#SUMMER THAT IS ONLY FOCUSED ON THE SHORT RELIEF OF A STORM

[marwhoa]

request: Could you possibly write another rottmnt leonardo x y/n? About the aftermath of them exchanging numbers? Maybe like them hangout at night like a little cute midnight date

🝮 “ the treasure’s treasure ”

rise!leo x g/n

author’s note: i’ve been contemplating for a while whether chair-ry would get a sequel ,,, It’s hard to live up to your very first fic :))) !!! also i’m so tired rn

word count: 3.5k

Sitting upon a park bench, someone was sharing a conversation with the moon and stars, patiently anticipating the arrival of a special someone they had met earlier this week.

“ You should have seen him,”

They said, shaking their head as the wind blew in a manner that could have been taken as the luna above laughing alongside.

“ He said to me, ‘Catch you on the flip side!’ and leapt into a portal. What’s worse is I actually laughed, but he wasn’t there to see. ”

They weren’t speaking to any particular person. In fact, maybe it wasn’t the sky they gave their words to. Perhaps their conversation was with themselves, and the moon simply happened to listen in. Antsy fingers rose up, gingerly holding their new brooch. While the index finger began tracing the oleander’s rim, their other hand was holding up their phone to see a notification, “ running late! “

“ Pft—how do you run late with the ability to teleport? ”

Pocketing the phone, you were smoothing out your clothes when a hand reached out and took yours, twirling you towards him and dipping you. Your heart skipped a beat as your eyes met a familiar shade of cerulean.

“ Can’t a man lose himself to time in the practice of ‘dress to impress’? ”

Your breath hitched in your throat as you clung to the silly boy who smiled brightly at how much of an upper hand he had here.

It was summer, so you were a bit confused by the leather jacket he donned. Underneath was a plain short sleeve—blue, shocker! And a pair of denim jeans. Rather plain, no? Not like you were focusing on that though.

“ Don’t drop me! ”

In some kind of mixture between laughing and screaming, your hands held on for dear life, and Leo decided to dip you a bit further, just a tad bit lower.

“ Oh no, my grip—it’s slipping! ”

He teased, busting out laughter as you screeched “ don’t you dare!! “ The moment you both shared was lighthearted, pulling you both closer. Grip loosening, you momentarily reminisced upon the many, many messages you both shared back and forth over the days leading to today. It was your idea, actually—sticking your neck out for your hero in green. The relief that you felt when he agreed was tremendous.

He brought you back up to your feet, letting go and resting his hands against his knees while laughing up a storm. You wiped tears from your eyes and caught a bit of his contagious laughter.

“ Kee—keep this up—Pft—a-and we’ll wake the whole neighborhood, Leon! ”

There was a quip or two resting on his tongue, urging him to tickle you with all his funniest jokes, but nothing could have made him interrupt how it looked when you laughed and smiled. You truly were framed as though you were “ the world’s precious treasure”, and boy had he no idea how to show the universe how grateful he was for a chance with you.

“ Wouldn’t want that, Y/N. ”

You didn’t even seem to mind who or what he is. He could tell just by how you held his hands and said his name, the way you looked at him—just, everything. It had only been a week, and already he was head over heels. Just how magical are you?

“ So, what is this special thing you said we had to see? ”

Right, as the initiator, that makes you the leader as well. With a shy smile, you waved your hand in a “ follow me ” motion and left the black bench to follow the park’s path. It was only a few more steps until you turned off path. Despite being confused, he trusted you enough to follow blindly.

Only, he was confused when you both finally made it to your goal. The park had a lake, and sure it looked nice—but only during the day. At night it was more like an eerie void of inky black. It was only the two of you, framed by the rustling of branches, crunching of rocks under your feet, and the light sloshing of the water against the shoreline.

“ I know I’m drop-dead gorgeous, but not exactly looking to be murdered just yet, Y/N. ”

Joking, he leaned into you with a nudge. One push later and you were spreading a blanket you brought along the ground.

“ Oh hush, who would want to kill you anyways? Too easy! ”

His gasp was reward enough. Beside you he sat, as both of you shifted your attention to the water.

“ Now, we wait. ”

You responded, pulling up your legs to your chest. One of your arms laid atop it, and then you laid your head against it. Leo leaned backwards. His legs stretched out and crossed while his hands planted behind him, supporting his weight.

“ wait for what? “ he asked after the cloud of awkwardness passed and room for speak opened. You hummed, insisting he was more than capable of waiting. Taken as a challenge, he immediately accepted and the minutes turned to an hour as you both talked about any and everything.

About him, his brothers—little extras added since you had heard a lot of it already through your daily texts and video chats. Since trading numbers, you had both talked to each other so much. Perhaps a few hours of a sleep were omitted, but who cares? The hours spent together was so much fun. Calls while cooking, calls in the morning, even some calls where you both slept together. There was even one that lasted even through a teeth-brushing montage ((prior to this, you never would have expected someone to be able to make a contest out of that, but never had you ever done your brushing routine THAT quickly.)) But in return, you shared even more little tidbits about yourself, your family, etcetera.

The longer you both went, the more similarities you were able to discover about the other. To say it lit a flame of hope in your chest was an understatement.

Eventually the conversation fell into nonsense, little games of truth or dare, “ I Spy “, and even would you rather. That had served to be… quite interesting.

You and Leo had leaned down, laying in the blanket and staring up at the sky. Arms. Crossed, forearms as makeshift pillows behind y’all’s heads. After growing tired of I Spy, Leo snapped his fingers in a “ gotcha! “ moment.

“ Would you rather get a paper cut every time you turn a page or bite your tongue every time you eat? “

“ Really, would you rather? ”

“ Are you admitting defeat? ”

“ What! You can’t ‘win’ would you rat—oh forget it. ”

You groaned out loud, dragging your hands down your face to ready yourself for this. There were some rocks under the blanket, embedding into your back, so there was a long second of contemplation as you mindlessly moved them and laid back down. With a drawn-out exhale, you turned your head to look at him.

“ Well, either is so messed up, but I think bite my tongue—I do it accidentally a lot already. Might as well up my odds. What about you? ”

Leo chuckled in a way that could only spell out trouble—or a devious loophole.

“ Papercut. Why? Because,”

He holds up his phone, shaking it.

“ Internet, baby. No page turning necessary. ”

“ No fair! And, you’ll never be able to read a real book without cuts. ”

“ I’m prepared to make that sacrifice. ”

Scoffing, you crossed your arms dramatically and tapped your fingers against your forearm. What’s a good question you can ask? A real conundrum—with no loopholes!

“ Ah! Would you rather have a pause or a rewind button in your life? ”

This one throughly perplexed him. Either that, or the “ hmming “ was just him messing with you. You had your answer already, but his was what you were more curious about.

And his response only made you more curious.

“ Rewind, definitely, ”

He sits up, turning on his side and resting his head into his palm while his elbow digs into the blanket.

“ I’ve found a sound I wouldn’t mind hearing on replay. ”

“ Oh yeah? ”

You asked with sitting up, hands laid behind your back to hold you up. The statement was spoken with an intonation practically begging him to continue. Alas, he didn’t seem to catch on, so you followed it up with,

“ And what’s that? ”

“ Ah, ah, that’s not how the game goes. It’s my turn. Would you rather have everyone able to read your mind or for everyone you know to have access to your Internet history? ”

Immediately you were laughing in an incriminating way, averting your gaze anywhere but the questionner. Oh god, both were such mortifying scenarios.

“ Oh shit, that’s horrible, Leo. You’re the worst at this game! ”

“ I think you mean the best. ”

“ Eeeeek, okay, internet history. I can just clean it up! ”

“—No erasing, either! ”

Cue the hitting, as you lightly hit him with your fists!

“ No fair, no adding clauses afterwards!! ”

Leo laughed all the while, taking your light little barrages.

“ What about you, tough guy! ”

“ Internet history, but definitely deleting stuff. ”

“ YOU!! ”

With an “ oof! “ Leo was pushed over onto his back by you, further pinned down as you took your rightful throne upon his chest. It was hard, likely due to the plastron he had. While you weren’t putting all your weight into him, you were still sitting on him enough for him to be slightly inconvenienced.

“ Someone is a sore loser.”

Groaned Leo in a low voice as he accepted defeat.

“ No, you are. So, my turn! Would you rather… ”

There were a few seconds filled not with your voices, but rather with the chirping of bugs filling the space. What was a good question… Ooh, perfect!

“ Would you rather find true love today or win the lottery? Knowing you, you’ll say—“

“ Lottery—“

“ Ah-hah! I knew it. ”

“ I would rather win the lottery because I already found loved. ”

There was a…

A fondness—a sweetness and a comfort—in the air immediately. It felt akin to that of moments in movies when two character would, or /should/, kiss, and that feeling only deepened as you lowered your gaze to meet his. Leo’s voice had said that so… So gently, so lovingly.. His eyes filled you with a warmth, an addictive sight that you almost couldn’t look away from.

But still, you did. To calm your thundering heart, you looked away with a breathy laugh.

“ Wow, that sure was… Just, wow.. ”

Your eyes trailed to the water, noticing it was finally time. Leaning up off him, you brushed your clothes of any dust, and crouched to pick up some rocks near the blanket. Leo had risen up to a seated position, watching you curiously.

“ What about you? ”

He asked sincerely, eyes on you as you looked down. The collected rocks were rolled in your hand as you contemplated your own answer.. You held out your open hand, gesturing for him to give you his.

“ I think… I would choose the true love today, just to… Make sure it happens, y’know? Don’t want to get too cocky and lose a good thing. ”

As you took his hand, there was a little spark and a bit of heartbeat skipping, but pretty easy to ignore. In his palm, a sizable pebble was placed.

“ A rock? ”

“ For skipping. That’s the real surprise the whole time. What we were waiting for. ”

“ Ah yes, waiting to skip rocks, I’m really swooning over here. ”

“ Not that, you dumdum! What comes after. Just—throw it with me, okay? ”

Nodding, you both stood up, reeled your arms back, and began the countdown

Three,

Two,

One!!

And off the rocks went, skittering along the water—his faster than yours, amazingly so—but that wasn’t supposed to be the focus. The true point of it all was what happened with each tap to the water’s surface.

Lines of orange, like plane runways lined with neon hues, streaked and bloomed with every touch. By the time the rocks twirled and blipped through the lake, sinking down to their new home, the orange lights had fanned out into the air like teensy fireworks. Zipping from here and there, the little balls of energy bobbing and plinked along the water—awakening their neighbors until nearly the entire area here was covered with the little buggers.

“ Fireflies? ”

Leo inquired, amazed at the sight. It was a genuine reaction, not masked at all for any “ cool guy act ” or a “ more mature act ”. No, you were getting the exact response you hopped—the orange reflecting in his eyes, the toothy grin, and the playful glint when he turned back to you.

“ Not quite. ”

You shook your head and held out your hand, clicking your tongue as one would to a cat. By the first click, some of the closest little sprites were already skipping over to you as though copying the rocks bouncing past them earlier.

“ They’re like, little balls of warmth, little sun sprites, see? ”

They were tiny, too small for their heat to hurt. It was more of a welcoming warmth tickling your hand. Their little frames would roll and bump into each other, rubbing themselves all over your hands. That’s probably fine.

Leo stuck out a finger, reaching to poke one, then freaking out as it zipped in a spiral-motion up his finger and arm.

“ AH—! I, I mean. Act, just acting, haha.. How did you find these…? ”

“ I was waiting for you to ask! ”

You plopped back down onto the blanket and patted for him to follow. More of the sprites were surrounding you, and thankfully it seemed that their fire wasn’t a spreadable kind.

“ That word you said to me last week, yokai? I know you said, ‘Oh you’re a human, rah rah rah, no need for you to know!’—“

“—I don’t sound like that—“

“—hush, anyways! I think they’re yokai, don’t you think? I looked the word up when I got home, supernatural beings! ”

He could tell you were pretty pleased with yourself.

“ Y/N, I only said that to keep you safe. Need I remind you who needed to be rescued by a handsome blue knight? ”

He puffed out his chest, even flexing a bit. One little sprite appeared to be trying to copy him, but given their circular bodies, you weren’t too sure.

“ I already said thank you, and you can’t blame me! Who seriously just ignores something so—so, so groundbreaking! I mean, yokai? They’re fictional creatures, except now nonfiction because I saw them, I was chased by one! So, yeah, excuse me for looking into it. ”

Shrugging, you crossed your legs and leaned forward. Hands on the blanket, palms facing up, you invited the sprites to hop on or off. Soft giggles followed their little brushes against your hands.

“ Right, still doesn’t answer how you found these guys? ”

He followed your example, watching them curiously twirl his digits—thicker yet fewer than your own hands. It seemed like one of the little guys was putting pieces together as it flipped back and forth between your hands. In the end, they bobbed over to you, and Leo muttered a “ going to cry about this later ” playfully.

“ Well, I found them way before the ‘chairable incident.’ ”

“ Ooh good one, is that what we’re calling it? ”

“ Thank you, and yes—no interrupting, mister Leonardo! ”

“ Hey, that’s mister Leo to you! ”

“ Pft—well, I always through they were fireflies or pollen, but after that night you dropped me off, I was curious! So, I came here again and again, stirring them and trying to call them over. “

Y/N’s eyes were scouring over the little guys, turning to the water to see the others. It seemed they were searching for something.

“ Hmm, well anyways, it took a while, but the other day when I did it, one of them came over to me! Seeing them up close made it all make more sense. ”

Leo had noticed you looking around and followed your gaze. Alas, he gave up soon after realizing he didn’t know what to look for. Silence joined you both, sitting right between while your focus was on the cute little sprites. Some had already rolled back to the water. They seemed to float on top, similar to how oil and water “ mix ”. Few remained though, leaning into your hands, climbing your legs, or rummaging through your hair specifically. Leo had a hat, a beanie, and one sneaky little guy did manage to squirm on inside of it.

Your attention only shifted as a little purple sprite slowly bobbed over. It was hard to see them in the inky water, but this special little guy had a flickering ability. Whether the others did too was anyone’s guess, but this one! He only flickered in and out, illuminating with the fiery orange and then fizzling into the camouflaging purple. He was the first to come check you out when you tried calling for the little creatures.

“ This is Blinker! He’s a little special, isn’t he? ”

A tad bit bigger, he rolled and fluffed up in your hand—only stopping when Leo leaned in and reached his index towards him. Blinker ignited immediately, bobbing and then spiraling up Leo’s finger just like some of the others did.

“ Wow… Well, you sure know how to plan a first date. I have some real competition, huh? ”

He slouched over, resting his head against the palm of his hand while watching you with a lazy grin. Blinker had already began burrowing, slipping up into the sleeve of Leo’s jacket.

“ Oh? You sound like you’re wanting a second date already. ”

Copying his position, you grinned in a way that could only be saying “ oooooohhh, you liiiiikeee meee, don’t you? ”

“ Ah,”

A sound like a cough and he was casting his gaze to the right side, as though something away from you was much more important. His left hand moved to cover his cheek, and you recognized it all instantly. He was blushing, wasn’t he!

You leaned forward, taking his wrist and holding it away from his face. His attention was back on you, with big blue eyes staring, waiting.

“ I knew it, you’re blushing! I made you blush, mister handsome knight. ”

He stuttered then held his tongue, looking away. Didn’t even try to deny it! He was blushing, you made him blush!

There was a warmth surfacing on your cheeks, especially upon seeing his other hand move to take your other one. He didn’t make any eye contact, but your fingers were interlaced. Now one hand cuffed his wrist while the other hand locked with his hand.

“ O-Oh.. ”

You muttered, leaning back a bit to sit. After some silence, your handcuffed motion loosened, and he didn’t waste any time. His other hand was slowly lacing with yours. Sitting cross-legged, you both reflected each others sitting position while your hands rested between, holding the other fondly.

“ Mm.. I, maybe I wouldn’t mind a second date. ”

It was your turn to avoid eye contact this time.

“ Really? I’m glad. ”

His voice was softer than you had yet to hear it. So little time, yet already you were seeing newer sides of him. The sprites were floating around you both, basking both of you in warm golden hues. A summer breeze rustled the trees as they leaned in, anticipating the next move. Crickets sung their music, and the waves bumped the shore as if coming closer to see the moment. It was as if the whole world came to see, see who their treasure had chosen.

All the imaginary eyes were resting on you both. They were overjoyed to see the special one, the treasure’s treasure.

Everything dispersed as you gave a nervous cough. Both of you looked away, recoiling your hands and wiping them against your clothes.

“ W-Wow! T-The time, right? ”

“ Time? Oh, yeah! Yeah, it’s so late, I should get you home before it’s too—is it cold to you? Wow, so chilly! ”

Scrambling for your things, you both hopped up and waved goodbyes to the lake’s lights. Leo held up his hand, flicking his fingers until a blue shimmer enveloped his index finger. The stripes on his face shone as he reached out and traced a portal in thin air.

“ A gentleman would never let you walk home! ”

You leaned forward to walk through the portal, but were tugged back.

“ Ah—! No, uh, you can’t. I um, you’re. ”

He was trying to come up with something, then settled for clearing his throat and holding out his hand.

“ Safety reasons, portal passengers have to hold my hand. ”

Part of you felt like that was a lie. The other part of you knew you weren’t a portal expert. And another part of you maybe just wanted to go along with it regardless. So, you gave him your hand. He gently pulled you close to his chest.

The world held its breath as the two of you met each other’s eyes. There was so much emotion. You looked at him with something that he couldn’t yet pinpoint, but god he was addicted to it.

Please never stop looking at me like that, he thought, as his arm moved to rest along your waist and hold firmly. Through the portal, you basked in the familiar tingles and tickles, giggling as you both stepped out at your door, in your home.

“ How did you know—? ”

“ From our video-chats. Remember when I said you talk too much when it’s late? “

“ What! I thought, I thought you just meant—what else have I told you?! ”

“ Er, don’t worry about it, seeya! ”

“ Wait! ”

He was quick to try and leave the same way he had once before, falling through a portal, but you were quicker. Grabbing onto him, he stared wide eyed and quickly closed the portal as you both thumped against your floor. His hand was holding your waist securely, mentally condemning you for such a reckless move.

On the spot, you chuckled nervously and tried to come up with a reason to have stopped him…

“ Ah, er…. W-Wanna stay for, um.. Dinner? ”

[louhearted]

lads im in a mood dklgfhg someone come help me. ive just listened to the entire requiem and am now crying to the four seasons.

[fivelakesinwriting]

Side of the Road (JJ Maybank)

Author's Notes: This is somewhat of a continuance of Sour Straws and Short Shorts - same coupling. JJ tries to fix his girlfriends truck... I think I have her name in my head - if this coupling continues I'll name her "officially"

Warnings: Undertones of grief (parental death), Sexual references - sexual innuendos. Mostly just fluff.

Requested? NO, but all requests for OBX are open!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

Throughout the course of his young life, JJ Maybank had accumulated tricks of many trades, but the finer workings of engine mechanics was something he had yet to master. He did alright, but it took him some time to remember what exactly he was doing, especially with older cars.

The hood of her father's old Ford pick up truck was propped up, JJ had brushed the dried leaves from storms passed out from the engine block and looked down, hopping that whatever was wrong with the truck would pop out at him. He scratched the back of his neck as he glanced down at the engine again then breathed out a sigh.

"Are you sure I can't try to hot wire it?" JJ yelled over his shoulder to her as she swept the veranda.

"JJ, if you ruin my daddy's truck.." She stated as she stopped her motion and pointed a finger at him.

"Okay! Just an option for our back pocket." JJ laughed softly as he held his hands up in defense before he stuck his head back under the hood to keep tinkering.

After almost one hour under the hood, the hot Summer sun on the back of his neck, JJ was certain he had hit the mark. He grabbed the bandana from his back pocket, wiped his hands and called her name.

"Come start it. I think I may have fixed it." JJ grinned as he walked towards the house, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"You did?" She asked as she scurried out of the sun-room and down the steps. She grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the truck.

"Take the keys, and start it up. I'm pretty sure that I figured it out." JJ smiled as he placed the keys for the truck delicately in her hand, knowing what the truck meant to his girl.

She gripped the keys tightly in her palm, then climbed into the driver's side and turned the key over in the ignition. JJ tossed his hands up in triumph as the truck rattled to life. He watched as she brought her hands to her face and released a soft sob.

"I never thought it would run again." She whispered as her hands ran over the steering wheel.

"Told you I would make get it going for you again, baby." JJ smiled as he held his weight over the frame of the driver's side and looked at his girl. He reached a hand inside the cab of the truck and softly thumbed away a tear on her cheek.

"Thank you, JJ." She whispered, her cheek resting in his hand.

"Of course. So, you gonna take me for a ride in this old girl?" JJ smirked with a smack on the top of the truck.

"Nope. You're taking me for a ride." She replied with a small sniffle as she hopped out of the truck and patted his sides.

"You're letting me drive your dad's truck?" JJ asked as he watched her walk around to the passenger side. The truck was all she really had left of her dad. No jewellery, no books or clothes. Just the pick-up.

"It doesn't feel right to be the driver. Besides, I think my dad would have really liked you." She smiled as she placed her feet on the dash and curled her finger at him to summon him inside the cab of the truck.

"Other then when I wanted to hot-wire his truck." JJ grinned as he climbed into the truck and pulled on his seat belt. He rested an arm over the back of bench and pulled her close as he put the truck in reverse then drove off her property and down the street.

For a truck that had been parked in a dirt driveway for almost two years, JJ thought it handled like a dream. He kept her close against him as he drove through The Cut, the windows of the truck down, the breeze against his sweaty skin.

As JJ turned the wheel for a slight bend in the road he heard a sputter in the engine of the vehicle, and his heart dropped to his feet.

"No, no." JJ muttered as he took his hand off the back of bench and grabbed the wheel with both hands.

The truck slowly crawled to a stop and with a single sputter the engine died again. JJ groaned and with a curse dropped his head down to the steering wheel. She softly placed her hand on his thigh and the truck gave one more groan as it creaked to a halt.

"It's okay, JJ. I can't believe you even got it to start." She stated softly as she reached out and ran her fingertips through his hair.

"It should work. I don't know what I did wrong." JJ grumbled as he pulled off his seat belt and got out of the truck. He walked around to the front of the truck and gave the hood a smack with his fist before he tugged at his hair.

"JJ, it's alright. It was nice to have you drive me around in it for a little bit. I just want to get it off the side of the road and back home. Then we can figure out what it needs." She stated as she hopped out of the passenger seat and walked around front with him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, her head rested against his chest.

"Yeah. Let me call Kie, she has a hitch on the back of her car." JJ sighed as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he pulled his phone out of the back of his shorts.

JJ pulled himself away from her and made a quick phone call to Kiara requesting she come get them as quickly as she could. JJ slipped his phone back in his pocket with a sigh as he stood next to his girl and stared at the broken down truck.

"She said she'd be here within an hour or so. She's finishing up a shift at The Wreck." JJ replied as he bit at his bottom lip.

"Well, it's too hot in the cab of the truck. Wanna sit in the bed? We should both fit." She stated as she gave his back a pat then made her way to the bed of the truck and climbed in.

"Don't have to tell me twice." JJ muttered to himself with raised eyebrows as he kept his eyes fixed on her backside then followed her lead and crawled into the bed of the truck with her.

JJ laid in the bed of the truck and pulled her close, her head on his chest as they looked at the tops of the trees that gave them some semblance of shade in the late afternoon. The guilt he felt for bringing her dad's truck so far from home wavered as they watched the clouds pass overhead, and he felt her hands twist the hem of his shirt.

"You know, I think it counts as public indecency to have sex in the back of a truck, even on the side of the road. I think it's even worse because it's your dad's truck. So, I think he'll haunt me if I touch you." JJ smirked as he kept his eyes on the treetops but let her fingers wander beneath the hem of his shirt.

"I think he'll forgive you this one time." She smiled as she rolled over on top of him and straddled his hips, her hands on his shoulders for balance.

"I don't know. Are dads super forgiving about stuff like that?" JJ laughed as he placed his hands on the small of her back and rolled her over, placing himself between her thighs.

"My dad was." She grinned as she ran a fingertip through nylon of his shark tooth necklace.

"You weren't dating me when he was around." JJ replied with raised eyebrows.

"You're right. Probably would've sent him into an even earlier grave." She giggled as JJ playfully pinched her thigh as it pressed against his hip.

"Rest his soul." JJ smirked before he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. He let out a sigh of relief as she pushed her hands through his hair then wrapped her arms around his neck to keep him close.

JJ held his weight on his left forearm, while his right hand reached beneath the waistband of her shorts to twist around the strings of her bathing suit bottoms. With the simplest of tugs they would be undone, but JJ still wasn't sure how he felt about the whole public indecency thing.

"I love you, JJ. Thanks for fixing my dad's truck." She stated softly, her forehead pressed to his.

"I didn't fix it. But you're welcome, and I love you too." JJ replied before he pressed his lips to hers again, his hands on her lower back to brace her against the hard bed of the truck.

JJ could only focus on her fingers in his hair, and her thighs pressed to his hips. He didn't hear her kick off her shoes, but he did feel her toes touch the backs of his legs. His mind only focused on what was in front of him, and that was her mouth.

"Did you guys want me to drive around for a few minutes? Because I can come back."

Kiara's voice pulled the two of them from their frantic kisses. JJ pulled his hands from the waistband of his girlfriend's shorts, untangling his fingers from the strings of her bikini. He sat on his knees and brushed a hand through his hair as he looked down at his girlfriend towards Kiara.

"How..how long have you been there?" JJ asked as he cleared his throat, a hand extended down to his girlfriend to pull her upright to a sitting position.

"Long enough to know you're really handsy." Kiara chuckled as she walked around the front of the old truck and hitched it onto her own car.

"I'm not handsy." JJ muttered as he hopped out of the bed of the truck, turned to grab his girlfriend's hips and helped her down onto the dirt once more.

"You're all hands, JJ Maybank." She smiled up at him with a pat of his chest.

JJ shrugged as he gave her a playful smack on her backside, then nudged her towards Kiara's SUV. He grabbed the keys from her dad's truck on his way towards the other car and pocketed them. As he sat in the backseat on the way back to their destination he ran through all the scenarios he could think of that made the car stall then die at the side of the road.

Maybe it was just old, and passed it's prime. The inevitable bound to happen while JJ pushed on the gas pedal. Or maybe, JJ liked to think as they pulled back into her familiar driveway, someone looked over them that day and gave that car a burst of life for her. JJ didn't want to take any credit because they didn't make it anywhere.

JJ wanted the truck to run again, for real. He wanted it to be her truck. He would figure out how to make it run as good as any Kook convertible on the road, no matter how many times he had to go to the junkyard for spare parts.

"Thanks again, Kie." JJ nodded as he watched as Kiara backed up off the property after they had unhitched the truck from the SUV.

JJ stuck his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips and lost himself in thought. He jumped slightly when he felt her arms wrap around him from behind.

"Think you might want to bring those hands inside for a bit?" She asked as she placed a kiss on the back of his shoulder.

"Yup." JJ replied as he turned around, grabbed her hips and lifted her over his shoulder. He laid a swift smack on her backside and smiled as she gave him one back.

He wasn't the only one that was all hands.

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you for your support! xoxo

Requests for OBX are open!!

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠  summary: After receiving a few letters from your previous accomplice, your withstanding in Techno's home is questioned.

↠ fantasy au, slow-burn romance

↠  pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠  tw: angst, mentions of blood, slight manipulation, fighting, language, knives, language, a lil fluff

↠  wc: ~2700

↠  previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard

this post contains an image of a letter. if you find it difficult to read, here is the transcript.

The wind howled against the cabin, snow beating against the shutters to make the structure trembled as if it was battling the cold like you were. The heavy blanket around your shoulders served as an anchor from your intruding thoughts as you attempted to self-soothe. The fire blazing in front of you was your only consoling friend as you debated whether or not Techno would make it back during the storm.

In your gross self-pity, you wondered if he even would want to come back. You had been living like a parasite in his domain for weeks, relying on him as your wounds slowly mended. How many times had he stayed up to cool your fevers, or told you to sit down when you had been on your ankle for too long? When would it be too much for him? When would he want you gone?

You had never had another person before. Sure, Dream was your friend and partner, but the two of you lived independently of each other. Techno had gained your respect and trust within a short amount of time and you hated to admit that you liked having him around.

But was it the same for him?

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging the fabric tighter around you as you dug your nose into its velvety coloring. It smelled like Techno, a mix of pine and sage. It quelled your neediness for his presence. You debated whether or not your worry was because of your obsession with his impression of you, or the fact that he was the first person that had let you rely on them.

The blizzard grew stronger with each passing second, and you were a hairline fracture away from throwing on a jacket and searching the snowbanks for him. Your mind darted to if packing your belongings and getting out of his hair would be the option. Clearing out before he had to tell you to leave seemed almost like the better idea; the possibility of gaining back your independence secretly made you melancholy.

