and she felt a sense of comfort in the tranquil scenery. It was such a small and simple sight that grounded her back to reality.

     "Well, I had just started to go back to sleep." She shook her head slightly and began gesturing her arms out of habit. "The television set was still on, so I got up to turn it off, and"

     Her furrowed brows had cemented into a frown, and absentmindedly her hand had traveled down her ankle. Her fingers were fiddling with a loose fray from the ace bandage.

     "I drifted off, and for a moment I thought you were trying to wake me up, or something. It felt like you were pulling on my leg, and..." she trailed off, shaking her head and scolding herself for allowing her nerves to return so soon. "Well, obviously it wasn't you..."

     Beverly, who had been hanging off of her every word, leaned forward. She was propping herself up on her legs much like Y/n was.

     "What was it, Y/n?" Her tone was gentle, a tone she rarely found herself using.

     Before Y/n could continue, the faint sound of several bicycle chains interrupted her. As it grew louder, they could hear a familiar boastful and cocky voice that was even louder. Richie Tozier.

     Beverly stood up, and looked to Y/n, annoyed at herself for not mentioning to Y/n she had called them.

     "I wasn't sure if you would be home or not, so I called the guys." She explained quickly.

     At that moment, Y/n recognized the familiar speedy voice and she felt the smallest flutter in her stomach. She nodded, standing to her feet and together the two girls sped down the steps just in time to meet the five boys rounding the corner.

     "You made it. I..." Beverly exhaled, looking to each of them. "I need to show you something."

     "What is it?" Ben asked.

     It was Beverly's turn to get cut off. Before she could form a coherent or vague answer, Richie jumped in.

     "More than we saw at the quarry?"

     "Fuck off, Richie."

     "Shut up, Richie!"

     Y/n and Eddie had snapped at Richie at the same time, and he scoffed.

     "What are you two, my parole officers or some shit?"

     "Might as well get used to having some" Y/n shot back.

     Richie opened his mouth to speak, but Beverly spoke up quickly. Letting the comments roll off her back.

     "My dad would kill me if he finds out, I had boys in the apartment."

     "T-t-then w-we'll leave a lookout." Bill offered. "R-Richie, s-stay here.

     "Why don't I stay?" Y/n offered, looking between the boys and to Bev. "He knows me, and that I live here. If he comes back I'll keep him distracted."

     "You sure?" Beverly asked carefully.

     She was worried about the possibility of Y/n being alone with her father. Not so much that he'd do anything, but Beverly was well aware of how Y/n felt about him. And she had a tendency to speak without thinking when it came to him. With the trouble she had biting her tongue, it was a miracle Beverly was still aloud around her and the reason why they usually stayed at her Y/n's. As much as Beverly secretly loved seeing him baffled at her best friend's remarks, she knew it only caused trouble. Beverly feared what he might do if Y/n went too far when she wasn't there.

     But again, it did make sense that if her father were to see anyone lurking around the apartment, it should be his daughter's friend, and not some teenage boy he knew didn't live there.

     "I'm sure," Y/n sighed lightly in annoyance and nodded. "And don't worry, I'll try to keep it reeled in as much as I can. And that's if he even gets back before you leave."

     Beverly nodded in thanks, relief in her eyes and her demeanor shifted to that of slight urgency. She gestured for the boys, who had been scolding Richie for his boastful remarks that he didn't have to stay. Beverly backed up slightly to the stairs, urging them to follow her. They parked their bikes and passed Y/n to follow Beverly up to the apartment. She felt a hand slap her lightly on the back in passing.

     "Thanks, toots" He winked, clicking his tongue.

     Y/n watched as Richie herded Eddie up the stairs, provoking the poor boy and Y/n sighed lightly. The group had reached Y/n's floor, and she tried ridding herself of the small flutter in her stomach that Eddie was outside her apartment. She shook her head, annoyed at the feeling and embarrassed the thought ever occurred. Y/n sighed, running her palm down her face in exasperation before she took a seat at the bottom of the steps.

     Up in the apartment, the boys followed Beverly through her apartment, and much like Y/n had, they all stopped hesitantly.

     "In there," She said quietly.

     "What is it?" Stan asked.

     Beverly, who was feeling slightly more confident that Y/n had seen it to, gestured weakly to the door. Now slightly worried that would be seeing it.

     "You'll see," she answered weakly.

     The five boys approached the door, and Eddie began mumbling nervously.

     "Are you taking us to your bathroom?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued in a shaky voice. "I just want you to know that eighty-nine percent of worst accidents in homes are caused in bathrooms and I mean that's where all the bacteria and fungi are and it's not a really sanitary place."

     "Oh, lighten up Eds. Don't tell me you're afraid of bathrooms, now are ya?"

     It was a very rare thing for Richie to regret his words, and it was even rarer for his jokes to be ill-timed. So naturally, it was a very strange feeling when Bill opened the door. Bright red light draped over the six figures, and they all gasped in silent fear. With the exception of Eddie, of course, who barely managed to speak above a whisper.

     "I knew it!" He collapsed into gags, never been more appalled in his life.

     "So you guys do see it," Bev nodded, her suspicions were confirmed. "Y/n saw it too. My dad couldn't, I thought I was crazy."

     Eddie chuckled nervously and had to turn away from the door for a breath of fresh air.

     "Well," Ben said gently. "If you're crazy, then we're all crazy,"

     Richie shifted slightly on his feet, finding his voice.

      "Jesus, I didn't know PMS was this bad," Richie winced when Eddie whacked him on the arm. "What?"

     "We c-c-can't leave it like this," Bill said finally.

     Bill stepped into the bathroom, careful not to slip. Though most of the blood had somewhat dried and was not as slippery as he was expecting. The rest followed, Beverly grabbed some cleaning supplies from under her kitchen sink. Handing out gloves for each of them, as well as rags and towels, they each got to work.

     It was Eddie, and he had stepped out onto the landing for some much needed fresh air. He was gagging, and for a moment she feared he would hurl. She retreated up the stairs, carefully keep an eye on the parking lot next door for Bev's dad as well as steer clear from the line of fire.

     Beverly focused on the mirror and the sink, Bill and Stan had worked out a system to clean the floor. Richie and Eddie - who had somehow found a mask and was still gagging - gathered trash bags and filled them with anything that was stained

     "Hey, you alright there?"

     Eddie, who had been grasping the railing, turned to Y/n, having not realized it was her that had journeyed up the steps. Collecting himself, he nodded while reaching into his fanny pack and pulling out the inhaler. He shook it several times before putting it to his lips, and Y/n kicked herself for choosing the worst possible time to speak.

     "What took you guys so long, I was worried something happened."

     Eddie's mouth was still closed and his eyes widened suddenly. He tried to gesture to his inhaler that he still had to hold his breath, but she had already connected the dots. She shook her head, laughing weakly.

     "Right. Sorry,"

     He smiled and an awkward silence hung in the air. The pair both felt a wave of relief when Eddie exhaled seconds later breaking the silence, and he capped the inhaler. He shook his head, a small shiver running down his spine.

     "Cleaning," he said so quickly Y/n almost didn't catch it.

     She had been leaning on the railing, overlooking the small plot next door, and she frowned in confusion.

     "Huh?"

     "Cleaning. We were cleaning. That's what- that's why we took so long." Eddie wasn't used to tripping over his words, and he hated it had to happen now of all places.

     Y/n nodded, mouthing a 'right' and another silence fell between them. They would never know, but at that moment each of them were screaming at themselves to say something, anything to disrupt the awkward tension. Both of their hearts had begun to flutter, painstakingly aware of the fact they were alone together and that had never happened before. But a small part of them was glad they were alone, though neither of them was confident enough to say or do anything.

     In silence, they remained, though it did not take long for it to melt into a peaceful ambiance. Y/n found herself looking at Eddie, he had become awfully squeamish like he wasn't used to sitting still for this long. She folded her lips in, trying to hide the small smile that had crept up and she quickly looked away. Eddie, who had felt a pair of eyes on him, hesitantly looked to the girl, fighting the blush on his cheeks. She was looking off in the distance and looked to be deep in thought. In reality, she had focused all her attention on one spot in the distance pretending she didn't know he was looking.

     The brief moment between the two children was not picture perfect, nor was it ideal, for either of them. But it was innocent, and it was real. Beneath all the tension and worry, was a sense of excitement. A giddiness that came with a sense of hope and mutuality that they were not alone in their feelings. And at that moment a small bond was formed between the pair that held promise for times to come.

×××

     The last remnants of the once bloody bathroom were dumped into one of the many plastic trash bags. Readjusting his rubber gloves on his wrists, Ben grabbed the large plastic bag, trying not to let it slip from his grasp. The blood that remained on his yellow gloves had not soaked in and it became an obstacle to hold the plastic bag without it slipping. He struggled to bring to carry it out into the hall and he found himself hesitating outside Beverly's open room, despite having made many trips past her open door already.

     A feeling tugged in his gut, the feeling one gets when the window of opportunity is closing. Beverly and Bill had their backs turned, currently standing over the tub, scrubbing the last of the blood from the tub. Richie and Stan could be heard bickering in the front room, and Ben didn't really know where Eddie was. He knew that no one was looking, no one would notice if he snuck an innocent peek at Beverly Marsh's room. So he did.

     He only allowed himself to pop his head in for a brief moment. He had no intention of rifling through her things, no desire to ever cross the threshold. Just a quick peek at the everyday life of Beverly Marsh and he was delightfully intrigued to see the keyboard set up on her desk. He could practically see her plucking away in the wee hours of the morning, a small concentrated frown on her face and the tip of her tongue peeking out of her lips while deep in focus. Her room was untidy, shirts, jackets and other pieces of her wardrobe spilling out of her open drawers and on the floor.

     Several books and journals were stacked in small piles in the corner of her room in an organized mess. Her bed was made and laid out across the bedding was a familiar blue dress that lay forgotten. Sprinkled across her faded lilac walls were polaroids and pictures from the photobooth at the Capitol Theater of her and Y/n, smiling and laughing. Some of them silly. And he almost missed the Derry postcard, the poem he had written for her, sitting on top of a leather journal. It filled him with glee that something he had given her was sitting on her bed with everything else she saw every day. Like his heart had the privilege of being another trinket amongst her things. And in a way, it was.

     Ben had only taken one glance around the room before pulling himself away. It was quick and he had not known what to expect, and yet every detail he managed to take in did not surprise him at all, it was all so... Beverly.

     He was surprised to see the room was unkempt and imperfect. Just like he was. It was a gentle reminder that she was just as human as he was, it made her all the more real and much to his surprise he felt himself relating to her. It was a giddy and warm feeling though it quickly evaporated when he saw Bill and Bev alone in the bathroom.

     They were no longer cleaning, they were talking. Giggling. Bill had made her laugh. She seemed as giddy as he had felt the day she signed his yearbook. She was giggly and flustered, and it was all because of Bill. Sparing himself the pain, Ben swallowed the lump forming in his throat and trudged down the hall, leaving the two with their privacy and reminding himself that she was never his.

     Beverly looked down the hall, dismissing the thought she had heard footsteps. Realistically, she knew she must still be jumpy and paranoid from her encounter. She shook it off and returned to Bill's side. He had been in the middle of finishing a thought, she realized, but she hadn't caught it. She had been thinking of the poem. While it was signed from her secret admirer, she had an inkling who it must be from. Regardless, she felt the need to clear the air.

