#and the long days and travelling and early morning's and damn. this got off track

[yousaytomato]

I've really enjoyed Dracula Daily, like legitimately some of the best times I've ever had on Tumblr, or the internet

but damn -

the immense guilt and shame I've felt the last couple of months for falling behind, has really marred the entire experience - made only worse by knowing it's entirely my own fault, and also that it's such a stupid thing to be upset about, and yet, I still am 🤷‍♂️

[lysenfeu]

Pair of Aces - Chapter 3. Day Three

Pair of Aces

Chapter: 3. Day Three

Rating: M

Word Count: 5.6k~

Summary: Our pair finally head out into the field to track Butterflies and Vigilante gets the opportunity to demonstrate his skills.

Chapter Content: Descriptions of violence/Canon-typical Violence, Weapons (Guns, Knives), Mild Blood/gore

A/N: Whoops this took way longer than expected to finish but it ended up way longer than I originally planned so here we go! More tension and some much-needed mission action where Vig finally gets to show off a bit. I hope you enjoy it~

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She woke up late the next morning, grateful to actually have gotten some rest for the first time since she arrived in town. Vigilante was already awake. He was puttering around the room, focused on sorting out his armour pieces on his bed with his mask already on.

“How long have you been up?”

He jumped, not realizing she was awake. He turned towards her and shrugged. “A while, I don’t sleep much.”

“Have you eaten?” She pulled out two packets of instant oatmeal and two travel bowls from her pack.

He eyed the packets suspiciously as she held them up to him. “What flavour?”

“Maple and brown sugar, duh.”

He nodded his approval and she moved around him to fill the bowls with water and pop them in the microwave. She carefully handed him the warm bowl with a spoon and sat down on the edge of her bed to eat. He turned his back to her and rolled up the bottom of his mask before popping a spoonful of oatmeal into his now-exposed mouth.

“Seriously dude? You won’t even let me see you eat?”

“Safety precaution, I told you.” He huffed, blowing on his spoon to cool down the hot breakfast.

She rolled her eyes. “I can’t identify you in a lineup from just your chin.” He didn’t respond and continued to eat with his back to her. She was annoyed but decided not to press the topic. He got weirdly defensive every time it came up and she didn’t want to push it this early on.

She quickly finished her own bowl and rinsed it off in the sink. She walked around the motel room to grab her gear bag and unpack the equipment they’d need for the mission. She pulled out a gun case and several smaller attachés filled with blades. The second she unlatched the case, Vigilante popped up over her shoulder.

“Oh cool, a Walther PPK! Kinda small though isn't it?”

She rolled her eyes and tried not to snap at him. "It's not small, it's perfectly normal-sized."

"It's totally not normal, it's tiny." He looked down at the gun with a judgemental tone.

She gently removed it from the case, showing him how it fits perfectly in her grip before placing it back down.

"See, normal size! Don't shame me!"

He grabbed her wrist and held her hand still as he raised his own palm and pressed it against hers. She hadn't paid much attention to his hands before, she'd barely even noticed he hadn't put his gloves on yet.

But now she couldn’t help but stare as his large palm dwarfed hers entirely. His long thick fingers folded over the top of hers, covering her hand.

"See? Definitely not normal, you just have tiny hands."

She yanked her hand out of her grip and scowled at him. "I have normal hands, shut up.”

She rolled her eyes at him again and stepped back to make some space between them. “Let me guess, you use something insanely impractical like a Desert Eagle."

He laughed and shook his head. "Nah, that's more Peacemaker’s style. I keep it simple." He pulled out his gun belt from his pile of gear and snapped his pistol out of its holster.

He held it up for her and she immediately recognized it. A Walther PP, the same line as hers but a bulkier original model. The pistol was modded with a custom bronze-tinted shell, an understated look that she thought was surprising for Vigilante.

"Bronze? What, did they not come in teal?" She couldn't hold her tongue on that one, friendship order be damned.

His shoulders sagged as he sadly replied, "No! They couldn't even custom order it for me and I definitely asked. Like, a lot."

Of course, you did.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep the snark to a minimum.

"Well, it's a decent weapon regardless of colour. You seem well equipped." She gestured towards the assembled pile on top of his mattress. His second pistol, an assortment of knives and his sword lay on top.