With that, the image of Dream came to you. In the summers when the two of you were hunkered down against a rotting log looking for one of the King’s enemies, you could practically smell the sunlight on his skin. His freckles would darken, and his blond hair would shine as if it were a ray in and of itself. If you let yourself, you could feel his green eyes on you, watching as you would dip your knife in a tranquilizing agent if your target were to be delivered alive. He would always wander into your root cellar, running his fingers along the hanging rosemary and strands of lavender.

He would always pitch the idea of poisoning the King and running away to grow mushrooms in the forest together. For most of your time as accomplices, it seemed like the perfect life but as his brain became infatuated with the poison of power and majesty, it seemed a distant fantasy only to be left for the wind.

The door opened abruptly, Techno stomping out his boots as he kicked the entranceway shut. He shook the snow from his clothing, and you pushed yourself to stand. He grabbed one of the candles, using it to light a few of the others beside the door and blowing into his cold hands for more warmth.

You approached him, leaning on the doorframe as he pulled off his cloak. “You made it back,” you chirped, hoping to mask the utter relief washing through your body. His ruby eyes flashed to you, a softness in them that warmed your heart.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching one of his hands out to you to angle the cut on your face towards him. He inspected that cut at least three times a day and if you would let yourself indulge on the thought, it might have just been an excuse to touch you.

His fingers were cold against your jaw, but you had to restrain your urge to lean into his gentle touch as his eyes grazed over the cut. “Better,” you answered with a light sigh. He looked as if he were holding back something from you, something that was plaguing his conscience.

He pulled away from you reluctantly, digging into the bag he had tossed on the table. His knuckles were red from the cold, the stack of letters in his hands appearing almost pure white. There were specks of blood sprinkled on the edge of the stack. “We found another mercenary searching for you,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what to look for now,” he mumbled; a small ode to you. The pair of you stared at the envelopes in his hand. “These are for you,” he added, holding them out for you. There was a seal on the last one, the design mimicking the symbol on your shoulder as it wrapped around the letter ‘D.’

You swallowed, hesitantly taking them from him. He watched you carefully as you examined them, your hands shaking from the anticipation of what was in them and why there were so many. “Did you read them?” You asked; the pads over your finger tracing over the broken seal of the top one.

He shook his head. “Only enough to find out they were for you,” he assured. You trusted that fact. “I’ll leave you alone with them. I need to clean up anyway,” he illustrated, eyes scanning you as you stared down at them. He seemed to have a hesitancy to him as if he were reluctantly giving them to you, wanting to know what it meant for your future.

You nodded slowly, unable to find more words as you threaded the dark green ribbon binding them together through your fingers. Your stomach churned, knotting together as if you were awaiting punishment.

As you sank into one of the chairs, Techno left your side wearily, looking over his shoulder at you before closing the door behind him. You opened the letter he had already seen after counting at least eight letters in the stack. Your mind got fuzzy after eight. The seal was dusted with soft gold. You had always found random flowers to give the appearance of wealth and prestige to your letters when you were sending them back and forth to each other. You figured that it was real gold this time since the color didn’t stain your skin while you brushed over it.

Your heart hammered in your ears, thumb drawing against the blood that had seeped through as you read his words, his voice whispering in your ear with each curl of his handwriting.

The next letter sounded similar, detailing what had become of some of your old teams and idols. He had removed the mad King’s advisors, flushing them with his own. Each word you read weighed heavy on your heart until you figured you couldn’t take any more of the venom in his ink. The sickening nature of him begging for your return made your nerves flip. He was an old friend of yours, brought up through the orphanages as your twin practically, but that didn’t mean you trusted the man that he had grown into being. The boy you had once known was now in shreds, held together by the façade he was hiding behind.

You stood, throwing the letters into the fire and standing back, breathing rigid into your chest. Your ankle began to ache, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away. With Dream’s threats, you knew you had to leave.

“He calls you ‘hemlock,’” Techno mumbled, his voice coming out in a questioning tone, hesitant of overstepping the unspoken boundaries the two of you had set for each other. He played with his fingers, back pressed against the wall behind him as he avoided stepping into your space. He gave you an emotionless look as if refusing to show his true feelings on the situation. You weren’t sure what he thought of you after diving into that letter. “Almost like you’re some kind of…” he paused, chewing on his lip as his eyes fell to the hardwood floor and then back to your gaze. “Malice,” he finished.

Your mouth grew dry, feeling small and vulnerable in front of him. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady your nerves. “It’s always been some kind of joke for him,” you responded. You weren’t sure if you were defending Dream or fishing for Techno’s assurance.

He nodded. “It’s not very funny, is it?” You shook your head quickly, suddenly finding it difficult not to cry. It had been too long of a day for you. Techno watched you, surveying eyes waiting for you to ground yourself.

He took a few steps, sitting down and motioning you toward him. You silently took a seat at his feet, eyes trained on the fire in front of you as his scent surrounded you. You crossed your legs, taking a deep breath once again. His hands moved into your hair, softly running his fingers along the crown of your head as he separated your short locks. His touch was gentle and calming, brushing against your ear as he braided.

You closed your eyes, letting him relax you and bring you back from your frizzled edges. He was quiet while he worked, your mind silencing to only focus on his fingers. You could swear that you had never felt more at ease than you did then. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, worry that if you spoke louder he would hear the extent of your distress.

His hands moved to your shoulders, finished with his words as his fingers rolled against the knots forming. You settled your cheek against his hand. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation,” he began, his thumb pressing between your shoulder blades in a sensitive spot. You focused back on the flames, eyelids feeling heavy. “But I need to know if you’re okay.”

You mulled over his words as he loosened the tension weighing on your mind. “I’m okay.”

⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫

The next morning, you were setting your plates on the counter, listening to Techno chop wood outside. The front door clicked open in a rush, a man stepping inside and throwing off his hood. His brown eyes bore into you with a wave of lingering anger you recognized in the eyes of someone when you had been on the other end of their blade. He was increasingly tall, like Techno, but his features were more child-like and innocent, apart from his eyes.

He went after you, lunging for your body as you swiveled out of his path, grabbing onto the knife beside you. Your fingers gripped onto the back of his collar, pinning him to the table with a loud thud. The blade was resting against his throat as the two of you panted, him from being caught off guard and you from being dormant for so long.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the blade tighter to his neck. “Who are you?” You bit. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the metal as he swallowed, catching his breath.

“I see you two have met,” Techno called, a tired look in his eyes as he spotted the man beneath you.

The brunet chuckled, the sound coming out more like a frustrating example of fear than a true laugh. “I like your new guard dog, Tech,” he mumbled, spitting at you. You pursed your lips, striking the blade against his cheek to draw a bit of blood and making him wince.

Techno rested his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. The man’s hand reached to brush the collar of your shirt to the side, his eyes focusing on the branded symbol on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your chest as his expression changed. You continued to glare at him. “It really is her, isn’t it?” He muttered, betrayal evident in his tone. You searched his face as his eyes met yours.

“This is Wilbur,” Techno stated, moving towards the two of you. You pulled away from him, letting him up as Techno stood beside you. Wilbur’s hand reached up to brush away the line of blood trickling from his fresh wound.

Wilbur straightened up, digging into his pocket to pull out a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it slapping it on the table where he had just been laid out by you. Bold letters spelled out the terms of your arrest and the price on your head. There was a crude drawing of what you used to look like staring back at you as you took half a step behind Techno’s arm.

Wilbur stiffened and it hit you. He wasn’t actually after you rather than worried for Techno’s safety. Concern was painted across his face at just how close the two of you were standing as he gestured to the Wanted poster. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I know I’m right,” he pleaded. It struck you that the two had previously discussed trading you into the authorities. You weren’t surprised, mainly because before you knew Techno, you would have done the same. “Think of the money. You could actually retire. Give up babysitting-“

Techno cut him off. “No,” he answered flatly, shocking you. “We’ve already talked about this.” You stepped back, leaning against the counter to relieve the weight on your ankle. Techno peered over his shoulder briefly, as if feeling you step away from him.

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to continue to look for her. It’s not safe.”

Techno shrugged, indifferent towards the look Wilbur was giving him. It made you sick to think of the divide you were causing. “We’ll get her name changed then.”

You raised your eyebrows as Techno chuckled, moving to finish your job as Wilbur looked between the two of you. “Yeah, and how are you going to accomplish that?”

Without a beat, Techno replied, “I guess I’ll marry her.”

Your breath hitched, facing flushing a deep red, but before you could reply, someone else barged in; a blond panting slightly as he doubled over to catch his breath. The two men looked upon the boy, waiting for him to stop wheezing. “Tommy, go home. It’s not safe here,” Wilbur commented. His gaze shifted to you. “Techno’s harboring a murderer.”

So, this was Techno’s famous Tommy; a boy barely older than sixteen and tall enough that he could knock your head off your shoulders with a flex of his elbow.

“Wilbur, we can’t give her up. Who knows what will happen,” he groaned, standing up and putting his arms above his head. You wondered just how far he had run to get to Techno’s. “You weren’t there when we found her.” He looked to the side, giving you a half-wave as he attempted to steady his breathing. If they weren’t discussing such intricate matters, you would have giggled at him.

Instead, you cleared your throat. “I’m leaving soon anyway. There’s no need-“

Techno interrupted you. “No. No one’s going anywhere, okay?” He sighed. “Obviously, we can handle ourselves. If not, at least let her get back on her feet before you excommunicate her from my house, Wilbur,” he adjudicated, his tone quipping as if to suggest that Wilbur’s opinion on the matter wasn’t holding water. “Tommy’s right anyway. You don’t know what it was like.”

Wilbur chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at you. You felt hot and uncomfortable under his gaze as if he were hexing you secretly. He sighed, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm as he brushed past you, knocking into your sore side. “One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” he stated. You could tell he wasn’t normally such an antagonist, and you respected his devotion to Techno.

You nodded. “I’ll let you.”

Tag List: (to be added, please follow this link :))

@udontneedtokno @cyanflowers @more-like-reyna @deepestofwaters @sparkletash @aroyaldarknessbr @camerondiaz48104 @madsbbg @victory-is-here @valkyrieidunn @cdizzlevalntyne @simpforblockguys @ribbitsworld @victoria-a567 @miiilliiee @thegirlwhowritesawksh-t @roryann04 @book-of-anarchy @lightdreamy @hiccupofttea @wreny24 @deepestofwaters @exenestea

[hlizr50]

Update: The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 6

A little pain relief for everything I've put you through

Read on AO3

When Azriel landed in the training ring he shook his head, exasperated with himself. Now that he was here, what exactly did he plan to do? He couldn’t very well find Gwyn’s room, shake her awake, and beg her to forgive him.

He took a moment to survey the ring, racks of wooden weapons, steel, shields. The Valkyries had grown from desperation to get Nesta on the right track to three females surviving the Blood Rite to a small legion of Illyrians, priestesses, and other fae. They would be outgrowing the space soon, and he pondered that as the stone glowed blue in the moonlight.

Gwyn had never spoken much about the Blood Rite, not that he could blame her. The Illyrian tradition was barbaric under normal circumstances, and much more so with Briallyn’s meddling – with the intention of killing all three of the females. Azriel couldn’t help but grin to himself.

How spectacularly had her plan backfired.

He had not admitted that Cassian was not the only one sleepless and mortified that week, but where the general was a barely-contained force of will and expression Azriel was schooled in hiding his emotion. He’d had to stay stoic – to find Briallyn and Koschei, to support his brother while his mate fought for her life. But his relationship with Gwyn had begun to develop by then, as well. Slowly. It was all he could do some days not to fly in and destroy them all. She had already suffered unspeakable horrors, and the possibility that she had been at the mercy of Illyrian males – bred with a thirst for blood and flesh – had been nearly unbearable.

When that general is finished hurting her she has to feel the soul-crushing terror of watching the next soldier take his place because you don’t come to save her.

He ran a hand through his onyx hair, remembering Nesta’s words. His shadows seemed to wither around him, drooping over his shoulders and wings. How had it come to this?

The shadowsinger sat himself down on the ground, knees drawn up. He rested his forearms on them and gazed at the ink-dark sky painted with stars. Much like his High Lord, seeing the stars had always been a comfort to Azriel – a reminder that he was free from the prison of his upbringing, that he had escaped and had replaced his father and brothers with a family that cared for him and showed him what love and brotherhood really meant.

His found family had grown so much in such a short time. He was grateful for that, for so many reasons. Rhys had emerged from Under the Mountain a broken male and Feyre had helped piece him back together. She had quickly become a glue for all of them, holding them tight and treating them with such love that Azriel was often awed by it. It wasn’t hard defending her, being dedicated to her safety as High Lady. She was far more than a monarch to him.

Then came Nesta and Elain, and what a storm that had been. Cassian and Nesta were meant to be since the beginning, but that path had been long and painful, and not just for his ears and the new… sanitation concerns for public living spaces in the house. Sometimes he was surprised that he counted Nesta as his friend. She had been intentionally hurtful so many times. How often had he seen the pain in his brother’s countenance because of something she had said or done? And yet now he understood her, maybe more than he cared to admit. She had been hurting and afraid and overflowing with self-loathing.

He had hurt Gwyn for those very reasons.

Gwyn.

He felt his shoulders and wings sag with the weight of Nesta’s questions tonight. Accusations thinly veiled as questions, and each one like a carefully crafted throwing knife plunged into his gut. He’d made her cry for at least the third time in as many weeks. Training and working to exhaustion, and not being able to sleep because of the worsening nightmares – nightmares that had cruelly transformed to remind her that he had abandoned her.

Even his shadows felt heavy.

The spymaster hung his head, shame like a blanket smothering him in summer heat. How could he ever forgive himself for causing that pain? It was a fate he had personally prevented, and now she was forced to experience it in her dreams. Because of him. Because he was a coward.

Azriel let his eyes drift closed and focused on his breathing. Sleep would not be an option tonight, and he could only pray that the priestess was sound asleep in the house, getting the rest she so desperately needed. Training didn’t seem to be in the cards either, as he sifted through the torrent of thoughts and emotions. He just needed to sit and think. And in the morning, he would speak with Gwyn as soon as he could. He would fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness if he had to.

“Azriel?”

The inky tendrils flitted to life around him at the sound of that voice. Cauldron damn him, of course she would find him now. But part of him was relieved to be able to talk to her so soon – that she was even here.

“Azriel, are you alright?” His heart squeezed at the softness of Gwyn’s voice, music to his ears – a sweet melody with harmonies of concern and kindness. How could she still be so kind to him?

“I don’t deserve to be asked that. Especially not by you,” he murmured, staring down at the stone between his feet.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Azriel.” Her soft footsteps seemed to echo in his head, a ringing alarm that she was coming closer. He didn’t want to run from her, but his heart was still racing. How could he face her inevitable rejection? He noticed her shadow fall over the space between his legs and when he looked up she was crouching in front of him, eyes shining with sincerity. “You deserve for people to care about you. And I do. I won’t just leave you out here alone when anyone could see the weight of the world pressing down on you.”

Gods, but wasn’t that exactly what he had done to her?

The shadowsinger had no air in his chest as he studied her. The expression on her face was difficult to describe – caring and teasing and scolding all rolled into glittering ocean eyes and the slightest quirk of her full lips. She rose and his gaze followed as she held her hand out to him, beckoning him to stand with her. It took more courage than he cared to admit to place his violence-scarred hands in hers, but their warmth spread through him like sunshine warming his bones as she helped him to his feet.

She didn’t let go, and that gave him the strength he needed.

“Nesta found me at the river house tonight. She had… a lot to say,” Azriel began as he saw color bloom on Gwyn’s cheeks. She looked down to their hands.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for her to –“ He squeezed her hands and she snapped her head back up to meet his gaze.

“I deserved every single bit of venom she threw at me, Gwyn. Do not apologize.” The shadowsinger looked down, then, unsure how to move forward or which of his many transgressions he should address first. So he asked, “Is it true? About the nightmares? That… that I don’t come for you?” He could feel the emotion catching in his throat, cracking his voice. His eyes burned as he looked back to the priestess. Her lips were pressed together as she tried to keep the silver lining her eyes from spilling down over her cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, lashes lowering as the silent tears fell. Each droplet was a nick in his heart, the guilt and pain salting those wounds. How could she be so strong, to endure this agony and yet hold the hands that caused it? He released one of the hands and lifted it to her face, hesitating with his fingers a breath away from her cheek. Azriel had his mouth open to ask if he could touch her when she leaned her face into his palm. He brushed at her tears with his thumb before bringing up his other hand, cupping her jaw.

“Gwyn,” he breathed, pleading silently for her to look at him. The shining pools that opened to him were so enthralling, depths shimmering with trepidation. Gods, what he would do to bring back the joy in those eyes. “I will always come for you. No matter what. And I will never be able to forgive myself that there might be any part of your mind or your heart or your soul that could believe otherwise.” He watched as she took a shuddering breath, but her eyes held his and he was emboldened.

“I’m so sorry, Gwyn. For all of this. I was a fool and a coward and I let my guilt and my fear own me. And it only hurt you.”

Gwyn’s hands covered the scars on his own as she pulled them away from her face, returning them to their place entwined between them. Azriel stayed silent and her head tilted as she studied him.

“What could you possibly be afraid of?” she released a hoarse, hiccupped laugh. The shadowsinger could only gulp down a breath and look toward the stars.

“I… I was afraid of the feelings I was developing for you. And of the pain I would feel when you would see all the things I have done and the monster that I am and run away from me. Or that you would be hurt because of this darkness inside of me.” His eyes had returned to hers and, while he saw understanding swimming there, her expression was uncompromising.

“Have I not been hurt already?” Her bluntness shocked him, and he felt the slightest twinge of panic that told him to run. Her fingers tightened like a vice around his hands and he saw her eyes darken, as if she knew what he was thinking. “Don’t you dare even think about running away, Azriel. Not now. I deserve better from you.” Even his shadows seemed focused on where their hands touched, intent on keeping them tied together.

She did. She deserved so much better. Better than what he’d done. Shame washed over him that he could have thought to flee from her. Again. He had already wronged her… too many times. But he had come here determined to right those wrongs. Azriel wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to give her what she deserved, if he would ever be good enough for her. But he sure as fuck was going to try.

“You’re right,” he conceded, that panic replaced by resolution and a faint, foolish glimmer of hope. “I’m not going anywhere.” She grinned softly and he thought his chest would burst from relief. They were still here, together, talking. They were going to figure this out.

“Why did you run, Azriel? If you care for me, like you say,” she demanded, that sea-deep stare piercing straight into his soul. “Why? Why are you afraid of me seeing who you are?”

He should have known that she would demand an explanation. Gwyn was strong and confident. She knew her worth and what she deserved, and him sharing the story behind all of his idiotic decisions was the very least of that. But he was not prepared, and he didn’t want to. He never wanted to darken others’ lives with his history.

“That’s… a long story, Gwyn,” he huffed, hoping that might be the end of it. But he saw her eyes, determination and challenge and fire blazing blue in the moonlight.

“We have all night.” She released his hands and gestured to the darkness around them. She would not be deterred, would not back down until she accomplished her goal. It was one of the many things he admired so much about her. “Should we sit?”

Azriel found himself smiling as he nodded, sitting cross-legged on the stone. Even though the impending admissions rang as a death knell in his mind, it warmed his heart to know that she cared so deeply – that she wanted to know the worst of him.

He had put her through enough, and he could relive his pain and push out his fear for this night, if only for her.

“I don’t know where to start.” He scratched the back of his neck, a nervous tick he was usually good at hiding. But then Gwyn – that sweet, incredible, special female – gathered his other hand with those long, pale, graceful fingers and he felt the tension ease. He looked at her, taking in the beauty and serenity of her features. Freckles were scattered over cheeks stained pink, an encouraging smile crinkling the corners of her eyes.

“The beginning seems like a good place, don’t you think?”

So that’s where he began.

~~~

Azriel was not proud that he could not find the strength to look at Gwyn as he walked her through his story, but he could still hear and feel her reactions. And he dared a glance at her from time to time, trying to read everything her eyes were saying. He told her about the cell he was kept in as a child, how little touch or affection or love he had experienced, and how the shadows around him seemed to move and react and speak. She clutched his hand tighter when he told her about what had happened to them, that his brothers had set fire to them to see how he would heal. She hadn’t said a word, but he smelled the salt from tears and felt impossibly soft strokes of her thumbs over those scars.

He explained his time in Illyria and the fearsome reputation he and Cassian had to maintain, simply to make up for the circumstances of their birth. And while Cassian had been brute force and power, Azriel was deadly calm, precision, intellect, terror. He admitted to her how he had hoped to find validation in his role as spymaster under Rhysand’s father, and that he could truly revel in his duties under the right circumstances.

“Those soldiers I killed in Sangravah,” he told her. “I would have enjoyed dragging out their deaths as long as possible for what they did to you.”

Gwyn’s hands were so gentle around his as he told her how much the death and darkness grated against his soul, and how he’d had nothing to tether him to the light. He talked to her about Mor, a waste of literal centuries. And then, somehow, he told her about Elain. Not that he’d loved her, because he never had. But that he’d felt entitled to her, like he deserved what his brothers had found with the other two sisters. That he was the third brother and she was the third sister and that was all that mattered. His entitlement, his lust and desire for the bond - as opposed to love for the person - just another ugly facet of his true self.

“So I suppose that brings me to you, to these past few weeks.” Azriel made sure to meet her gaze for this. “I panicked after the necklace, because I wasn’t prepared for what it would do to me to see that hurt in your eyes. And when I told you things would go back to normal I still didn’t know what to do. I thought distance would be best between us, because I knew you would be able to draw me out of myself. And that was dangerous.”

The shadowsinger’s throat burned with emotion when Gwyn smiled softly. He could see so much roaring in her gaze, but there was no sign of pity or disgust or fear. Azriel ran his free hand through his hair before resting it atop their other clasped hands. Wetness burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.

“When I found you in the rain that night, I could smell your tears and I saw your hands – split knuckles and bruised, swollen fingers. And,” he choked down his feelings even as the tears began their descent, “and I was torn apart with the guilt. It was my fault that you were doing that to yourself. I might has well have put those marks on you with my own two vile hands.” Azriel closed his eyes and let the tears fall – not many, but enough. The silence rang through his ears, his history hanging between them. He waited for the fear, the rejection, especially when she drew her hands away from his. But his eyes snapped open when delicate calloused fingers stroked his cheeks. Gwyn had risen to her knees to dry the wetness on them, her stare a storm of trust and understanding... and compassion.

“Thank you for telling me your story, Azriel,” she whispered. “I see you. You have nothing to fear. I’m still right here.” Then she smiled brightly, and he unraveled.

“Gwyn, I don’t know if you can ever forgive me – I wouldn’t blame you if you couldn’t. But I care for you as more than a teacher, more than a friend. You are a light in my dark life and these past few weeks have been miserable without you in them.” Her smile widened slightly and he reached out a thumb to catch a stray tear that had fallen from those precious, beautiful eyes. He felt his own grin pushing his cheeks against her warm hands.

“I care for you, too, Azriel. As more than a friend.”

He held that watery stare until she released his face. She stood up, brushing off her knees before reaching her hands to him again to help him to his feet. He tilted his head curiously at the determination flashing in her eyes.

“Here is what’s going to happen,” she began, looking down at her hands in his. “Before we pursue anything… romantically, I need to be sure that this isn’t something that will happen again.”

He opened his mouth to speak but she pressed her fingers against his lips. “We both have darkness and fear and I understand that. But if you feel it taking over, I need you to come to me, to talk to me. Because if I open my heart to you and this happens again – if you insist on shutting yourself off from me or deciding for me what I deserve or want – I will be heartbroken.” The confession left Azriel raw.

“What can I do, Gwyn? How can I reassure you?” He could hear the desperation in his own voice, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

“We are going to go back to how things were before this mess.” She had returned her hand to his and gave both a squeeze. A shadow darted down around them, as if to approve of the contact. “The way it was that led us to realize that we feel the way we do. And you are going to prove to me that we can have what we had before I found out about that stupid, lovely necklace. Do you think you can do that?” He could have fallen to his knees seeing the hope in those ocean eyes, mirroring the spark of hope inside of him. It was something he hadn’t dared to let himself fully feel with her.

“I will.” Azriel’s voice was low and rough. “I swear it.”

“And then we can decide what comes next. And I can prove to you that your hands and your darkness are just as important to me as the rest of you.”

He was grinning like a fool, he knew. He still had a chance, because Gwyneth Berdara was the definition of grace and love. And by the Mother he would not screw this up.

He felt more than saw her wrap her arms around his back, pulling herself into him. For a moment he was frozen by the intimacy of it – shocked by her initiation of it – but he quickly let his arms settle around her waist. He breathed in, pulling her tighter, and leaned his cheek on the crown of her head.

“Don’t let me down, Shadowsinger,” she muttered into his chest. He chuckled and dared to move one hand to comb through her hair. “I want to see… what comes next.” He wanted to see, too. He wanted to know what it was like to look to the future and see more than dread and loneliness and exhaustion. He could see it with her.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Berdara.”

Tag List: @tealnymph-writes @trashforazriel @secretlovelybeauty @meher-sumedha @imsointobooks @flora-shadowshine @positivewitch @tanvee1231 @imwritingthesewords @camreadsum @vikingmagic33 @shisingh @gwynrielsupremacist @sagureads @katiebellf @deedz-thrillerkilller16 @sv0430

Slide into those DMs or reply to this post if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

[dcbutinamrev]

"C'mere, let me hold you-"

^ this one w/ some historical lams s’il vous plaît?

OF COURSE BESTIE!!

Sorry this took a while to complete! But here you go! Have some hurt/comfort lams for your soul-

~~~

It's late in the evening when Lieutenant Colonel Alexander Hamilton finally retires. He huffs out a breath of relief, running a hand through his dark red russet curls, his freckled cheeks puffing out as he does so. He stares at his finally finished correspondence. He set his quill down and closes the ink pot, making sure it's secured tight.

Hamilton lets out a yawn he doesn't realize he's holding, using the back of his hand to stifle it as best he could. Hamilton glances at the clock hung on the wall just above the fireplace in the front parlor of their newest headquarters where the aides now work, the General in the far back. They're new headquarters in New Jersey holds to floors. The front parlor of course where Hamilton now stands, the kitchen just a few feet away, a set of stairs leading to the second floor about the same distance where he stands as the kitchen. A narrow hallway that leads to the General's office in the far back. Upstairs, the aides have their own beds except for Lady Washington and the General and Hamilton...

Oh...

Hamilton feels the corners of his lips quirk up when his mind sees the beauty of his dear Laurens before him, his honey colored hair sprawled out against the white pillow, his hair bright as the sun. He presses his lips together to fight back the chuckle that escapes him when he sees Laurens's sleeping form on their shared bed, a small smile on his face, his bright, clear blue eyes closed--blue as the sky on a summer's day. In all honesty, Laurens reminds Hamilton of the sky itself: With his rich, honey colored hair the sun and his blue eyes the sky.

Hamilton sighs, almost dreamily, as he finishes tidying up his space, making sure things are back in their proper order and to have a fresh, clean area for the next day. And partially, so Harrison won't nag at him for "not having to clean up after himself" and "I always have to be the one to do clean up after you idiots!"

Hamilton dusts his hands with the sense of relief, puffing out another breath as he turns to glance out the window in the front parlor. It's pitch black out tonight, though the soft tap of the rain against the windowpane betrays that. Hamilton breathes in slowly for a moment, his eyes--dark blue, indigo; though the candlelight reflecting in his deep blue irises makes it seem like they're nearly violet--widens a little, his jaw clenched and so are his fists at his sides.

Hamilton swallows the lump down his throat and shakes his head, spinning around on his heels to head towards the stairs to the second floor. He grips the rail and feels his lips twist as he closes his eyes for a moment.

As long as it's not storming, you're good, Hamilton thinks to himself as he trudges along the stairs, his posture slumping as his body suddenly feels heavy.

Hamilton never realized how exhausted and bone-weary he had just been. Running from General to General, worrying constantly over Laurens's safety whenever he's in battle, praying Laurens would come home to him in one piece. Being beside General Washington at all times during committee meetings and councils, jotting what General Washington may have said was deemed important down onto paper.

Hamilton groans and at the very thought of his busy day gives him a pounding migraine. He massages his temple with the heel of his palm, shaking his head before continuing his way up to his bedroom.

Once he reaches the top of the stairs, Hamilton lets out another breath of relief, his shoulders slumping. He sighs heavily, making his way towards his bedroom door which is just a few inches away from him. Hamilton lets out a soft whimper as he grips the doorknob. Apparently, his hand must have actually worn itself out.