     "It's not true, you know." She bit her lip fighting the small flutter I'm her stomach. "What they say about me."

     Beverly hated what people thought of her. And she hated talking about it almost as much. It was mortifying having to defend yourself of such things. Especially towards someone she might like. Or worse, to someone who might like her, and if they liked her, maybe it was because they heard such awful things. Thought she was easy. But if it was Bill, she thought, whoever wrote the poem wouldn't go to such trouble to write her something so beautiful and innocent.

     And she rarely thought about it, but she realized as she spoke of it out loud, Bill had been the one she had kissed all those years ago, in the play. Just a stupid play. She smiled weakly, shrugging her shoulders.

     "I was only ever kissed by one guy." A flicker of recognition flashed in Bill's eyes, and she continued. "It was a long time ago. It was a nice kiss though."

     Bill prayed he wasn't completely red. Of course, he remembered the kiss the two had shared. Of course, it didn't help that Richie brought it up every other day just to mess with him. Bill remained silent, but he nodded his head slightly.

     Beverly knew if she didn't speak now, she would never have the opportunity. And it was rare to have a moment alone with Bill, and it was especially rare Richie wasn't around to hear it and poke fun. But she had to know, and she was really starting to like him. Knowing there was no time like the present, Bev took a deep breath before reciting the words she had been replaying in her head.

     "'January embers'"

     Reluctantly she peaked at boy's reaction, expecting to see surprise or even a faint blush. But instead, his eyebrows twitched in confusion, before melting into a relaxed smile.

     "W-was that in the play?"

     She tried not to assume the worst, though it was hard to banish the creeping feeling of disappointment.

     "No, the poem."

     "Oh," Bill chuckled nervously, embarrassed not to know what she had been talking about. "Oh, I don't really know m-much p-poetry."

     Beverly felt her heart sink, and it took her a moment to recover. It had not been Bill, as she had hoped. Once again she was in the dark, and now she began to doubt the credibly of the poem itself.

     "Oh. I was just..." she shook her head, her voice blowing in an attempt not to break. "Never mind then."

     Perhaps it was all some sick joke someone played on her. How hilarious it was to make her think that she was capable of any genuine affection. Beverly cast the hideous thoughts from her mind, and a small silence fell between the two. Bill, who had sensed he had said the wrong thing nervously spoke up.

     "Um... Ju-Just so you know, I... I never believed any of those rumors. And none of us Losers do. We like hanging out with you."

     Bill was relieved to see the warm and relieved smile that stretched across her face. A smile big enough to squint her eyes ever so slightly.

     "Thanks."

     A grin of his own tugged at the end of his lips and he chuckled.

    "You shouldn't thank us too much. Hanging out with us makes you a Loser, too."

     She laughed, her shoulders moved and her head hung lazily off her shoulders mid chuckle. She looked Bill, grinning ear to ear and gave him a simple nod.

     "I can take that."

     Beverly could feel the weight of her previous sadness evaporate into the air. He might not have been the one to write the poem, but he still seemed to care for her, and he believed her, and that was enough for her in that moment.

×××

    Out on the fire escape, the unlikely duo had found themselves engrossed in a discussion about how much they had in common. Particularly, how they each found themselves as a target to the infamous Bowers gang. Every so often, Y/n would wince at the pounding of her heart when she heard a car go by. She was so encapsulated by her conversation with Eddie she worried she would miss Beverly's father.

     "I honestly think he has used every name in the book already. That is the only explanation I can think of that could possibly explain why Patrick fucking Hockstetter could come up with a name as trivial and weak as shrimp. Like, it's not even a slur, I'm like, ninety percent sure there's some type of shrimp that can like shoot these bubble bullets that are loud enough to burst a human eardrum or something like that, I do not see how that is an insult, I mean come on!"

     Y/n had thrown her head back in laughter at his odd ramblings and he could feel his insides to turn to jelly. Richie was always the one to make people ache with laughter, not him. With the exception of Richie himself, but that was banter. But with Y/n it was different, it was exciting and it gave him a blooming sense of pride in his chest. Eddie cleared his throat, a nervous tick of his, and he prayed to whatever all-knowing force in the universe that what he was about to say didn't make him sound anymore like a complete fool than he already had.

     "Ya know, we're all glad you came to the quarry with us. We had a lot of fun with you." Eddie cleared his throat once more. "I had a lot of fun with you."

     Y/n felt the swarm of butterflies in her stomach once more. She couldn't fight the smirk if she had tried. She chuckled and nudged him with her elbow.

     "I had fun hanging with you too, shrimp."

     Eddie found himself releasing a breath of laughter and shaking his head. His insides were absolutely liquid, he was sure of it and he knew if he wasn't careful his heart would burst right out of his chest. What the hell was this girl doing to him? And did he really just ramble about shrimp for two minutes? Fuck!

     Much like their match at the quarry, the pair found themselves to be quite compatible with one another. Each of them brought to the table a much-needed strength. However, this dynamic was interrupted by the screen door bursting open, hitting the wall with a sharp whack!

     The two jumped apart, unaware until that very moment that they had inched closer during their moment alone. Out of the apartment came Stan accompanied by Richie who stormed past him.

     "Where ya been Eddie Spaghetti, you sprout roots or somethin’?"

     Richie's playful demeanor fell for only the briefest of moments when he saw the pair as they were. They both blushing and shifting on their feet. Richie ignored the pang in his chest and smacked his lips throwing his arms around each of his friends. As it sometimes happened - usually, when he was most uncomfortable, like now - Richie opened his mouth and a completely different voice came out without him trying, in this instance, it was heavy southern drawl.

     "Come'awn lovebirds, times a tickin and I reckon none a y'all are achin tur answer ta the old man any time soon. Well hop to it, come'awn now, get!"

     The lovebirds in question rolled their eyes in near-perfect sync as they were ushered down the metal steps. Y/n cast a glance over her shoulder to Beverly hoping to catch her eye but she was too busy locking the apartment door behind her. The rest of the Losers were somewhere in between herself, Richie, and Eddie and Bev and Ben who held up the back. When they reached the floor below, Y/n gave a quick once over to the Losers and asked them to wait.

     Seeing Beverly lock up reminded her that she still had to so, herself. She would be in big trouble if she left the house unlocked again and she smiled weakly at her new friends before ducking inside for her key. Not unlike Ben, Eddie was faced with the temptation of a peek inside the everyday life of the girl that caught his eye. She had left the door open a crack, allowing him the option of poking his head inside though it felt wrong.

     Without his permission, his brain began accumulating several different excuses that could get him inside. Can I use your bathroom? Eddie shivered. No, no, no. Too soon. Do you have a tissue? Ech, no. That's lame, and it didn't guarantee an invite inside. Oh, I know! Can I have a small glass of water, I need to take my pills? It wasn't a lie, after all, it was getting close to his afternoon pill. But before he could work up the courage, or even finish his thought, Richie took it upon himself to waltz inside.

     Figures.

     "Richie!" Eddie hissed, cautiously entering to retrieve his obnoxious best friend. "What the fuck, man?"

     "What? She left the door open! Come on Ed's, don't you want to see your girlfriend's house? Or have you already had an exclusive tour?" Richie waggled his eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

     Eddie scoffed harshly and shook his head vigorously. "No, and you damn well know she's not my girlfriend, asshole. Come on, we weren't invited."

     Ignoring Eddie's pleas and the tug on his arm he finally got a good look around. Richie puckered his lips and a low whistle stretched out over the silence. It looked just like Beverly's apartment, only it was much less furnished and somehow it managed to look both new and old. He was shocked to see it so empty and bare. Aside from basic furnishings like the couch, small rug and lamp the place was somewhat barren. The walls were unpainted and somehow chipped, and everything was faded and was visibly touched by age. A battered and small television set sat across from the moth-eaten couch and it looked to be a couple of models older than what everyone else had.

     Eddie felt guilt burrow inside him at the sight. He had already felt guilty for stepping inside without her knowledge but now it just felt wrong. Y/n had just told him not five minutes ago about her family's financial struggles. Her shabby clothes and hand me down things were what gave her away to Bowers. And despite her ripped and frayed attire that earned her ridicule in the first place, Henry and Patrick had deemed it fitting to steal her jackets and on some occasions her shoes just for a laugh. They wouldn't even keep them, they throw them out of her reach, either in a high tree or into a nearby stream. Whichever was closest and most inconvenient.

     It only took one look around to see her home life rang true to this fact. Just about everything in here looked to be off the street or handed down - granted, most of it was. Eddie felt his stomach churn when he saw a large faded stain in the faded eggshell carpet. Upon first glance, he had thought it had been from a glass of wine or even a juice box but it was much too dark and it wasn't long before he connected the dots.

     A distant voice echoed from down the hall, followed by a thud and several grunts.

     "For fuck sake, I just saw it!" Y/n wasn't having much luck finding her key.

     Eddie's hand which had still been on Richie's arm tugged harder and he began ushering him towards the door.

     "Richie, come on!" He hissed through gritted teeth.

     "Jesus, keep your pants on, Eds"

     "Don't fucking call me that, now come on!" He grunted under his breath, trying to pull Richie out the front door, much to Richie's amusement.

     "I'm coming!" Eddie frowned when he realized the voice hadn't been Richie's.

     Much to their surprise, they saw Y/n emerge from the hallway, eyes focused on her fingers as they detangled her lanyard as she entered the living room. She was still shouting, under the impression that everyone was waiting for her outside.

     "I couldn't find my-" She flinched when she looked up and she stopped abruptly. "-key."

     A confused frown molded onto her face and her eyes flickered between Richie and Eddie. She gulped and consciously shifted on her feet so her sneakers hid the stain, knowing it would only repulse Eddie. She was still too shocked and off-put by the fact the boys where in her home, and they - specifically Eddie - seemed just as startled. The smaller boy's mouth opened and closed feverishly like a fish as he looked between her an amused Richie.

     Finally, he jabbed a finger at his best friend and shook his head defensively. "He did it. I came in here after him. To get him. Out."

     Y/n blinked a couple of times, processing the abnormality and unexpected turn of events. She stifled her instincts to be embarrassed and forced a shrug, wanting nothing more than to move on.

 are we not gonna talk about the elephant in the room?" Richie asked, circling the Losers in his bike as they walked theirs. "I say, we are all moving on from 'Bev's sink went all, Eddie's mom's vagina on Halloween', way too quickly!"

     "Alright, just shut up, Richie!" Eddie snapped.

     "Yeah, shut up, Richie!" Stan added, all too eagerly.

    "Oh, okay, trash the trash mouth, I get it! Look, all I'm saying is, there's got to be a better explanation cause there's no way in hell that happened. You ladies must have a gas leak or some shit, cause I'm willing to bet you good money - you heard it right toots, this thing called currency that gets ya stuff - that what we just spend a good half hour cleaning something that wasn't there."

     Y/n rolled her eyes at the side comment. Any other day she'd be offended, but she had known Richie long enough to know he made such jokes when he was uncomfortable and he had no problem with her financial struggles. But that didn't mean she appreciated the comment.

     "She didn't imagine it, Richie. Neither did we, and n-n-neither did you, and y-you know it." Bill said.