He cocked his head to the side before he realized she was looking at his weapons stash.

"Oh! Yeah, uh. I like to have options."

She laughed lightly. "Well, that's another thing we have in common."

She grabbed one of the attachés and opened it up for him to see. It was neatly packed with a variety of blades. The selection included a set of black throwing knives, several fixed blades with serrated edges and a pair of push daggers. She quickly unpacked the other case to reveal an assortment of folding blades, smaller throwing knives and a purple satin pouch.

He immediately reached over to grab one of the serrated blades and she smacked his hand away, shooting him an annoyed look.

"Watch it! Didn't your mom ever teach you not to grab things that aren't yours?"

"Nope." He reached back around her to try and grab it again so she smacked him a bit harder.

He yelped and pulled back his hand. "Hey, that hurt!" She's not certain but it sounded like he was pouting behind his mask.

"If you want to touch something, ask nicely first."

He sighed and crossed his arms childishly. "Fiiiine. May I touch the cool knives?" He hesitated for a second and then added a rushed 'please' at the end.

She chuckled at his petulant tone. "Okay, fine. But I'm not responsible if you hurt yourself."

He scoffed. "As if! You were the one who called me an 'impressively talented marksman', thank you very much!"

She raised an eyebrow. "That was with a rifle, not knives."

"Yeah well, I'm good with blades too."

She started to fire back a snarky response but was caught off guard as he deftly picked up a short-handled serrated blade. He spun it between his fingers, effortlessly flipping it around in his hand.

Okay, maybe he was right about being good with blades.

She watched the expert movements in shock, observing how he made the razor-sharp edge glide and twirl through the air with delicate precision.

Good might be an understatement, actually. Damn.

For someone who had never previously cared about hands, she was certainly doing a lot of staring at them today. She shook her head to clear her distracted thoughts.

“Alright, enough screwing around." She gestured for him to give back the blade. "We’ve got to head out soon. Did you get the coordinates from Harcourt?” She was back in business mode, mind focused on sorting the rest of her gear instead of his large and talented hands.

Vigilante sighed in disappointment but dutifully placed the knife back in the case and pulled out his phone.

“Yeah, the location isn’t far from here. Maybe a fifteen-minute drive? The road access cuts off and there are some woodlands nearby. We can set up there, it has a decent view of the place.”

Their assignment was simple. There was a rural farmhouse sitting on a large acreage outside of Evergreen. ARGUS had tracked some activity in the area and their intel indicated a group of suspected Butterflies were using it as a hub of some kind. The pair were supposed to set up onsite surveillance and confirm the presence of Butterflies in the house. At any sign of trouble or Butterflies on the move, orders were to shoot on sight.

She buckled her pistol into her belt holster and picked out a selection of knives to bring, carefully sliding something small out of the purple pouch and tucking it into a belt pocket when she thought Vig wasn’t looking. Her pack had the rest of the essentials needed for field missions, including an ample supply of granola bars, a GPS tracker and first aid supplies. After confirming Vigilante already had the Task Force X-issued rifle, scope and cameras in the car and triple checking her weapon selection, she was ready to go.

While she had geared up, Vigilante had done the same but faster. Waiting by the motel room door in full gear, he was antsy to get going. He opened the door for her and followed her out, locking it behind them. The pair climbed into the Sebring and pulled out of the motel lot. Vigilante was right, the site wasn't very far at all and they quickly turned off the rural road and tucked the car behind some foliage.

Vig opened the trunk, shouldered the rifle bag and grabbed the cameras. She had oriented herself quickly in the unfamiliar location and started to make her way through the woods. He followed closely behind her as they walked a short way and up a small hill. Once at the top, they had a full view of the acreage below. A large weather-worn farmhouse sat towards the front of the property, resting at the end of a wide gravel drive. Peeling red paint and a rotting deck tarnished what must have been a nice building at a previous point in time.

Setting up the cameras was the first order of business. They had a great view of the house and rigged up the surveillance easily, with one covering the front door and two on the back of the property and driveway. The next task was setting up the rifle.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" She asked him suspiciously, watching him swear under his breath as he fumbled with the rifle.

"Yes! Just give me a minute." He muttered back at her.