He twists the knob to the left and gently pushes the door open, grimacing as he hears a sharp creak. He whips his head towards the only bed in the room and tenses and freezes in place, however, when he sees his beautiful Laurens before him.

The image is not what Hamilton would have expected Laurens to be: sleeping peacefully so Hamilton may sneak up on him, crawl into their shared bed and loop his arms around Laurens from behind, his cheek pressed against Laurens's muscular back.

Instead, Hamilton finds Laurens awake, his knees brought up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, his eyes glassy and distant and surprisingly wide. His lips are pressed together tightly, jaw clenched. Hamilton stares at Laurens for a quick minute, biting his lower lip as he hesitantly and slowly closes the door behind him.

It's quiet in the room, well besides the distant rain you could hear. Hamilton breathes shallowly in and out through his parted lips, watching Laurens carefully for any signs of distress. He knows that look, that distant, far off look.

"John?" Hamilton tries, breaking the unbearable silence between them.

Nothing.

Hamilton clears his throat and shifts on his feet side to side, making himself feel taller as he puffs out his chest slightly and inclines his head.

"Jack?" Hamilton tries again, finally gathering the courage to step towards him. "Honey? Are you alright?"

He rests a hand on Laurens's kneecap, squeezing it gently. Hamilton waits a few minutes before finally shrugging out of his dark blue coat and draping it over the back of the chair at his desk. Hamilton sits beside Laurens, scooting himself closer. He turns and glances at his beloved Jack, sees that distraught face upon him. Hamilton feels his heart shatter at the sight.

"John, dear?" Hamilton whispers softly, soothingly as he lowers himself and Laurens back against the pillows, tucking loose strands of rich blonde hair out of his half-opened blue eyes and behind his ear. Hamilton shifts so he rolls on his side to face Laurens's profile, his cheek in his palm. Laurens still doesn't meet Hamilton's eyes. "What's wrong?"

A pause.

Nothing still.

Hamilton sighs, almost defeatedly, as he still combs back Laurens's hair. "John...I know...I know something's upsetting you. What is it? If it's me not coming back to you, if it's me being selfish and focusing my attention on my work well, I'm--"

"I don't want to talk about it," Laurens whimpers, his voice muffled slightly behind his kneecaps.

"John...you know you can talk to me about anything..." Hamilton tries, his voice soft.

"I know..." Laurens sighs. "It's just...a lot."

"A lot?" Hamilton repeats. His curiosity getting the best of him.

Laurens nods and looks away sharply, not saying a word.

"I won't tell anyone unless you want me too, Jack," Hamilton assures.

"He died today..." Laurens mutters, causing Hamilton to freeze, stop all motion.

Hamilton doesn't move an inch as Laurens continues speaking.

"Jemmy, my brother..."

Oh...is all Hamilton managed to think. That'd explained why he seemed off today...we barely kissed...we didn't even have sex this morning...

"He...I blieved I've told you about him before," Laurens whimpers.

Hamilton nods, remembering their short conversation about their pasts as Laurens recovers from his wound after that battle in Germantown. Hamilton scoots closer, lifting one arm up and wrapping it around his shoulders, his head resting upon on his honey hair as Laurens finds himself burying his face into Hamilton's chest.

"Come here, let me hold you--"

Laurens clings onto Hamilton nonetheless. Hamilton, squeezing him tight and grimaces as he hears quiet sniffles escaping him, hissing a little when he feels Laurens's nails dig into his skin from behind.

"If only I had been...more attentive..." Laurens whimpers into Hamilton's chest. "If only I had paid more--"

"Shh, shh," Hamilton cooes, combing a few strands of honey hair off of Laurens's brow. "Enough of that. I'm here. Let me hold you."

Hamilton presses a kiss to Laurens's temple before resting his cheek upon his head, listening to Laurens's quiet whimpers.

Hamilton never lets him go.

Never.

[goldencorecrunches]

LanLan Rural Vet/Animal Sanctuary AU ~ from the LanLan discord --

It was the rain that made Lan Xichen start laughing. "Oh, I'm sorry. Oh dear," he said, one hand pressed to his chest in the passenger seat, the corners of his mouth helplessly turned upward. Thunder boomed, heaven's drums arguing from far away: Lan Xichen bent forward and laughed harder, cupping the back of his head. Song Lan didn't feel the urge to laugh himself, but he could appreciate the sheer ridiculousness of the bad luck that kept finding them today. First Wen Qing, his tech, had come in sneezing like an elephant with a head cold and so he'd sent her home with stern instructions not to return until she was better. Then he'd gotten a call from the farmer who'd dug the ancestral plow farthest up the farthest mountain to come quick because his best cow was in labor, and having trouble with it-- the cow Song Lan had not been told was pregnant. 

Then his car had refused to start, and he'd had to bargain with the grumpy auntie who delivered the post for the use of her shuddering pickup truck, a behemoth half rusted through that definitely hadn't seen the wet side of a sponge for many a long-toothed year. Then Lan Xichen, the director of the backcountry vet-and-sanctuary, had come rushing out as he'd pulled onto the gravel road, begging to come with so he could escape for a few hours his visiting uncle. (That part hadn't been so bad-- driving with Lan Xichen up the winding country road, the valley unfolding out beneath them, summer trees vibrant and lush on either side. Auntie's truck had no air conditioning, of course, so they'd rolled down the windows with the grating hand cranks and the short pieces of hair that had come loose from Lan Xichen's ponytail had blown around his face, his smiling eyes.)

(When Song Lan had taken this job, a year ago come June, he had not expected the pre-existing half of the administration to be the most beautiful man he had ever seen. "Zichen," Xingchen had said to him over video call that night, teasing, "you're such a hopeless romantic. Talk to him! Get to know each other! What could go so terribly wrong?" "He could drag me halfway across the world with only a backpack and a single change of clothes," Song Lan had signed back, biting the mirth into the side of his cheek, and Xingchen had blushed, pretty pink up to their hairline. Song Lan missed them. Of course. They were coming in fall, a hard-wrestled break in their schedule that they guarded against teenage fervency and staid official alike, and Song Lan couldn't tally the days until then without breaking his own heart.)

Up the mountain, the cow had not been giving birth to anything but her own insides. The farmer was not pleased when Song Lan through Lan Xichen told him this, elbow-deep, as if Song Lan had come all the way out there from some cattle-themed plot of revenge. He likely wouldn't call Song Lan again even if the situation was dire, which meant his animals would go untreated; the knowledge of it itched under Song Lan's skin, making him have to grimace apologetically at Lan Xichen when on the drive back he realized his own company was less than engaging. And then Auntie's truck had made a noise like a steel chain through a meat grinder and stopped in the middle of the road. And then it had started raining. Lan Xichen's laughter was running up the wrong side of hysteria. Seeing the rain start to darken the shirt over his shoulder, feeling the damp on his own, Song Lan reached around Lan Xichen's back and dragged at the handle until the window began to close. One perk of old trucks-- when they broke down on you, you could still work the windows. He repeated the process on his own side, focusing furiously on not being weird about the heat of Lan Xichen's body he'd felt press against his own arm and chest leaning over. The air inside the cab immediately became sticky and stale. "It's just-- I was supposed to take my uncle out for dinner tonight-- he's going to be so annoyed--" Gently, feeling a nervous spark in his belly at the presumption, Song Lan laid a hand on the sleeve of Lan Xichen's collared shirt. To his great relief Lan Xichen leaned into the pressure. It seemed to give him the wherewithal to swallow his frantic giggling, his shoulders shaking as he hiccuped; Song Lan tapped his thumb in the crook of Lan Xichen's elbow in a manner he hoped was comforting. (People were always surprised, either when they found out he was a veterinarian, or when they found out he was, as one receptionist had put it, a "clean freak;" they didn't go together in public consciousness. Usually Song Lan lacked the energy to explain that it was about where dirtiness belonged. An exam table should be sterile. The animal upon it should not be: if it was, it would be dead. Humans were the difficult ones, because they ought to wash their hands more than they usually did.) (Besides, it wasn't like he didn't wear gloves.) Finally taking a deep, shaky breath, Lan Xichen sat upright and let his hands fall into his lap. He peeked at Song Lan from the corner of his eye. "I'm...well. In control again, I suppose. Oh, that was embarrassing." His arm jumped under Song Lan's palm, but he did not pull away.

"This is certainly...an adventure," Song Lan signed with his free hand. Lan Xichen's smile went wide for a moment, lopsided, and Song Lan felt the victory like a hot drink on a cold day. "It has been," Lan Xichen agreed. He fidgeted with the denim over his knees. Well: tried to. It was tight denim. There wasn't a lot to fidget with.  "I should call the clinic and tell them we're stranded. If we'll get any reception up here, and with the rain." He sounded reluctant. Song Lan, personally, wanted to get back to his own house and get under Xingchen's knitted blanket and tell the world to go fuck itself dry, but he didn't have an...uncle, waiting for him. Creeping over him was the unshakeable sense that he had been gifted something precious, in Lan Xichen's vulnerability. Despite his easy manner and his compassion, Lan Xichen was, Song Lan had decided during several months of study, terribly lonely, and unsure how to stop. He held himself apart without seeming to, diverting questions back to shared interests, breezily finding an excuse every time their little mob of vet-techs and animal-enthusiasts invited him to join them after hours; and it did not help that to an individual they all viewed him with something of awe. When you were that good-looking, and that kind, it came with the territory. So Song Lan pushed down the irritation at being stuck in the oxidizing shell of what had once been a functional vehicle and unbuckled his seatbelt. Struggling a little in the confined space, he shucked his sturdy flannel and held it out. Lan Xichen stared at him, mouth open ever so slightly. His eyes were shining; Song Lan could feel the back of his neck heat up. "You take a nap under this," he signed, awkward. "Let me call. My phone's got better range anyway." "Because it's not a fancy bit of overpriced nonsense?" Despite himself Song Lan snorted; he and Lan Xichen had antagonistic views towards personal technology. "Exactly." "It's soft," Lan Xichen murmured, as his fingers closed over the dark green plaid. Song Lan tried to pretend he wasn't flushing thoroughly. (When they were rescued, three hours later, by Wen Qing's younger brother in his mountain-tire-fitted jeep, Song Lan had to touch Lan Xichen's shoulder to shake him awake. In the grey light from the overcast sky he seemed to blur, at the edges, soft and precious as a rabbit's underbelly. Song Lan swallowed thickly and looked away. "Keep it," he signed, when Lan Xichen tried to hand back the flannel. It was chilly in just his t-shirt, but that was all right. He'd survive. "It suits you better than it does me." "I don't think I agree with that," Lan Xichen said, and by the time Song Lan had recovered from his subsequent heart attack Lan Xichen was meters away, climbing up his own porch with Song Lan's shirt wrapped around him, pulled tight against the cool post-storm crispness.)

[juliandev0rak]

Into The Wild  

Chapter 4: Clover

✧ Into The Wild Series ✧ playlist ✧

Words: 3788

Warnings: blood, minor injury

Willa really has no idea what she’s doing.

She spends most of the next two weeks looking for Muriel, but in all that time she hardly catches a glimpse of him. He seems to be avoiding her, and as hard as she tries to get him alone to talk, he stays away. Sure, he’s busy, he has other job duties that take him away from the camp, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for him to have gone missing. 

But she’s pretty sure he’s avoiding her.

Willa knows she comes on too strong sometimes, she can’t help being open about how she feels and what she thinks of someone. As hard as she tries to bottle up the emotions or simply think about something else and focus on her job, her thoughts always turn back to that night by the fire and how she’d finally gotten to know Muriel a little. The more she learns about him the more she wants to know. 

And it doesn’t help that her friends tease her about him, constantly. Asra catches her eye across the room when he sees her searching for Muriel, Portia asks her twice if she’s kissed him yet, and Willa tries her best not to blush in front of the campers.

Still, life goes on and camp is busy even if Willa’s brain is far away. Summer is in full swing and the campers seem to be pulling out all the stops to ensure that the staff of Camp Vesuvia is exhausted.

The summer has also heated up, with temperatures in the triple digits nearly every day. The only reprieve is swimming in the lake, which Willa luckily gets a chance to do every afternoon. She’s lifeguard certified, thanks to the summer job she had a few years ago, and she often helps the recreation director Lucio with supervising campers at the lake.

Asra had warned her that Lucio was “an asshole” and she quickly finds that she agrees with that sentiment. Lucio spends most of his time regaling anyone who will listen with stories of his glory days as an athlete, he’d called himself an “olympic swimmer” who simply hadn’t gotten the chance to compete. But as self-centered as the man can be, he’s also great with the kids. They think he’s cool and more importantly—  they trust him, he’d been able to get even the most nervous of swimmers out in the lake.

Still, Willa tries her best to avoid him while she's on the lake. Even when Lucio is not in her sightline his voice seems to carry, echoing off of the rocks and trees as if he has a microphone. And up until a week ago, he did have a microphone, a megaphone to be precise. Nadia had luckily confiscated it because he was more than loud enough on his own. 

One late afternoon Willa sits in a canoe in the middle of the lake, trying to avoid another of Lucio’s infamous high school swim meet stories. Away from the shore the lake is incredibly peaceful and there are less campers to keep track of. While it would be easy to doze off or get distracted by the beautiful scenery, Willa takes her lifeguarding duties seriously.

All day it’s been sunny and hot, but as Willa drifts across the lake she watches the clouds roll in, slowly then all at once. They’ve gotten a few summer storms, they come on fast and leave just as quickly, but they can often include thunder and lightning. Willa pulls her sunglasses down, peering out from behind the tinted lenses as she surveys the sky. Just as she’s deciding it won't rain after all, a raindrop lands on her shoulder. 

It’s camp protocol to get everyone out of the water if it rains in case of lightning and flooding, so Willa gets her whistle out ready to evacuate. When she blows the whistle the campers around her obediently follow the direction and head back to shore, they’ve got plenty of rainy day activities planned as a backup. 

Willa has just started rowing back to shore when she hears splashes behind her. There’s a camper, one of the younger ones, struggling to balance her canoe. She watches as the boat capsizes and the girl screams as she falls into the water. Willa sets her canoe paddle down and dives in without a second thought, swimming over to where the girl had capsized. 

The camper is wearing a life vest and managing to tread water, but in her panic she’s unable to get back to shore. Willa grabs the girl in a rescue hold, hauling her back towards the dock. As she swims closer to shore, the water becomes more shallow than it looks and Willa runs into a submerged log, hitting her knee hard on the bark. She hisses in pain and tries to maintain her grasp on the camper whose panicked thrashing is pulling her down. 

Willa is considering using her whistle to call for help when a big splash sounds from her left and suddenly Muriel is there, swimming towards her as fast as he can. 

“Here, let me get her.” Muriel grabs the camper’s arm and pulls her back the rest of the way to the shore. Willa exhales in relief then takes a deep, shaky breath as she starts back. Her knee still aches from the impact with the tree and she struggles a bit as she slowly makes her way back.

Muriel sees the camper safely discharged into Nadia’s care and jumps back in to pull the two discarded canoes to shore. He ties them safely to the dock and watches as Willa emerges from the water. She takes a seat on the edge of the dock, wincing as she takes in her bleeding knee. She’d scraped it pretty badly, and she needs to remember to tell Nadia about it so they can have the log removed before anyone else gets hurt.

“Thanks for your help,” Willa says, trying for a cheery tone.

“Are you alright?” Muriel kneels down next to her, peering down at her leg.

His face is very close to hers and Willa can’t help but stare at him. Her eyes flit down to his lips, and when she looks back up a moment later she notices that his eyes are staring down at her lips. There's a moment of tense silence as they look at each other, and Willa leans forward just a little. She wonders if he notices the energy between them that has been so distracting for the last few days, the pull she feels towards him though she’s only known him a short while. 

Muriel pulls back at her proximity, his eyes snapping back up to hers. “Willa?” he asks again, pulling her attention back to his question. 

“It’s just a cut, I’ll be fine. There was a log under the water in the shallows,” she explains, reaching up to wring water out of her hair.

“You should go see the doctor,” Muriel says, grabbing a towel from the nearby rack for her. She accepts it gladly, wrapping it around her shoulders. He leans down to offer her a hand to help her up and as she takes it she notices again how warm his hand is. 

“I’ve got to make sure all the campers are out.” Willa turns back towards the lake, scanning the water for campers. She stands there for a few minutes just in case, her eyes trained to the water as she fights off shivers from the pouring rain. 

“It’s raining pretty hard, you should get inside,” Muriel says, and Willa turns to look at him, her towel falling down a bit. Muriel reaches forward to pull the towel back over Willa’s shoulder, his hand resting on her for a moment before he hurriedly moves away to grab his own towel. 

For a moment their eyes find each other again, the air between them charged as it had been before. He has to feel this too, Willa thinks, taking a step towards him. She’s unsure what exactly it is she’s planning to do, whether she might risk everything and lean towards him again, whether he would even want to be near her like this, to kiss her. He’s still looking at her, his eyes focused on hers, and for once when she leans in he doesn't move away. 

Just as she's wondering whether she should say close the distance between them, a roll of thunder booms in the distance, closer than before. The sound shocks them apart and Muriel nearly jumps back when he realizes how close they are. Willa sighs and pulls the towel closer to her as she turns back towards camp. “I guess we’d better get back, I’m sure they need my help with the campers.” 

“You need to go see the doctor.” 

“I’m fine,” Willa argues.

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” Muriel frowns at her, “I’ll carry you there if you don’t start walking.” 

Part of her wants him to do just that, and she blushes as she continues to stare him down, not wanting to give in to his suggestion. Finally, she looks down at her knee which is still bleeding, and heaves another sigh. “Fine. But I’m walking there myself.”

“Fine.”

“Let’s go then.” Willa walks off towards first aid, wondering if he’ll follow her. He stares after her for a minute, shaking his head as he watches her stalk off. 

When Willa arrives at the first aid cabin she pulls the door open without a backward glance. She doesn’t want to know if Muriel is following her. And she really doesn’t want to know if he isn’t. 

“Julian?” Willa calls, wincing as she notices how much water she’s dripping on the floors. 

The red-haired doctor emerges from a door in the back, taken aback by her bedraggled appearance. “Woah, Willa, what happened?”

Willa explains the canoe rescue, and Muriel’s part in it, as Julian patches up her knee. “But really, I’m fine. It’s just a scrape.” 

“You don’t need stitches or anything, but it’s a good thing Muriel was there to help. It sounds like you could’ve been in trouble with that big of a storm coming,” Julian says, turning to rummage in a drawer for the right sized bandage.

“It’s lucky he was there,” Willa agrees, looking out the window at the pouring rain. She needs to thank Muriel again, he’s basically saved her life twice now. Julian puts the bandage on her knee, all evidence of her scuffle with the log hidden safely behind a pink Hello Kitty bandaid.

“I thought you’d like that more than a Spiderman one,” Julian laughs as Willa inspects the bandaid curiously. 

“Are you kidding? Spiderman is much cooler, the campers are totally gonna make fun of me for this,” Willa scoffs. “Come on Julian, don’t you know what the kids like these days?”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to change it?” Julian’s eyebrows furrow together and he turns to look in the drawer again.

“Julian, stop, I was kidding,” Willa laughs, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

“Oh,” Julian’s face relaxes and he chuckles along with her. 

“Give me one of those lollipops and we’ll call it even.” Willa points to the bowl of candy on Julian’s desk, usually reserved for the more squeamish campers who need the incentive to behave. 

Julian laughs again and Willa watches his face light up, taken over by his smile. It’s easy to see what Asra likes about him, though he swears they’re “ancient history”. Julian is a genuinely kind person, someone who feels like a friend right away. He’s great at his job, compassionate, and more gentle than one would assume from his large stature. Though she knows his sister better, Willa hopes she’ll get a chance to become Julian’s friend too by the end of the summer.

Julian hands her the bowl of candy, breaking her out of her thoughts. “I’d say you earned candy.”  

“Thanks, Julian. You saved me, I thought we might have to amputate my leg,” Willa jokes as she unwraps the lollipop, blue raspberry flavor. 

“It was looking pretty rough back there,” Julian plays along, “I thought we’d need the bone saw.”

“Not the bone saw!” Willa puts her hand to her forehead dramatically, leaning backward on the table as if she’s about to swoon. They both laugh, the sound a burst of sunshine cutting through the sound of rain on the roof. 

“I think it would be best to avoid logs from now on.” Julian holds the door open for her, ushering her out of the cabin. 

Willa frowns as she steps out into the rain. “The log started it.

“Well next time you better finish it, show that log who’s boss,” he grins. 

“Bye, Julian.” Willa waves as she walks away. When she turns the corner she’s surprised to find Muriel leaning against the wall of the first aid cabin.

“Willa.” He sounds relieved to see her. 

Willa takes in his appearance, hair and clothes still dripping water from the lake and the rain. “Muriel! You didn't have to wait for me, you must be freezing in those wet clothes.”

“I’m fine. How’s your leg?” 

“It’s fine, just a scrape!” she smiles, popping the lollipop into her mouth. When she pulls it out to speak again, her tongue is blue. “The doctor even gave me a lollipop for being a good patient.” 

“It’s very blue,” Muriel comments, trying not to stare at her blue colored lips.

“It’s blue raspberry, want to try it?” Willa holds the lollipop out to him but he shakes his head. 

“No.” 

“More for me then.” Wills starts to walk away towards the counselor cabin, and this time she’s sure he’ll follow her. “Thanks for rescuing me again, you’re very good at that.”

Muriel’s eyes stay glued to the dirt path as he speaks, “It was nothing.” 

“It wasn’t nothing, I’m glad you were there.” They walk in silence for a minute as Willa’s brain races to think of something else to say. Finally, she can’t take it anymore, “Why have you been avoiding me?” 

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Muriel says, finally looking up to meet her eyes. 

Willa’s eyes narrow as she looks at him. “I’ve barely seen you for days!” 

“I have work to do.” 

“So do I, but I would’ve made time to see you.” 

“Why would you want to see me?” Muriel asks as they reach the safety of the counselor's cabin porch.

“I... like talking to you,” Willa admits, and now it’s her turn to stare down at the dirt. 

“Oh.” 

She shushes the inner voice in her head which screams at her to stop talking and looks up at him. “Do you like talking to me?” “Yes.” Muriel answers without hesitation this time.

“Then we should talk more! We should hang out,” Willa suggests, unsure of how he’ll react to that statement.

“Ok.” 

“Ok?” 

“I’ll go to the bonfire later,” Muriel says, looking a bit uncertain as he says the words.

“There might not be a bonfire if the rain keeps up,” she says. “But we'll be having a movie night here instead, you’re welcome to join us!” 

“You’ll be there?” he asks.

“I’ll be there,” she confirms, nodding her head in affirmation.

“Ok.” Muriel almost smiles at her, the corner of his lips tugging up.

Willa opens the door to the cabin, taking a step inside. “I’ll see you tonight then.” 

“Alright.”

“Alright!” Willa grins, and this time Muriel really does smile at her. 

The rain keeps up all afternoon and well into the evening, and by the time dinner is done it’s clear the bonfire is cancelled. The campers retire to their cabins and the counselors retire to their movie night. It’s a camp tradition, one that usually involves alcohol and quite a lot of snacks.

Willa is just pulling a tray of her signature chocolate chunk cookies out of the oven when there's a knock on the front door. Since everyone else in attendance lives there, Willa assumes it’s Muriel. She rushes over to get the door, but Asra beats her to it.

“Muriel! We’re so glad you could make it!” Asra says warmly, gesturing for Muriel to come in. Muriel makes no move to enter until he sees Willa appear over Asra’s shoulder.

“Hey!” she grins, pulling Muriel inside and into a hug. It’s how she greets all of her friends, but Muriel stands there stiffly and she almost pulls away, worried she’s made a mistake. She’s relieved when Muriel relaxes into it a minute later, patting her back once. When she pulls away they’re both smiling. 

“I’ll uh, leave you two to get settled then,” Asra smirks as he watches them. “Movie starts in ten minutes!” 

“So, have you been here before?” Willa asks, leading Muriel into the kitchen. 

“Once or twice, but I’ve never stayed long.” Muriel looks around the kitchen, his eyes landing on the cork board next to the fridge. It’s covered in polaroid pictures of the camp staff from over the years. Most of the pictures are selfies with Asra and Portia in them, but the newer ones include pictures of Willa. He reaches out to touch one of them, it’s a candid photo of Willa laughing and covered in flour. “What happened here?” 

“Asra thought it would be funny to turn the mixer on high right as I added the flour. We were trying to bake a birthday cake for Nadia but as you can see, it didn’t go well,” Willa laughs. She finishes taking the cookies off of the cooling rack, transferring them over to a plate. “Would you like a cookie?” “Sure.” Muriel reaches out to take a cookie off of the plate and Willa watches attentively as he takes a bite. He perks up at the taste, he takes slow bites, savoring the cookie. Willa grins triumphantly, pleased at her guess that he enjoys sweets.

Portia enters the kitchen then, opening the fridge to pull out a beer. “Hi, Muriel!” 

“Hi.” Muriel nods at her.

“Nice apron, Willa,” Portia snickers as she heads back to the living room. Willa looks down, blushing as she realizes she’s still wearing a cheesy apron that says “kiss the cook” on it.

“This is Portia’s apron, she let me borrow it so I wouldn’t have a repeat of the flour fiasco,” Willa explains, hurriedly pulling off the apron. Muriel doesn’t comment, he’s too busy staring at the plate of cookies. “Do you want another? We’ve got plenty, go for it!” 

“They’re good.” Muriel carefully grabs another cookie, wasting no time in digging in. Willa laughs and picks up the plate so she can carry it into the living room. 

“Come on, let’s go get a seat before all the couch spots are taken,” Willa heads out the kitchen door and he follows. They’re just a minute too late, and Hestion takes the last seat on the couch next to Portia. “Fine, we’ll take the beanbags then.” 

Willa plops onto one of the fluffy cushions, gesturing for Muriel to take the other. He sinks into the beanbag, his legs stretching out in front of him. He watches cautiously as the other staff members chat and pass around drinks and various bowls of chips and popcorn. As the lights get turned off and the movie starts Muriel relaxes a bit, his shoulder resting against Willa’s. 

It was Portia’s turn to choose the movie, and she chose a horror movie set at a cabin in the woods. The movie hits a little too close to home, and only minutes into the movie Willa is too scared to look. She buries her head in Muriel’s shoulder, and he tentatively puts his arm around her. She peers out from his arm occasionally, screaming at all the jump scares. Muriel winces at the scares too, it’s clear he’s not enjoying the movie much but he stays anyway. 

As the movie goes on they move closer to each other, Muriel’s arm stays around her and she presses closer into his side until no space remains between them. Up close, Muriel smells like myrrh and soap, fresh like the forest after it’s rained. If she’s being honest, Willa isn’t that scared of the movie, but being this close to Muriel is nice. By the time the credits roll nearly two hours later, Muriel’s arm is sore from keeping it around Willa but he doesn’t complain. Neither one of them wants to move until Asra turns the lights on, and then they realize there’s an audience of gossiping camp staffers watching them. 

“I should go.” Muriel stands up abruptly, and Willa follows him out of the room.

“I’m glad you came,” Willa says once they’re alone by the door. She gathers her courage and leans up on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. Muriel stares at her in surprise, his hand reaches up to touch his cheek and Willa takes a step back. 

“What was that for?” he asks.

“I just… felt like it?” Willa looks down at her feet, internally cursing herself for always doing things without thinking them through first. 

“Ok…” Muriel looks like he wants to say something else but instead he leans down to kiss her cheek, so quickly his lips barely touch her. She stares at him, her cheeks flushed as red as her hair.

“And what was that for?” Willa teases, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Goodnight, Willa.” Muriel opens the door, turning to look back at her once more before he shuts it behind him. Willa leans back against the door, giddy and grinning as she reaches up to touch her cheek as Muriel had done.

“SPILL!” Portia calls as she walks into the front hallway, Asra follows right behind her and the two of them corner Willa. 

“Tell us everything!” Asra says, poking Willa’s arm playfully. 

Willa just laughs and shakes her head, “I’m not sure what just happened.” 

“He likes youuu,” Portia says in a sing-songy voice.

“Maybe,” Willa smiles, a nervous laugh slipping out as she thinks again of his lips pressed to her cheek.

“Definitely,” Asra argues, “He was watching you instead of the movie.”

“How would you know? You were too busy watching Julian,” Willa teases, and Asra scoffs.

“You should’ve seen the way he looked at you, Willa,” Portia says. “He totally likes you.”

Willa takes a step over to the window, the porch light just illuminates the retreating figure of Muriel as he walks towards the ranger station. She lets out another nervous, giddy laugh as she turns back to her friends. “We’ll see.”