     Bill slowed to a stop, and everyone followed suit. He was lost in thought and he seemed displaced. He had everyone's full attention now and he gulped, trying to find his voice.

     "I... I saw something too."

     "You saw blood, too?" Stan asked, curiously.

     Bill looked to Stan and the rest of his friends. His hands were gripping his bike handles, nervously twisting his palms against the rubber.

     "Not blood." He took a deep and shaky breath, it was the first time since it happened he truly allowed himself to dwell on the memory. "I saw G-Georgie."

     Even Richie had quieted, and he stood still, standing over his bike and he could feel the tension in the air. He hated it. He hit his tongue for as long as he could, and Bill continued.

     "I-It seemed so real. I mean, it seemed like him but there was this…"

     "The clown." Eddie finished.

     Y/n flinched and she felt the horror settle back onto herself like it had never left. She stared at the ground, though her gaze was miles away. She fought the lump in her throat and she felt a coldness blanket her skin.

     Eddie looked around at his friends, a look of unease and discomfort. Apart from Y/n, who looked displaced and disconnected from the world. He felt another spark of guilt but it was easily drowned out in his own fears.

     "Yeah, I saw him, too."

     "Until Beverly," Y/n croaked, grabbing everyone's attention. "I thought it was just me."

     She looked up from the concrete and to each of the Losers. The look in her eyes unsettled them almost as much as the topic. She seemed cut off from reality like she wasn't all there. Like part of her was still back there, where it happened. And in a way she was.

     "That's what did this..." she gestured to her ankle and subconscious she shifted on her feet.

     The air became even thicker with tension, and everyone's stomachs dropped.

     "Holy shit," breathed Stan.

     "I saw a clown, too. At the library." Ben squeaked.

     "Can only virgin's see this stuff? Is that why I'm not seeing this shit?" Richie asked, breaking the tense silence.

     Before anyone could retort, a chorus of shouting brought the seven children's attention down the road.

     Eddie gulped. "Oh, shit, that's Belch Huggins' car."

    Y/n squinted, her eyes falling to a collapsed bike on the ground near the car.

     "We should probably get outta here."

     "But look someone's bike." Y/n pointed out. "They're probably tormenting some poor kid, we should help!"

     "Yeah, isn't that the homeschooled kid's bike?"

     "Yeah, that's Mike's" Eddie murmured.

     "Y/n's right, we gotta help him!" Beverly said firmly, looking to each of them.

     "We should?" Richie asked nervously.

     Y/n looked at him incredulously. "Yes!"

     Her bike dropped to the ground forgotten, and she ran in the direction of the bully's car, and Beverly soon followed. Eddie's heart dropped briefly when he saw her disappear through the ferns and he hesitantly dropped his bike, going after her.

     "Y/n!" He called.

     "Oh, for fuck's sake. Wait up, spaghetti!" Richie was close behind him, and the others followed.

     The only one to linger was Stan, who paused to park his bike rather than drop it.

×××

     "Come on!"

     Mike Hanlon fights the strength of the rubber boot pushing his head towards the unpacked meat. He had been in town for his delivery, only this time he wasn't so lucky. Bowers and his gang had cornered him and chased him off the road. He was laying on his stomach, pushing with all the strength he could muster to keep his head above the ground, but his strength waned.

     "Eat the meat!"

     "Eat it, bitch!"

     "You little fucker!"

     Mike winced when he felt his face sink into the slimy cold textures of the exposed packages of meat. The Bowers gang erupted in cheers and their laughter sounded like that of crazed hyenas.

     "Motherfucker!" Henry screamed with rage.

     "Eat shit!"

     The way they acted, it was as if Mike had murdered their entire family. They hated him with such blind disgusting passion. Not only did they not care what trauma they were inflicting upon him, but they were also excited by it.

     Of course, each of the bullies seemed to miss the lanky figure lurking in the bushes. It was a clown, It was smiling a wicked grin and It's face - particularly It's mouth - was covered with blood that was dripping from It's unhinged jaw. Any fear of the bullies above him was long gone, completely replaced by the demon in the bushes. Against his better judgment, Mike lifted his head - the boot now gone from above his neck - to get a better look. He had to be imagining it.

     But the image only got clearer. The voices of Henry Bowers, Belch Huggins, and Victor Criss were lost to him as he looked on in horror. The clown was chewing on something, Sweet Jesus, he was eating a human arm, he realized. If he wasn't nauseous at all before he was now. The clown was, in fact, chewing on the fingers of a severed arm, a child's arm by the looks of it. The clown made eye contact with Mike, a wild look in It's eye, a primitive, beastly look that no human could ever possess. The clown's smile grew and there was a glint of an almost childlike glee that only intensified Mike's fear.

     It took the severed arm out from between It's long and sharpened teeth and smiled once again in a childlike manner. As if mocking him, the clown waved the child's arm back and forth and the hand-rolled around, still connected by its joints making the child's hand wave at Mike. Mike could feel the icy grip of fear tightening in his chest and he could taste the vomit that had climbed up his throat.

     Mike's ears were ringing but through the high pitched hum, he could only just now hear the angry cries of Henry Bowers.

     "GET THE FUCK UP!"

     Mike pushed himself up, but before he could process what had happened, he lay on his back, his face bleeding and throbbing. One of the bullies, he didn't know which one, had kicked him right in the face. Mike was now struggling to keep a deranged Henry away from his face but the boy was just crazy enough to withstand or even register any signs of struggle. A deep and feral roar erupted from the deepest depths of his chest as he releases all his anger on the poor boy.

     He knew if he didn't fight back, Henry would kill him. He was just that crazy and he was damn well angry enough. Mike struggled to fend him off but he could only fight for so long. He grunted in a messy combination of fear, exhaustion, and pain when Henry managed to pin Mike's arms to the ground. One hand still pinning Mike's arm into the bed of rocks, he released the other as he retrieved the biggest rock within his reach. He held it high above Mike's head and snarled in victory knowing he had him right where he wanted. Just before he swung the rock down into Mike's skull, Henry felt pain explode in his own.

     He tumbled off Mike and into the bed of rocks, several jagged edges poking into his back and spine. Victor and Belch had jumped back in surprise and everyone looked on in surprise to see a seething [h/c] haired girl across the stream. She was dressed in her signature unkempt mismatched wardrobe that both hung off and clung to her [b/t] figure and it was visibly clear the clothes she wore were not originally hers and it was common most things didn't fit properly. She was glaring at Henry Bowers, fire in her eyes and completely repulsed at what she had found them doing.

     Six more figures emerged from the bushes, recognizable as Beverly, Stan, Eddie, Ben, Bill, and Richie. Stan looked between Y/n and Henry and smirked weakly.

     "Nice throw."

      "Thanks," Y/n said. "Felt pretty good."

     She could have sworn she heard a small voice behind her whisper. "Woah"

     Y/n saw the poor boy Henry had almost killed was struggling to cross the stream and immediately she stepped forward not caring about the risk of getting hurt by the Bowers gang. She could feel her shoes fill with water and her thin socks acted as a sponge bringing in the water to her skin. Y/n extended her hand to the boy who gladly took it and she helped him to the shore with the rest of the Losers.

     "Hey, are you okay?" She whispered, her eyes worriedly scanning the boy for any injuries.

     Mike would be lying if he had said he hadn't felt his pulse spike just the slightest at her kindness. He didn't even know this girl and she risked her life to save him, it was debt he worried he'd never be able to repay.

     "I'm okay." He cast a brief and cautious glance back at the bully before returning to her [e/c] eyes. "Thank you."

     She smiled weakly and nodded. She made sure he was back on his feet before she ushered him behind her with the rest of her friends. She knelt down and grabbed another rock out of precaution and glared at Henry. He was stumbling to his feet, eyes completely fixed on her in complete and utter shock.

     The other Losers, including their newest recruit, picked up a rock of their own.

     "Leave him alone, Henry," Beverly growled.

     Y/n didn't bother to hide the proud smirk on her face at her best friend's retaliation. She knew all too well of the horrible things he'd say about her and it was hard for her to stand up.

     Henry's eyes flickered to Bev and he zeroed in on her.

     "You Losers are trying too hard. She'll do you." Henry smirked, stepping forward. "You just gotta ask nicely, like I did."

     The Losers grimaced at Henry's perverted gesture. Stan even looked worriedly to Beverly for her reaction before looking at Henry in pure disgust and hatred. Y/n stepped forward, though she fought the urge to speak for Beverly. Instead, she traded Beverly's smaller rock for her own which was the size of her fist, giving her the opportunity to really hurt Henry is she so desired. Henry gestured to Y/n before his eyes fell back to Beverly.

     "After all, why settle for scraps when you can get the three-course meal for free?" He grinned maliciously and licked his lips.

     Beverly gripped the new rock tightly, though her newly discovered voice died in her throat. Ben was unable to restrain his anger and he roared at the boy in utter fury, while Eddie had grabbed a bigger rock as well.

     "Fuck off, Bowers!" Eddie gulped when he realized the words had come from his own mouth.

     Eddie was just as surprised as everyone else at his outburst and he fought a wince when he heard his voice echo down the stream. He felt a pair of hands on his arm, it was Richie who worriedly pulled him back out of the direct line of fire and by his side.

     Fortunately, everyone had been so distracted by Eddie they had failed to see the giant rock Ben had picked up and with every ounce of strength he could muster he chucked the rock at Henry. It grazed the top of his head and he winced, backing up into Victor and Belch.

     "What the fuck?" He murmured.

     Mike stood to his feet, still completely baffled at everything unfolding, though he didn't stop them from their sudden attack on Henry. Beverly was the next up to bat, the fist-sized rock Y/n had gifted to her had been big enough to knock Henry on his feet.

     Victor and Belch jumped at Henry's orders and they and scrambled for rocks of their own.

     Eddie jumped out of Richie's grip to the edge of the water to grab another rock. Y/n launched another over her shoulder and she smirked when it hit Henry in the crotch.

     "Sure you don't want some scraps, asshole?" She roared, chucking another rock at his face.

     It wasn't long before Richie's voice echoed down across the barrens as he released a battle cry of his own.

     "ROCK WAR-!" Richie was struck across the forehead before he could finish and he was knocked down.

     The barrens came alive at that moment and every ounce of hatred and loathing - from both sides - was released in a fiery passion of rage with every rock that was thrown.

     "Fuck you, motherfuckers!" Richie cried.

     "Get 'em, you fuckers!" Henry roared, scrambling to his feet and grabbing rocks of his own.

     Like all the Losers, Eddie was lost in the adrenaline of the moment and had it not been for Y/n's keen eye, he would have taken a blow to the head. He felt a shove on his shoulder and he nearly lost his balance on the unstable terrain, and he gasped when he saw the giant rock fly past his head. He nodded at her in thanks.

     Y/n had gotten quite a few strikes in before she yelped in pain. Taken aback by the cut of the shockingly jagged edge that had hooked into her skin. She hissed in pain, a hand covering the wound trying to stop the blood from pouring out. Y/n glared at Belch as she shook it off, grabbing more ammo. This did not go unnoticed by Eddie and he jumped into the creek, water splashing his ankles and soaking his feet but he didn't care. He stalked forward in the water getting as close as possible as he put all his anger into his throw.

     Everything seemed to happen in slow motion as she and Eddie chucked their ammunition at the perpetrator.