“Alright, fine.”

She turned away from him, grabbed a pair of binoculars from the kit and started scoping out the farmhouse. The state of the place was abysmal. The entire exterior was in disrepair with several windows cracked or broken and holes in the screens. Broken appliances and other junk littered the back.

How could anyone live in a place like this?

Frankly, it looked like no one was. Nothing looked recently used or accessed. There was no sign of life in or around the building. She frowned. This didn't match the intel.

Vigilante had finished setting up his stuff and plopped down beside her.

"So what's the deal?"

She sighed and pulled the binoculars down.

"It doesn't look like anyone's here. Honestly, it doesn't look like anyone's been here in years."

Vigilante groaned. "This isn't going to be fun is it?"

She shook her head at him. "Probably not."

As the day wore on, she was proven correct about that. Several hours had passed with no activity on the entire property.

The ground was hard and uncomfortable and Vigilante was restless. He was constantly moving around, humming to himself and generally complaining about the lack of action. He was making a lot of noise and it had started to annoy her.

“This is sooo boring,” Vigilante whined, fidgeting from his place on the ground.

She sat back on her heels and looked at him with a tired glare. “It’s recon work, it’s not supposed to be exciting.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be people here? What’s the point of us being here if this place is empty?”

As if on cue, they heard a crunching noise and watched as a large white cargo van drove up the gravel path leading to the house. They saw a tall man climb out of the driver's seat and enter the dilapidated building.

“Fucking finally!” Vigilante hops up off the ground and starts heading down the hill.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed him by the collar of his chest piece and yanked him back.

“Uh, I’m going to go kill that guy? Obviously.”

His nonchalant tone irritated her to no end. "No, you're not! Do you even know what recon means?"

He paused, thinking hard for a moment. "Re…constitute?"

Her face contorted in a mix of disbelief and frustration. "What? No! Why the fuck would it be reconstitute?" She shook her head at him. "It means reconnaissance."

"Is that French? How would I know that? I don't speak French!"

She sighed. "It's technically a loan word."

"A what?"

She successfully resisted the urge to hit him. "It's a word that was originally French but it was used so much that it became considered part of the English language too."

"Man, language is weird.” His voice got a little quieter. “So…what does it mean?"

She sighed again. “It means surveying. We’re just here gathering information, waiting and watching for a headcount on potential targets and their travel patterns. You can't just run in guns blazing!”

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “It works pretty well for me.”

Continuing to resist the urge to hit him was becoming more and more difficult for her. “We don’t even know if that guy is a Butterfly or not. We just need to keep an eye on him and be stealthy. Can you do that?

He crossed his arms across his chest and nodded. “I can be very stealthy.”

She squinted at him. “I kind of don't believe you.”

“It's true!” He protested a bit too loudly. “I am a master of stealth.”

“And being quiet?”

“If I’m quiet can I kill that guy soon?”

She thought for a moment and the temptation of his silence won out. “If he’s a Butterfly, yes.”

Vigilante sighed but accepted her answer, scrambling up off the ground.

“Remember, only if you’re quiet. We’re just watching for now.” She warned him.

He mimed zipping his mouth closed and nodded silently. She raised a doubtful eyebrow but nodded in return and turned back to the farmhouse with her binoculars. She watched the man walk by one of the cracked windows and then lost sight of him. She sat down on the ground and tried to find a comfortable position on the hard dirt.

She lost track of how much time she had spent staring through the cracked windows. Even though she knew someone was now inside, there was no sign of movement. She put the binoculars down in frustration. She refocused on her surroundings and noted it was actually quiet for once. She hadn’t heard Vigilante humming or muttering to himself in a while. She glanced over to where the rifle was set up but there was no sign of him.

Where was he?

Her thoughts were interrupted by two strong arms grabbing her from behind. She shrieked in surprise as the arms wrapped around her waist and suddenly she was in the air. Vigilante had snuck up behind her and grabbed her in a giant bear hug, lifting her off the ground and holding her tight against him.

"What the hell!" She tried not to scream at him but her voice carried anyways.

Once her initial shock wore off and she realised what he was doing, she immediately struggled against him to free herself. Unfortunately for her, she was unable to break his hold at all. She couldn't help but take note of how strong his grip was and how effortlessly he had picked her up.