✧

[wkemeup]

By Any Other Name (8)

series summary: When Special Agent Bucky Barnes is tasked with infiltrating the notorious gang Hydra and gathering evidence against its leader, Brock Rumlow, Bucky finds himself drawn to the woman who doesn’t seem to belong in this world of violence, the wife of the head of Hydra… you. pairing: bucky x reader chapter word count: 9.1k (I know, I know. I couldn’t help it) warnings: subtle implications of previous sexual assault, brock rumlow remains the #1 asshole, fancy galas and dancin’ on baloncies, bucky struggles to hold himself back  🌹series masterlist 🌹

When you returned home from the boutique downtown, James was trailing close behind you with the dress wrapped tight in a garment bag draped over his forearm. A deep chuckle echoed in his chest after you’d told him you texted Clara before he pulled into the driveway to start the kettle for you.

You had a few hours before you’d need to start on your hair and fumble your way through a decent makeup tutorial, and you’d hoped you could spend it with James curled up in the library, letting yourself lean against his shoulder as you’d turn a page and see whether he pulled away. You wanted to fill your senses with sweet apple caramel tea and the faded leather on James’ jacket and maybe the brush of his hand as he settled in beside you.

Smile bright on your face as you pushed open the door, you’d felt relief for the first time in weeks since Peter was dragged under Hydra’s claws. The warm gust of air pushed through the frame as you stumbled into the living room, turning back to James to tease him about how long he had to finish Goblet of Fire, when you noticed his smile fall away instantly. Replaced with a stone-cold expression, hardened features, he was focused on something beyond your shoulder.

Brock.

“You get what you need?” your husband asked from his seat in the living room, nursing a half-empty glass of scotch. The bottle was close by. There was malice in his tone, a threat, and you felt pride in it.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘p’ on your lips as you shrugged off your jacket. James took it from you without a word and placed it on the coat rack.

Brock stood and crossed the room. He gestured for the garment bag from James and zipped it open, peaking at the dress inside. He didn’t say anything but you could tell by the sliver of disappointment on his face that he was hoping for something more revealing, with a deeper cut and tighter fabric, but he didn’t have the control over you he used to.

“I hope you have appropriate attire for tonight, Karpov,” he said to James, eyes flickering down to the dark wash jeans, t-shirt, and black bomber he usually wore.

“Of course, sir,” James responded shortly, and there was a slight flicker of resentment, something like a challenge in his voice that caught you off guard. Brock didn’t seem to notice but you wondered if his change in attitude towards your husband had anything to do with his relationship to you – whatever that was.

“Best to give my wife ample time to get ready for tonight,” Brock added, as if you weren’t standing right next to him. “You know how long women can take to get ready.”

James wasn’t laughing, but your husband was. He was looking at you, checking for signs of distress as Brock tried to usher him out of the living room. He paused in the frame, like he was waiting for your approval before he departed and you gave him a slight nod. It was the last thing you wanted but you needed him to know you were okay to be alone.

Brock was an ass but you never felt threatened by him. You were safe despite your hatred of the man and you smiled softly for James. He gritted his teeth, still hesitant, but Brock nudged him further out the door until he had no excuse left to stay.

The door closed and, then, he was gone.

Without another word, you turned on your heels and started to make your way upstairs when you felt Brock’s hand snake around your wrist. You yanked it harshly from his grasp and he had the nerve to look surprised.

“Why so cold, baby?”

“Don’t act like we can play pretend anymore, Brock. You’re not foolish enough for that.”

He stepped back, licking at his lips as his eyes trailed along your body. He was displeased with your torn jeans and band shirt, favoring you to dress like the wealthy wives he’d seen in the papers and in press conferences next to their husbands; tight, short dresses, heels, and a full face of makeup, even on days they didn’t leave the house.

You started to turn your back to him as he reached out to your shoulder, but you slipped out of his grasp once again.

Brock grunted, arms folded over his chest. “You’re still angry about the kid.”

It wasn’t a question. The fact that he even dared to bring up Peter said enough about his limited ability to see anything past his own interests, his own cruel and selfless agenda. 

When you didn’t respond, Brock straightened his back, fake smile falling from his lips and turning into a hardened frown. “I hope you’re still aware of--”

“What?” you scoffed. “The fact that you’re keeping me complicit in your crimes and this hell of a marriage to hold onto some perceived notion of power? Or that you’ve dragged the only family I have left into constant danger just to blackmail me into staying with you, as if the threat of jail time and extortion wasn’t enough? I do not need reminding, Brock!”

You watched as he clenched at his jaw, the muscle flickering beneath the surface and you grinned. It wasn’t often Brock was speechless, riddled silent in anger alone, and you thrived on it. Maybe you would have been too afraid to confront him like this before, but something had changed, something had renewed your spark and your drive for freedom from this monster, and if you really let yourself think about it, you knew it had to do with startling blue eyes.

“If you’re worried about tonight, rest assure that I will play my part in front of the cameras,” you said, voice low and detached. “I’ll be the loving, submissive wife for the sake of the press and your immeasurably small ego, but inside these walls, I owe you nothing.”

Brock parted his lips to speak but you were already halfway up the stairs, back turned to him and for once, he didn’t dare to follow.

You stormed your way into your room with heat and fire and gravel in your veins and yanked out an entire drawer worth of clothes. You carried it down the hall and into the guest room, the one with the painting filled with sunset colors you'd purchased from the bubbly college student named Wanda down at the artisan coffee shop and dumped the contents onto the bed.

Two, three, six drawers, and half of a closet later and all of your clothing was sprawled out onto the comforter. You didn’t stop there. No— you went back for your books in the nightstand, your toiletries from the bathroom, the jewelry sitting on the dresser and your shoes lining the floor of the walk-in closet.

It was barren when you were finished.

You collapsed down on the guest bed amongst the piles of clothes and let out a heavy sigh of relief, wondering why the hell you’d waited until now to do that. The surge of confidence was new, the absence of the fear you once carried for your husband, too, because what else could he possibly do to you? He’d already trapped you within this home and this marriage. He’d pulled Peter into his world. There was nothing left he could take.

You thought then of blue eyes, but pushed the thought away quickly. He didn’t know anything about James. That, you were certain. If he did, he wouldn’t be lying in wait. Brock was a jealous man. He would have retaliated by now.

After you managed to find your curler and makeup bag amongst the mess of clothes and shoes upon the bed, you made your way to the bathroom. You’d managed to get ready for these events dozens of times before with no issue, though you’d come to despise the false lashes, intricate hair styles, and heavy makeup you’d mask yourself in.

Those were things Brock wanted.

He wanted you to be the envy of the room, the embodiment of every fashion trend and style, just so he could claim you as his own. So, he put you in skin tight dresses to accentuate your curves, the most expensive of jewelry along your neck and your hands, and heels higher than you could run in.

You looked down at the curler in your hand, studying it for a moment, before you started to smile.

***

An hour later, as you slipped the dress over your head and spent an embarrassingly long time twisting around yourself to pull up the zipper on your own, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror. For the first time in years, you looked like... well, you.

Subtle, soft waves down by your shoulders with a few pieces pulled away from your face and tied back in a simple silver clip you’d worn hundreds of times. Neutral colors in your makeup, strengthening the natural beauty your mother had always reminded you of. Diamond posts in your ears and a thin chained pendent around your neck, gifts from your father after he’d missed another one of your recitals in your school days; jewelry Brock could never touch.

You stepped into the shoes you’d worn every year to the graduations at Columbia. Nude in color and with a wide enough heel that you weren’t wobbling on your ankles, they were still a little worn but they were comfortable, familiar, and you found yourself smiling at your reflection.

A single chime from your phone rang out and you turned to the bed, eyes narrowed. It took a moment, digging through the massive pile before you found your phone hidden under your fall sweaters and summer shoes, but you swiped open the message.

A hand set over your mouth, smiling so wide it almost hurt and you tried to chew on your bottom lip to keep yourself from free falling too much, but what else could you be expected to do when James sent you a message like this.

An imagine first. A picture of him sitting on what looked to be a couch that would have fit in amongst the graduate students you mentored years ago, half of his face covered by the top edge of a book, though you could tell he was smiling from the wrinkles up by his eyes. He was nearing the end, maybe only a few pages left of the same book he’d been working on for a few weeks now; Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Classics weren’t limited to ones written by authors before you were born, you know.

Under the picture, a simple text, and it still made your heart soar.

I warned you not to underestimate me, doll.

Heart pounding, cheeks aching, you clutched the phone tight to your chest before sinking back onto the piles of clothes.

You were such a goner for this man.

***

No.

Nope.

Jesus H Christ.

If you thought you were done for before, you should have waited until James walked in the front door in a suit.

Hair pulled back away from his face in a low hanging bun, a few flyaway pieces falling back to frame the strong line of his jaw. Black jacket draped over his arm, white button up shirt folded along the sleeves to his elbows from the heat of your living room, and pale blue tie slightly slacked at the neck doing the most to draw your attention to his eyes.

But it was the way he was looking at you that did you in.

As you stepped down the stairs, his words seemed to die on his tongue, his full attention watching you with every step; the softest, smallest of smiles pushing at the corners of his lips like he was surprised, relieved, maybe even proud. You imagined Brock would notice the change in your makeup and hair from your usual, that he might scoff at your lack of ‘effort,’ but it wasn’t his opinion you cared for.

As you neared the bottom step, James darted forward, shaking himself from his daze and offered you his hand.

It was like you were a kid again. Heart thunderous in your chest, uncontrollable smile, stomach fluttering under the pressure of a thousand butterflies coursing through you, all ignited by his touch. For a second, you were alone with him in this room and you wondered what would happen if you gave into every instinct, everything you’d been craving, and let yourself chase after someone for once instead of being chained to a wall.

But the second passed and Brock emerged into the living room; the fantasy world you’d built for yourself in that moment shattered with the stomp of his feet and the slam of the door against the wall. James dropped your hand immediately, stepping away before Brock could see, and as caught up in himself as he usually was, he didn’t seem to notice.

“There you are, baby,” Brock called, waving towards the door impatiently. He was staring at his phone, hadn't even bothered to look up at you yet, but when he did, there was an ounce of disappointment to see you in the lavender dress. His frown made you smile.

“Follow in the car behind us,” he said sharply to James as he quickly turned out of the living room and began making his way to the car.

You rolled your eyes, huffing out a sigh and you mimicked his voice to James, earning you a hushed laugh in response. He offered you his arm and helped escort you down the front steps and to your car where Brock was already waiting inside.

“See you there,” you said softly before you slipped into the seat, as close to the door as possible to put some space between you and Brock.

James nodded, carefully closing the door behind you, though he lingered for a second on the other side of the window; hand pressed to the glass like it was some kind of extension of himself, keeping him tied to you for just a moment longer.

You studied the lines on his palms, the slight callouses and the nicks in the skin. You almost reached out to touch the window where his hand was placed, like you might be able to touch him if you tried hard enough, but then Brock cleared his throat.

“Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

When you turned back to the window, James was gone.

***

The blinding flash of the cameras as you emerged from the Bugatti was never something you were able to get used to in all your years with Brock. The light of it stung in your eyes, leaving behind blurs of stars in your vision, almost like a haze, as reporters and paparazzi called your name from all directions.

Brock rushed around the car, holding out his arm for you to take as you slipped your legs from the car, careful of the long slit in your dress. It was the only time he resembled a decent man; when he was under the watchful eye of the press.

The gala was host to New York’s wealthiest, set to raise hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars, for the city’s budget. Everyone who was anyone would be in attendance and that included men of a less than moral standard. They put on their smiles and paraded under the disguise of business fronts for their criminal schemes and everyone pretended like they were none the wiser. It didn’t matter where the money was coming from, it seemed, as long as it cleared in the bank.  

“Brock! Mr. Rumlow! How was your meeting with the commissioner?”

“Over here, sugar! Show us that dress!”

“Brock! A word on the jump in stock at the Lernaean?”

“Give us a smile, honey!”

You forced a curve onto our lips, though it seemed to ache in your cheeks, teeth gritting beneath the surface as Brock pulled you aside to answer the question of a pretty reporter holding out a microphone and wearing a long, red dress. He took his time answering her question, his gaze noticeably traveling down to the plunging neckline at her cleavage, though she didn’t appear to mind. She leaned into it, curved at her shoulders to make the exposure more pronounced. She knew what tactics to use to get his attention and get her quote. You’d admire her if you weren’t so angry with Brock for keeping you amongst the chaos of the photographers longer than necessary.

Though, even when you made it inside, there was no relief.

Instead, swarms of Brock’s business associates, local politicians, and sons of generations’ worth of inheritances crowded you as you stepped foot inside the extravagant ballroom.

Brock introduced you to Ulysses Klaue, a man with a nasty scar over his face and rotten teeth, claiming his money came from his family’s restaurant downtown and not the trading of weapons down at the docks.

Then, Grant Ward, the newly elected councilman already in your husband’s pocket with a boyishly handsome face and cold, dark eyes. The one you’d seen in your kitchen earlier that day as Brock coerced you into attending this event.

Finally, on your left, Obadiah Stane, who found his riches profiting off of a grieving, orphaned kid of billionaires.

You’d met all these men before.

Several times.

Brock, nor none of these men, ever seemed to remember. You supposed they only took in the pretty dress and the flow of curves, but never your face, and certainly not your name. Men like this didn’t much care for the character of the women in their lives.

You found yourself glancing around the room, in search of something, though it took you a minute to realize you were seeking out James. He didn’t seem to be anywhere in the main room and you hadn’t seen him pull the car up behind you and Brock at the front entrance. Your heart sunk a little, wondering how long you’d be left alone with your husband without reprieve.

He had promised he’d be here, hadn’t he? It was the only reason you hadn’t completely broken down twice as you’d done up your makeup. It was part of your usual routine anyway. The idea of acting as a trophy, a visually pleasing object at Brock Rumlow’s side for him to show off to his friends, wasn’t just humiliating, it was degrading. These events were nightmares to you until James.

He had to be here somewhere, you reasoned. He wouldn’t have lied to you. He wouldn’t have left you on your own. He was better than that, you were sure of it.

It only took four minutes of mild conversation and blatant objectifying comments of a young woman by the bar before Brock turned to you with a hushed whisper and said, “why don’t you go sit with the other wives? I have some business to take care of.”

It always came to that eventually. This sort of comment where he’d dismiss you when he no longer required your presence, when your purpose expired and he held no use for the pretty, silent woman at his side.

You glanced over to the gathering of wives at the center of the ballroom and scoffed at the prospect of being around those women. They were as ruthless and cruel as their husbands, Lady Macbeths standing amongst expensive couches in fear of wrinkling their dresses and gossiping amongst themselves, comparing riches and their husbands’ latest business ventures.

Still, there was relief in not having to wear this mask any longer; of acting like the doting, loving wife, hanging off his arm for his friends to admire and stare at. You nodded without another word and quickly made your way to the bar.

Brock didn’t even seem to notice you’d left.

There had been a time that you’d been incredibly self-conscious on your own in a venue like this, dressed in garments worth twice your last paycheck and nursing a glass of red wine alone. You’d come to crave the solitude. It meant you weren’t listening to Brock’s endless self-praise or dealing with catty wives or forcing out a smile. It gave you a chance to just breathe.

Though, of course, it never lasted long.

You swirled the wine glass in your hand, watching as the burgundy red liquid chased the widest curve of the cup. Mesmerizing and dizzy with the alcohol in your system, you brought it to your lips and took back a heavy sip. It ran like warmth down your body, a comforting blanket.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing on your own?” a voice suddenly purred from behind you, low and deep and unfamiliar, as a hand snaked its way from the low of your back around your hips.

You gasped, jumping out of the man’s hold and nearly spilling the wine down the front of your dress if the bartender hadn’t pulled it from you hand in time with a short grimace and placed it on the counter.

Your cheeks were flushed, the man staring down at you with little regard for his wondering eyes.

“Try hitting on someone else, creep,” you sneered.

“Come on, sugar,” he purred, ignoring the way you tried to step out of the space he invaded and moved closer to you, “I know you’re looking for some company.”

As his hand started to reach out to you again, suddenly it was stopped midair by a tight grip on the wrist. Wide eyes darted to the assailant before he was shoved away from you. A thick wall stepped between you, like a shield, and a wave of calm swept through your chest, easing your racing heart.

“She said no, asshole. Back the hell up,” James growled, his hands curling into fists.

You set a hand on his shoulder blades, a reminder that you were just fine and despite this man’s wondering hands and eyes, he didn’t require the brunt of James’ job description as punishment. The quiver in his stance would suffice.

“Fuckin’ prude. Not worth it anyway,” the man grunted before stalking away in search of his next target. He didn’t spare you a final look.

It took a minute before James turned around, but as he did, the hardness of his features softened immediately upon seeing you.

“You alright?”

You nodded. “’Course. Comes with the territory of these things.”

James clenched his jaw, clearly chewing on the inside of his lip. It bothered him that you’d become so used to the unwanted touches and the blatant staring of crude men. He wanted to say more, that much you could tell, but he sighed instead.

“It’s not so bad now that you’re here,” you said teasingly and his cheeks heated a slight shade of pink. How a man like James Karpov could manage to blush was still a mystery to you.

“That so?” he smiled, letting go of the tension as he finally turned away from staring daggers into the man he’d nearly assaulted.

James leaned back against the bar and picked up your wine, placing it into your hand. He looked over you as you took another sip, smile filling his face, pushing up by his cheeks and wrinkling by his eyes.

“I was right, you know,” he shrugged casually, glancing back out into the sea of guests. You raised an eyebrow, not sure what he was referring to, but as a stunning blonde woman walked by in a dress two sizes too small and the cleavage of her chest near spilling out the top, James didn’t even spare her a glance. “You’re the most beautiful woman in the room.”

Face burning hot, you tried to hide behind the wine glass, hardly able to even look at him, but he didn’t let up.

“Gave all these women a chance too, just like you asked,” he tsked. “Still don’t hold a candle to you in that dress.”

You chewed on your lip, tasting the lipstick you’d put on just an hour earlier you were sure was completely faded away by now. Your stomach was alight with fireworks and your heart was thumping so hard, you wondered if he could hear it over the string quartette playing just a few feet away.

“Almost thought you were gonna bail on me,” you said, changing the subject quickly because he was making it incredibly hard not to jump into his arms, and ravage him right on the bar, even amongst all these people and your husband laughing away with his associates not too far away. You squeezed your thighs together and cleared your throat awkwardly. “You get lost?”

He chuckled, unfazed by your lack of response. You supposed the slight tremor in your voice was enough for him.

“I’m not allowed the privilege of the front entrance,” he said. “Parked around back and checked out the security first.”

You nodded, taking another sip, hoping it might give you confidence. “I don’t remember Rollins ever taking precautions like that. You take your job very seriously, don’t you?”

He pursed his lips, a slight shake of his head. A beat, and then, “only when you’re in the room.”

He said it so simply, as casually as one might order a second drink or exchange pleasantries with a cashier at the store, like it was second nature. You found yourself staring at him, wide eyed and certain he could see every ounce of your heart spilling out from your chest, but he only winked at you with that charming smile of his before turning out to watch the guests.

He was trying to kill you; stop your heart, steal your breath, something, because he kept saying things that made you feel impossibly weak, words that made your stomach twist in ways you hadn’t even experienced in the years Brock was pretending to love you and he’d purposely sculpted himself into everything you ever wanted in a man.

James was still somehow so much more.

***

You stood there with James for nearly an hour, laughing at the high-end attendees as they attempted to one up one another with stories of their latest vacations or libraries baring their name on college campuses. You made fun of a couple bickering with the waitstaff and the twenty-something son of a billionaire donning sunglasses indoors, wobbling on his feet and carrying around a half empty bottle of tequila while his father ignored him.

After a few times turning you down, James finally agreed to the drink you’d ordered him nearly twenty minutes prior and started to sip on the bourbon like it was honey. You could smell it on his breath but it didn’t repulse you in the way it did when Brock smelled of it. It was sweeter, lighter, and he wasn’t drowning in it. It made his cheeks a little flushed and his smile a litter bright, his muscles a little looser, and you wondered if you could adore him more than you already did.

His laugh was like the kind of melody that got stuck in your head after a single listen; a captivating kind of key change and a series of lyrics that punctured you straight through the chest. He was charming and kind and impossibly sweet and if left unchecked, you were certain you’d free fall for him straight into an abyss.

Though, you’d already made that jump months ago, hadn’t you?

“Think you might be up for Indian this time?” you asked as the conversation began to drift to your upcoming Sunday afternoons. He’d promised to meet you down by the bridge a few hours earlier so he could join you and Peter for lunch before Peter snuck off to find his ‘not-girlfriend’ Michele at the climate change rally downtown.

“I told you, Y/n, I’m up for anything. Whatever you want to do,” James smiled, taking another sip of his bourbon.

“You say that every time! I know for a fact the peppers at that Thai place we tried last week almost killed you,” you teased, thinking back to how quickly his eyes watered and he started coughing at the first taste, though he insisted he was fine even as he’d asked a water refill twice in the span of ten minutes. Peter was in near hysterics. You struggled to hold back your laughter. “You’re allowed to disagree with me, James.”

“Me? Never.”

You swatted at his arm until he started to laugh and you realized your cheeks were hurting from how wide you were smiling. Some of the guests glanced over in your direction, eyeing you under narrowed stared before they scoffed and turned away. You didn’t mind at all. It barely even fazed you.

But as with every good thing in your life, Brock found a way to insert himself right into it, leaving you with no relief. He was waving in your direction, a slight sway in his stance as his drink sloshed up over the side. You realized then he wasn’t looking at you at all, but at James.

“I think you’re being summoned,” you said disappointedly with a slight roll of your eyes. You nudged James’ shoulder and pointed in Brock’s direction as he nearly stumbled onto a friend of his.

James pressed his lips, pretending like he didn’t notice. “No, I don’t think so.”

He could hardly keep a straight face. It brought a smile back to your own. 

“You better go before you get us both in trouble,” you warned, pushing him along. You were laughing before you realized it. 

“You’ll be alright?” His smile was softer now, more serious, concerned. It fluttered straight to your chest and warmth burned around your heart.

“I can manage without you, you know,” you teased. He raised an eyebrow, about to challenge you with that grin of his, but you pointed to the back gardens. It was quiet out there, away from wondering eyes and you could use a break from the heat of the ballroom and the wine. “I’m going to get some air. I’ll be fine, James. Go.”

He gave you a short nod, quickly gulping back the rest of his bourbon, leaving you to laugh as he wiped his lips and turned to head towards Brock.

You watched him as he left, a cautious look over his shoulder the further away he got, like he was checking on you, making sure you were as fine as you insisted, and only turned back when you gave him a smile of encouragement. Brock had never done anything like that in your years together, even when he was playing his part so convincingly. But to James, it was an instinct.

Brock slid back into his chair, a little uneasy and you were certain he was drunk. It was a frequent occurrence at these events anyway. He'd waste himself in expensive alcohol until he could barely stumble home if he wasn’t practically draped over your shoulder and he’d let his hands wander in the car on the way home and as you’d put him to bed. No matter how many times you swatted his hands away, he’d slide his fingers up the thigh of your dress, or kiss at your collarbone as you took off your makeup, until you'd eventually give in just to get him to go to sleep.

It had been months since you’d last let him touch you. You couldn’t stand the idea of his mouth on you, his hands trailing over your skin and taking what he desired. It was like venom, poison, and you couldn’t just roll over and close your eyes anymore. You’d found a courage to say no and you realized, as you watched Brock grab onto James’ collar and yank him down close to say something quiet in his ear, it had something to do with the kind blue eyes that still managed to watch you intently from across the room.

Brock shoved a glass into James’ hand and pressed him to sit amongst his inebriated friends. There wasn’t much about Hydra and Brock’s criminal life you knew details about, but you knew enough to wonder the sorts of things he was asking of James, the kind of conversations those men must have amongst each other.

James was reluctant, gaze flashing back in your direction, but you had already moved away from the bar. You watched as he narrowed his focus, glancing around for you until he spotted you walking towards the back doors. There was a slight exhale in his shoulders, though his expression remained stoic, almost longing, before he sat down next to your husband.

The double doors leading to the gardens were lined with reflective panels, the walls too, and it reminded you of the hall of mirrors in Versailles. Brock had taken you there on your honeymoon, back in the days when he was pretending to love you before your father’s money became available to him. He’d done such a convincing job back then and you wondered most days how you could be so foolish as to fall for his act.

With a heavy sigh, you watched your own reflection as you approached the doors. The lavender dress really was stunning; the softness of the color standing out amongst the sea of dark reds, deep blues, and forest greens. You never suspected James was lying about how well it suited you, but it felt nice to see yourself in something you liked, too, something you felt comfortable in and allowed you to resemble even part of how you saw yourself. You weren’t interested in transforming into Brock’s ideal woman with the hair extensions, false lashes, and skin tight dresses.

You just wanted to be you, if only for once.

The air was cool as you stepped out into the gardens. It raised goosebumps on your arms and you ran your hands along the exposed skin. Still, against the flush in your cheeks from the busy, crowded ballroom and the alcohol in your blood, it was a relief.

It was really quite beautiful outside as you leaned against the balcony and looked out into the sea of flowers and bushes. Vibrant colors surrounded by infinite shades of green, all sitting under a star covered navy sky. It was like something out of your novels; a scene you’d never appreciated before until you found someone you wanted to share it with.

Starting to wonder if you’d find him again that evening, you picked up the hem of your dress, turning to head back inside when you were met with a wall of muscle; a slight chuckle in his chest and a hand extended out to you.

“Dance with me.”

James smiled softly at you, simply waiting, and you could only stare at his hand. The melodic tones of the string quartette filtered out into the balcony, playing a waltz you recognized from your time at Columbia. Your office had been by the music department and you’d slipped into the orchestra’s practice hours to grade assignments in the back row most nights.

Your eyes slowly trailed up to his face to find he was as sincere as he sounded.

“Dance with me,” he asked again. There was no impatience in his voice, if anything, there was amusement, enjoyment.

“What—What did Brock want?” you asked, changing the subject abruptly because he couldn’t possibly be serious, but he didn’t drop his hand and he didn’t step away.

“Nothing important,” James shrugged. “He’s too far gone to be talking business anyway and ended up trying to rope me into ogling with his buddies at a woman on the arm of military weapons manufacture with an ego the size of the empire state building.”

“And?”

James narrowed his eyes. “And what?”

“What was the consensus?”

You didn’t even know why you were asking, but you couldn’t seem to tear your eyes away from his hand. He let it fall then, but only to step closer to you. There was a softness in his features, a kindness that shouldn’t be there for a man of his profession, and yet, when he touched you it felt like he was handling something precious, something like paper thin delicacy with the calloused hands riddled with scars.

“She was pretty,” James admitted with an exhale, “but she’s not you.”

He stepped back again, extended his arm, that boyish grin on his face returning and you swore he was going to be the end of you.

“Now, dance with me.”

“James,” you sighed, eyes flickering inside to where Brock was laughing with his partners inside, a whiskey glass in hand as the amber liquid slipped up and over the edge with every jarred movement. “I don’t know if we can—this is— he’s right there.”

“Just one dance, doll,” James said sweetly, curling his fingers at you. “It would be a shame to wear a dress like that and not get a dance out of it. Come on, Y/n. It’s harmless.”

It most certainly wasn’t and he full well knew that.

“He can’t see us, you know,” James reminded you quietly, sensing your hesitation as he watched your gaze trailing back inside where your husband sat, a lingering hurt in his voice you didn’t expect. “Those are two-way mirrors. All they can see from the inside is a reflection of themselves. I think it’s rather fitting, don’t you?”

Right. You’d noticed that when you came outside.

“Dance with me, Y/n,” he asked again, persistent but never demanding. His hand was still there waiting for you to hold.

You stared at it, the open palm and the patience in his stance. There was no doubt that you wanted to, that you would have thrown yourself into his arms at his first invitation, but there was danger in that. With Brock so close, the risk of him finding out, of exposing whatever it was between you and James, it didn’t just terrify you, it was a constant source of dread.

Brock was an angry, jealous man, and he’d tear James apart if he knew even half of how you felt for him.

But the temptation was strong. James gave you the kind of choices Brock never did. He was kind and patient and understanding. He was everything you had once thought Brock was and still, somehow, so much more than that. He was sincere and genuine and you could never quite reconcile how he’d ended up working for a vile organization like Hydra. He was too good a man for that. You were certain of it.

You glanced up at his eyes to find him simply watching you, curious; shades of ocean blue and the light pink of his lips curving as your resolve began to crumble. It always would when he asked you to.

“One dance,” you warned, tentatively slipping your hand into his and he seemed to melt at the relief of it alone. His hand was cold, like ice to the heat of your palms.

He echoed your words, though once your hand was locked in his, his other sitting gently on your lower back as he guided you to sway along to the tempo of the music, you both knew one dance would never be enough.