     Belch had been red in the face and spit was flying from his mouth as he glared daggers at Y/n.

     "Fuck you, bitch!"

     Much like Richie, his timing was unfortunate for him, as Y/n and Eddie's two large rocks struck him in the head and nose just as the words had left his mouth.

     "Get the fuck outta here!" Richie exclaimed.

     "Ah, shit!" Victor hissed as he was thrown to the ground from one of Ben's rocks.

     Henry was now back on the ground, having been hit in the head a second time, from one of Mike's rocks.

     In a mere matter of moments, the Losers had brought the Bowers gang to its knees, cowering in fear. Victor and Belch quickly retreated, leaving Henry whimpering in fear, hands covering his face and he was shaking like a leaf.

     The Losers had never seen the boy so afraid and they glared at him in hatred, each of them panting heavily. When he was sure the rocks had stopped, Henry risked a glance from behind his hands. They fell on Y/n who stalked forward next to Eddie, streaks of red running down her arm. She stood only feet away from him and looked down at him as if he was something she dragged in on her shoe.

     He looked up at her, not knowing what to expect. She cast one more angered glance before her head jerked in a swift movement, and spit flew from her mouth landing before him. He flinched at her sudden movement, still on edge from his attack and he slowly climbed to his feet. The Losers cast him one more glance before filing back into the brush one by one, grabbing Eddie's hand and ushering him out.

     Richie was the only one to remain, and he gave in to one last surge of anger. He looked to the defeated figure of Henry Bowers and said the words he had always ached to say.

     "Go blow your dad, you mullet-wearing asshole!"

    Richie gave into the satisfaction and gave Henry the double bird, before disappearing in the ferns after his friends.

×××

@seasidecrowbar​​ @bevxmarsh​​ @supernovavisionary​​ @readyforitbitch​​ @geniedocroe​​  @sivords​​​  @ravenclawsprincess​​ @pigwidgexn​​​ @kricketwritesstories​​​  @beep-beep-tozier​ @plum-duels​​​ @edmunds-torch​​​ @eddiegaykaspbrak​​​ @rosi3e​​​ @welcome-to-derry​​​ @beepbeep-pennywise​​​ @candycorntroll​ @bibliophilesquared​​​ @ongaku-ato-kakikomi​​​ @cocastyle​​​ @peachysinnermon​​​ @mochibarnes​​​ @captainshazamerica​​​ @kaitlynjones12​​​ @songbird-writes​​​ @traceylader​​​ @eggytozier​​​  @annimalq​​​ @lexylovesfandoms​​​ @russian-romanova​​​ @paigey-mcfreedomly​​​  @whitetrash12345  @witch-of-all-things-soft​ @thatsjoemazzellosbbg​​​ @blogforhoes​​​

[equalstrashflavoredtrash]

To Eavesdrop

Let’s be Danes ⚔

a/n: Here we are! So this is for @geekandbooknerd who requested cliche tropes and fluff with Finan so we’ve got some love at first sight for you. I hope you enjoy

word count: 1405

warnings: Nothing major beyond some making out and teasing

They had been there a few weeks, nearly a full turn of the moon. You worked at your family's tavern and inn, so you were quite used to strangers coming and going, usually only passing through to sell or trade in the market. These men had been spending their days drinking in the tavern and talking to locals.

“Stay away from that lot,” your sister ordered the night they arrived.

“Are they Danes?” You asked trying to get a better look from across the room and noticing the leader’s long hair. 

“They say they’re King Alfred’s men but I still don’t want you serving them,” she mumbled, crossing herself before ushering you towards the back room to work on cooking the meal for dinner. That’s when he first caught your eye, just as you crossed the threshold into the kitchen. 

His hair was cropped close to his scalp on the sides, with a full and bushy beard. He wore leather armor but at the moment it was loose and undone. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from his brown ones as he lifted his mug to take a drink. Even from so far away, you felt something. Something that was pulling at you.

Over the next few days you’d watch them from afar, gleaning anything could learn about him from eavesdropping and observation, but that wasn’t enough.

You followed your sister’s orders most of the time, keeping your distance and letting her deal with them, but when the tavern was busy you figured she wouldn’t notice. 

Keeping your eyes low, you placed the new, full flagons of ale on the center of the table, reaching to retrieve the empty ones before them. You were straightening up when a calloused hand wrapped around your wrist.

“What’s your name, then?” You eyes locked with his for a second time and your mind went blank.

“Wh-what?” you replied, forgetting everything around you as you watched the way his mouth curved into a smile under his beard. 

“Your name, love,” he seemed quite entertained at your response—or lack thereof.

“Let the girl go, Finan,” the man next to him said in a bored tone, giving his shoulder a light smack. “The place is busy, can’t you see she has better things to do?” 

The Dane was not wrong, there were many other things that you should be doing, but all you wanted was to run your hands through his beard. 

Your concentration was broken by the sound of your sister calling your name. Finan noticed the change and let go of your wrist, watching as you spun on your heel and hurried off. 

Uthred waited till you were out of earshot before leaning in to Finan’s shoulder, “If you get us kicked out of this tavern, you’ll have hell to pay. I rather enjoy having a warm bed to sleep in.” 

Your sister had spotted you talking to them. Although you tried to explain that you had barely said anything, and you were just filling their drinks while she was busy, she was having none of it. So your punishment was to spend the evening in the dank cellar organizing the empty casks to be picked up in the morning.

With a groan you dropped the heavy barrel by the door before looking back and realizing you still had half left to move. That’s when you heard movement behind you. Whipping around you looked to the entrance, squinting in the candle light to see who was there.

It was him, the Irishman, Finan. You backed away a half step in surprise, watching the way he raised his hands, open palmed to show he wasn’t carrying a weapon. 

“I—uh—came to apologize,” he began, cautiously stepping towards you, watching for how you’d respond.

“For what?” You asked hesitantly, fiddling with the cross that hung from your neck out of nervous habit.

“I didn't mean to scare you back there.” Finan gestured over his shoulder with his thumb before lowering his hands.

“I wasn’t scared, just nervous,” you mumbled in response, leaning against the edge of the cask behind you as you eyed his relaxed composure.

“Nervous?” he challenged, eyebrows jumping up.

“My sister told me to stay away from the lot of you, that you weren’t to be trusted.”

Finan smirked as you said that, something lighting up behind his eyes as he chuckled. 

“So yer sis’ told you to stay away and you decided to instead follow us around, listening to all of our conversations?” He took another step closer, enjoying the sight of your eyes widening with realization. “Yer not as sneaky as you think you are, girl.”

You tried to stutter out an apology and excuse at the same time but all that came out was gibberish. Finan seemed to be enjoying your distressed at he laughed still inching nearer one half step at a time. 

“My lord upstairs,” he jerked his head back in the direction of the tavern, “He thought you might be a spy, working for that decorated pigeon you Mercians have for a king, Athelred.”

Biting your lip you looked down at his chest, taking in just how close he was now, leaving you no place to escape. “I promise I am not a spy.” Gnawing at your lip, “I have never met anyone royal let alone the King.”

“So why were yeh watching us?” he asked, his voice low and gravely, no longer trying to speak form across the room.

“I wanted to know more about you.”

“Yer not a spy but you wanted to know more about us?”

“No—,” you hesitated, swallowing your pride as you realized that you would have to actually admit this, “Just more about you.”

Finan was silent for a moment, saying nothing in response to your confession. You in turn, studied the gold latch on his chest, memorizing the curves of the insignia up close instead of looking at his expression. 

Eventually he sighed, realizing you were frozen in embarrassment. He drew his hand to your face, running his palm along your jawline to tip your head up towards his. Finan wasn’t much taller than you, but still enough he had to bow slightly to bring his lips to meet yours. 

His lips were soft and warm—a stark contrast from the scratch of his beard—and you couldn’t get enough. Leaning into him, you abated as his tongue swiped at your bottom lip. The way his arm wrapped around your middle was strong and comforting, urging you to let go and melt into him as he backed your further against the barrels. Shifting slightly you moved to sit on top of the wood, widening your legs so he could find a place between your thighs as your tongues continued to dance together.

Just as you were sliding your hands up the side of his neck to weave your fingers in his hair, someone cleared their throat by the stairs. This stole Finan’s attention from you, and you couldn’t help but pout as he parted, pulling away to check over his shoulder.

It was his Lord, Uthred standing by the entrance now, giving Finan an exasperated look as he rolled his eyes. “I'm glad to see you still have your trousers on,” he stated pointedly, causing you to blush as you realized just how close Finan was pressed up against you, making no effort to move away despite the company. 

“We have to go,” Uthred continued in a serious tone when Finan remained still. “The scout is back and the time to move is now.” 

Finan groaned in response, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. You could feel the reason he had not turned to face his lord press against your inner thigh as he grumbled out his acceptance. “Ok just—just give me a minute. I’ll meet you in the stables.”

“Alright, meet you there,” Uthred agreed.

“Wait—,” you called catching his attention before he turned to leave. “My sister—uhm, did she—did she see you come down here?” Your question was timid but Uthred understood.

“No, she’s busy with two drunks fighting out front, she has no idea.” With that he turned and left up the stairs.

Once his footsteps had trailed off, Finan drew his hand up to the back of your scalp, tilting your head so he could capture your lips with his once again. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised before pulling away to follow his lord.

[bluesfortheredj]

The Sweet Escape Chapter 6.

Thurs 22nd June

Your legs move first as you begin to stir from your slumber, sliding back and expecting to drop off the side of the single bed but instead they bump into something that prevents them from moving any further, and your eyes fly open to see the unfamiliar wallpaper of a different room. You inhale and hold your breath as you turn onto your back, spotting the outline of Gwilym under the covers next to you, and you quickly lift the duvet to see that you were still in your top with a pair of his shorts covering your lower half.

Your brain catches up to the current events and you remember how you agreed to go back to his room for a much needed cup of tea, then drifting off on the bed as you both watched telly; eventually ending with him throwing you some shorts so you didn’t have to move from your very comfortable spot on the bed. Taking a deep breath you turn your head to the side to see Gwil’s peaceful face as he stayed asleep next to you, and even though there was no denying how much you liked him there was still that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that reminded you this wasn’t the ideal situation it should have been.

Quietly slipping your legs out of bed, you move the duvet carefully and try not to make any sudden movements to wake him up but as soon as you reach your bag and jeans on the chair in the corner you hear him groan as he comes around, and you quickly gather your belongings in your arms and head for the door, unlocking it and letting yourself out within a few seconds. You fumble around in your bag as you stand outside your own door looking for the key, and Gwilym rushes out of his room as he drags his hand down over his face.

“You didn’t have to go,” he says, standing there in only his pyjama shorts.

“I’ve got to shower and get changed before breakfast!”

“There’s plenty of time for that, come back to bed.”

“Gwilym, just get back in your room, what if Danielle walks in and sees you like that?!” you half laugh, your eyes lingering on his broad torso and the generous scattering of dark hair that covered the top of it.

“I don’t care! I want everyone to know that I think you should come back to my bed!” he grins, his voice a little louder than you’d like it to be.

“Shh! Keep your voice down!”

“There’s no one else in this half of the guest house apart from us! Now please come back to bed.”