She tried to get out of his hold again but ended up just flailing around uselessly. She stopped moving after she realised she was basically just grinding against him. He dared to laugh in her ear at her failed attempts to escape, which just incensed her further.

“Let me go!”

His grip around her tightened. "Only if you admit how super stealthy I am!"

She flailed some more before getting even more frustrated. She finally had enough, kicked her heel backwards and clipped him hard in the shin. He groaned in pain and finally released her. “Hey, no fair!”

She spun around and jabbed him in the chest with an accusatory finger. “We're supposed to be quiet! What if they heard that?”

He waved off her concern. “They didn't, it's fine.”

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me.”

She huffed and ignored him, picking up the binoculars from the ground to check for herself.

Goddammit.

He was right. There was no sign of movement inside the house and the man hadn’t come out to check on the noise.

"Can you at least admit I'm a master of stealth now?"

She grumbled to herself but well, technically he was right. “Fine, that was very fucking stealthy. But don't ever do that again, you got lucky this time Teal.”

“Teal?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged at him. “That’s your new nickname. Everyone gets one.”

“Everyone?”

“Everyone on the team." She started counting them off on her fingers. "There’s Big Red, Blondie, Dye-beard, New-girl-who’s-name-I-forget-but-seems-too-nice-for-this-job and Murn.”

“Just Murn? Why doesn't he get a nickname?”

She snorted. “Try giving that man a nickname and not die.”

“Oh. Yeah, fair.” He easily accepted her answer. “Her name’s Adebayo by the way.”

“Who?”

“The new girl. Leota Adebayo.”

“Huh." She nodded in appreciation. "Got it, thanks. I should try and remember that. She does seem nice.”

“She is! She’s my new fifth best friend. I told Peacemaker he should be friends with her too.”

“Wait, you rank your friends?”

“Yeah, obviously. Don’t you?”

“No! Who does that?”

Suddenly, the pair were interrupted by the slam of a front door. They both spun around in time to see the tall man exiting the farmhouse. They were stunned to see him being followed by half a dozen other people.

What the fuck!?

She grabbed the binoculars to get a better look at what was happening. The entire group was walking rigidly, with expressionless faces and dead eyes. One of the strangers trailed behind carrying a crate loaded with large glass bottles containing a strange liquid. The tall man climbed into the driver's seat of the van while the others filed robotically into the back.

"Shit! They're on the move." She cursed again and frantically grabbed her pack off the ground. She motioned to Vigilante to follow her and saw he had already grabbed the rifle and was headed in the same direction. They needed to get back to the Sebring as soon as possible and tail that cargo van.

"Where the fuck did all those people come from? What the fuck is happening?" She was out of breath as they ran to the vehicle and hopped in.

"No fucking idea but they're definitely Butterflies." He gunned the engine and pulled the car back around to face the road. Not a moment too soon as the white van rolled right past them. Vig started following them, slowly trailing behind to not get them spotted. After about five minutes the van pulled off into what looked like a dead end. As they followed down the turn the pair saw a wide stretch of land.

In the middle of the pasture was an open-walled barn structure. The group of Butterflies was milling around inside the structure silently. Each of them grabbed a glass jar of liquid from the case. She watched as they unscrewed the lids and extended a proboscis-like tongue and started lapping up the fluid.

"Oh, that's super gross." She mumbled to herself.

"See? Definitely Butterflies. Can I kill them now?"

She looked at Vigilante, who was bouncing around next to her waiting for the all-clear. The orders were to shoot on sight if things got weird.

"Yeah, fine. Go ahead."

He started humming happily to himself while he lined up the rifle scope.

"Think you can get them all?"

Vig snorted. "Uh, yeah. Not a problem."

She pulled out her binoculars and trained them on the targets. There were seven Butterflies in total, all standing around the open structure. She was grateful for the lack of walls, giving them both an easy view of the targets.

"Tell you what, drinks are on me if you can headshot every target." She was just kidding around. Despite Vigilante’s cockiness, she was sure he couldn’t pull that off.

He had finished setting up the rifle and was lining up his shot. “Deal. Count them for me.”

The first shot rang out and the tall male who had driven the van dropped to the ground as a bullet pierced through his forehead.