You’d been in his arms once before, the night he’d come rushing over after Brock had dragged Peter into his underworld, already in the car before you could even get the words out to ask him to come. He’d held you as you cried and soothed a hand along your back until your eyes dried, but this was different. This was intentional. This was something you’d only allowed yourself to dream about in the furthest corners of your mind, never once believing it was anywhere within reach.

Yet, here he was.

You could smell the soapy fragrance of his shampoo, the oak of his cologne. You could feel the warmth of his breath so close to you that it brushed against your cheeks with every exhale. You felt the grip of his hand, the slight readjustments of the one on your back, like he might be as nervous as you were despite his charming demeanor.

“Don’t know the last time I danced like this,” you whispered, the words spilling from you before you could stop them. It seemed to surprise James for a moment before the realization clicked; the understanding that your husband was not a man of love and tender moments such as these. You wondered if it had been since your wedding day. You couldn’t remember.

“Well, I can’t tell at all,” James said, smiling softly at you. “You’re a natural.”

“Only because you’re leading every step,” you teased and when he started to laugh again, you swore there wasn’t a more beautiful sound in the universe.

“Have to have a good partner for that.”

You pulled your lower lip between your teeth, trying to stifle the smile pulling hard against your cheeks.

The two of you danced for at least three songs like that, swaying back and forth, a twirl under his arm when he decided to mix things up to pull a laugh from you, and a brief moment where he attempted to teach you to waltz properly, but you’d stepped on his toes enough times he brought you back to the simple swaying, teasing that you were going to put him out of commission with moves like that, though he promised to teach you next time.

You liked the sound of that. Next time.

After the melodies playing inside began to soften, turning to long, drawn out notes amongst the deep sounds of the cello and the fragrant notes of the violin and violas, James lifted your hand to his neck, releasing his hold on your hand and slid it to meet his other at the base of your spine. You relaxed into him, resting your cheek to his shoulder, closing your eyes because you’d never felt as safe with any man as you did with James.

You could hear his heart thumping beneath the jacket of his suit and for a moment, you were reminded that you weren’t alone in your fears. You weren’t the only one who knew how dangerous this was, how much you were risking, how terrifying it was to care for someone the way you did for him. Fingers danced in the hairs at the nape of his neck, brushing at the baby hairs there and flattening your hands against his back, feeling as much of him as you could.

His nose pressed into your shoulder, arms snaking tight around your back, and you wondered if he’d been dreaming about this as much as you have. He held onto you like it was the last time, the only time, like he might not ever be given a chance again, and you realized you’d never known that kind of longing before. It nearly tore right through you.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you said quietly, not even sure he could hear you as your hand slipped around the base of his neck to settle against the rush of his heart. Under your palm, you could feel every pulse, and it was loud, frequent, and it seemed to channel right into your veins.

“Yeah,” he sighed, “it is.”

“Why is that?”

It was a dangerous question but you asked it anyway.

“I think you know,” he replied tenderly, his fingers tracing patterns in the small of your back as he leaned forward to press his nose to your shoulder. You shivered as he inhaled, his lips grazing your skin before he pulled back and swept a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You... you make me do things I shouldn’t. You make me want things I shouldn’t.”

There was more than what he was saying, words he was holding back, confessions on the tip of his tongue but he bit them away. You couldn’t imagine anything more forbidden that to fall for your husband’s right-hand man, his enforcer, and for him to care for you in return. Brock was not a man many have dared to cross and when they have, well, they’ve ended up like Rollins – asphyxiated alone in a prison cell.

And still—there was something else. Something else holding him back but you couldn’t place what it was. There was guilt in his eyes, shame, he didn’t have when he spoke about your husband. James knew that your relationship to Brock was a sham, nothing more than a publicity stunt and you held no affection for him. It wasn’t a matter of adultery or breaking hearts. There was more going on than what he told you, but you didn’t press him. Not now.

“Sometimes I wish I could just run from all this,” you whispered slowly, clinging tight to the lapel of his jacket. You didn’t dare meet his eye but you felt as he stilled, as the sway of his steps gently pulled to a stop. “I think about getting on a plane and going somewhere far from where Brock or—or Hydra could find me. But then I think about Peter and Aunt May and—and you.”

His breathed hitched. You felt his heart race again and his grip on you tightening, though he didn’t say anything.

You took in a shaken breath, trying to find courage as you rested your cheek to his shoulder.

“I’m not naïve. I know what you do for Hydra, but there's something in me that can't accept it. It just doesn’t make any sense and I keep racking my brain trying to figure out how you ended up in this world being as kind and compassionate and sweet as you are and I just... I can’t. I can’t figure it out because you’re nothing like Brock. You’re nothing like any of his men or Jack Rollins and I... I don’t understand. I hate everything about Hydra, what they do, what they stand for... but you... you don’t belong with them, James. You can’t.”

Heart in your throat, hands clenched so tight into his jacket your knuckles started to ache, the words left you before you could stop them. You held your breath, wincing at what you’d said because they had just tumbled out one after the other without much room for hesitance.

James swallowed thickly and you started to register his hand trailing along your spine, gentle reassurance, as he slowly brought it up to around your neck, then to rest on your cheek. As tenderly as you’d ever been touched, he guided you off of his shoulder to meet his eye.

There is was again; that guilt you swore had little to do with your husband but it was eating him alive.

“When this is over, I’ll take you away from all of this,” he whispered and your breath hitched.

You blinked a few times, not quite understanding. “Over? I don’t--”

“You’ll never have to see him again if you don’t want to. I promise,” James continued, determined, and he cupped the sides of your face. His thumbs traces along your cheekbones, almost desperately and his eyes flickered down your lips but he snapped his gaze away almost instant, like he was reminding himself the dangerousness of that thought. He cleared his throat. “I just need more time, sweetheart. Just a little more time.”

“Time?” you sighed, shaking your head slightly. “James, you’re not making sense. Time for what?”

Neither of you realized the quartette had stopped playing minutes earlier; the chirp of the crickets and the bristle of wind the only melodies left in its place. You reached up to his hand, holding it against you, wondering if this had anything to do with the shame clouded into the blue of his eyes. He didn’t answer your question, but you could tell from the clench his jaw how much he wanted to.

He parted his lips, like he just might tell you, but his eyes flickered to the floor and the words died before they touched his tongue. You sighed, turning your head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand as he held it by your cheek. It surprised him, ocean blue flashing up in an instant and you smiled softly at him.

Heart thunderous in your chest, you pulled yourself closer to him, enough that you were flush against his chest. His hand wove into the hairs at the base of your neck, stroking gently into the nape, and you felt the heat of his breath brush against your nose.

So close. Impossibly close. Closer than you’d ever been and it wasn’t enough.

You leaned in, inching away the space between you, enough to feel the sharp intake of breath as his lips parted. Aching, yearning. 

Your lips only grazed his for a second, a glimpse of the love and care and affection you’d been missing for years, before it was stolen away.

The doors to the balcony swung open, slamming against the stone walls and you jumped out of James’ hold, a gasp in your lungs. He took several paces down the terrace, brushing at his lips, his hair, eyes glued to the floor, as Brock sauntered into the garden.

His whiskey still in hand, the amber liquid barely kept within the glass as most of it ended up on the floor. With every step, he was stumbling, laughing to himself under glazed eyes, until he spotted you.

“There you are, baby!” Brock slurred, fumbling his way to you and you winced at the reek of alcohol on his breath. A few drops of the whiskey stained onto your dress.

You glanced over at James as he watched you from a careful distance. He was tense, hands clenched at his sides as Brock threw an arm around your shoulders, nose nuzzling at your neck and you tried to squirm out of his grasp as you felt the wet of his lips touch your skin.

“Ready to head home, sir?” James gritted from the corner.

Brock popped his head up, a drunken grin beaming on his face. “Didn’t even see you there, Karpov! You been hanging around my wife, huh? Trying to get some side action?”

James didn’t respond, his face as stone, but your heart was pounding.

“Well good luck!” Brock laughed, grabbing at your ass sharply and you swatted him away, ready to near smack him until he tugged you up under his arm again. His grip was strong for a man with alcohol in his veins. “Haven’t gotten a lay out of this one in ages. She’s a real tease.”

Your face was on fire as Brock dragged you back inside. There wasn’t anything you could do, not in front of all these people the way you could at home. He’d never allow it, even in this state, and it left you feeling weak and pathetic and shame coursed through you like poison.

James was only a few steps behind you and you could feel the anger seething off of him. There was a moment as Brock led you through the front entrance of the ballroom outside to the valet, when he told James to meet him back at the house, that you realized you were to be left alone with your husband again and the defiance in James’ stance made you question whether he’d ever follow Brock’s orders again.

It took him a second to respond and in Brock’s drunken state he almost didn’t notice, but James said, “I can escort Mrs. Rumlow home if you’d like to attend your meeting downtown.”

Brock paused, pursed his lips as he glanced over James, then to you. His eyes trailed lower, down to your cleavage and you looked away, far down the street where neither of the men could see the rush of embarrassment on your face.

“I think I’m good for tonight,” he smirked, tugging you tighter to his side and you counted down the seconds until you crossed the barrier into your home and you could crawl out of his hold without repercussions, lock yourself behind the door of your new room and wait until morning.

“I don’t mind, sir,” James pressed, studying the way you couldn’t quite meet his eye anymore.

Brock raised a brow. He wasn’t used to be questioned and he appeared for a moment, that he might retaliate, until he broke out into a smile as if he’d been in on the joke.

“Go the fuck home, Karpov!” Brock laughed, waving his hand. “I’ve giving you a night of freedom. Grab a woman and get laid, will you? God knows you need it.”

Brock gestured to you rather dramatically as the car pulled up. He leaned forward, nearly losing his balance in the sudden movement, and opened the back door.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, waiting for you to slide inside.

You swallowed, eyes catching on James and you could tell from the clench of his fists, the twitch of the muscle behind his jaw line, that he would have started a war in that moment if you asked him to.

You’d be fine, you told yourself. You always were. Brock would run his hands up your thighs in the car and he’d stumble his way to the bar cart as soon as he made it into the living room and he’d forget about you. He was too drunk to try anything tonight, but it didn’t seem to lessen the look of absolute rage on James face.

You resided to text James as soon as you could, the moment you got home. You'd make a laugh of it, tell him how Brock face planted on the stairs and how he could barely get his own coat off. You'd tell him you were used to it and you were making tea and catching up on your latest novel, even if you were huddled under layers of sheets, clinging to your phone, crying behind locked doors.

You’d tell him whatever he needed to hear because the look on his face broke your heart; too see how much he wanted to defy all orders and take you into his arms and away from the man who made you retreat so far into yourself you barely recognized your reflection.

But James was no fool. He knew the consequences of disobeying your husband. He wouldn’t survive them.

“Goodnight, James,” you said, voice as even as you could manage it. It was your promise to him that you were alright, that you'd be okay if he left, even if none of it was true.

You pushed out a polite smile, one your husband would not question, and without another look – simply because you knew you’d never be able to walk away from him if you turned back now – you sunk into the back seat of the car, crawled to the outside window and made yourself as small as you could.

“Goodnight, Mrs. Rumlow,” you heard James say in response, soft and aching, before Brock slid in behind you and closed the door.

The air smelled of whiskey. It burned.

[blouisparadise]

Although most of us aren’t able to go on vacation at the moment, we hope this rec list will make everyone feel a bit better than that. Upon request, here is a rec list of bottom Louis fics where Harry, Louis, or both boys go on vacation at some point during the fic. Happy reading!

1) This Is Where I Sleep | Explicit | 3678 words

Harry and Louis go camping while on break and make some memories.

2) Under the Vanilla Sky | Explicit | 8006 words

Who the hell wears a hat like that on a yacht?  That's one of the things Louis thinks when he sees Harry from across the deck of the most expensive, ridiculous boat he's ever been on.  He also thinks he'd like to get closer.  Just to see what's under those aviators.  Just to verify that, yes, in fact, those white swim trunks might be a little see-through when wet.  Just to see if someone could really be that hot in real life.  On a yacht.  In the Caribbean sea just off the coast of St. Barts.  

Here's what really happened on that yacht.

Or, my opinion, at least.

3) Rather This Than Live Without You | Explicit | 10715 words

Harry decides to give it all up. Louis refuses to be left behind.

4) Ready To Run | Explicit | 11940 words

After being left at the alter by his boyfriend of five years, Louis goes on a vacation to try and clear his head and fill the empty spaces in his heart. On the way, he meets a new group of life-long friends, and maybe a little more than that.

5) I Know You Have A Heavy Heart (I Can Feel It When We Kiss) | Explicit | 14489 words | Sequel

In which Louis is spending New Year’s alone in France but he’s definitely not running away, and Harry is a french florist with an ever present smile who cares a lot. They meet a cold night in the outskirts of Paris.

6) Don’t Put Out The Glow | Not Rated | 15007 words

"He fists out a pair of skinny jeans and a plain black tee. Nothing wrong there. Then he sees an atrocious Hawaiian shirt in Zayn’s hand and he starts digging through the bag urgently, pulling out more and more items that don’t belong to him."

7) Pleasure Over Matter | Explicit | 152014 words

Harry is a bit out of his element, and an unsuspecting stranger provides him temporary relief.

8) All I Want Is To Fall With You | Mature | 16254 words

The weekend ski trip where omega Louis discovers that he can’t change a tire and his skiing skills are debatable but still manages to find the alpha who will change his life.

9) Some Flowers In Your Hair | Explicit | 23015 words

A magical camping AU in which Louis is jealous of Harry's magic, Liam's a little too enthusiastic about surviving in the wilderness, and Niall might have misunderstood the rules.

10) Force of Nature | Mature | 25672 words

Louis is a shy, young musician who doesn't want to go to Harvard.

Harry is a confident,  second year athlete who likes to have a good time.

When their paths cross while their families are vacationing at the same lake resort, what begins as a summer of fun becomes a defining journey that might just change everything.

11) A Trail Of Honey Through It All | Explicit | 27085 words

The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

12) Rivers ‘Til I Reach You | Explicit | 29315 words

AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

13) The List | Mature | 32094 words

'In the weeks that follow, Harry opens his old journal more than he has in the past two years each time he remembers Venice or thinks about Louis. He always flips to the same random page in the middle of the book, marked by the picture of himself that Louis sent him a few days after they got home. There’s a message on the back that says, ‘Spontaneous looks good on you! See you soon,’ and it makes Harry’s chest warm each time he reads it. He wedges their list out from between the worn pages, and it feels silly staring down at a folded up piece of paper with a strange sense of nostalgia for experiences they’ve yet to have; for places they’ve never even been.'

14) (Your Heartbeat) Rang True Inside My Bones | Explicit | 32945 words

Harry goes as Louis' date for a weekend wedding. He ends up taking the role a bit too seriously.

15) Let Me Feel Your Heartbeat | Explicit | 34572 words

Harry is 98% sure Louis hates him. So he feels like his bewilderment is justified when the omega offers to help him through his rut.

16) And Touch Me Like You | Explicit | 35971 words

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

17) A Red-Dusted Planet | Explicit | 38265 words

A one-night stand in a small town in Australia turns into a weekend that Harry could've never predicted with a boy he may never forget.

18) A Rhythm In Rush | Explicit | 40010 words

Harry is a WWF journalist with big dreams and Louis is a glaciologist that flies helicopters for fun. Greenland is an odd place to spend Christmas, but just maybe, the perfect place to fall headfirst into love.

19) Nobody Does It Like You | Not Rated | 58520 words

Louis isn't looking for a home, but he finds one in Harry.

20) Waiting For The Tides To Meet | Explicit | 59873 words

Soulmate AU. Everyone is born with heterochromia — one eye is their own eye colour, while the other is the colour of their soulmate's. It's only when they meet their soulmate for the first time that their own eyes match properly. After a hazy night at a frat party, Louis wakes up to blue eyes and the shocking realization that he had met his soulmate, without any sober recollection. Seven years pass where Louis comes to terms with the fact that he'll never know who his soulmate is. Then one fated summer, a beautiful green-eyed photographer arrives at Louis' workplace, with promises of endless laughter and a familiar feeling in Louis' heart.

21) Tug-Of-War | Explicit | 63000

Louis' husband dies suddenly and he is left with nothing. Well, not really nothing. He has Harry. And a St. Bernard puppy named Link, whom his late husband left behind for him. Louis takes care of Link and Harry takes care of Louis. Everything is okay until suddenly, it isn't.

22) This Wicked Game | Explicit | 70010 words

An AU in which The Bachelor is gay, Louis is a contestant, Harry is the bachelor, everyone drinks a lot of champagne, the entire world gets to watch them fall in love, and no one plays by the rules.

23) Don’t Tell the Gods (We Left a Mess) | Explicit | 71556 words

After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.)

24) Perfect Storm | Explicit | 80230 words

What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding.

Harry and Louis choose the latter.

25) Nothing Worsens, Nothing Grows | Explicit | 102528 words

Another roadtrip au featuring Harry as the misunderstood hipster, Louis as the bitter psych major, Liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and Niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[bbeomcr]

blood, soul and body | lmh

❝If you were gonna leave this word, how could it have been without me?❞

✧ in which death tears two souls apart.

    ✦pairing: lee minho x gn!reader

    ✦genre: angst, vampire!au, 

    ✦warnings: character death, mentions of blood, mention of self harm.

    ✦content: one-shot (3k words) | based on this

“It’s time to take you home,” Minho said under a bright smile.

He felt dumb after the words left his mouth. Of all the things he could have said. But the date had been good, so good he didn’t want to part ways just yet.

“It feels so early,” the witch by his side muttered over hushed, tipsy laughs.

It was still early in the morning (or maybe late at night) and the sun was still so far away that it was a shame to waste the time alone. But he promised that they would walk home together and bide goodbyes properly, that was the way Minho did things and God could take his soul if he ever broke a promise.

That’s why now, in front of an apartment building, he had a warm hand wrapped around his freezing one and a foolish smile unwilling to go. He felt intoxicated by euphoria (or maybe it was the wine).

A raspy voice made him turn his head: “We’re here,” and he wished they weren’t “I’d invite you in, but the sun’s a few hours away.”

They laughed again, maybe at the slurred words, maybe at the idea of inviting him in, but then and there it was just perfect. Then he left a giggle when he remembered.

“Have the rest,” he said, offering the bottle that was on his other hand. He hoped the chill air and the coolness of his hand had at least kept the liquid from warming.

But the soft growl after the witch accepted the drink just proved him wrong.

“It’s warm, disgusting,” they both laughed at the tone, and without realising their lips collided.

They giggled at the abruptness, lips brushing and smiles ghosting against each other. It was soft, it was calm and yet they couldn’t get enough of it. It felt like summer on a winter night, they felt warm.

“You should go inside, you’re gonna catch a cold,” Minho said once they broke the kiss.

He left after the witch crossed the building door.

Minho always felt a strong dislike for alcohol, and yet he couldn’t help but drown another shot. It was warm, the liquid having sat on the desk for hours after he took it from its usual place, and he never bothered to look for some ice, it was only a waste of time.

He had a hard time trying to forget, he had a hard time trying to survive and this was now just too much.

“You need to stop this,” there it was, the cause of his constant headache, being sober was awful; he got to listen to Jisung’s voice.

In all honesty, he thought about it a couple of times — of letting go, of starting again and come through from the horrible place he found himself in. But then his lover’s face came back to his mind on those few lucid moments and all his efforts seemed stupid, how could he ever think of letting go?

“If Chris sent you, tell him I don’t care and that he should do whatever he wants.”

This scene had been played so many times already, he could easily recall the same memories playing over and over again. It was like a broken record, and it meant that the near past was as awful as the present. The distant past wasn’t that different, but at least it had someone he loved still alive.

God, he needed to get drunk.

“I hope you like this, it’s not exactly what you wanted but—”

Before he could even finish, his lips were attacked mercilessly.

“I love it.”

He knew that even if the content was still hidden by the small drawstring bag, the words were always true. And Minho could already tell that the burning warm resting on his palm was worth all the trouble he had gone to get it.

“It’s stardust, not quite a star but almost,” he said, holding the other’s body close to his in a tight embrace, excitement bubbling inside him. “Open it.”

He missed the warmth surrounding his body when the hug broke, but a wave of relief washed over him when the hot pouch was removed from his hand.

And oh God, if the expression on his lover’s face could be like that forever he’ll die like the happiest man on Earth.

In front of them a million twinkles lights illuminated their faces like fireflies. It felt magical, it felt special and Minho hoped that the moment would never end.

But even then, the warmth and brightness of the silver dust in the room would never compare to the smile plastered on the person he loves, because for him the mere sight of them was enough to brighten his life.

“Chris never sent me, I’m here because I’m worried,” Jisung said, loud and clear like always. Neither his clothes nor attitude suited him, always so formal and uptight about everything; war changes people. “We’re all worried.”

Minho downed another shot. Then gestured to the younger man to take a seat in front of him.

The small studio was a mess by the time Minho arrived at the apartment; the blinds were shut, a few bowls full of stuff were carelessly placed around and a few jars were tossed all over the kitchen.

At first, he thought about the possibilities, the chances of violent acts and whether someone came to the place before him. But it was all forgotten when a familiar shadow passed the door frame.

“You came!” his darling chirped excitedly, running fast and jumping high enough for him to catch the body and spin a few times. “I need you to help me with something.”

Minho wondered what ‘helping’ meant; there was only so much he could do in witchcraft when he was still a vampire, but whatever it was, he would be happy to.

But then his lover disappeared only to come back a few minutes after with a tiny vial and a syringe.

“What is that for?” he asked, a tiny drop of fear made its way to him.

“I’m making a star.”

“I know,” Minho said after refilling his glass and getting one for Jisung. “And I wish you weren’t.”

He slid the alcohol-filled glass across the desk and as the other reached for the drink, Minho couldn't help but notice the silver bands wrapped around the blue-haired man’s fingers.

Hypocrite.

“We’re brothers,” he said, and Minho had to let the grin taint his expression.

Brothers.

“It’s a blood pact, for life,” Minho spat. “We’re not brothers.”

A loud raindrop made its way to the window and the sound startled both men.

The storm made it difficult for him to see ahead. The wind had broken his umbrella and now the rain felt like shattered pieces of glass against his skin, however his concern was finding the witch and forcing the both of them to come back to the apartment. Maybe watch one of those sappy movies his lover liked so much and cuddle under the blankets.

Minho, however, had expected everything. Everything but the sight he had once he reached the main road.

There, under the unforgiving rain, almost passed out and bathed in carmine, lay down a body he could recognise anywhere. It took everything inside him not to cry out loud and panic, he just had to take them home and treat the wound on the other’s body — and he prayed to all deities he knew for it to be slight.

“Hey, baby, I’m here,” he said once his knees met the floor and the other body was secured on his arms. “Stay with me, love.”

The rain had only made everything harder; his own clothes stick uncomfortably like a second skin, and Minho could easily tell the same was happening with his lover — yet the expression on their face let him know that the wound was aching even more. 

“I love you.”

Minho saw the way the drops of blood melted into the pool by his feet, it looked like the watercolors work he had around his room. It reminded him of the afternoons at the witch’s apartment learning how to paint.

“I’ll take you home, don’t worry.”

He never thought much about his status, about the whole vampire thing and the amount of ‘powers’ that came with that, but then and there, he was thankful. The way home was short.

Minho felt relief filling his body once the door opened, rushing inside and laying the injured body on his bed. The white sheets were instantly tinted with a crimson red.

The bleeding never stopped, and by now he knew that the blood loss was fatal. So Minho began striping the witch of his own hoodie, mortified by the sigh in front of him once the piece of clothing came off; a deep gash cut from the heart to the farthest right side of their abdomen, he could see the way the skin fell apart and how heavy blobs of blood gushed out of it and yet a tiny bit of hope still sparked on him.

He called for Jisung.

And both together tried to fix the disaster, he held the witch down when the younger disinfected and stitched the wound, he swallowed the screams and kissed away the tears. He did his best to comfort his lover and yet it felt like a nightmare.

“You’ve both bonded before,” Jisung said as he passed the older a silver knife. “Try healing with your blood, it’s more than anything I could do.”

Jisung didn’t say anything, he looked outside, at the falling drops hitting the windows and the bright star inside the crystal box. He was mad, of course he was; if the glistening red eyes, tense body and clenched fists were anything to by, but Minho never cared about pushing boundaries and spitting hurtful comments.

“You’re not the only one hurting.”

The blue-haired man spoke in a low voice, and if Minho were just a bit more drunk, he’ll confuse it with a growl. Jisung’s eyes were no longer focused behind him, they were locked with his own tired ones and he could clearly see the rage burning inside the other’s orbs. Minho knew that Hell was coming.

“Shut up,” he said, voice barely above a whisper and yet the warning tone made Jisung flinch. But that was hardly enough to hold him back.

“No, I won’t shut up because you have to stop this!” he yelled, not caring much about the older’s status. “Do you think you're the only one who lost someone dear? News flash, you're not! You're not the only one who had to mourn, you're not the only one who cried a loss and you're not the only one who had to suffer.”

“You don’t know sh—”

 Jisung's hand slapped hard on the wooden desk, the fast and abrupt movement made the chair impact loudly on the floor. Minho followed the second.

“But I do! I lost people too, we all lost people we loved and yet we were all trying to make you feel better because that was ‘the right thing to do’!” Jisung’s tone got higher and higher with each word as he no longer held his anger back and instead paced around the room like a caged lion. “Yes, you lost your lover, but for God’s sake — Hyunjin lost his fucking wife! Chris watched his sister die on his goddamn arms, I had to kill my soulmate with my own two hands… do you think the rest had it any better? Don’t you dare say that we don’t know how it feels.”

Minho’s heart started racing, the argument had gotten the worst of him and the flood of emotions was only making him feel worse. Jisung was right in every word, the undying war had made them all taste the sadness of loss and death, yet he had been the only one choking on his misery alone. He felt the need to apologise and run to comfort the others.

The silver knife sliced his wrist in a single motion.

“Here, baby. Drink,” he said as the cut started to let out crimson beads. The witch refused, lips tightly closed as the drops fell over them. This wasn’t right. “Angel, please.”

Once again, the slight shake of the other head made his heart sink. He was getting desperate every passing day, as the condition of his lover deteriorated by the second and the wound refused to heal, it was only a matter of time for Death to come knocking at the door.

So he just bandaged himself, and then helped Jisung with the extensive care of the wound across his darling chest. He could see it, the skin that started to rot on the sides and the brownish red discharge that came out every time they let air hit it - it was only getting worse.

Jisung gave him one last look before closing the door behind him.

“When will this end?” came from pale lips in a tiny voice. “I want to go.”

Minho let a tear fall down his cheek to his hands.

“I never… I never meant to,” he said, this wasn’t right. No, he was so selfish, so selfish. God, no. “I’m so sorry.”

Jisung’s eyes softened, the red glow slowly dissipating as the latter made himself vulnerable for the first time in decades. “Hyung, it’s okay, come here.”

Minho hesitated. He had been a burden for so long, so long, and now he was just letting himself fall apart after his best friend had told him how much he hurted in silence. Was he being selfish again? He wanted to go back to the strong, indifferent persona he made.

“I’m so sorry Sung,” he repeated, going to the man’s open arms even with his mind telling him that no, he deserved nothing but rejection, nothing but a glare and abandonment. “I was so stupid, I’m sorry.”

They stood like that, embracing the other and exchanging a fake warmth.

“I missed you, hyung,” Jisung whispered against his neck, and that was all it took for Minho to let out the first sob.

Weeks passed before Minho had another response from his lover: he had been on the side of his bed all the time, never left, never moved more than a few steps from them and yet the slight shuffle made his heart skip a beat. Maybe his prayers were answered.

He smiled, showing his best façade to the pained person in front of him. Maybe if he pretended long enough, everything would be fine again, and they’ll watch stupid shows and the would play tag in empty parking lots and laugh until their cheeks hurted.

It was all crushed when pained words reached his ears; “I’ll miss you, love.”

He didn’t know how they ended on the couch, he didn’t know why Jisung was holding him so tight, he didn’t know why his own arms were wrapped around the man as if his life depended on it and didn’t know why the only thing heard were his pained screams.

He only knew that it had been so long since he let any emotion out, so long since he cried his lover. And this was just what he dreaded.

He couldn’t help it.

So he did what his heart had been asking him since he saw the cold body lying on his bed.

He trashed around, he let himself fall apart, let his throat hurt from the screams and tears fall as they pleased. There, in the confines of his office and the presence of Jisung, no one would judge him for breaking. 

He couldn’t help it. And Jisung waited there until the tight drip and screams became blubbering, then sobs, weepings, muffled cries, tears and finally just soft whimpers while holding him gently. This was necessary.

“Are you with me?”

Minho stared at the dark gravestone, reading over and over again the contents as if this was just another nightmare.