“I won’t deny that it’s a very tempting offer, but I really have got to shower,” you say apologetically as you finally find the key and lift it from your bag, “I’ll see you at breakfast anyway.”

He pouts at you as your open your door and you have to disappear inside sharpish before you end up running your hands across his warm and inviting body, because it would only end with your lips on his chest and nothing good would come of that. Well, it would, but he was engaged to someone else less than 48 hours ago, so it would be mad. It was nice having someone to sleep next to though, you can’t deny that, and it was even nicer that it was him. Your mind wanders while you’re in the shower, thinking about how he planned to make everything up to you, and you can’t help but hold out some hope that he’d take you back to the beach house so that you could spend some time alone together, then he could get on his knees, spread yours apart, and truly apologise…

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) are you ready?” you hear him call out as the sound of your door opening makes you jump.

“I’m in the bathroom!” you call back, splashing your face with some water to get the image of his head between your thighs out of your mind.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” he asks through the door.

“Of course not,” you reply, looking over to see you’d thankfully piled everything you were going to wear on top of the closed loo seat; you really should lock the room door behind you next time.

It’s a few minutes before you emerge from the steamy bathroom with a maxi length strappy dress on and your hair twirled up into a towel on top of your head, and Gwil is sitting on the chair in your room looking up at the telly on the wall while he waits.

“So I was thinking…” he begins, his eyes travelling up and down your body as you pass him his shorts, “thank you… erm, yeah so how do you feel about going to the house again?”

Your lower half twitches at the thought and you give him a smile and a nod in response as you curse inwardly at yourself for the inappropriate images that were racing through your mind, but when you look at him you can see you’re not the only one; maybe he thinks that getting on his knees is the best way to say sorry as well?

“Sounds good,” you exhale, “we can talk properly, and…” you trail off, completely unable to finish your sentence without insinuating something you really shouldn’t.

“...and I can start to make it up to you. Properly. No interruptions,” he finishes, definitely implying something he really shouldn’t.

You go to breakfast together, Danielle keeping a beady eye on the two of you as Gwil sits himself down at your table again, moving his cutlery over while you give Danielle a smile, but she’s wary of the situation and you spend a few minutes after breakfast has finished to explain that he still has a job on his hands to convince you he’s sorry.

“Make him beg,” she grins.

“Oh, I will,” you wink.

There’s an electricity in the air throughout the drive and he’s continually suggestive throughout the whole journey, his hand wandering over to your thigh when it should have been on the gear stick instead, and by the time you arrive at the house you’re both practically panting with the anticipation of what’s to come. As soon as you both cross that threshold into the house it dissipates into the atmosphere and you both calm down as the stark memories of your birthday take over, and how that day ended so badly for both of you.

“So tell me,” you begin, linking your arm through his as he walks to the sliding doors to let some air in, “what was the trigger for you proposing to the wrong person? I’m not trying to make a dig at you, I just genuinely would like to know.”

“It was… all different things that added up to the second biggest mistake of my life.”

“What’s the first?”

“Betraying your trust.”

“Ah,” you say with raised eyebrows as you both turn back to the sofa.

“So, first off her sister got pregnant, then it was baby this and baby that which was fine at first but started to grate when I couldn’t see myself having children with her. Then my best mate got married, I was best man and people wouldn’t stop going on about how it would be me next, and I think the final straw was when my younger brother moved out of our parent’s house to move in with his partner. It just seemed like everyone around us was taking the next step, and I was scared that if I didn’t then I never would,” he explains as you watch him intently as he speaks.

“You settled for something that wasn’t meant for you in a panic,” you nod, “I understand, it makes sense. To be honest I saw warning signs from Russell but chose to ignore them because I thought that it was too late to move on, that I wouldn’t find anyone else. So you went into the engagement thinking that this would be it for you?”

“Pretty much, and I know that was wrong of me, I just didn’t think how it would affect her because I thought I was giving her what she wanted. She knew though, she could tell I didn’t want it. What were the warning signs you saw with Russell?” he questions, turning his body to face you and lifting one bent leg up onto the sofa.

“Ah, just little things,” you sigh, looking down and fiddling with the fabric of your dress as you recall those moments, “I’d walk into a room he was in and he’d be really engrossed in his phone, then when I’d speak he’d jump and get angry as if I’d sneaked up on him on purpose, trying to shift blame onto me sort of thing. Then he said he’d joined the gym so would go there about three or four times a week after work, and when I suggested I go with him he tried to make me feel like I was being paranoid saying things like ‘don’t you trust me?’ ‘are you trying to check up on me?’ when I hadn’t even mentioned anything of the sort. It was… horrible.”

“Oh my god, (Y/N), how long did that go on for?” Gwil gasps as he cups his hands around your restless fingers and caresses them gently.

“Best part of a year I’d say… It only got worse, forever trying to accuse me of spying or being clingy when I hadn’t even questioned him about his behaviour once. But then I guess that’s what you’ll put up with when you think that’s you’re only choice, right?”

“No one should have to put up with that, especially you of all people. You deserve someone who’ll show you just how amazing you are every single day of your life… Someone tall, dark, handsome, maybe his parents own a really nice house on the beach, you know, someone like that, huh?” he grins, lifting your hands to his mouth and kissing your knuckles.

“But what if he decides I’m not for him?” you ask, slipping your hands from his.

“I… What? Why would that ever happen?”

“Why did it happen the first time?”

“That’s completely… That’s nothing to do with this! I wouldn’t… I could never feel like that about you because when you know, you know. And I know that it’s you,” he says earnestly, “when I say I’ve never felt like this about anyone before, I mean it. This isn’t some spiel that I’m reciting because I want to have sex with you, not yet anyway, this is because I desperately need you to know I’m serious about this and whatever there is between us, because you can’t tell me there’s nothing, needs to explored properly. Beyond this holiday.”

“Beyond this holiday?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Way beyond,” he nods.

“Bit disappointed about the sex comment though,” you wink, and suddenly the heavy mood that had filled the space around you both now instantly lightens as he lets out a much needed laugh.

“Good things come to those who wait,” he smirks.

“It’d better be mind blowing then.”

“I won’t disappoint,” he winks.

“Good to hear, now what are we doing for lunch because I’m starving,” you chuckle.

“Do you believe me though?” he asks.

“I do,” you smile, leaning over to him and placing a hand gently on his cheek as you leave a soft kiss on his lips.

“Good,” he exhales as you pull away, “now what do you fancy for lunch?”

“Hmm, I’m easy, what do you want?” you ask, leaning back on the sofa as he stands up and looks down at you with yearning eyes.

“I… Jesus, I can’t answer that right now. I’m going to google the nearest takeaways,” he huffs, tearing his gaze away from you and fishing out his phone from his pocket as you laugh at his comment.

You sit together again at dinner when you finally get back to the guest house a little later than you should have and Danielle notices that the smile on your face doesn’t even fade when you’re eating, making sure to comment on the fact that you both look much happier than you did the previous day, and when you both make your way back to the annex there’s only one question Gwilym wants to ask.

“Will you stay with me again?”

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @tenement-funstah @rogmeddows @drivenbybri @mazzellosjoe @muralskins

[liketolaugh-writes]

Threadbare and Torn

Author: liketolaugh Summary: Hank becomes a Jericho spy in the DPD ranks. Connor becomes his liaison. They... well, they don't exactly get along.

Hank wasn’t a reflective kinda guy. At least, not when he could help it. These days, that shit didn’t invite much of anything but pain, regret, frustration- no, it was easier to just go with his gut.

And Jeffrey. God, when was the last time he’d done a favor for Jeffrey? When was the last time Jeffrey had asked?

Hank squinted against the sun, a faint headache throbbing at his temples. Nothing like as bad as usual- he wanted his wits about him for this. His gaze swept cautiously over the café’s outdoor tables until a man in a beanie glanced up disinterestedly from his menu, brown eyes lingering on the breast of Hank’s jacket.

Jeffrey had given him the jacket – apparently it had a symbol sewn into it, nearly invisible to the human eye, but obvious to any android who knew to look for it. Hank didn’t pretend to understand how it worked, but apparently it did, because the next moment, the man signaled him, two fingers waving what Hank was certain was a perfect triangle.

Hank trudged over to him and plopped down in the seat across from the android, giving him an appraising look of his own. Stiff, straight posture, a beanie covering his LED, stained and nondescript clothing, no trace of expression on his face. No model Hank recognized, not that that meant much.

“How’s your father doing?” Hank said at last, not letting himself snort at the mandatory code. Eyes and ears everywhere, and all, with the FBI on the Jericho case. Still, he felt like he was in a spy movie. A corny one.

The android tilted his head slightly; Hank could almost feel himself being scanned. He clenched his jaw, meeting the android’s eyes just short of a glare, daring him to comment on Hank’s disheveled state.

“…Still living the life with his mistress,” the android said instead, so soft that Hank almost couldn’t hear him. His tone was perfectly even and measured, and subtly deferential. Hank hated it.

“Food here any good?” he jabbed lightly, glancing inside. The café didn’t have a ‘no androids’ sign, which was telling; they’d become more and more popular as tensions rose.

The android just shrugged, disinterested. “Want any?” he asked quietly, setting the menu down.

Hank considered saying yes, just to be an ass. Then he scoffed at himself and shook his head. “Too rabbit food for me. In the mood for something else? This was just a meet-up point.”

The android nodded shortly, hands dropping to his lap. “Let’s go.”

Hank’s first impression was that he was mechanical, contrasting harshly with the crying and terrified deviants Hank had seen too many times in his precinct’s cells. It grated on him, but, uncharacteristically, he bit his tongue. This wasn’t about the robot in front of him. It was about Jericho.

Sighing, Hank pushed himself up and jerked his head, indicating for the android to accompany him, before leading the way to his car. A few conspicuous seconds passed before Hank heard the scrape of the chair, and the android fell in half a step behind him. A glance back told Hank that he was scanning the crowd, pretty thoroughly disinterested in interacting with Hank.

But maybe it was just the location. Hank didn’t like letting people into his space, especially not someone who so immediately set his teeth on edge, but it was better than staying out in the open.

“Name’s Hank Anderson,” Hank grunted as soon as they were both in the car. He watched the android fiddle with the seatbelt for a moment before prompting, unable to keep an edge of irritation out of his voice, “And you? I sure hope you’re the Jericho contact or this is gonna get real awkward.”

The android nodded stiffly, leaving the seatbelt alone to look ahead, still straight-backed and perfect. “I’m Connor.”

That was apparently all he had to say about that. Hank exhaled and started the car, hit the radio, and got going, ignoring the way Connor glanced down at it with a reserved frown. If he couldn’t speak up, he didn’t get an opinion.

Hank’s first impression of the guy didn’t improve any on the way to his house. Connor stared straight ahead out the window, occasionally following something to the side, and made no attempt at conversation. His back stayed stiff, his posture perfect, and his hands folded neatly in his lap.

The pattern continued as they reached Hank’s house. Hank got out, and a few seconds passed before Connor followed. When he did, it was careful and deliberate, without any flourish and making as little noise as possible. Even shutting the door was a nearly silent process, and then he followed half a step behind Hank up the path to his house. Hank wanted to hit him just to see if he’d react.

Sumo greeted Hank at the door with a low boof and a snuffle, and Hank gave him a rough pat and an absentminded, “Good boy.”