"One."

The Butterflies crowded over the body and looked around trying to locate the source of the shots. Vigilante fired again and caught another through the skull.

"Two."

The targets started to panic now, moving around and trying to scatter. Two more shots rang out in rapid succession. She watched two more Butterflies drop, one caught through the temple and one through the eye.

"Three. Four."

The remaining three had started to move faster, trying to flee the shelter. Vigilante fired again, taking down the closest one with another headshot.

"Five."

Is he seriously going to do it?

The Butterflies were running now and Vig needed to move fast. Two final shots echoed and the corresponding bodies dropped, unmoving with bullets lodged in the back of their skulls.

"Six. Seven."

Holy shit.

She spun towards him, dropping her binoculars. "Holy shit."

Vigilante leaned back from the rifle, still humming happily. "Told you I could do it."

"I didn't think it was possible. That was fucking amazing!" She grinned at him, wholly impressed with his performance. She hopped up off the ground and held out a hand to help him do the same.

“Alright hot shot, time to check your work.”

The pair quickly made their way down to the pasture. They needed to double-check check each Butterfly was actually dead and take some photos to ID them before sending a clean-up crew later on.

She trudged along the structure, looking down at the assorted bodies. Three were outside the building in the grass and the other four were scattered around inside. She left the furthest away ones to Vigilante and made her way around to the others. Dead, dead, dead. She still can barely believe he got all seven clean right through the head.

She walked towards the last body, one slumped against one of the building's support beams. She was right next to the corpse, looking at the hole in its head when suddenly something small twitched inside the wound. The body let out an inhuman screech and lurched upwards to grab at her.

She screamed in surprise as she tried to wrench herself away and not fall over. Vigilante rushed over and grabbed her by the waist, yanking her backwards and out of the corpse's grip. He slid a hand over her hip and grabbed something from her belt and flung it towards the Butterfly. A whirl of purple flew through the air and embedded itself deep into its head. Blood and some strange shimmery fluid sprayed across her at the impact, splashing across her face. Another screech sounded before growing quiet and the body slumped back over, unmoving.

“Hey, what the fuck!” She shoved him away and tried to wipe the mess from her face, only succeeding in smearing it more.

"You've got to get the things in their skulls or they don't stay down." He offered as an explanation.

“I really would've liked to have known that before now. That was fucking disgusting! And was that my knife?!” She whips around and leans down to inspect the Butterfly's corpse. With a solid yank, she pulled out the purple-handled blade from where it was embedded in the skull and glowered at him.

“What did I say about grabbing things?!” She practically screamed.

“It was kind of an emergency.” He threw his hands up in defence. “I had to think quickly!”

She scowled as she carefully inspected the knife for any damage, thankfully finding none.

Of course, he had to grab this one. Idiot.

He was annoyed with being yelled at by her. "You know I did just save you, you could say thank you. It's just a knife!"

She hesitated to answer. "This one is …special."

“Why is it unbalanced?”

She glared at him. “That's a security measure. It’s supposed to make it harder for someone to use if they steal it from me.”

“Huh.” He cocked his head to the side and looked at her. “It didn’t, by the way. It was really easy to compensate for.”

She narrowed her eyes, then stepped forward suddenly and wiped the sullied knife on his sleeve before slipping it back into her belt.

“Ew, gross! What did you do that for?” He jumped back and held out his sleeve to observe the new stain.

“You got blood on my face! Also, don’t take my stuff!” She snapped angrily and stomped out of the barn, sidestepping the rest of the Butterfly corpses. Vigilante trailed after her, muttering complaints about his ruined shirt.

They made their way back to the Sebring, slung the gear in the back and climbed in. She pulled down the passenger side mirror and inspected the smears of blood and who knows what else on her face. She grimaced at the disgusting sight and sighed in frustration at her appearance.

“Here.”

Vigilante nudged her and handed her a pack of wet wipes. She stared down at the offering for a moment before accepting the item. She opened the wipes and started cleaning her face, relaxing slightly.

“Thanks.”

“I’m sorry about the blood.” He meant it. He had reacted instinctively when she was in trouble, the splatter was an accident.

She finished dabbing the last spots on her face and handed him back the wet wipes. “And taking my knife?”