It was a cold day. It had rained three nights before, just after he had found the lifeless body and cried out for his best friend to help; he had yelled at everyone in the house, broken cups and punched walls, but nothing could ease the pain he felt from everything. This was his fault and God was punishing him.

The silver rings made him focus on the physical pain, but the burn sensation could do only so much to distract him from the emotional turmoil he felt. Not only had his lover passed away (in the painfullest agony, he later found out) but the blood bond had broken so abruptly he barely had time to even try to hold himself together. Yet still, everything was either too much or too numb.

He took a step towards the grave. Minho held back a sob and, instead, mindlessly traced the letters once, then twice and then he had lost count of how many times his fingers followed along the written words. He always thought darling was a prettier name.

“If you were gonna leave this word, how could it have been without me?” he whispered. After a few hours he had given up all hopes of seeing the body rise and run back to his arms, but the pain on his chest never left.

Jisung’s cold hands had never stopped caressing his back in soft, delicate motions. And he was grateful for that; if anything, the repetitive motions made it easier to come back from dark places and slowly get used to reality waiting for him.

They never made an attempt to let go, and Minho assumed that maybe the younger needed that hug too. After all, even if he himself had broken down after holding everything in for decades, the pain and frustration building inside the blue-haired man must have been even stronger.

“I’m here for you, Sungie,” he had whispered with a rough voice from the screaming, and yet it made Jisung’s heart fill with a warmth he had missed so much. “Always.”

And while the other only nodded, it was enough.

“You should go back,” Jisung said once they broke the hug, “and talk with everyone.”

It was late now, well past midnight and he was sure the rest were still awake; after all, the sunrise was hours away.

“It’s time to go home,” Minho said under a tired smile.

[artificialqueens]

Tree House Kisses, Chapter 43 (Adorney) - Scorpio and Veronica

A/N: Click here for previous chapters here on AQ or here if you’d rather read on AO3. xoxo!

And thank you again to our wonderful betas: @saiphl, @sillylittlecandycane

Chapter Summary: It’s finally the night of senior prom!! It starts out great...but will it end in disaster? (Spoiler alert: yes)

Chapter 43: I Just Wanna Dance

There were a million things Courtney loved about being in the The Scarlet Pimpernel--finally getting a chance to play a lead role in a musical, the songs themselves, the beautiful costumes they’d borrowed from a nearby university’s theatre company, the warm encouragement from Mrs. Maguire, watching her friends and castmates shine, when her dad surprised her by showing up for one of the weekend shows with a bouquet of pink roses…

But her favorite thing of all was being onstage with Adore. It was the first time they’d had multiple scenes together since playing Annie and Miss Hannigan in 5th grade, and for Courtney, it made the experience a million times better.

Closing night was bittersweet. In some ways, Courtney wished that it would never end. But she was excited for prom and graduation, their Mexico road trip and their first apartment. So even though it was a little bit sad, she didn’t cling to it. Instead, she focused on the excitement she felt about everything to come, and really tried to live in the moment, committing every single second to memory.

In the garden scene with Adore, she noticed the little wisps of hair around her face that were lit up by the bright stage lights, the way her hazel eyes gleamed, and when she leaned toward her, it was the closest they’d ever come to actually kissing in this scene. All Courtney wanted was to surrender, to just close her eyes, let their lips touch, but she fought it, finally pushing Adore away like she was supposed to at the last possible second, heart pounding, feeling a bit light-headed while she watched her sing. Really listening to the lyrics for what felt like the first time.

“Marguerite, don't forget I know who you are. We were cut from the same surly star, like two jewels in the sky, sharing fire. Where's the girl, so alive and still aching for more? We had dreams that were worth dying for. We were caught in the eye of a storm! Come again!”

Adore grabbed her hands, spinning her in a circle, and a lump formed in Courtney’s throat.

“Let the girl in your heart tumble free. Bring your renegade heart home to me. In the dark of the morning, I'll warm you, I'll rouse you . . .”

As they slowly stopped turning in a circle, Courtney swallowed hard, the dizziness getting to her, stomach in knots, and it was if Adore could sense it. She pulled her in by the waist, singing the last verse softly, directly to her. And something happened for the first time that Courtney couldn’t explain--a single tear began to slip down her cheek.

“Where's the girl? Is she gazing at me with surprise? Do I still see that blaze in her eyes? Am I dreaming or is she beside me . . . now . . .?”

The music slowly faded out, and Courtney knew that Adore was waiting for her next line, her eyes soft and expectant. She knew that she had to get it out; this was the script, and she couldn’t change it no matter how much she wanted to. So she mustered up all of her strength, squaring her shoulders and speaking, firmly and hoarsely.

“No. Get out.”

Adore’s eyes went cold as she turned and left the stage, and for a second Courtney really did think that she was going to fall, to faint or throw up or something else entirely unexpected. She knew she only had about three seconds before Willam and Gia entered, so she quickly swiped the tear from her cheek and took a deep breath, pushing down the terrible feeling that something had broken inside of her, something she wouldn’t ever be able to fix.

-

“Hey…”

Courtney whirled around as Adore touched her shoulder, a startled look on her face that softened when she saw Adore.

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you alright?” Adore asked. She’d noticed the tears while they were onstage, and had a feeling that it was more than just acting.

“Yeah, sorry, it’s...I guess just that this is the last time we’re gonna be doing the show. Kinda silly.” She wiped her eyes, looking a bit embarrassed.

Adore smiled softly, pulling her in for a hug. “Nah, I know how you feel.”

Courtney squeezed her back tightly. “Thanks, Dory. I love you.”

“Me too, babe.”

-

“You girls are just so gorgeous and grown-up,” Bonnie said, sniffling a little as she snapped photo after photo.

It was finally the night of their senior prom, and as a treat, Bonnie and Karen had gotten together and treated the girls to a little spa day: mani pedis - the fancy kind with paraffin wax and massages and rhinestone embellishments, lunch at their favorite café, and professional hair styling. Courtney had gone for a glamorous updo studded with tiny red roses, Adore for a half-up style with criss-crossing fishtail braids, and Tati for smooth finger-waves that made her look like an old-time movie star. Afterwards, they’d all headed back to Adore’s house to do their makeup and get dressed.

To Adore’s relief, Courtney hadn’t brought up her weird objections to Tati being her date, and she was friendly as can be to Tati just like usual, gossiping about their classmates, giggling, having a grand old time.

Adore was very pleased with the outfit she’d ended up with: an amazing thrift store find, a short, square-necked black lace dress, very bruja, and she’d paired it with studded black boots, fishnets, and the leather choker that Courtney’d gotten her for her birthday last year. Tati looked amazing as always, her skin-tight hot pink minidress really pushing the dress code limits, but the color so fun that she’d probably be fine.

And then there was Courtney. Adore was surprised when she’d chosen it, the sleek white two-piece so unlike her: no sparkly embellishments or flouncy girliness--just a simple, spaghetti-strapped, open-backed top and long slitted skirt that made her early summer tan glow. When she first put it on, Adore had to look away for a moment, so as not to get choked up about how beautiful she was. Then of course, she completed the look with sparkly silver star accessories, red stones in her necklace matching the roses in her hair. Before they’d headed downstairs for photos, Adore gestured to her charm bracelet, the rose-gold obviously not fitting the color theme of her ensemble.

“That doesn’t really match,” she noted, and Courtney bit her lip, meeting Adore’s eyes with a look that made her insides twist.

“I don’t care.”

Now, in Courtney’s backyard, they posed for the dozens of pictures that Karen and Bonnie insisted on. First all the girls separately, then together, then Adore and Tati, who were still posing when Roy finally rounded the corner in his white tux. The second Adore caught sight of his red pocket square she burst out laughing, unable to help herself.

“Thanks, Delano, exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he said.

“No, it’s cause your pocket square is...Courtney, I fucking knew that you’d do that shit again!” Adore laughed, and Courtney just shrugged, accepting first a kiss on the cheek and then the wrist corsage with the requested red roses.

“I never denied it!” Courtney said. She reached out and adjusted Roy’s lapels, grinning. “I think he looks perfect.”

“Thank you, babe, and you’re beautiful,” Roy said, before ruining the moment by turning and blowing a raspberry in Adore’s direction.

“That’s mature.”

“Adore, please pull it together for two more shots!” Bonnie interrupted, and Adore put her arm back around Tati’s waist.

Courtney and Roy were next, followed by group shots, and then Karen insisted on a couple with Courtney and Adore.

Adore swallowed, letting Courtney take her hand and lean a head on her shoulder, feeling slightly awkward.

“It’s kind of funny, don’t you think?” Courtney asked, between shots.

“What?”

Courtney gestured to their outfits. “Black and white.”

“Oh yeah. Very fitting, huh?” Adore said.

Courtney gazed up at her, a starry-eyed smile on her face, and Adore could feel herself melting right back to the place she’d insisted she’d never go again as the camera flashed.

“Mom! I wasn’t ready!”

“It was cute!” Karen defended herself.

“Do you think we should call Pearl and ask when-”

“Limo has arrived, bitcheeeeeees!” screeched a voice, and everyone turned to see Willam at the gate, along with Trinity, Pearl, Fame and Violet, who all came bounding in, dressed to the nines.

Courtney squealed happily, clapping her hands. After about ten or twenty more pictures of the whole group, Bonnie and Karen finally dismissed them, letting them pile into the limo, laughing and screaming happily, music blasting.

Adore was the last one to go, turning to give her mother one last little wave, pretending not to notice the tears shining in her eyes as she called, “Bye Ma! Don’t wait up!”

-

The hotel ballroom where their prom was held was the fanciest place Adore had ever been. After looking up at the huge crystal chandelier over the dance floor, Adore turned to Tati with a look of confusion and asked, “Oh my god...is our school bougie?”

Tati laughed, pulling her onto the dance floor with the rest of their group. The DJ was surprisingly good, and they twirled and laughed, dancing for hours before Tati finally admitted that her feet were killing her and she needed a break.

“Ugh, same,” said Pearl.

“This is why you wusses should have worn more comfortable shoes,” Adore proclaimed, modeling her combat boots as they trooped over to grab some punch and sit down.

“Not everyone can pull that off, dear,” Tati told her.

“Or you can just do what Trinity did,” Pearl said, gesturing to her prom date, platform sandals kicked off to the side of the dance floor, her bright yellow dress hiked up with her hands as she, Courtney and Willam shook it to Shakira’s ‘Hips Don’t Lie,’ Roy awkwardly joining in with decidedly less enthusiasm than the others.

“Still think my solution’s better,” said Adore, settling down at the table with a glass of sugary punch.

They relaxed for a few minutes, chatting and giggling, before they were joined by first Violet, then Fame, then Bob, who came bounding over with April to hype up the afterparty.

“You guys are going, right? It’s gonna be amazing!” he exclaimed, and Violet shook her head in disbelief.

“You really think a school-sanctioned afterparty will be that much fun?” she asked.

“I’m telling you! Everyone says it’s the best part of the night.”

“Really? I would think the best part of the night is how sexy your girlfriend looks,” said Pearl, sending a wink in April’s direction, making her giggle and preen.

“Okay, yes, she does, but also...after the afterparty, there’s a pancake breakfast. So, come on...”

“Robert! Hello young man! Lookin’ slick!” Roy called, walking over to give Bob a hug and slap on the back. He looked a bit sweaty and disheveled, and it made Adore chuckle.

“Courtney’s giving you a real workout, huh?” she teased.

“That girl wouldn’t leave a dance floor if you paid her,” Roy answered with a sigh, dragging a chair over from a nearby table to sit heavily. “Luckily, Willam and Trinity have much higher endurance than me, so-”

“Guess again!” Trinity exclaimed, as she flopped into Pearl’s lap. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Aww, you guys all abandoned the blue-eyed devils,” Bob said, gesturing to Courtney and Willam on the dance floor, making April crack up.

“They’re fine,” Roy said, leaning back in the chair, eyes closing.

Adore looked over at the dance floor, watching them while everyone chatted. When the song ended, to her surprise, Courtney made her way over to the group too.

“Whoa, maybe she’s actually tired! Did someone slip you some Benadryl, Court?”

Turned out, she was only there to ask Adore to come back onto the dance floor.

“Will you come dance with me?” she cajoled, reaching out her hand, a soft and hopeful look in her eyes.

“Uh…” Adore knew this was a bad idea. As much as she tried not to, told herself not to, she’d already spent too much of the evening with one eye on Courtney with Roy, fixated on the way they laughed and flirted and touched each other--it was like regressing two years, and she just wasn’t in the right headspace to confront her feelings.

“Please?” Courtney touched Adore’s lace-covered wrist, adding with a twinkle, “I’ll be your best friend...”

Adore had to chuckle at that, standing up with a resigned sigh. “Good one, bitch.”

Courtney beamed at her, leading her to the dance floor. Of course, it was some slow, schmaltzy pop ballad. And of course, Courtney’s arms immediately went around her neck, pulling her close. Head resting on her shoulder.

Adore didn’t know where to put her hands. Courtney’s skimpy top left so much of her back exposed, she could feel herself panicking before finally letting them settle on her hips. Even then, it was impossible to avoid her waist, her thumbs grazing the soft bare skin a few times before she tried tucking them into her palms.

“I love you, Dory,” Courtney murmured, and Adore gulped.

“Love you too.”

Adore tried to get her heart to settle, tried to stop the churning in her stomach, the song dragging on for what felt like an eternity while she sweated and held back her tears. When it finally ended, she broke away immediately, mumbling about how she needed a cigarette, and bolted from the dance floor.

-

Courtney watched Adore go, misty-eyed, wondering why she always ran away just when it felt like they were getting closer, and couldn’t help the dejected feeling inside, stomach twisting with regret.

“Punch?”

Courtney turned around to see Roy, holding out a cup of red punch for her. Of course he was. He was always there: dependent, steadfast, the one person in her life that she could always count on. The guilt Courtney felt would be crushing if she didn’t love him so much.

She slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close, asking, “How did I end up with the best boyfriend in the world?”

Roy sighed, setting the cup on a nearby table and wrapping her into a hug, resting his chin on top of her head.

“Just lucky, I guess.” After a few moments, he ventured softly, “Do you wanna dance some more?”

“Yes,” Courtney said, arms tightening around him even more. “Yes, I really fucking do.”

-

“There you are…” Tati said, when she finally found Adore in the hotel courtyard, sitting against a stucco wall, smoking a cigarette. “You alright?”

She settled in beside her, maneuvering the best she could so as not to let her dress ride up around her hips. This didn’t feel like a conversation where it would be productive to have her underwear showing.

“Just fucking peachy.” Adore took a long drag.

“Yeah. Listen, I-”

“I really don’t want any advice right now,” Adore said, and Tati immediately closed her mouth.

“Ooookay,” she breathed, realizing that now wasn’t the right time to say what she had to say.

“Sorry. It’s just, my head is all-”

“Nah, I get it.” Tati patted her fishnet-covered thigh.

“Thanks.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, Adore’s head leaning back on the wall, Tati watching the smoke curling up into the midnight sky.

“Can I ask you a question, though?”

“I guess.” Adore’s voice was tired and hoarse, so Tati tried to phrase it as gently and tactfully as possible.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen? If you, like, told her?”

Adore took a long drag of her cigarette, pondering the answer before saying, “I could die. I could literally die.”

“Alright.” Tati said, stretching her legs out in front of her. She wasn’t inclined to push it, adding a simple, “Just seems like something to think about.”

After a few more moments of tense silence, Adore sniffled, and Tati realized that she was crying.

“I should get out of here,” she said, stabbing the cigarette out on the pavement, using her lacy sleeve to wipe her eyes.

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No. It’s prom. Stay and have fun,” Adore said, and Tati was overcome with sympathy, wished there was something she could do to make her feel better--or at least, enough better to have a carefree and fun night like they all deserved. It had started out so well, and Tati still wasn’t sure where it’d gone wrong.

“Adore, come on, you can-”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Tati said, staying on the ground while Adore got up, resigned to just let her have her feelings, realizing that there really was nothing she could do in that moment.

-

“Yeah, I know! There’s just something off about his face!” Violet laughed, following Trinity out of the bathroom, still talking about an idiot jock who’d tried to feel her up on the dance floor.

“I think it would be an okay face if he wasn't such a jerk,” Trinity said.

“Okay face is probably the best he can hope for,” Violet agreed. “But don’t you think he-”

Violet stopped short, abdomen twisting when she spotted Fame, in the same location they’d left her outside the restrooms, looking beautiful as ever in her full, floor-length gown covered in a large-scale blue flower print. Only she wasn’t alone. There was a blonde girl chatting with her...a blonde girl in a short, sparkly pink dress who was acting awfully familiar, a hand on Fame’s bare upper arm, flashing a bright white smile.

“Who the hell are you?” Violet asked, and the girl turned to her, blinking her brown eyes slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“I said-” Violet began, but Fame jumped in.

“You know what? We should talk later,” she told the girl, mouthing ‘sorry’ in an annoyingly obvious way, clearly not caring that Violet could see her. Or maybe doing it specifically for Violet’s benefit. Violet’s nails dug into her palms at the thought.

“Alright. Later then. Can’t wait to hang out again,” the girl said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Fame’s cheek before sauntering away with a victorious smirk.

“Who the fuck was that?” Violet asked, and Fame turned to her with crossed arms and a crosser expression.

“Hey, I think I hear...something...uh…” Trinity stammered out, backing away so as not to get caught up in the drama, calling out to an imaginary person, “What? Oh, you need-okay, coming!”

She turned and ran back towards the ballroom, leaving Fame and Violet alone.

“Well?” Violet asked, her tone still hostile, but how else was she supposed to be right now?

Fame let out a long sigh, asking, “Why are you so difficult?” She began to walk away, but Violet reached for her, fingers closing around her wrist and tugging her back.

“Fame. Who was that?”

“She’s just a girl I know from working at the bakery,” Fame said, eyes closing as if the conversation was too exhausting for words. “She graduated last year, but I guess she’s here with a friend, so-”

“No. I mean, why were you flirting with her? I thought tonight was about us.”

“Vi…” Fame finally looked into her eyes, blue eyes a bit sad, shaking her head. “Why do you always have to do this?”

“Do what?” Violet could feel herself growing more and more agitated, more and more uneasy, the ground shifting beneath her.

“Talk about us, like that. You’re my best friend. You know how much I love you. But not...not like that.”

Violet didn’t like where this conversation was going, not one bit. She bit back her anger, her impatience, her jealousy, and made her voice as soft and calm as possible.

“But you agreed to be my date. You came here with me-”

“As friends.”

“I don’t get it!” Violet exploded. “You finally broke up with Patrick, officially, and-”

“This is not about Patrick!” Fame exclaimed, exasperation all over her face. “It never was. I guess it was easy to use him as an excuse, but...I just don’t think of you that way.”

Bitterness swirled in Violet’s chest, and before she could stop herself, she spit out, “But you think of that random slut that way?” She gestured angrly in the direction of the blonde, the girl who it seemed had single-handedly managed to ruin her night. “And what did she mean by ‘again’?”

“I...we kind of...hooked up last year,” Fame admitted. “When Patrick and I were on a break, after-”

“You hooked up with a girl and you didn’t tell me? What the fuck?” Violet said, anger and confusion combining, the whole thing like hands wrapped around her throat, making her eyes water and her chest constrict.

“Well, I wasn’t sure how you’d react. I guess I was wrong, since you’re being so understanding.”

“Fuck you,” Violet spat out, turning and walking away.

“Violet, wait!”

Violet stopped walking, but she didn’t turn. She couldn’t bear to look at Fame’s face right now, not when tears were burning in her eyes, threatening to spill over any second.

“Look, I’m sorry! Okay? I guess I just...I didn’t want to say anything that would risk hurting you. Because I don’t want to lose you as a friend. I do love you-”

At that, Violet whirled back around, those angry tears streaking hotly down her cheeks.

“No you don’t,” she said. “You never have. God, I’m so stupid.”

“Vi-”

“Enjoy your prom,” she choked out, before breaking away and rushing towards the lobby. She had no idea where she was going, but she knew that she couldn’t go back into that ballroom, with those people. Not like this.

-

Adore trudged slowly through the parking lot, wondering where she should even go. This part of town was mostly new--lots of pointless high-end stores, yuppie restaurants, hipster bars.

“Hey! Where the fuck are you going?” demanded a voice, and Adore smiled to herself, turning around to find Violet, face streaked in tears, stomping from the hotel angrily.

Adore chuckled sadly. “You look like I feel.”

“Well you look like shit,” Violet countered.

“Okay, so I guess I look like I feel too.”

“God fucking damn it, why can’t we just have one night where we’re like, normal teenagers?” Violet exclaimed, face turned upwards, and Adore shook her head.

“I dunno.”

“Where were you going, anyway?”

“I honestly don’t know. Just...anywhere but here.”

“Same.” Violet took her hand. “I think there’s a diner a few blocks away that’ll be open. Come on.”

[jask-a-disaster]

Under Summer Stars

Summary:

After a long, long week Geralt is, as one would expect, a little grouchy. Returning to camp with a light injury dissolves into an argument. Geralt really should have learned his lesson about yelling at Jaskier after the dragon hunt… yet here we are. Geralt cries, for the first time in forever, lucky no matter how often Geralt fucks up Jaskier will always be there with kind words and a soft tummy.

On ao3 here

It was a long hunt. It had been a long week. Constantly running from angry mobs and harsh words. It had been a long life of fighting, of running, if Geralt is honest with himself. Which he was, mostly. Really he just tried hard to not be dishonest. However, it was hard to be honest with people that don’t want to hear it. Usually, Geralt just kept his mouth shut, but even that didn’t solve everything.

The past few weeks had been hell. Every town they stopped in found a reason to run them out. Usually, it was due to Geralt being a witcher and, well, all together ghastly. They had stumbled upon a town that morning that they might have been able to stay in for a while, Geralt had even found a hunt that would pay decent enough. Sadly luck, as much as Geralt was loath to admit such a thing as ‘luck’ existed, was not on their side xand Jaskier had managed to offend someone. Geralt had plenty of ideas on how he managed that. This time it was due to Jaskier’s rather insatiable hunger for sausage of the nonhuman variety. Long story short the town butcher was very angry and off the pair went. Geralt still went on the hunt, much to Jaskier’s chagrin.

Geralt had just made it back to where they set up camp, a small clearing in the woods, just far enough from the road, where the trees left an open view of the sky. It was dark, well into the night, and Jaskier had almost finished cooking the two rabbits that Geralt had been able to hunt that afternoon. They were fortunate, he thought, to have all this misfortune (or as Geralt liked to think of it: “regular life”) happen in the summer when the weather was pleasant and food plentiful.

Jaskier was sitting in front of the fire, his face lit up in the warm tones that the firelight cast across his round face. He was dressed in just a pair of loose pants and an untied chemise that hugged his plump middle. He was beautiful. Geralt was beyond smitten with the man. If Geralt didn't know better he would have attributed his adoration to being enchanted by a spell. He was enchanted by Jaskier, but that was all charm and personality, not magic. Jaskier could easily pass as an ethereal being as he smiled up at Geralt, framed by vast woods and molten stars, even with the crows feet crinkling at the edge of his kind eyes.

“Oh, hello, darling. Good hunt? Any injuries today or just dirty?” Jaskier glanced up, scanning Geralt for injury or anything else distressing. He usually inspected Geralt head to toe when he got back from a hunt while Geralt would grumble and complain, but inside he would feel warm. Content, and cared for finally, after so many years of hatred and pain, he had Jaskier to love and care for him. Not tonight though, and that was okay with Geralt because the food smelled divine and he hadn’t eaten in what felt like days. Might have been, too. He couldn't remember.

Geralt grunted and began to shed his armour. He didn't say that he wasn't injured so it didn't count as a lie, his traitorous mind also supplied that it was not quite a truth. Jaskier had begun to serve up the food when he saw it; a giant bite into Geralt’s shoulder, gushing blood. As quickly as humanly possible Jaskier was on his feet, dinner forgotten, and on his way over to Geralt. 

“What the hell is this?” Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s arm to inspect the damage even as Geralt continued on changing. “There is a tooth in there! Okay, Geralt, sit down.”

He wasn’t yelling but as Jaskier stormed off to fetch the bag with all the bandages and equipment, Geralt could tell he was angry. It was all he could smell. The metallic and bitter tones overtook their small camp, muting the pleasant musky and floral perfume that Jaskier usually smelled of.

Geralt kept changing. He wasn’t about to sit down in only his small clothes. He had just gotten a light pair of cloth pants out of his bag and onto his ankles when he heard Jaskier huff.

“Damnit Geralt! Can you please, just for once do as I ask and let me fix this?” He exclaimed, gesturing to the oozing wound on his shoulder. “I cannot believe you didn’t tell me!”

Geralt was tired. So very tired and so very hungry and Gods he knew better but between the stressors of the last few days and their unnecessary eviction from the town, he snapped. He did that a lot these days. “Fuck off! You’ve done enough damage today! I don’t need your help! Why don’t you go eat your rabbit since you can’t seem to stop stuffing your face!”

Jaskier was gobsmacked, his eyes, once shining in the starlight now shimmered with tears. He stared, looking at Geralt through tears that he wouldn't let fall. After a moment of tense silence Jaskier nodded and tossed the bag of supplies at Geralt’s feet. Geralt thought that Jaskier was going to walk away and in that moment he felt regret like never before. Jaskier should walk away, Geralt thought bitterly, while he studied the complicated waves of emotion passing over the bard's face. It was what he deserved. How was it possible for him to fuck something up so quickly and just as quickly regret it?

“Sit down, Geralt of Rivia. Just fucking sit down and let me do this, you ass.” Jaskier bit out as he pushed Geralt’s shoulders down and got to work. There was a mixture of feelings building in Geralt’s chest, relief and doubt certainly, but mostly it was just horrific, ugly, agonizing guilt. The usual wash down was done in silence. Jaskier ignored the prickling in the back of his eyes as he wiped away the congealing blood. He had a job to do and crying wasn’t going to help heal anyone. Jaskier focused on Geralt’s shoulder, while Geralt focused on his own rough hands. The urge to lean his heavy head against Jaskier’s soft belly was strong but he didn't deserve it, because he was a fucking idiot, truly the worst. To yell at Jaskier like that? He felt like he could never face himself again after saying those horrible things, those false things, to the only man who had ever truly loved him. Who Geralt loved more than anything. Fuck. He was a monster.

Geralt stewed in his self deprecation as Jaskier continued his work to patch up the bloody wound. Jaskier would feel bad for it later, surely, but at the moment he didn’t have it in him to be gentle with Geralt as he dug the embedded fang out of his arm. He really hadn’t thought that his presence had been burdening the older man. It was perfect weather to camp under the stars, after all. With a deep break Jaskier pushed aside his worries. He couldn’t think about it now, not when he was supposed to be sewing Geralt’s arm together. He was sure Geralt was just grumpy. He was sure. There was a different reason he said those things, he didn’t really mean it. Gods, Jaskier hoped he didn’t mean it. Hoped Geralt wouldn't decide to ditch him, to leave behind the overzealous bard that just made his life harder. Not after what happened on the dragon hunt a few years earlier.

What Jaskier had not been prepared for was Geralt’s jab at his increasing weight. Jaskier knew he had been indulging in the food that was available to him and the metabolism his youth granted was fading faster by the day. He truly hadn’t thought Geralt disliked his changing appearance. This was the first time the man had said anything about it. Perhaps it was simply fueled by the “Sausage Incident” from that afternoon. He hadn’t meant to get them kicked out of town, truly. Jaskier had just wanted to grab a few extra sausages for them to share because it had been so long since they had gotten to enjoy a good meal together. He wanted to do something nice for his beloved, but the sausages were expensive and Jaskier really hadn’t thought the butcher would notice if a few went missing. Jaskier hoped Geralt’s outburst was simply due to leftover frustrations from that afternoon. 

He had been traveling with Geralt for a thousand years. Or at least it felt that way. Jaskier knew how much shit Geralt put up with. He knew how Geralt could lash out when he was overwhelmed, and he knew that sometimes he got annoyed with Jaskier’s eccentric differences because they were just that: different. And if there was one thing Jaskier knew about Geralt it was that he had a hard time dealing with this kind of emotion, specifically the gentle, loving and healthy feelings that should accompany a romantic relationship. Yennefer, for all her good qualities, had not been much help to Geralt in this department. This was all foreign to Geralt and that made it frustrating. Now Jaskier felt like the ass, he should be more careful and patient with the love of his life.

As Jaskier finished wrapping Geralt's shoulder he bent down and kissed it. An apology, for pushing. Geralt knew that Jaskier's kiss meant his forgiveness, but he hadn't forgiven himself. He would never understand how Jaskier could so readily forgive and forget all the missteps that he continued to make. He truly did not deserve this man. He wasn’t fit for the love he gave. 