Sumo boofed again, and then circled around to sniff at Connor, lazily curious.

Connor stiffened, eyes tracking Sumo with clear apprehension, and edged back as the dog came close. After a moment, he looked away and skirted around the dog without directly acknowledging him. Stepped around the pizza boxes on the ground and didn’t even disturb the dog food Hank had spilled last night that Sumo hadn’t eaten yet. Didn’t even touch the wall.

Instead, he just paused on the threshold of the living room and kitchen, clearly waiting for instructions. Looked like a mannequin.

Sumo huffed, unbothered, and loped off to flop onto his bed, but Hank scowled and slammed the door shut. Connor’s expression barely twitched. Hank leaned against the door, crossed his arms, and surveyed him.

“Thirium? Cards?” he asked, more a challenge than a real offer at this point. God, it was gonna be a long couple months. Just looking at Connor made him itch. “I can put the TV on in the background.”

Connor glanced at him, flat and disinterested. “…No, thank you.”

Shocker.

Hank grunted and kicked out one of the chairs at the kitchen table, throwing himself down with a scowl. Connor took that as a signal and sat down across from him, no noise, stiffly polite. Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew a holographic projector, setting it between them. With the press of a button, a map of Detroit sprang up between them.

“Straight to business, huh?” Hank said sardonically, something sick and bitter twisting in his stomach, and Connor nodded.

Hank would grant the kid one thing, he had some good ideas in his head. They had the start of a game plan sketched out after the better part of an hour, districts to target, shelters to capture, infrastructure to prioritize. Maximum effectiveness, minimum collateral.

Except the police. No mercy for them.

The only exception was Hank’s precinct, since Jeffrey had already secured an agreement with Jericho; his officers turned a blind eye to anything androids did, and Jericho steered around them. Fair enough, and good thinking on Jeffrey’s part. Small comfort all the same.

And a good mind Connor might have, but he was fucking exhausting to talk to. He seemed to speak as little as possible. He missed half of Hank’s expressions. Refused to directly contradict Hank even when he clearly disagreed.

Hank was sick of this already.

“What’s your plan if the military gets involved?” he asked, struggling to keep his mind in the game and off Connor’s painfully flat affect, so like the machine surgeon that-

“They shouldn’t,” Connor said shortly. After several minutes, he seemed to realize how painfully inadequate that was and continued, “They’re busy, or we would be dead already. The police and FBI have fewer resources. Should that change, we will certainly lose.”

Connor’s tone remained quiet and indifferent through his entire speech. He didn’t even take his eyes off the city plan, and his mouth was a flat, downturned line. Hank compared him again to the crying girl he’d seen self-destruct in one of the jail cells last year, and felt his rage grow.

“Doesn’t that bother you?” he snapped, voice rising a little.

Connor had the nerve to shrug. Hank felt sick.

He got up to turn music on in the background, and pretended not to hear when Connor asked him to turn it back off.

---

A week and a half later, Hank was faced with the grim consequences of his actions as his police radio burst with panicked chatter. He listened to them relay information back and forth, asking for backup, trying to outmaneuver their opponents, as if Jericho didn’t have easy access to even the police-only channels. He didn’t move from where his car was parked on a random streetside, far away from the chaos.

Neither, he knew, did anyone else from their precinct.

Over the course of six hours, the skirmish between Jericho and the local police force went from a standoff, to a shootout, and then an invasion, and finally a surrender. With that, the precinct the main Jericho base occupied was deviant territory.

Casualties on each side were pretty brutal. Hank wouldn’t know the exact Jericho numbers until Connor told him, but the police force took thirty-seven deaths and close to fifty injured.

All Hank’s fault, obviously, though from his grim look, Jeffrey was feeling it too. Still, he remembered the Tracis, terrified and angry and in love, the ones he’d let go before he’d ever gotten properly involved with this shit.

(Cole had loved androids. This was the first time in years that he’d done something he felt Cole would’ve been proud of him for. He couldn’t give up that easy.)

So he pushed on.

He and Connor had arranged to meet up a few days after the fight, and Connor, of course, arrived precisely on time, back straight, expression disaffected, and knocked on the door until Hank answered.

He offered Hank a cursory greeting, sat in the exact same place as last time, and gave Sumo an unreadable look when he boofed. Hank scowled, his foul temper heavy in his gut, and kicked the door shut. When he turned around, Connor was placing the projector dead center on the table and tapping it to activate.

“Thought we could play a round of cards or some shit before we got into it,” Hank said, not bothering to hide his irritation. Not because he wanted to spend any extra time with this programmed asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to pretend he was eager to turn on his former fellows, and he hated Connor’s apathetic demeanor.

Case in point: Connor blinked at him, unamused and uninterested. The same beanie covered his head, the same sweater, same pants. “Why?”

Hank hated him.

He sat down, scowling at the hologram, which blinked at him mockingly. “Whatever. What’re we working with?”

Connor didn’t question it, lunching straight into the casualty numbers for Jericho and highlighting the weaknesses in the attack. He didn’t seem to care about the significance of any of what he was saying – like it was just a training exercise, like none of them were people to him.

In turn, Hank grudgingly relayed his end of things: police response details, the FBI’s conspicuous silence, announcements and reallocations from the interceding days. None of it reflected the stifled quiet of the station these days, the heavy tension, the silent resignations handed in by a few of the officers with each their own reasons – Miller, Reed, Wilson.

Connor listened silently and seamlessly incorporated the information into the next, revised plan, plotting out the steady destruction of the next precinct in line.

Finally, Hank couldn’t take it anymore. He slammed his hands on the table and leaned close, taking a sour pleasure out of seeing Connor go dead still. Sumo whined, and Hank felt only a hint of regret, quickly swallowed up, eyes on Connor.

“I knew those people,” Hank said lowly, not bothering to suppress the venom. “I fucking worked with them. Now, I knew what I was signing up for, but fuck, the least you can do is pretend you give a shit in front of me.”

His voice rose until he was almost, but not quite shouting, hot with rage. Connor didn’t look at him, but Hank could see the tension almost vibrating through his frame, a tightness around his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said after a while, just on the edge of audible, stiff and insincere.

Hank scoffed. “You have to mean it for it to matter,” he sneered, bitterness and guilt and a visceral sort of revulsion churning up inside him.

Deviants were one thing, but god, he couldn’t stand machines.

Connor didn’t even try to look him in the face, rubbing his arm in mild discomfort. “I do.”

Hank took a breath, furious and conflicted and sick with it all.

“Get out,” he forced out, and Connor only hesitated for half a second before obeying, tucking the projector back into his pocket and leaving without another word. It didn’t make Hank any happier.

He wanted a drink.

---

Three months and several meetings later, Hank was at his wit’s end.

Jericho had taken half the city, and public opinion was radically polarized between those in support and those terrified and furious, those calling and protesting for a treaty and those breaking into Cyberlife stores just to tear shit up. Police morale was rock bottom, and the national government hadn’t lifted a finger to help; not that that was a bad thing, considering, but it was a pill to swallow.

And that was just in Detroit.

His mood was even worse than usual today, because Connor apparently couldn’t be assed to give the meeting a fraction of his valuable attention. His gaze wandered the room; his face had no expression at all, and he leaned back in his chair in the closest to a lazy posture Hank had seen from him. He hadn’t even acknowledged Sumo when the dog wandered up to nudge at him, snuffling.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, and spoke even less than usual, instead humming along as Hank fucking carried the conversation. Like he had no stake in it. Like it didn’t even matter to him.

It pissed Hank the hell off. What was Connor here for, if he couldn’t be bothered to care? What was Hank doing here?

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hank barked eventually, when Connor shrugged instead of telling Hank goddamn anything useful about Jericho’s supplies situation. Connor didn’t answer, looking somewhere in the direction of the bathroom door, and Hank’s voice rose. “Connor. Connor!” Connor’s gaze drifted to him, the android’s head cocking slightly, nose crinkling like it was more trouble than it was worth. Hank fumed. “What the hell is with you today?”

Connor blinked at him. Same beanie, same sweater, fingers playing with his sleeve. His gaze dropped to the projector.

“…I killed someone last time,” he said at last, almost too soft to hear.

Hank snapped.

“What does it fucking matter anyway?” he spat, thinking of voices that dropped off the radio and Jeffrey’s tired resignation and the bags deepening under Ben’s eyes. “It’s one of fucking hundreds anyway, isn’t it? But you don’t fucking care about that, you just- fucking sit there and figure out how to do it more efficiently like some kind of machine, and it’s fucking disgusting-!”

Hank was on his feet and shouting, and he didn’t even care; he was so furious his blood was roaring in his ears and he was almost shaking, staring at Connor’s stupid frozen tin-can face because machines never cared who lived or died-

And then Connor was on his feet too.

“Sh-shut up!” Connor snarled at him, and for the first time his voice was at a level Hank didn’t strain to hear, and he was scowling right back at Hank. “Y-you don’t under, understand anything! Y-y-you’ve never even tr-tried!”

Hank’s voice caught in his throat, whatever words he was planning on saying next drying up as his mind twisted up in confusion.

Since when did Connor stutter?

Connor ducked back, took a step back and a step forward, yanked on his shirt and shook out his hands and then yanked again, breathing quickly.

“I, I had to kill N-Nines again,” he continued, “b-because he won’t ask, ask me not to, I ask him to say it and he, he won’t, he does-doesn’t know how, and it’s m-m-my fault, I ran away and l-left him and now-now-now he’s the dev-deviant hunter and and…”

Connor shuddered and yanked on his shirt again. His head twitched to one side, and he took a deep, heaving breath, and he abruptly looked exactly like the deviants who melted down in the DPD interrogation rooms.

Hank couldn’t breathe. He felt like the floor had been yanked out from under him.

“And y-you have no i-idea what it’s like to be, to be a machine,” Connor continued relentlessly. Stepped back, stepped back, stepped forward, yanked. “To, to be nothing, and, and n-no one, you have- no f-fucking idea.” He took another quick, harsh breath, and without looking up, snapped, “Stop l-looking at me li-li-like th-that!”

Connor was breathing dangerously hard now, and maybe it was his imagination, but Hank thought he could see the red glare of his LED through the cotton beanie.

Hank’s mouth opened and closed, thrown so far off he wasn’t even sure he was on the same planet anymore. When he didn’t respond after a minute, Connor looked up, brown eyes dull and wild. A second later, he seemed to process what he’d just done, clapped a hand over his mouth, and stared at Hank.

Then he bolted, clumsy and frantic, and Hank made no move to stop him.

Fuck.

---

­The only surprise when he was contacted a few days later was that it was Markus himself who met with him, expression lined with stress and exhaustion; that, and that he was not nearly as confrontational as Hank would’ve assumed, under the circumstances.

He waited patiently for Hank to open the door, showed himself inside, glanced at Sumo with a flicker of a smile and sat himself on the couch. Then he looked at Hank, as bold and expectant as if this was his own home.

Hank sat down, feeling as sullen and defensive as a grumpy child.

“What happened?” Markus asked immediately, intense dual-toned eyes on Hank.

Hank scowled and crossed his arms uncomfortably. “It was just a damn argument,” he muttered. “Happens all the time. Don’t worry, I’m not some bitch-ass hypocrite who’d quit over this.”