He huffed but continued. “Okay, yes. I’m also sorry for taking your knife.” He paused for a moment and then continued in a slightly more bitter tone. “Even though I totally saved your life. And also killed all the other people. And drove us everywhere.”

She crossed her arms in annoyance and raised her voice. “You want a thank you for doing your job?”

His shoulders sagged and the tone disappeared from his voice. “Kind of, yeah. I was trying to impress you.”

She lowered her arms and her volume to match. “Alright, theft of my property aside,” She shot him a look. “You did, in fact, impress me. You did a really good job today. I didn’t even think making every single one of those shots was possible but fuck, you killed it out there.”

He chuckled at her terrible play on words and seemed a bit more at ease after the praise. “I believe you owe me drinks now.”

She groaned, that was supposed to be a joke. “Fine. I’m nothing if not a woman of my word. What’s your poison of choice?”

He thought for a moment before deciding. “Whiskey.”

She whipped out her phone and checked their location. “Alright, the nearest liquor store back in town is closed for tonight so I’ll have to grab your victory drinks tomorrow. But there’s good news, the pizza place near the motel is still open.” She held her phone out towards him so he could see the menu. “Go ahead and pick the toppings.”

“You’re letting me choose?” He was confused seeing as she had just been very mad at him.

She rolled her eyes. “Standard protocol, the agent with the highest body count each mission picks the pizza. No sense breaking from tradition.”

He took the phone from her and selected his favourite combo, double pepperoni and bacon, before handing it back. He pulled the Sebring out of the brush and got on the road heading back towards the motel.

The ride back was quiet. Vig pulled up in front of the tiny, clearly family-run pizza place and she ducked inside to pick up their order before they made it back to the motel. Parking at the far end of the lot again, they headed inside their suite.

She placed the pizza down on the coffee table near the TV and loveseat before walking over to her bed. She grabbed a toiletries case and her pjs before heading to the bathroom.

"I'm just gonna hop in the shower, still feeling a little gross." She called out to Vigilante. He was in the middle of stripping off his armour pieces and gave her a thumbs-up before she closed the door.

The motel shower had zero water pressure and was way more cramped than she preferred but at least it was clean and had hot water. She didn't waste her time and made quick work of cleaning herself up.

She exited the bathroom, feeling refreshed and comfortably changed into her pjs. She realised she was absolutely starving and quickly walked over to the pizza box on the coffee table to grab a slice. She plopped down in the middle of the loveseat and took a huge bite, savouring the hot food. As she was chewing, she turned towards Vigilante and choked.

He was standing over his mattress packing up his gear, with his side turned towards her. That was normal. The reason she was currently coughing up pizza from her lungs was the fact that he was doing it shirtless.

The edge of his black mask contrasted sharply with his bare skin and drew her eyes down to his shoulders and arms. He was surprisingly bulky. Broad shoulders led into thick, toned biceps and down into muscular forearms, with those large hands she had tried to forget about earlier.

“Holy shit.”

She didn’t even realise she had said that out loud until he turned towards her. Her eyes widened as she was confronted with a full frontal view of his shirtless torso.

She couldn't help but take in the view, it was the first good look at him she'd gotten without his armour on. A spattering of freckles and various scars dotted his skin, decorating the expanse of his muscles. She couldn't help but trail her eyes across his pecs down his well-developed abs. A whisper of dark hair trailed into his waistband along the v-cut above his hips and she caught herself wondering what else he was hiding under his clothes.

Fuck.

"What was that?" He hadn't heard exactly what she'd said while he was turned around.

She tore her gaze away from him, trying to pretend she wasn't flustered as hell.

“Wh- why are you half-naked?” She managed to splutter out.

“You got blood on my shirt.”

"Oh. Right."

Her gaze slowly drifted back over his exposed chest. …and abs…and hips…

How the fuck did he manage to hide all those muscles under his suit?

“Are you okay? You have a weird look on your face." Vigilante was patiently looking at her, waiting for a response.

She was jolted back down to earth and tried desperately to fight the blush creeping up her cheeks.

"Uh, yeah. I'm fine. It was too hot." Her eyes widened at her unintended phrasing. "The pizza! The pizza was too hot, burnt my tongue. Got distracted. By the hot pizza!" She coughed into her hand and turned away from him to hide her embarrassment.