“Alright, come eat.” And with that Jaskier walked over to the previously abandoned rabbits, as he continued the night like Geralt hadn’t just ruined everything. They had been… together for a while. Or at least Geralt thought so. To be honest, he wasn’t too sure when they had become lovers, as Jaskier would call it. He knew that the first time they kissed was only a few seasons ago when Geralt had finally managed to get Jaskier back after the fuck up he made on the mountain, but he felt like they had been more than friends for a lot longer (even if Geralt couldn’t admit it. Or comprehend it, really). But that really could just be his own warped sense of what friendship was.

Geralt didn’t argue, he simply took the food that was offered and silently took his place on the opposite side of the campfire. As he ate he felt even more guilty. Jaskier had gone through the effort of preparing his meal just the way Geralt preferred, even though it took more time and care than simply roasting it. Eating became more difficult as the foreign feeling of tears choked him. His eyes began to sting and his world blurred. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried. It must have been when he was a child, during the trials. Those were tears of pain and fear. These, somehow, were worse. The tears tracing their way down Geralt’s cheeks were those of helplessness and disappointment. The realization of how much he had hurt someone, someone he only wanted to protect.

Geralt set down the remains of his meal, the hunger that plagued him only an hour ago effectively quelled and replaced with horrid, guilty nausea. Jaskier, of course, noticed. He always noticed. Because he was perfect. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, watching as the fire made Geralt’s tears shine, bright like diamonds. Except that wasn’t quite right because diamonds were supposed to be pretty and heartwarming. No, these were some type of fucked up jewels. Not because they were grotesque - Jaskier was incapable of thinking of Geralt and grotesque in the same sentence, the words completely incompatible in his mind- but because the witcher’s tears were jewels that could only be made from pain and it broke Jaskier’s heart to see his strong witcher hurting so. Perhaps Geralt’s tears were diamonds. Rare and precious. Jaskier was getting ahead of himself, now was not the time to be waxing poetic on the fragility of his witcher’s heart and the wonder of his tears.

Geralt could feel them, the tears, like a storm. Slow, like a light sprinkle, but soon they were thundering, worse than any downpour, and Geralt couldn’t hold in the sob that pushed its way up from his heart. He brought his hands, calloused, dangerous, monstrous hands, to his face and hid. That’s all he knew how to do. He was a fighter, a runner, who wouldn't fight, who couldn't run. What was left? Geralt ran his hands through his wild hair, desperately trying to calm his thoughts, pulling harshly at the stands caught between his fingers. He was certain that after tonight there would be nothing left. He would lose Jaskier tonight, he could feel it. And without Jaskier there was nothing, not for Geralt, because Jaskier was everything.

Geralt was sure Jaskier didn’t know, couldn’t possibly understand that he would do anything for him. That he would do anything to make him smile and laugh. He would sacrifice everything just so Jaskier could eat a warm meal and want for nothing. Geralt was so sure, so unwaveringly sure, that no matter what he did he still could not be enough. He knew, he always did, that he could never be enough for Jaskier.

Geralt’s body shook with tremors and sobs. He sounded disgusting, he thought. He wished he could stop, he couldn’t hear anything except for gasping breaths and choked cries. It almost felt like it wasn’t even him. How pathetic, he thought. A witcher who couldn’t even walk the path, even with the added comforts a companion like Jaskier afforded him. 

Jaskier. 

He was there, kneeling in front of him. His nimble fingers pushed Geralt’s own hands away from his face. His puffy eyes met the pure blue orbs of his beloved. One glance at the deep pools full of love and concern just made Geralt cry harder.

“Geralt, darling. Breath, please.” Jaskier’s soft fingers brushed over his cheeks. The familiar callouses tracing his face only made him feel more gentle, the clever fingers still capable of a loving caress. Geralt felt like he was spinning, nothing made sense. He just wanted it all to end, but he didn’t. Not really. He didn’t know what he wanted. That was a lie. He wanted Jaskier. He’d always want Jaskier. 

“Jas,” Geralt managed to choke out past the stuttering breaths and whimpers. He noticed his hands were trembling, as he grasped the front of Jaskiers chemise. “I’m sorry. ‘M sorry.”

“I know, my love.” Jaskier pulled Geralt down to lean against the tree. Jaskier had never seen Geralt breakdown like this before. He guided him to rest against him, his head pillowed by his stomach as he pet his hair.  “Just relax, my love.”

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” Geralt whispered after getting his breathing under control. He had run out of tears, his cries quieted to the occasional sniffles. 

Jaskier leaned down and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s head, “I know, my love.”

“I didn't mean it.” Geralt sounded like he would start crying again. Geralt felt like he would start crying again. His pink lips trembled and his hand gripped Jaskier’s shirt tighter. He was taller and broader than Jaskier, by a lot, but he felt so utterly small. Like a lost child. Like when Vesemir had found him, abandoned, all those years years ago.

“I know, my love.” Geralt’s hand was enveloped in Jaskier’s smaller one. He let go of the shirt to tangle his fingers with Jaskier. He watched as his hand, responsible for so much death and torment, was peppered with kisses from Jaskier’s lips. Lips that were responsible for songs and happiness. 

“I need you.” Geralt felt like he was pleading. Pleading for Jaskier to stay, to forgive him. Geralt knew that he already had, or he wouldn’t be holding him like this but he still felt like he was going to lose him. 

“Oh, my love, I’m not going anywhere. Not for as long as I can, not ever if I can help it.” Jaskier wrapped Geralt in his arms and held him close. Jaskier never wanted to let go. Geralt never wanted him to let go.

“It hurts,” Geralt squeezed eyes shut and pressed his face into the soft warmth of Jaskier. He wasn’t talking about his arm but he knew he didn’t have to elaborate, and he was thankful for how well the bard knew him because he wasn’t sure if he could find the words. Ever. 

“I know, my love.”

“I was so alone. For so long. I don’t know how to live anymore. Jaskier, I’m so tired.” And he was. He has been tired for years. No matter how much he sleeps, no matter how hard he tries, he’s just so tired. 

“I know, my dear. You can rest now, without guilt. You will never have to face this world alone again. I will always be by your side, nothing could ever keep me from you.”

“Not nothing,” Geralt hated that this was the first thing he could think of when hearing the comforting words Jaskier was whispering to him. But he couldn’t help it. He thought about it frequently, the day Jaskier would grow too old to travel with him. His hair had already gained a streak of gray and the joints in his knees creaked when he knelt. Geralt could hear them. The day that Jaskier would become ill, the day he might not run fast enough. He dreaded the day that death caught up to his bard. Jaskier seemed almost untouchable, he was so lively that it could fool him into thinking he had forever. He didn’t.

“No, not even death will be able to part us, my angel. For every moment onward you will have our memories and my music. You will have my words and love for eternity. Mark my words, Geralt of Rivia, I will not let death part us.”

Geralt laid his head onto Jaskier's stomach, contemplating the promise his lover had so readily gave. Angel. He had called him an Angel. It felt wrong, almost perverse to use such a term in relation to him. Like he was good, he wasn’t good. 

“Jaskier?”

“Yes? I’m here, my love”

“Am I a monster?”

Jaskier shook his head in denial as he gathered the larger man onto his lap, a thoughtful look on his face as he spoke. “No, my love, you are not a monster. Because the true monsters are the men that kill, not out of necessity, but out of revenge and hatred, or cruel enjoyment. The ones who torture and abuse. Those are the scariest monsters I have ever faced, and you are nothing like them, darling. You are a witcher, not a monster. Not a man.”

Geralt was happy to just be held. He loved Jaskier. He loved the easy comfort and love he held for everyone, for him. He loved how he understood Geralt. He loved how fearless Jaskier was around him, how stubborn and ready he was to stand up against him when no one else could. He loved how it felt to be held by him, like he was precious. He loved that, in Jaskier’s eyes, he was precious.

Geralt kissed Jaskier’s core as he nuzzled his face into the comforting warmth. It was an apology, for what he said. Geralt loved Jaskier’s stomach. His bard had thickened in the past few years, time finally catching up to the man, and resulting in a thick layer of pudge lying over what had once been lean muscle. As Geralt settled down on his lover's tummy, held in Jaskiers firm arms, he was in heaven. He was safe here; safe and loved. He could hear his lover’s heart, steadily thumping away, and the sounds of his stomach digesting his dinner. It was odd how comforting the sounds of an alive Jaskier could feel, but then again, it wasn't really odd at all. Geralt let one of his hands slip under Jaskier’s shirt. His fingers pressed oh so faintly into the soft layer of fat as he rubbed up to Jaskier’s chest. He let his fingers rest over his heart, feeling every beat, and playing with the hair that covered Jaskier’s chest. Jaskier smiled, humming the soft tune of one of his songs he knew Geralt secretly liked.

Geralt’s eyes were practically swollen shut from his intense bout of crying but he could picture how gorgeous Jaskier looked in that moment. Soft and content, illuminated under the summer stars. 

“I love you, Jaskier.”

“I know, dearheart.”

[ahatintimepieces]

Lyrics from Veil of Elysium: Let's play with the fire that runs in our veins//trust in the might of a miracle//now winter has come and I stand in the snow//I don't feel the cold//and it's all that I will ever need to believe

Ooooo I love these lyrics a lot! I see this as a continuation of the Duality drabble, in way. Please enjoy! :D

The shadow prince rubbed his claws up and down his arms. The instinct had carried over from life and served no other purpose than to give him something to do, to hold, as he stood by the old bell tower. Or... er... where he thought the old bell tower was. The mountain of snow obscured the steeple but he was positive he was in the right place. Maybe. Nothing looked the same anymore.

Not even him.

He held out his clawed hand in front of himself. Three sharp fingers. Obsidian colored that seemed to have a dark purple sheen in the light. He felt sick when the color reminded him of the bruises that had been burned into his biceps with ice-cold chains. Clenching his claws, he lowered his lengthened legs into the snow.

Hissing like a kettle, the snow immediately melted from his touch. He nearly jumped back up, still having a hard time fathoming how hot the souls swirling in his stomach made him.

He couldn’t feel it well; the heat or the cold. Part of him, the most human part of him, feared this meant he could never be around people again. If he was too hot to touch, then he posed a terrible danger. But, the shattered heart splintered in his chest knew there was no one around to be a danger to.

A flash of a lime green light flicked through the blizzard and the shadow prince bared his fangs, the glow of his mouth almost lost in the brightness of the snow and ice. Wondering if it was another life who had wandered to deep into the woods, he almost decided to pursue. He paused, though, when he realized the light had been too high up to be a person. The hair clustering around his neck drooped. He was probably just seeing things.

Shaking his head and returning his attention to his fist, he took a deep breath.

He focused on the heat. The surge of soul energy in his core spread through his form. Water droplets fell around him as the snow melted in the air. Puddles formed in the grass at his feet. It was nothing short of a miracle, seeing the grass again.

The shadow released the tension in his hand, filled with relief, but then a crackle caused him to jolt. An ember as vibrant and blue as a summer sky flickered in his palm. Astonished gold eyes held the flame as he reached for it with his other hand.

While he struggled to ascertain just how hot his form was, he could feel the warmth oozing from the fire in his palm. It felt like holding a hot cup of tea. The temperature was comforting but lingering too long would burn fingertips and taking a sip might sear taste buds from a tongue. That was how it felt to him, and no warmer, but in actuality, the heat radiating from his gentlest ember was pulsing out against the storm.

The circle of grass by his feet grew. The cobblestone pathway and bell tower began to poke through the blanket of the all-consuming snow. A protective heat wave kept the blizzard and howling wind at bay. The shadow prince had been right. He was able to melt the snow.

Desperate to melt more, the shadow prince channeled more flames from the souls. The blue flame grew hot even for him. Hotter and hotter the flames grew bigger and bigger. The shadow prince had to hold the fire with both hands, gritting his teeth as his legs twisted together and coiled beneath him, giving him a solid foundation against the ground. His back lengthened and the hair on his head smoothed out while his neck grew fluffier, tufts of shadow spiking out.

He burned through the souls in his stomach like kindling. Embers flew from crackling flames and the grass caught fire, which lapped at his tail. Eyes closed, he only focused on dispelling the storm. Flames licked at the blizzard and with one final surge of soul, a beam of technicolor fire tore into the sky.

The shadow released the flame with a cry, dropping onto his hands as ash and smoke spiraled around him. Cracking open his eyes, the forest around him blazed orange.

Regret settled in the shadow’s stomach where souls had once been. He tried to run his hand through his hair, but found his head smooth. Looking down at his hands, he was met with two long fingers on each instead of three. His tail tightened in its coil.

Bark creaked and snapped. Cinders sparked as the fire spread. The shadow floated upward, helplessly trying to will the flames to stop but it only seemed to aggravated them more. He glanced at his soot-covered talons, still too hot to temper flame.

The storm clouds had receded. Warmth pulsed through the rest of the forest like a heartbeat. But here, the shadow had burned beyond repair.

And, to make matters worse, he could not shrink his form or will his tail to split back into legs. His claws remained, no matter how hard he tried to bring his human hands back in attempts to cool himself down. The shadow sunk against the ground, holding his head in his talons.

The prince was gone. But at least... he couldn’t feel the cold anymore.

[greekowl87]

Fic: Picking Out Patterns

A/N: It was meant to be a short fic but over the past couple of weeks, it took on a life of its own. Pre IWTB. Angst and stuff. And some smut. Sorry for all the typos; no beta. Enjoy :) Tagging @suitablyaggrieved @baronessblixen @today-in-fic @improlificinsarcasm

The summer night air was sticky with humidity. Scully laid on her side, watching the open window in inky blackness. The unremarkable house’s air condition still needed to be fixed, so until then, it was fans and open windows. The large box fan near the window hummed as she pushed the sheet covering her to her waist. She was sweating without even trying. The idea of taking a cold shower was appealing but she didn’t want to wake Mulder. Instead, she would try to sleep, despite how uncomfortable the summer night was.

With a new resolve, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The sounds of their new home were something she was still growing used to. Two years on the run with Mulder and she had come accustomed to noisy streets, sirens, shouting, and the odd couple in the next room riding the bed. The quietness was something that was going to take getting used to. If she really focused, she could hear the orchestra of tree frogs outside, the hooting of a lone owl, and humming of crickets. She also heard Mulder’s even breathing. She sat up and rolled over to check on him and feel some relief. He was on his back, the sheet covering them also bunched around his waist. She watched his bare chest rise up and down rhythmically with sleep.

It was good to see that their new home was doing him good as well. Maybe it would bring some sense of peace or grounding. Too long had he known instability. She remembered after he had come back from the dead how she wished they could settle down and start a family after William was born. But no. She had urged him it was safer to leave than risk being with her and their son. Was she as much to blame for the predicament they had suffered along with his never-ending quest for Truth? She blamed herself for where they were. Scully tried to push the thoughts out of her mind as she tried to focus on the outside noises in order to fall asleep. But sleep would remain elusive.

She heard Mulder moving in the bed next to her. It wasn’t the normal shifting in bed but more frantic struggles that came with nightmares. Not again, she thought. Scully sat up quickly and placed her hand on his bare shoulder. “Mulder,” she whispered. She shook his shoulder gently. “Mulder, wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

He sat up suddenly, like a jack-in-a-box, startling her. He looked around in alarm as Scully turned on the lamp next to their bed. “Scully!” He called her name in a whisper as if he couldn’t see her still. “Scully…”

“I’m right here. We’re safe,” she whispered, trying to get him to look at her. “Mulder, you had another nightmare again.”

He looked around, his shaggy hair swishing side to side. “We’re safe?”  

She nodded and caressed his cheek. “Do you remember? We have a home now. We aren’t on the run anymore.”

They both hated nights like these. They had just recently purchased the house in Farrs Corner after spending nearly two years on the run. It wasn’t just Scully who was having trouble adjusting to this new lifestyle. Scully was cautiously looking for employment in medicine in order to give their cover some sort of normalcy but had yet to find anything. So, they stayed home together, just trying to adjust to this new normal. 

“We aren’t.” He repeated it like a mantra rather than a question. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. He seemed to come back to his senses. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

He shook his head, unable to form words. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled signaling the start of a summer thunderstorm. “I’m going to go downstairs for a bit. I don’t want to keep you up.” He placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek before jumping out of bed. “Go back to sleep.”

She looked confused at what he had just said. Unable to formulate an answer, she watched him retreat from their bedroom. What had just happened?  Her brain was still trying to process it. “Mul--” Her voice fell silent.

The nightmares were not anything new for either of them. Scully had them as she tried to deal with her abduction, they appeared again after she chose to give up their son in order to protect him. For Mulder, his nightmares never truly went away. She remembered the nights she would spend with him after he returned. When they reclaimed each other in the Quantico brig and went on the run from the federal government, she found out the extent of his own nightmares that had plagued him since he had left her in Georgetown. And then Scully’s own nightmares returned with fervor. 

They acknowledged each other’s demons and nightmares but they would not discuss it. That was their unspoken agreement.

But Scully was tired of that agreement. She thought that since they weren’t on the run anymore, that their nightmares would dissipate. Maybe they could find something of their old groove that existed when their physical relationship evolved and the brief month they embraced the idea of having a family together. She sat back against the mountain of pillows and the oak headboard. She could stay here, let him mope, and fall back into his old patterns or do something about it. She had lost him once before and once was already too many times to count.

Scully got out of bed, the wood floor, cool to the touch. She reached for an old National’s sweatshirt her mother had gifted Mulder last year for his birthday. The shirt smelled of him and she hugged herself as a reminder of better times. What constituted better times now?

She walked down the stairs silently, carefully avoiding the squeaky stair towards the bottom. He had already claimed the couch they had bought at a small furniture store and turned on the TV to a late-night ‘Twilight Zone’ marathon. She remembered when they got the couch. It was after they visited a farmer’s market out by Aldine. She had urged him to turn off so they could see it. For fun, she told him. They needed to purchase the other half of missing furniture that her mom had failed to save when they went on the run. Scully remembered specifically when they had found the couch. He had jumped on it, extending his long body as he used to when he would sleep on the leather couch in his old Alexandria apartment. This is perfect, he had declared that day in Ikea.

Maybe he had insisted on that couch for that same reason. Scully stood by the staircase and watched as he returned to his similar routine. The only light came from the light on top of their stove. It cast the room in an eerie green glow, reminding of the movie ‘The Matrix.’ He picked up the tv remote and flipped it to a ‘Twilight Zone’ episode (how on Earth did he know what channel to turn it to?) and settle down on the couch. For a second he sat before he took the extra pillow and put it behind his head, lounging his long body awkwardly.

She stood there for a few moments longer. He lowered the volume and dropped the tv remote on their coffee table. The blue glow from the television became a welcome gateway to his past. Scully did not want him falling down that rabbit hole again. “Mulder,” she called softly.

“I’m okay, Scully. Go back to bed.”

He made no effort to face her or acknowledge her presence other than speaking to her. Mulder still refused to face her. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the low rumble of thunder and the beginnings of a summer storm. The downstairs was just as muggy with all the windows open. After a moment's thought, she silently closed all the downstairs windows that weren’t sheltered by their porch. She jogged upstairs and did the same. Closing the windows made their house even more suffocating in the July heat. “Shit, Scully, leave the windows open.”

“There’s a storm coming,” she replied from top of the staircase. She made her way back down. “I don't want our house getting wet.”

“Well, it’s even hotter now.”

She continued to watch him from a distance. “Well, what do you want me to do, Mulder?”

“Stop staring at me for starters.”

“Then acknowledge me instead of running away.” Bitter memories of her own mistake plagued her; she should have never urged him to go into hiding. Things might be normal. They would still have William. “Mulder?”

“I’m not running away.” He turned up the volume on the television to tune her out. “Go back to bed.”

She ran a hand through her long, red hair. She was frustrated, tired, hot, and in no mood to argue. In a few quick strides, she stood in front of the television with her arms crossed. Mulder frowned and tried to look around her. “You’re blocking the view.”

“There used to be a time when you would say I was the view.”

He physically winced. “Well played.” She reached for the remote and turned the tv off angrily. Mulder sighed and sat back up on the couch. “I was watching it.”

“Were you or were you using it as an excuse to tune me out?”

“I wasn’t aware we were having a conversation,” he replied flippantly.

Scully bristled. She could take his barbs in stride; she was used to dealing with a pissy Mulder who didn’t get his way. The last few months on the run had become this...verbal war between them and each word became a lob of artillery across their relationship of no man’s land. But his reluctance to even communicate with her fume even more at this moment and deep down, she didn’t know why. “You woke up from a nightmare. What do you expect me to do, Mulder? Not care? Not do anything? Not love you?”

He shrugged. Another rumble of thunder sounded closer. Scully looked out the window as a stray lightning bolt lit up the night; she half expected a cryptid out there watching them. “I don’t know.” He paused. “The storm sounds close.”

“They were calling for rain tonight.”

There was a ping on the metal roof of their porch. Then a second. Then a third. Then a steady stream of pings and dings from rain hitting their roof. “So they were,” Mulder acknowledged. “Scully, save your energy and go back to bed. No use in both of us losing sleep.”

“Mulder, I’m up because I care about you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I do! Has the fact that I’ve been on the run with you for the past two years mean nothing? The fact I’m still here and want to build a life with you? We have a house. We have furniture. We, Mulder,” she stressed the pronoun. “Not yours. Not mine. Ours.”

He sighed and sat up.  “But I don’t want to bring you down.”

“Mulder, I lied to congress for you for starters. I will kill anyone who would dare touch you. What else do I need to do to prove myself to you after eleven years?”

“Nothing.” 

Another clap of thunder made their house shake and then darkness. “Shit!” Scully snapped.

“I got it, Scully.” She heard him stumble around, a beam of a flashlight, and then he was digging through their pantry. Mulder produced an additional flashlight and an oil lamp. “It was left with the house,” he offered uselessly. “It still works. When you found the house, you really meant out in the middle of nowhere.”

Scully shrugged as he lit the oil lamp and brought it into the living room, sitting it on the coffee table next to the TV remote he was just using a second ago. Scully watched him stare at the dancing flame then meet her eyes. “I just don’t want you to feel more guilty than you already do, Scully,” he whispered. “I know you do.”

“I could say the same. Mulder, you aren’t a burden.” The summer thunderstorm continued to rage outside. After a moment’s thought, he got up, took her hand, and led her outside to their covered porch. “The lamp…”

“It’s fine.” The screen door shut behind them and Scully stopped in her steps as he came behind her. Mulder pressed himself against her back and whispered, “Come sit with me.”

When they bought the house, the porch had a rusted chair swing and two, somewhat new if not sturdy adirondack chairs with a small table that sat between them. Mulder led her to the chairs. He sat down, sighing briefly before he tugged gently on her hand. “Mulder, no.” 

“Who’s going to see you? Come here, Scully.”

She huffed, pretending to be annoyed, as he pulled her into his lap. But this was the first time in weeks he had made a physical advance towards her. In the darkness, save from the little light from the oil lamp inside, she allowed herself to relax as his arm came around her waist. She rested her head against his shoulder, despite her own initial reservations. “We need to get the air condition fixed tomorrow.”

“I’ll call them first thing.” She closed her eyes as his hand snaked up under the sweatshirt she was wearing and gently began to rub her back. Goosebumps erupted as he caressed her bare skin. “This would be easier without this on.”

“I know,” she murmured. 

Her eyes were closed as she enjoyed this moment. “I don’t want to burden you because I love you,” he whispered into her ear.

“You have nightmares almost daily,” she whispered back. She opened her eyes and kissed the curve of his neck. “I hear you wake up and it breaks my heart that I can’t help you. You hide from me or won’t let me in.”

“You hear me, huh?” She hummed in acknowledgment. He sighed and kissed her. “Did you have nightmares after your abduction?”

“Yes,” she whispered without hesitation. Mulder could remember a time she would never admit or discuss her vulnerabilities. “I also had them after you were abducted, before you came back, and when you were gone.”

Mulder admired her quiet strength of which he tried to draw from daily. “My nightmares started with the abduction. When I came back, I felt left behind.”

“I didn’t…”

“It wasn’t you.” He was quick to his defense. “At first maybe, but never you. Please know that. I never blamed you. I just was so unsure of everything. When you had the IVF treatments, do you know I used to daydream about you telling me I was going to be a father? Lamaze classes, the nursery…” His voice faltered. “And for 72 hours, it was good.”

“It was my fault.”

Scully had her eyes closed as the memories played in her head like a broken type; it kept repeating the same scenes over and over again. She felt Mulder’s fingers dig into her skin lightly, massaging her. “Relax, Scully. What’s done is done.”

“It’s my fault. All this is my fault,” she confessed. She choked on her own words and suddenly tried to pull away. Mulder’s other arm had coiled around her waist. “Mulder, I’m not okay. We’re not okay.”

“No.” He agreed after a long moment. “We aren’t, are we?”

Lightning lit up the sky and the rain grew heavy. It sounded like God was dumping everything on them. How fitting. The few pings on the metal roof of their porch sounded like someone was dropping a bucket of gravel on top of them. The air suddenly seemed cooler and the summer humidity vanished. She shivered slightly, unused to the sudden change in the weather. Mulder brought her legs up so she sat comfortably in his lap. “I should go inside,” she whispered to him.

“Why?”

“I thought you wanted to be left alone.”

“I find the company rather pleasant.” Sitting in the darkness with him, Scully wished she could see his face. She saw his faint outline from the light the oil lamp was casting from the window. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. She pushed an errant piece of hair behind her ear and rested her head against his shoulder. “Just thinking.” He hummed and watched out into the darkness. Lightning lit up their property followed by another loud clap of thunder that shook their house. “The angels must be one hell of a time bowling,” she whispered above the din of rain.

“Angels bowling?”

“That is what mom used to tell us when we were kids. I have this memory of when I was four and there was a really bad thunderstorm. I woke up and the power was out. Missy was at a sleepover. Bill…” She chuckled. “Well, he was a big nope. Charlie was still a baby. Dad was out to sea so I crawled into my mother’s bed. She told me every time there is thunder, the angels are bowling and getting strikes.”

“Must be a lot,” he whispered.

She hummed. “How come we can’t talk like we used to?” She asked him. “Why can’t we find our way out of the darkness?”

“Maybe we just need a little light on the subject.” After a moment’s thought, he pushed her onto her feet and got up behind her. “You left the windows down here open?”

“Just the ones covered by the porch,” she replied. “Why? Pushing me away again.” After a moment, she whispered, “Sorry.”

“No,” he said, “but I want to see your face.”

Scully was clearly confused as he led her back inside, safe from the storm raging outside.  Even with the windows open, she could still hear it. But the room was slightly cooler as the storm took away the summer heat. Mulder went back to the couch, leaned forward, and adjusted the light on the oil lamp so the room became brighter. Scully stood in her spot as he held out his hand. “I’m not going to bite, Scully.”

Taking his gesture as an olive branch, she grasped his hand and sat next to him on the couch. “We did pick out a nice couch,” she whispered softly.

“We did but I don’t want to go to Ikea ever again. The bookcase for the bedroom was a nightmare to put together. Why don’t we go to that farmer’s market next weekend and see what they have? I doubt anyone will care to look for a fugitive there.”

We. She nodded slowly, unsure of where the conversation was heading. “I would like that.”

“Good.” He paused for a beat. “I can’t undo the past. Neither can you.”

“I wouldn’t let you go,” she whispered, “if I could do it all over again. I wouldn’t let you leave. We are weaker when we are apart.”

“And stronger together.” He licked his lips. “There is a lot of things that I would like a do-over with, Scully. I should have never gone to Oregon. That way, I wouldn’t have been abducted and I could have been there when you learned you were pregnant. There’s a lot of things we could have and should do. But something you taught me, we have now.”

“What are you trying to say, Mulder?”

“You want to talk? Know what my nightmares are about? Then let’s talk.”

“Okay,” she whispered, unsure where this conversation was going.

“Okay? Just okay?”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I’m not sure.” 

“The nightmares don’t change,” he said after another long moment. “I have the same ones that plagued me when I returned from my abduction. I regret the choices I made when leaving you and William.”

“The blame is just as much as mine.”

“I wasn’t planning on coming back,” Mulder told her. “The fact I got caught is the only reason you saw me again.”

“Fate.”

“I guess.” He leaned back and threw his arm on the back of the couch. “I don’t know, Scully. But I wish you didn’t have to go on the run with me. You would’ve been safer with your mother.”

“Mulder, I can’t live alone. Not without you. I thought I made that clear. Where you go, I go. What you do, I do. There is no me and you. There hasn’t been for a long time. It’s us. There’s only us.” She waved her arm around the darkened room. “We have a future now. I know it isn’t ideal or how we wanted but we have a home, Mulder. The fact that you are wanted by the FBI means nothing. I want us to have a life together, Mulder.”