Markus raised his eyebrows, looking unimpressed and almost amused by the attempt at deflection. “Please understand, Lieutenant, that when Connor returned yesterday he was on the verge of a meltdown. I’m not letting him back here until I feel the issue’s been resolved. So please: tell me what happened.”

Hank felt a stab of guilt and glanced away uncomfortably, watching Sumo pant on his bed. “Why don’t you ask him?” he grouched.

“I have,” Markus said patiently, “and I’ve already taken steps to resolve things on his end. I’d like your side of the story.” He paused, took a breath, and continued, a little kinder, “I’m not your enemy, Lieutenant. I assume you had your reasons for blowing up the way you did.”

Some of the tension eased out of Hank’s shoulders. “Why does Connor act so mechanical?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Everyone responds differently to deviancy,” Markus said, tone noticeably cooler but somehow still not angry. “Connor’s taken it particularly hard and is finding adjustment difficult. Can you explain what you mean?”

“He’s…” Hank groaned and reached up to rub his hand over his face, frustrated. “Blank. Won’t take his mind off the job for half a second, acts like nothing bothers him, can’t express an opinion to save his life. Gets on my nerves.”

It’s not natural, he wanted to say, but even he knew that would be a step too far.

“I see,” Markus sighed, and he actually leaned against the back of the couch a little, considering Hank tiredly. “Yes, that would explain a few things. He’s mentioned that he can’t seem to figure out what you expect from him.” Pause, while Hank tried to figure that out, and then Markus continued, “Connor spent the majority of his machine period in relative isolation. He has some social difficulties as a result. But he responds well to direct communication.”

Irritably, Hank amended his earlier thought. It wasn’t natural – except in survivors of extended neglect and abuse.

Fucking obviously. What was his police training good for if he couldn’t even identify the signs of long-term abuse when the dominos lined themselves the fuck up for him? Had he really let himself go that much?

“Why send him, then?” he asked, dropping his hand to curl it into a fist, leaning back against the couch, absently wishing he’d keep sinking until he sank right into the ground. Extenuating circumstances or no, Connor’s callousness was enough to make his teeth grind.

When he finally glanced over, Markus was frowning at him thoughtfully.

“As the former deviant hunter,” the android said carefully, studying him as he spoke, “Connor’s strategic programs are high and above anything the rest of us have. Sending someone else would be rather like having a talented amateur play a competitive chess game when you have a professional chessmaster available. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

That made sense – too much sense, damn it.

“Connor mentioned something about a deviant hunter too,” Hank muttered, still avoiding the core issue as he felt more and more stupid and selfish. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Markus looked first surprised, then frustrated, then gloomily resigned, shoulders slumping. He rubbed his knee, sighing.

“Of course,” he murmured. “I forgot that the matter didn’t receive much human publicity.” He cleared his throat and resettled himself, wincing as his legs shifted, and met Hank’s eyes gravely. “Cyberlife has been keeping a prototype whose sole purpose is to hunt down and kill deviant androids and put a permanent end to Jericho. For about a year and a half, that was Connor. These days, it’s an RK900, Conan. Connor calls him Nines.”

Shit. Shit. Motherfucker, every time he thought Cyberlife couldn’t get any worse- thought humans couldn’t get any worse-

Hank could see it all too clearly, too, in Connor’s numb apathy, and the cold efficiency of his ideas, and his obvious experience. For about half a second he considered holding it against him, and then he remembered his breakdown the other day.

You have no idea what it’s like to be a machine, Connor had said, stuttering and shattered and viciously angry. No, he couldn’t in good conscience blame Connor.

So instead Hank just felt frustrated and overwhelmed, every inch the stupid, bitter old man he knew Cole would have been crushed to see his father become. He needed a drink. He missed him.

“What happened?” Markus repeated.

Hank exhaled harshly, reached up to cover his eyes with his wrist, and finally, grudgingly, explained, “He just- it’s fucking stupid, okay? He was having an off-day or something, and I got pissed because he wasn’t even paying attention, and I lashed out.” He huffed again. “It’s just- this shit ain’t easy for me either. I knew it was coming, and all, and most of ‘em were bastards from the start, but I don’t have to enjoy having a hand in all… this. And he don’t make it any easier.”

Markus looked unexpectedly sympathetic, if still distinctly uncompromising.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, “but I recommend you do the same if you want to get any actual communication going. You still have a few more months of working together. It would be best if you could find a way to at least tolerate each other.” Then, unexpectedly, he gave Hank a stern look. “Don’t call him a machine again. I broke his programming myself, but only after he asked me to. He’s earned his personhood the same as the rest of us.”

Wearily, Hank gave in.

“Yeah,” he agreed resignedly. “Yeah, alright.”

---

Hank meant it, when he promised to give Connor another chance. He did.

But his mood darkened steadily as the next meeting time approached, a heavy sort of exhaustion falling over Hank’s shoulders. By the time the actual date rolled around, he was halfway through a bottle and had long since forgotten. Within a couple hours, he’d downed the whole thing, played a few rounds of Russian Roulette, and then passed out cold on the ground, dizzy and nauseous.

He woke up to fingers tapping gingerly at his numb face, groaned, opened his eyes to squint at Connor frowning at him, and groaned again.

“Not now,” he muttered petulantly, rolling over and away. “Not fucking now.”

Connor sighed down at him.

“I d-don’t know what I-I-I ex-expected,” he murmured, and then leaned down and hauled Hank up effortlessly, ducking under his arm to support him.

Hank groaned as the sudden motion turned his stomach and swatted weakly at Connor a couple times. “Get off me. Get the fuck off me!”

Connor ignored him. Fucker.

The android didn’t seem to have any trouble dragging him through the house, and Sumo was fast asleep like the little traitor he was, so Hank just closed his eyes and grumbled wordlessly, his brain too soaked in liquor to put up a real fight. Didn’t matter anyway, one way or another, the way the world was going.

He was dumped unceremoniously onto his bed, and Hank squinted up at Connor blearily. He was staring down at Hank with his brow pinched, head cocked.

“Confusion, vomiting, seizures, slow or irregular breathing, hypothermia…” Connor muttered, and then sighed.

And then, bafflingly, he grabbed Hank’s trash can and moved it closer to his bed. Hank blinked at it dumbly while Connor left, wondering what the fuck that was all about.

He was too drunk for this, he decided, and passed out again just as Connor returned with a glass of water.

Hank woke up again an indeterminate amount of time later, fell off the bed, vomited, and went back to sleep.

When he woke up in the morning, head pounding and mouth dry, he was back in bed, and he couldn’t smell any puke. He groaned, feeling his stomach rebel, and then spotted the glass of water, which was reason enough to push himself laboriously upright. He grabbed it and gulped it down without hesitation, and then stumbled out of his room in search of painkillers.

Another day in the life of Hank fucking Anderson, he thought sourly, and then he reached the living room and stopped.

Connor was curled up on the couch, just squirming to stare sleepily at Hank. His beanie was discarded somewhere behind him, and his LED was a steady blue at his temple, flicking to a spinning yellow as Hank watched.

Connor had stayed. Connor was scanning him. Connor frowned at him, pushed himself to his feet, and said, avoiding his gaze, “Y-y-you need f-food. S-s-sit down, I’ll m-make you some, something.”

Too befuddled and hungover to think of a response, Hank sat down at the table. Connor disappeared into the kitchen for several minutes, and Hank put his head down on the cool wood.

What the fuck.

Connor returned with a plate of four pieces of toast, perfectly browned, and set it in front of Hank. Then he retreated, seating himself on the floor by Sumo’s bed, staring at the sleeping dog.

At a loss, Hank ate, slowly and numbly, staring at Connor like he was seeing him for the first time. His sweater was patched and heavily stained and too big for him. His pants weren’t a lot better off. Both items looked soft and well-worn. He had what looked like an old Bluetooth headset on each ear, which was new. And as Hank watched, Connor hesitantly reached out a hand and pet Sumo gingerly. Within seconds, his whole body softened.

He looked. He looked like a person.

Hank reached down, and then realized with a start that he’d actually eaten all four pieces of bland-ass toast, and his stomach had actually settled a little. He stared blankly down for a few seconds, and then got up and stumbled into the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, and swallowed a couple painkillers dry. Connor didn’t say a word the whole time.

Hank swiped his fresh mug of coffee and sat back down, and it wasn’t until he’d finished half of it that he asked tiredly, “What are you doing here?”

The question clearly stumped Connor, and he pulled his hand back to his chest without looking up.

“I was con-concerned that you w-w-would suf-suffocate or, or seize over, overnight,” Connor said at last, quiet again and sounding oddly defeated. And what was with the stutter?

Either way, Hank snorted bitterly.

“I don’t need your crisis protocols,” he sneered, well familiar with them after all this time. And he didn’t need anyone’s fucking pity, or their mental health training or leftover programmed ‘compassion’.

Unexpectedly, though, Connor gave him a hard look back.

“I’m p-programmed for, for in-inves-investigation and m-murder, Lieutenant,” he said, clipped and terse. “I don’t, don’t have c-crisis protocols.”

It was Hank’s turn to be stumped. He squinted at Connor, trying to comprehend him through his aching head. “Then what are you getting outta this? Fuck knows you don’t have any reason to give a shit about me.”

Hank just wasn’t worth giving a shit about, and he and Connor had clashed from day one. There was no reason for Connor to stick around for his drunk ass.

“I d-d-don’t kn-know,” Connor said, unwittingly echoing Hank’s thoughts.

“Oh, it all makes sense now,” Hank said sarcastically, familiar and easy irritation flashing through him. And that fucking stutter-

Connor sighed, pulled his knees to his chest, and repeated insistently, “I don’t kn-know. We don’t get, get, get al-along. We, we y-yelled at each, each other last w-week. But I was, was worried.”

Connor paused. Hank finished his coffee to avoid looking at him, suddenly uncomfortable with how vulnerable he looked. He looked young. Hell, he probably was young.

“I’m, I’m sorry for yell, yelling,” Connor said after a bit. “I d-didn’t m-mean to, to get upset.”

Hank believed that in a heartbeat. He grunted, still guarded and reluctant to trust this sudden about-face of behavior, and went to go flop on the couch.

“Where did those fucking headphone things come from?” he mumbled out of nowhere, leaning heavily on the arm of the couch and frowning at Connor.

Connor looked uncomfortable again, tugging gently at his sleeves.

“They’re n-noise-can-canceling,” he said, not looking at Hank. “M-Markus got them, got them for m-me. B-because I’m sense, sensitive to s-sound, and you can be kind of, kind of l-loud.”

Hank snorted ungracefully. “Uh huh. Is that all you two talked about?”

Connor shrugged. “He said I was, was t-trying too hard, and that was wh-why you dis-disliked me. I’m, I’m t-trying to do, do b-better.” He hesitated, not look at Hank. “Am I, am I doing better?”

“Jesus Christ,” Hank muttered, and threw an arm over his face. “Why do you even care what I think of you?”

“I don’t know,” Connor said unhappily, curled up on the ground.

Hank sighed. Let himself notice how much more Connor was talking than usual, his voice warping and stammering awkwardly instead of stiffly controlled. The small blips of annoyance he’d let slip, and uncertainty, and the admission of weakness.

He thought about Connor staying overnight just to look after his sorry ass. When was the last time someone had done that? It had to have been years.

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Yeah, you’re doing better.”