Real fucking smooth. You're here to work, not be a creep. Calm down.

"You should put your pyjamas on." She quickly added, "You know, so you won’t get cold.”

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He simply shrugged and walked over to his mattress.

When she worked up the nerve to look back at him, Vigilante had indeed put on his pyjamas. He was still standing near the beds, looking over at her.

"We can both sit here if you want, it's fine." She scooted over to make as much room for him as she could on the two-seater couch.

He came over and sat down then looked over at the pizza box. He hesitated for a moment but after a beat, he had made a decision. He rolled up his mask over his nose without turning away from her. She cautiously said nothing, not wanting to make him nervous. Instead, she took the chance to subtly examine the newly visible lower half of his face while he grabbed a piece of pizza.

Her eyes traced up the length of his thick neck and across his sharp, defined jaw. She noticed there was a hint of dark stubble across his chin and cheeks. She watched him lift a slice to his plush lips and she unconsciously bit her lip when his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

What was that about calming down?

She quickly glanced away, not wanting to be caught ogling him yet again. This was a job, he was a coworker. She needed to keep it professional.

After he had finished the piece of pizza in his hand, he turned toward her. "Hey, it's Fargo night. Do you mind if I put it on?"

She shrugged casually as he grabbed the remote and flipped to the right channel. "Go ahead. But what the fuck is Fargo?"

He froze reaching for another slice and gasped in shock that she didn’t know what Fargo was. She nearly regretted asking as soon as he launched into an overly animated retelling of the entire plot and each individual character. He was going to chat her ear off about this the entire night, wasn’t he?

Ah well, I guess he earned it for today.

She cut him some slack and smiled passively, feigning interest as he continued talking through the whole episode to explain it all for her. She didn’t want to let him know she wasn’t listening at all and was simply enjoying the excuse to steal glances at his mouth the whole time. Somewhere near the end of the night, his endless talking had lulled her to sleep.

Vigilante eventually noticed she had curled up on her side of the couch with her head on the armrest. He quietly turned off the television and grabbed a pillow and sheet from his bed. Careful not to wake her up, he tucked the pillow under her head and covered her with the blanket before climbing into his own bed and turning off the lights.

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A/N: These two are playing a game I like to call "awkward dance of the idiots", though I'm pretty sure shirtless Vigilante would melt anyone's brain lol. More slow burn, patience will definitely be rewarded soon I promise! Let me know what you think so far <3

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TAG LIST: @pretendfan @dallasvakarian @fatherdannydevito

[littlewitchthatwrites]

Cauldron (part one)

The Ordinary World (chapter one)

Somewhere in the world (though no one is sure which one) there was a special little town in the middle of nowhere full of happy people, tall trees with red and golden leaves, and sweet little houses that lined the neat sidewalks and streets.

Our story begins on one particular street. The house on the corner of a cute little neighborhood was a two story house painted white with a blue front door and a big gorgeous garden. It was three days from Halloween and this family was preparing a little late. Orange christmas lights hung from the railing on the porch, there was a plastic skeleton hanging by the porch swing, and four glowing jack o'lanterns by the door. “Hey puck,” a voice called from the kitchen, “Mom says it’s breakfast time!”

The voice traveled up the stairs and into a small room where a girl sat in the middle of the floor… well, hovering above it. She was in deep thought and concentration, the world around her had melted away from her mind. Her room was small and quiet, books lined one of her walls, stuffed animals covered her bed, pendulums, tarot decks, and loose pieces of paper covered in runes and symbols covered every surface. She had red curtains that gave a warm glow to her well decorated living space. One of Puck’s walls had a long window that opened to a little hang out spot on the roof where she had spent many nights stargazing.

Puck smelled of roses and vanilla and the world around her was still, calm, and peaceful. Puck inhaled and exhaled slowly. With every breath the room got warmer. Shadows danced the waltz with the flames of newly lit candles that were positioned in a circle underneath the little witch. With every inhale another candle lit and began the dance.