He rubbed his chin and asked, “How much of that will change when you finally find a job at a hospital. Will you talk about me? About us? Or will you keep me a secret?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You can’t exactly take me out.”

The rain continued in its intensity. Scully rested her head on her arm. “So? Does that really mean so much to you, Mulder?”

“I just...you know how you stress ‘us’ and ‘we,’ Scully? Well, it feels like I would be left behind. I don’t want to be left behind again.”

She felt her heartstrings pull. “I’m not. As far as everyone knows, I’m taken.”

“Except Bill Jr. He refuses to acknowledge me.”

“Bill’s an ass.”

He smiled slightly. “But what’s stopping you?”

“I love you. Isn’t that enough?”

He nodded. “I’m just as insecure as you are, Scully.”

“Are we that broken?”

“I feel like I’m playing poker with you,” Mulder said. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Like we used to in the beginning of our partnership. You would let me see glimpses of who you were but never the full picture. When our relationship evolved, it got a little better.” Scully frowned as he continued. “But when you were pregnant with William when I came back...I felt like I didn’t belong. It felt like the whole world had moved on without me. You were just humoring me to make me feel better.”

She closed her eyes, a familiar pain welling up in her chest. William was also one of the other unspoken agreements they had. “I wasn’t humoring you, Mulder. I wanted you to be in his life, in my life. You are still his father.”

“Even though you sent him away,” he whispered. 

His voice carried no accusations; he was merely stating a fact. But it still didn’t stop it from hurting any less. “I didn’t know what else to do, Mulder. I was failing our son. I couldn't keep him safe. I had let him getting kidnapped by a UFO cult. I had a moment where I truly thought William had passed. I saw this giant explosion and I feared the worst. But as I rushed to the site and there he was, Mulder. Wrapped in his blue blanket and crying up a storm, but he was untouched. Not even a scratch.” She stared at the flame of the oil lamp, lost in memories. “It just added to my fears. I thought I was crazy but more than once I thought I caught him moving things with his mind. Then he sent the alien artifact across the room...the same one that caused you condition…” She choked back a sob that came from deep within her. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t keep him safe. Maybe if I hadn’t pushed you away too, we would be in a better place today. So if you’re looking for someone to blame, look no further.”

Mulder was dumbstruck by her confession. She looked away and saw tear glimmer in her blue eyes. She shook her head and brought a hand to her mouth.

“Excuse me.”

He watched her rush back outside to underneath their porch. Her silent cries were drowned by the raging storm. He threw his head back in frustration. “Shit,” he murmured.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a series of photographs Mrs. Scully had put up over their fireplace when they moved into their new home. He could make out some of the images in the dim light. One of his favorites was taken by her mother shortly when they bought the place. He had spun her in his arms. He remembered how her long hair twirled with him. He had brought her into a kiss. Mrs. Scully had captured them right before that as both their foreheads pressed together and he felt nothing but love for Scully.

That’s all he had for her, nothing but love. So why was he out here hurting her instead of loving her? Hell, what was their relationship anymore?

He got up, carrying the oil lamp with him. He pushed open the screen door and it slammed behind him. Carefully, he set the lamp on the table between the two chairs he was sitting on earlier. She wiped her tears away hurriedly. “I’m okay, Mulder.”

“Are you though?”

She shrugged and he took a moment to take her profile dancing in the firelight. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

She crossed her arms and laughed half-heartedly. “I’m sure.”

“I mean it, Scully.”

She took a deep breath and sighed, turning her head to look at him. His five o’clock shadow was pronounced in the low light and he still chose to run around without a shirt and wear nothing but his sleeping pants (she wasn’t complaining). He sat back down in the chair and held her gaze. She turned away. While they were on the run, sex between them had taken on many different meanings. Some days it was a band-aid, others, a fix like a drug. There were special moments too but those seemed few and far between. “I’m sure you do.”

He rubbed his face and hunched over, resting his elbows on his legs and burying his face in his hands. “What do you want me to do? What can I do to make this right?”

She shook her head, refusing to answer him. “I used to think, once upon a time, we could have a happy life. That we would get our happy ending. But now, I’m not so sure.” She laughed awkwardly and whispered, “I’m going in and back to bed. Goodnight, Mulder.”

She disappeared like a ghost in the night. Mulder was reminded bitterly of the earlier years of their partnership when they always seemed to be on the cusp of something greater. Then that night they made that next step. And for a bit, everything seemed perfect. Then his abduction. Pregnancy. Chaos. Anger. Being on the run. An entire cluster fuck.

He was always surprised each morning that she still woke up next to him. And also thankful. Oh so thankful.

Mulder walked to the edge of the porch and leaned against a post, listening to the storm. He could feel the peeling paint against his shoulder. He straightened his stance and ran his fingertips over the chipped, yellowing paint and tried to think what she wanted. What they wanted. He remembered having that dream too. A happy handing that included her and William. But William…

She did the right thing, he decided. He couldn’t change the past but he could still do something about the future. Their future. His mind played with the idea of painting the porch with her and going to the home improvement store with her and picking paint colors. Their trip to Ikea had been an experience. While they did bicker, he found their new turn to the domestic refreshing and he loved it.

The unremarkable house could be something special. They could make it a home. He looked out to the darkness and the lightning lit it up followed by a clamp of thunder. It sounded more distant. He turned slightly and could see the stairs on his mind. He imagined Scully climbing back up the stairs, carefully avoiding the squeaky ones, going back to their bed, unable to sleep. She would be crying perhaps but definitely hurting from their exchange. Something he had caused. And maybe something he could fix it.

He picked up the oil lamp again and went back inside, shutting it behind him. He blew out the oil lamp, and in the dark, carefully navigated back up stairs. He saw candlelit coming from their bedroom. As he stood in the doorway, Scully was sitting up, looking through something. “I brought the candles from the bathroom,” she answered before he could ask.

“What are you doing?”

He paused short before the door frame and she closed it. “Something silly.”

“What?”

“Home decor magazine,” she whispered. “I like to imagine what we could do downstairs.”

“You do that a lot?”

“What? Think about becoming an interior designer? You would be good at it,” he replied.

His bare feet padded softly to their bed where he lounged on the other side of her. He propped up his head. Scully smiled sleepily and caressed his cheek. “It’s a silly dream.”

“Well, we have a house...a home.”

“Doesn’t feel like it, does it?” 

The storm outside grew with not intensity. A clap of thunder made Scully jump and he calmed her by putting his hand on her knee. “A bit jumpy?”

She smiled tightly and shook her head. “Just a little caught off guard.” Mulder took the magazine and turned it towards him. “I like the green in that picture. Maybe we could paint the kitchen that color.”

“No, no, no...sea foam green. We could do that bathroom, the one downstairs.” She turned a page as her hair fell forward. Mulder smiled and pushed it away so he could see her face. “It’s good to see you smile.”

“It’s a surreal feeling,” she confessed softly. “I keep expecting someone to burst through the door or the FBI to take you away again. Or something else. It’s weird…”

“Not being on the run?”

She shrugged. “I would still do it again you know? Anything for you.”

The past two years had been difficult for the both of them. The wounds between them festered: William, broken trust, fears of the future, and fears of the present. They seemed lost in the ghosts of the past. “I know, Mulder. I know.”

“I like this.” He pointed on a picture of a room full of old oak furniture that made it feel warm and welcome. “Reminds me of your place in Georgetown.”

“Strange. It reminds me of yours.” She dog-eared the page and set it aside. “So what do we do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where does this leave us? I can’t pretend all this tension between us means nothing. You have nightmares every night. I don’t sleep much either.”

“I know.”

In the muggy room, they sat in silence, carefully watching each other in the candlelight. “I am trying to get used to this, Mulder.”

He nodded and thought for a moment. “Do you remember that night when God spoke to you?”

She held up a finger and whispered, “I didn’t say necessarily that God spoke to me. I said I had a vision.”

“Of course,” he chuckled. “But all the roads, all the choices lead to this one moment. Isn't that what you said?”

“Using my old words against me.”

“Would you have it any other way?”

“I regret nothing,” she said. “I’ve told you that.”

He smiled sadly. “I know, I know.” He grabbed the magazine that she had been reading and flipped it back open. “I mean, what we can always pick out china patterns.”

She chuckled slightly and put away the magazine. “Would it really matter?”

He frowned. “What is wrong?”

“Do you feel like we’re just playing house? Like roles in a play?” She leaned back, shifting slightly to adjust to the oak headboard. “And I’m not talking about what we did in Arcadia. That wasn’t playing house.”

“What do you mean?”

She focused on her hands and tried to imagine a wedding ring on it but couldn’t. She tried to imagine a future where her, Mulder, and William were one big happy family but failed. She tried to think of the future now in this little unremarkable, run-down farmhouse they had bought but came up with nothing. “Like we’re just going through the motions. We haven’t really been honest and open with each other in a while.”

“I think we’ve been relatively open with our relationship.” He frowned. “I am a bit confused here, Scully.”

“How do you define relatively open, Mulder? Why won’t you tell me about your nightmares?” She finally asked. “Why do you keep everything so secret?”

“How come you keep your emotions so close to your chest?” He countered. She looked down at the blue blanket covering her knees. “I’ve never met a poker player who bluffed better.”

She took a deep breath and sighed. She rolled her head backward, stretching her neck muscles that suddenly seemed tighter.”Well said,” she whispered.

“Scully, I’m not trying to purposely hurt you with my words just like I know you aren’t trying to with your little...thing.” He waved his hand uselessly. “So where does that leave us, Scully?”

“Up the creek without a paddle?” She smirked at her own joke. “I don’t know, Mulder. I don’t know where this leaves us.”

“How about the future to start?”

Mulder watched her sad face in the candlelight as he leaned forward to kiss her. She breathed softly as his first kiss was gentle before he deepened it. He cupped her cheek and their tongues dueled. She broke away and whispered, “Mulder, how is this different from everything else?”

He blinked back in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She was frustrated with the whole thing. “What I mean is we’ve fallen into this pattern of hurt, sex, and it acts as a band-aid. But we really don’t solve the problem?”

“And what’s the problem, Scully?” He was afraid to know. “Me?”

She shook her head and confessed. “I don’t know. We both hurt, Mulder,” she began, watching his face, “we both carry wounds that haven’t healed. We both have done things we’ve regret. It is like we’re both a glutton for punishment. We fight, have sex, and we’re okay for a bit before we fall into that dangerous pattern again.”

“Dangerous pattern.”

“We both have so much emotional baggage,” she continued. “So much pain.”

“I think we deserve a bit of a break, don’t you?”

The room was becoming insufferable with the muggy air. The storm outside had lessened to a slight drizzle and thunder could have been heard in the difference. She looked out the window at the fading thunder but despite it, the lightning remained. “The rain is coming from the east from the sound of it. If you open up the window that faces north, I think we could get some air in here and not worry about the weather.”

“I got it.”

He opened the window halfway, checked the screen to make sure it was still there, and the cool air rushed in. Scully watched the candles flicker with the rush of air. “That’s better,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He sat on the edge of their bed and watched her.. “What do you wish for, Scully?”

“A do-over,” she told him. “If I could change one thing, I wouldn’t have made you go away. All of this is my fault really if you think about it.”

“Then stop thinking that,” he told her. “You want to know what my nightmares are about? I’m not good for you, I fail you, I break your heart...I do everything and ruin your life.”

“But, Mulder, you didn’t.”

“What are we to do?” He laughed hollowly. “We both are a mess, huh?”

She nodded and moved closer to him. She rested her head against his bare back, listening to his heart. She wrapped her arms around his waist and felt her take his hands. “But I belong with no one else but you.”

He whispered,  “Aw, Scully, you’re killing me.”

“I do love you, Mulder. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he whispered. He twisted his head slightly so he could see her face. He nuzzled her softly, almost teasing her. “Scully, I know things haven’t been easy for us.”

“See,” she whispered, “we’re falling into our old habits.”

“'This is what got us through for the past few years. Even then, just being with you was enough for me.” He rested his hand on top of hers. “This is just another brick in the road.”

“Don’t you mean brick in the wall? Pink Floyd?”

He closed his eyes, smiling, and shook his head. “I love you, Scully, and that won’t ever change.”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, kissing his shoulder. “The storm is easing up.”

“I’ll open up the other windows.”

“In a bit.” She relaxed against him. “We might want to think about a generator.”

“I don’t mind the candlelight,” he teased. He nipped at her nose. “You look beautiful in it.”

“As much as I love your compliments,” she whispered, “I do value running water. Remember, we have a septic and pump now. If we lose power, we lose running water too.”

“I’ll look at it first thing in the morning,” he murmured. “But we have that rain barrel should we need it.”

“Full of tadpoles,” she continued, “and many tree frogs.”

“I’ll build you a new one.”

He nipped at her nose and she smiled, claiming her lips. Scully’s kiss was soft and gentle reminding Mulder of the soft rain he could hear outside. Her arms tightened around him, her hands expanded up and down his chest. He hummed in approval and tries to turn to face her. She stopped him and whispered. “Not yet.”

He stilled but didn’t let their lips break contact. The way she moved around him reminded Mulder of her examining him and claiming him. He could feel himself responding to her caresses. In the back of his mind, he suddenly began to feel insecure. He had always been comfortable and confident in his own body; he had brought the same out in Scully as their physical relationship evolved. But her words of them just physically using each other like an addiction rang like a bell. “Scully,” he whispered. “Stop for a moment.”

“What?” She looked surprised. Her icy blue eyes iced over with anticipation, gazing at him and making him shiver. “What’s wrong, Mulder.”

“We’re not doing this thing that you were talking about, right? Falling into that same pattern?”

He felt her take a deep breath and sigh. She held up her right hand and held out her pinky.  He formed a small pinky promise by interlocking his pinky finger with hers. “I, Dana Katherine Scully, hereby promise my other half, Fox William Mulder, that I love him more than anything and that I would never use him like that. I do it because I love you, Mulder.”

“You promise, Scully? That’s the closest you’ve come to wedding vows.”

“Yeah, well, give me some credit.”

“Moments like this,” he whispered, brushing by her hair, “I wish I could freeze. You are so beautiful, so perfect.”

“You’re a love-struck fool.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

He laughed again and captured her lips. The task of opening the other windows became forgotten as Scully became more insistent. She was pushing him onto their bed, already moving to straddle her hips, and he was already responding to her. “It feels weird here,” she whispered, taking off her shirt. He sucked in his breath at the gorgeous view of her bare skin in front of him. “We aren’t having to run, we’re safe, and we finally have a home together, Mulder.”

“Scully, all you’re dirty talk,” he teased, “keep it up.”

She leaned forward, skin on skin, and he melted. “Shopping for furniture, picking out paint and china patterns, grocery shopping, meal planning.”

His hand cupped the back of her head so she couldn’t pull away as he kissed her so hard, her toes curled. For both of them, they become lost in the sea together. She teased him and led them in their dance. Their rhythm came together as easy as breathing. Both hearts raced together. Mulder held her tightly as she came first, crying his name. He worked harder until they were both falling together of the top of the wave, crying out, and still holding each other tightly as they came down from their high.

She was laughing as she rolled to the side, bringing his arm with her. “Mulder, do you remember that night in Bellefleur when I came to you saying I was cold? And you said somewhere, it just has to stop. You and me. This is something that I pictured.”

“This?” He asked. He brought a hand to her cheek and caressed. “With the all bad?”

“With all the bad, there is good too,” Scully reminded him. “I told you I would do it all over again, with you, in a heartbeat.”

He nodded and brought her close again. “I’ll get the candles in a second. And the windows. What do you say to christen the rest of the house tomorrow?”

“After we go to Lowe’s to pick out paint colors for our bathroom. And breakfast.” She brought the sheet around them. “I don’t care what the future brings. We’ll face it together.”

“While picking out china patterns?”

“I’d settle for a paint scheme first,” she murmured. She watched him in the candlelight. “We did it, Mulder.”

“Not in the way we thought of it, but yes, we did it.”

“Good enough for me.”

She curled up next to him and Mulder held her as they listened to the fading storm outside.

[monochromemedic]

“Get the hell away from me you freak-” the man’s exclamation was cut short as a wet force shot into his legs, his body slamming against the pavement with a loud thud. A direct slime bullet shot, and the last of the gang was contained within their gooey prisons. I sighed in relief, lowering my arm. ‘I should quip, that’s what all the good heroes do right?’ “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” I said softly before realizing that no one, not even the gathering crowd could hear that. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?!” I repeated before realizing how weak that was. Baby steps... just needed to not show my face around here for a week so they’d all forget how much I fucked up. I rubbed my neck, fingers gliding along the cryo collar as it released a blast of cold air, waves of relief flooding my body. The crowd erupted in clapping, something that startled me back to the situation at hand. A small rising gang had been causing havoc over the city, something larger heroes would only keep their eyes on before attempting to resolve. They were there to help with big tasks, real villains or aliens, something that would cause real devastation. It made sense but that didn’t mean that some real low lives could sneak under the radar and cause some damage as long as they spaced what they were doing enough or kept it the damage to a minimum.  The Graveyard Gang was playing with that line and it was obvious that if it wasn’t stopped some hero would have to come down and take them out themselves. If not for me. I raised a hand sheepishly, waddling to the side of the street to meet the crowd that formed around me. “Hey... hello. Did someone call the police already? Is everyone ok?” My words were met by the sound of sirens drawing near, a large news van trailing not too far behind. A frantic woman nearly rolled out of the van, mic at the ready as she bolted through the crowd, ushering a small man lugging a camera to follow her. “Hi, hello, out of the way, Channel 9 news. Hi, I’m Sandra Stevens of Channel 9 news would you mind giving an interview about the heroic deed you just committed?”  Her words were fast and rehearsed, like she had either done this a million times or dreamt about doing it so much, the words burned into her brain. Her mic was pushed into my face, knocking against my chin and drawing a thin strand of goo onto the mic. The woman didn’t seem to notice however, her eyes laser focused on me. “I... I su-sure. I’m just not very good on camera-” “Don’t worry honey, editors make everyone look good. Cameron! Start rolling, everyone please clear the place we need a nice shot of...what do you call yourself, Miss?” “G...Grey Matter.” “Grey.” she repeated, a eyebrow raised in silent judgement. “Well Grey Matter, hope you’re ready for your 5 minutes of fame because we’re rolling.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My fingers ran across the laptop keys, restarting the video again for the 11th time in a row. I couldn’t stop, my first interview, my first well known appearance as a hero. And the interview was... terrible. The comments didn’t say that but I couldn’t help but notice how nervous I looked, how much I stared into the camera at times, the way I showed my powers and how one guy said it was like a bad hentai. I knew that but god when others said that made everything feel ten times worse. However other commenters were nice, saying how cool I looked, how good it was to see another hero on the streets, taking care of baddies that the others didn’t get. I felt like my ego was a metronome switching from feeling like a god to feeling like a dumbass. I readied my finger to press the replay button as the video neared the end when a knock came to my door. Strange, I didn’t expect anyone, and not many people knew where I lived. Maybe it was a neighbor coming to congratulate me? Not like I could easily disguise myself and not many other people had the consistency of tar. I slid my pants on and walked to the door, opening it to a face almost 3 inches away from  mine. “Hello-” I jumped back, arms raising and balling like huge slings, ready to attack only for them to deflate and fall to my waist as I realized who it was. “You really do stretch! It’s like you’re one big sticky hand toy. Neat, Neat...” Plastic Man commented, his neck extended to look at me further. “Mind if I come in? I’d like to talk.” “I... Y-yes of course Mr... Mr. Plastic Man I... Um.” I could feel myself beginning to melt as I went to close the door behind him, gesturing to my messy house before him. He towered over everything easily, walking past my fridge and ducking to get into my living room to observe more of the house, making eye contact with the laptop. He smiled widely to himself before shifting his eyes back at me. “Please, Mr. Plastic Man was my father, just call me Plas. And I assume you know about me from the way your fangirling?” “I... yes of course you’re an inspiration to me ever since I became like this. The way you quickly maneuver and creatively problem solve with an air of ease is inspiring. Not to mention the way your so cheerful with the public, it puts alot of people at ease, I...starting researching you because we have such similar powers.. not in a weird way just, how you do things.” I rambled trying to literally hold myself together as I felt my body begin to dribble to the floor. “I’m sorry can you excuse me-” “Go ahead, you need... help there?” He asked as I sped past him to my room, grabbing the collar and placing it around my neck. In an instant it came to life, a release of cold air wafting over my body. I returned to the living room, head craning to look at the tall hero. “No thank you, I’m alright. Sometimes when I get nervous or overheated I start to lose my form. The cold from the collar helps me keep me together.” He lowered his head, neck stretching once again to look closer at the device. “I get that, hell sometimes on summer days I gotta put myself in a freezer and become a Plas Pop or else I nearly melt down the storm drain. That’s just another thing we have in common I guess. And that’s what I came here to talk to you about.” I swallowed hard, his hand gesturing to the opened interview on the laptop. “Everyone’s been talking about the girl who took down the Graveyard Gang and word gets around fast.  So fast that even I got word of it almost as soon as it aired. Boy was I surprised when I saw you on camera, showing of a little of what you could do. Another stretcher like me! And one who’s new to the game, a fresh face. It got me thinking.” He paused, crossing his arms as he glanced towards the ground. “Things have been quite in the League, least for ol’ Plas. Much as I love my job and helping the universe, seems like I’m always backup number 54 on the list of who to call when the world’s gonna end. Which isn’t bad but it leaves a guy with alot of time on his rubber hands. So I was thinking maybe I should give the whole mentor thing a shot, take someone under my wing. Just haven’t got the chance to meet someone I could actually teach anything to, till I saw your little stunt. So what do you say? Willing to make what the Batman described as ‘A horrible decision that no one would agree to’?” This was crazy. A proposal like this? And so soon? Learning under one of the League, one of the bests? “Yes, I’d be honored to be mentored by you Plastic Man- er... P-plas. I hope I don’t disappoint you, um... you know I can’t shapeshift like you right. I can’t turn into lions or trucks... I... I can’t do alot of those things actually, just basic stretching and modifications.” “Hm? Oh well that’s ok, besides I didn’t expect you to be exactly like me, that’d just be crazy thoughts. Also that’d make you my son, and that’s just weird. You got something else that I don’t have, you got that goo shot. I can’t shoot bullets of myself at people and you said you can set up traps and knock people out in a hail of slime. That’s kick ass, we just gotta embrace that side of you and you’ll be up there with Superman at the table, talking about what multiverse crisis was your favorite.” He grinned, lowering himself to my level and wrapping an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close against his body. I felt my face grow warm as I looked away from him, my chest pounding despite the lack of heart in my breast. Now he was touching me? Telling me how cool I was? I felt myself begin to drip again, knees beginning to buckle. “Y-you really think so?” “I know so. You got spunk kid, we just gotta polish you up and you’ll be golden, Pony Boy.” The force of his palm hitting my back sent me jolting forward, his shadow looming over me. “How about you meet me outside of your place, tomorrow. 1pm. We’ll assess your abilities and work from there. Sound good? Too bad, crime never waits. I’ll see you there.” And with surprising grace he dipped out of my apartment, leaving me like it was just a frantic dream. If it wasn’t for the sting from his palm I’d assume I was merely daydreaming, but it was real. Plastic Man and me, working together. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Come on, haven’t you ever seen Spider-Man. Leap of faith!”  “I don’t know if you’re legally allowed to reference that...” I muttered, eyeing the large gap between buildings before staring back at Plas. “I haven’t really done much uh... traversal practice. What if I fall and hit the ground I... I mean I don’t think I can die like that but-” “I won’t let you fall, I promise you. I’d be a real bad trainer if the first person I mentored became a permanent stain on 4th street. You got this!”  Plastic Man grinned widely, flashing a thumbs up and stepping back. His words echoed in my head, as I stepped back a few feet, already making my plan as I dragged a line of slick slime in front of me.  ‘I’ll run forward, using the slime to propel me even further to close the gap. Then when I get as far as I can, I’ll stretch my arms out, attach to the building and slingshot my way up to the roof.’ I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, waiting until every last bit of air left my lungs.  And then I ran. My feet slid against the slime trail like a skater on the ice as I raced towards the edge. Before I could even attempt to jump, I hit the edge, my body fling more downward then I expected. I felt the air leave my lungs, my head snapping up towards the roof top I was aiming for and snapped my arm forward, splatting against the brick a few feet down. Damn it, Damn it, I got this. I got this. I felt the tension build in my arms, threatening to snap under the pressure. Just when I thought it was going to be too much, it released. And I found myself ascending just as fast I was falling. Up against the building. A wave of pain shot through my body as I was bashed against the wall, slowly feeling the way my body spread and slowly began to peel away from the window. Just as I felt the last few strand of myself start to detach, I felt a warmth wrap around my body, lifting me up to the roof of the building. “Hey you good? I never saw anyone but me rubber band that hard into a building before.” I tried to nod my head, wheezing and groaning as I laid on my back, staring up at the titan of a man before me. “I’m ok... just the wind got knocked out.” “Mm, yeah I’m not surprised. I mean if anything I guess we found out that a fall from here would be a-ok. Painful but... if you can survive going mach one into a building a fall should be no sweat.” He stretched his arms and sat down beside me, hands forming something just out of my range of vision to mess with. “Take your time, and we can try again. Maybe something with less of a gap to fall down.” I closed my eyes, a sickening knot forming in my stomach. I fucked up the jump, and fucked it up bad. Was he disappointed? Rethinking his decision to choose me? He had been teaching me for 2 weeks now, and I couldn’t help but think that I wasn’t enough by the way he’d sometimes look away, seem upset, maybe wanting to be anywhere else but here. My body slumped forward, lingering pain in my core. “Plastic Man?” His head cocked to the side, eyes unidentifiable behind his goggles. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him what he thought of me. The words caught in my throat, my fear too great to hear the truth. I didn’t want to seem too pitiful, too... “I’ll try better next time.” “That’s what I like to hear.” ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “GM what were you thinking?! You know you can’t handle that kinda heat, why did you head into a burning building?! No one was in there! Everyone was safe!” I ducked my head away from Plas’ rage, watching the soot swirl around the remains of my arm. I was hurt bad, nearly melted and burned in a raging fire me and Plas tried to contain. But I was careless, eager to please a man I thought was losing interest in me. Despite the fact the building was clear I thought if I could help put out the fire before the firefighters came he would praise my boldness. But I only ended up making a fool of myself, having to had Plas rush into the building and collect me himself. He didn’t fair well himself, parts of him still goopy from harsh heat damage. “Look at me when I’m talking to you! Why did you do that.” His eyes were angry, his usual smile twisted into a disappointed frown. “I wanted to impress you-” “Impress me?! Yeah your new power to turn into a corpse was real freaking impressive Jenna. Why the hell are you trying to impress me like that-” “Because I don’t think I’m good enough to be taught by you!” I exclaimed, shocked by how I raised my voice at him. “I... I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to... I just... I feel like ever since you started to mentor me I haven’t been good enough. I’ve always been messing up and-and I feel like if I don’t do anything to impress you, you’ll just abandon me and I’ll fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I-I look up to you so much, and I feel like it’s such a privilege that you chose me I... I feel like it’s a mistake. And so I’m just waiting for you to realize that and I feel like you’re catching on so I had to do something to make sure that you didn’t fuck up with your choice.” Plas’ face immediately dropped, a look of concern replacing his scold. “Christ... I gave you Imposter Syndrome. Is this what the other people with sidekicks have to deal with... Woozy was never like this. Er...well, no he was he just didn’t have powers.” He bit his bottom lip, and sighed, inching to take a seat beside me. “I’m not good at this teaching stuff, I don’t know if you noticed. So if I made you feel like you weren’t impressing me, I swear it isn’t true. I remember when I was first getting the hang of being a hero. I was dog shit. The amount of times I did somethings stupid or tried to impress others without knowing what I was doing myself, god... and when I was part of the league? The first month was a hell, I didn’t get anything done. I still mess up, I just make it seem like I don’t cause I play it off. We all screw up, even Superman. I would know, I was there for a couple of those times, etched em right into my head.” He glanced away, tapping the side of his head where the words ‘Pantsing Incident of 05’ appeared.  “Point is we all started somewhere and we were all ass at it. You think Flash got the hang of dodging every car while he ran down the road? No, it was just that no one remembers those times cause he’s  too busy kicking ass now adays that no one cares that one time he ate asphalt. No one accept me who uses it to blackmail him occasionally because I’m petty and like to knock him down a peg every once in a while. You’re doing great.” I could feel the tears dripping down my face as he spoke, using my palm to desperately hide my emotions from him. His arm wrapped around my shoulder in a cautious, yet caring touch. “Can we just not... run into burning buildings next time we’re trying to prove something? I might not be able to get you out next time.” “Yeah, of course sir. Thank you, for believing in me, after I did that, and that you believed me in the first place.”