[bnha-mcu-requests]

Prompt #13

A villain kidnaps the hero’s sidekick only to find out they have been badly mistreated; the villain decides to take them under their wing.

‘What an extraordinarily shitty end to a shitty day’ Shouto thought to himself as he sat, arms aching and wrists sore from the pressure of the cuffs.

‘It wasn’t really the cuffs though’, he mused, remembering the harsh ‘training’ he had undergone that morning. His nerves twinged at the reminder of the strain they had been under.

Another minute crept by and Shouto sighed again, shifting slightly to lean more comfortably against the wall, rough surface cutting into the barely healed bruises on his back. He winced slightly before leaning into the pain, relishing in the stimulation to his otherwise numb body.

Outside the door, he could make out muffled laughs and shouting, celebrations no doubt, after all, they had just ‘acquired’ a useful asset.

Shouto couldn’t help the snort, as if he could be anything more than a burden to these people, no matter how rough his treatment, he would not be betraying – The door slid open with quiet hiss and if it weren’t for the overwhelming silence that followed it, Shouto was sure he would have missed it.

Silhouetted in the light of the doorway was a ma – boy. His hair barely contained by the beanie stuffed on top, and short stature enhanced by the two taller figures flanking his sides, just outside the threshold. He stumbled as one of the figures shoved him in, teetering precariously on his toes before somehow regaining his balance and glaring at the blond assailant.

No words were exchanged, just a flash of too sharp teeth from the red head before the door slid shut again, leaving Shouto with a kid as his only company.

Seconds ticked by before the celebrations picked back up outside the door and Shouto allowed himself to breath again, drawing the attention of the boy unto himself. He couldn’t help the annoyance that growled beneath his skin at the recognition in the viridian eyes as they appraised him.

“Holy shit! You’re Shoto! You’re Endeavor’s sidekick, right? Oh my God that must – “

‘Here it comes,’ Shouto thought, preparing himself for the spout of hero worship he was about to hear.

“- suck balls dude he’s a dick, no offense”

Shouto couldn’t have stopped the shocked snort even if he had wanted to. He turned wide eyes onto the boy, noting the sympathy and disgust that danced across freckled cheeks, amusement hinted at in glowing eyes, clearly finding Shouto’s disbelief humorous.

“Wha-what? What did you say?”

The boy quickly brought his hands up as if to appease Shouto, waving them as he stammered out a response.

“Nothing bad on you, honest. It’s just, he’s not really a hero, is he? I mean, causing death and destruction in the name of justice seems more like a twisted version of his own morals, y’know? And not to mention the amount of damage he causes during his fights. I mean, I know that in this society, there is gonna be collateral damage, but honestly, who’s taxes does he think are paying to have them fixed? Also, I heard that he is real dicksnort when it comes to his kids, Kaacchan was telling me about how he basically uses them...” His rant quickly devolved into passionate mumbling as his distaste for the ‘hero’ made itself known.

A small thump from Shouto leaning his head back to take it all brought him back from wherever the boy’s mind had taken him.

“But that’s not to say anything bad about you Mr Shoto sir! I think you’re a real hero! I’ve seen you limiting how much damage he does using your ice! And the way you swoop in and help protect civilians that have the misfortune of being in the ‘splash zone’ is super cool!”

Shouto could not believe his ears. This boy, he got it. After years and years of waiting for someone to notice how unsuitable Endeavor was, it’s a boy trapped in the same predicament that he was, who finally saw the truth.

“Who are you?” he managed to mutter, throat aching, bringing his attention to the fact that it had been a few hours since he last drank anything, and due to the extremes in temperature he held, his body compensated it through a need for regular hydration, less he begin to suffer from heatstroke or hypothermia.

“My name is Izuku Midoriya. It’s nice to meet you Mr Shoto!” The boy grinned, his smile lighting up the room, and Shouto briefly wondered if it had anything to do with the boy’s quirk.

“Just Shouto, Midoriya, you don’t need to add Mister. You don’t look that much younger than me anyway”

“Oh! I’m not younger than you, we’re the same age. I know I don’t look it, I’m too short to be 18 huh?” Izuku responded, not looking offended in the slightest, as though it was a common occurrence for him to be mistaken for someone much younger. Shouto could see why.

The boy was short. Not ‘could be mistaken for a garden gnome’ short, but he clearly didn’t hold a candle to Shouto’s 6ft, even sat down, the height difference was obvious. He had fluffy hair that shone a deep green when the light from the overhead lamp caught it and his freckled cheeks only added to the young face.

Despite the small frame, Midoriya didn’t look frail or thin, he in fact looked quite built, muscled but not overly so, reminding Shouto of a swimmer or runner, his lithe body giving away the hidden strength under the somewhat too big black t-shirt that read ‘formal attire’ in big bold letters.

His eyes were glowing with intelligence beyond his appearance though and his smile seemed just a little too sharp to fit the childish look. ‘Not young then, he doesn’t look young, just…unburdened’

As though Izuku could hear his thoughts, his grin grew in size, almost blinding his cell mate.

“Would you like me to take your cuffs off Shouto?” he asked, fingers twitching in his lap, as though he couldn’t wait to reach up and fiddle with the metal strips. Shouto couldn’t help the lick of hope in his stomach despite knowing Midoriya would not be able to remove them, quirk suppressing cuffs were also invulnerable to quirks from the outside as well.

He nodded, even so, only just hiding the small smile that pleaded to be free when he saw excitement bubble in wide, green eyes. He prepared himself for the disappointment that would inevitably follow the realisation that Midoriya could no-

The cuffs loosened and fell to the ground with an audible clunk. Unprepared for the sudden release in pressure and the reappearance of his quirk flowing through his veins, Shouto slumped to the floor with an oomf.

He looked up at the boy who was now leaning over him, mischief present in his eyes, making him look remarkably like an imp. He smirked, and Shouto noticed a red hair grip slotted between his teeth before Midoriya slipped it back into the mess of his hair, burying under the beanie, that by some miracle, hadn’t slipped off.

“How?” Midoriya brought a long finger up to his nose, and still grinning, tapped it twice.

“So Shouto,” Midoriya grunted out as he made himself comfortable, sat crisscross from the Todoroki, “Why are you here?”

Shouto pulled himself up to lean against the wall again, rubbing his sore wrists, not noticing as Izuku’s eyes flickered down to them, noting the strain bruises littering the inside of his arm with a note of disapproval.

Shouto didn’t know how long he sat and talked with Izuku Midoriya, but it didn’t seem to matter. The boy was interested and knew how to carry on the conversation effortlessly, his charm and wit making it easy for Shouto to talk. He nodded where needed and inserted his input and opinions whenever Shouto said something that made him think.

Thinking back, Shouto tried to remember the last time he had talked for so long with someone, so easily. He came up blank.

By the end of his story, Midoriya’s less than sunny opinion on the flaming landfill had dropped dramatically and his eyes visibly darkened whenever he was brought up. Shouto again, dismissed it as part of the boy’s quirk, a point that had yet to come up in conversation, despite him adding his thoughts and advice on Shouto’s own.

“Midoriya – “

“Just Izuku, if you will Shouto,”

“Izuku, what is your quirk? I noticed that you haven’t mentioned it and it would be useful for me to know if we plan on getting out of here together,”

Shouto couldn’t understand the shocked look on the boy’s face, “Together?” he asked quietly, as though the notion of them both escaping hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“Of course, together”, Shouto frowned as the boy’s face split into another grin before he proudly proclaimed to the quiet room’ “I’m quirkless!”.

Shouto’s face fell as he realised what this meant. Izuku’s face immediately became more closed off as he noticed the change in expression, “Is that an issue?” he asked, voice cold.

The young Todoroki couldn’t help the shiver as he rushed to fix the misunderstanding, “Not at all Izuku! I was just disappointed in myself for not being able to protect you from this, as a hero it’s my job to help others and I feel that, as you have ended up here despite it being my job to protect you, that I have failed. I’m no better than my father.”

A small, gentle smile fixed itself onto the boy who now sat next to Shouto. “I think you’re a much better hero than your father Shouto Todoroki, but the question is, do you really want to be a hero?”

Shouto looked up at the boy, confusion swimming in mismatched eyes. Question, clear on his lips as Izuku’s smile widened into a grin.

“It is my opinion that modern day heroes are a sham, they are merely poor imitations of the comic book superheroes that children idolise in their youth. Too many focus on public opinion rather than public safety, so many rush to attend fan signings rather than help those that they pass on the street every day. Heroes are a publicity stunt that is slowly choking the younger generation of quirk users, those with ‘villainous quirks’ disowned and isolated while those with flashy, powerful quirks are encouraged to step on those ‘lesser’ than them to achieve their heroic status”

“But- “

“How do you think those people treat the quirkless Todoroki?”

Shouto flinched at the use of his last name, recalling all the times his father had cursed the quirkless, often referring to them as cannon fodder, liabilities and wastes of space.

“Exactly. I know what your father thinks of people like me, but I also know that you don’t follow his thought process Shouto. I know that you’re different and I want your help to show others that we are not useless and that we are not to be used as steppingstones. I want someone like you who knows first-hand that just because society deems you a hero, does not make you a good human being. So many people have forgotten that these things can be mutually exclusive.”

Shouto’s head was reeling with all this new information. Gone was the small boy that Shouto had spoken with before, here stood a confident young man, eyes aflame with conviction, and a knowing smile, as though he knew that Shouto would agree with him.

He couldn’t help the traitorous sliver of excitement at the thought of Endeavor finally being exposed as the fraud and monster that he truly was, and Shouto shakily nodded and took Midoriya’s extended hand, knowing full well he had just signed his soul over to the devil.

Well, it that devil was Izuku Midoriya, then Shouto didn’t think it would be so bad.

“Now, I think it’s about time we left this icky room Shoucchan”

Shouto blinked, surprised at the sudden appearance of the nickname. He could only watch with growing trepidation as Izuku walked over to the door and gave six sharp knocks to the thick metal. Immediately, all noise from the outside disappeared and Shouto took a step back when the door opened, revealing the same two figures who had thrown Izuku in, grinning at the boy, a certain foreign fondness in their eyes that try as he might, Shouto could not recognise.

They quickly parted to allow Izuku through and Shouto followed with his eyes as the boy stepped into the well-lit room outside, filled with other teens and young adults that all grinned at Izuku before turning to face Shouto who stood, uncertain, in the cell.

Izuku turned to face him, a happy smile splitting his face.

“Kaacchan, Eicchan, show Shoucchan out, we’ll be in contact soon, so keep and eye on your phone!”

He then disappeared into the sea of people that suddenly swamped him and Shouto could barely process what had happened before he found himself outside in a familiar alleyway.

Night had long since fallen but Shouto was unable to fall asleep, his brain trying desperately to make sense of what had happened that day. When he had arrived home, he had given his father some bullshit excuse about having to help out the police with a small case, unable to understand why he hadn’t told him what had really happened.

His phone buzzed on the bedside table and looking at the message, Shouto was reminded why. He lay back down onto the bed, smiling at the ceiling and drifted off, dreaming of the endeavor-less world that he was sure Izuku would usher in.

“Goodnight Shoucchan. I hope you sleep well. You’re first step towards a brighter future begins tomorrow – Izuku”

Signing his soul off to the devil indeed.