“PUCK!” The door burst open and a tall boy rushed in. Puck screamed and the second she broke concentration she felt her tailbone slam onto her floor. “Ow! Damn it Oisin!” She yelled at him. Oisin was a tall boy with light brown hair and small freckles that were lighter that his skin, much like a fawn. He was like a deer in many ways. He was a graceful boy, he had very nice reflexes, and was on the track team at his high school. “Come on! Mom made lavender waffles.” Oisin smiled at his sister and walked off. He didn't even close the door. Puck rolled her eyes and threw on some clothes. Some navy blue shorts with fishnets under them. Brown combat boots stretched up just below her knees and a white tank top clung to her honey tan shoulders, completing the look with a belt and her mother’s favorite necklace. She loved that necklace, though you’d never hear her say it out loud. Kendo The kitchen smelled like lavender and cinnamon. It was bright and colorful. Four plates of waffles were set on the counter while Puck and Oisin’s mother, Rose, hung bundles of herbs in front of the windows. She smiled at her children. “Good morning my dears. How are you feeling?” Oisin beamed at his mother. She was so bright and lovely. How could anyone wish for a better mother. Noted, she was pretty much a human Disney princess but less animals and more kids. “Sore.” Puck grumbled before shoving a fork full of waffle into her mouth. “Where's Dad?” Oisin asked. He tapped his fork on the wooden counter. “Hon, he’s never awake this early in the day. He’ll… you know…”

Puck made an explosion sound and acted it out with her hands. He nudged his sister a little too hard making her fall from the stool she was sitting on. She let out a loud ‘OUCH’ as she hit the wooden floor of the kitchen. Rose rolled her eyes and helped her daughter off the floor. “You guys need to get to school. Oisin, don't wreck my car!” She said tossing the keys to him. “Okey Doke.” He pulled Puck by her backpack towards the door. She reached for her waffles in a desperate attempt to take another bite but it was no use. They closed the door behind them and got in the car.

“I have my license too! Why do you always get to drive?”

Because, my little sister, mom loves me more.” Oisin smiled and ruffled Puck’s hair.

“You are literally one minute older than me!”

Oisin laughed, “Oh I know. Haha i know.”

[anaiswriterr]

The Dragon Kings Queen

Pairing: Dragon King!Bakugou x Queen!Reader

Rating: M

Warning: This is part four, I’d like to point out be aware: 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝗼𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝗺𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐮𝐞, 𝐠𝗼𝐫𝐞, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐭𝐜. Please don’t read if you are not comfortable with it, and if you’re under the age of 18+ I will give a warning when it becomes NSFW but at the moment it’s SFW. Todays chapter does include gore, death, killing, hunting, sickness, etc.

<masterlist>

Synopsis: ➪ When the word marriage crossed your mind, you believed you’d marry someone you loved. Not this brute of a King. So here you are standing at the end on an alter, pushing away the urge to run and fight. Possibly start a new life, instead of being dragged into a loveless marriage. But for the sake of your people.. They say he’s not what rumors make him out to be, but how can you believe that when his eyes burn into yours; just as fiery as before. How could you, ever love someone as barbaric as him…

- chapter five: the blood a trickster spills -

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You grab onto a tree branch, grunting as you pull yourself up. It has been an hour since you've been aimlessly walking through the enchanted forest, your feet already burn in exhaustion. You managed a to find a stream, the land was smooth - perfect for a fire in the morning but right now your main priority:

Is to somehow climb this tree without breaking a leg.

You grumble incoherent words to yourself, enraged by the stubborn bark your hand could not grasp. You opted for another tree branch, pulling yourself up to a reasonably thicker branch - which you deemed was thick enough to wait the night out. Though sleep was definitely out of the question for you, a fall from this height was enough to put you out of commission and paint you dead.

You wrap your arms carefully around the trees trunk taking deep breathes in attempt to sooth your beating heart, "don't look down.. don't look down." you chant, the words stitching together like a prayer. But your eyes glance down - for only one second. One second and suddenly your breath hitches and fear burrows into your stomach. One slip and it was over. Your hands grasp hard onto the trees bark, imprinting your hand with small indents of patterns.

Your eyes grow heavy with sleep, exhausted from climbing. You mentally curse yourself for not taking advantage of the time you had in the carriage ride.

From beneath you, bushes rustle and heavy footsteps emerge.

Yet, you don't dare look down to peep what roams the dark night; growling and far away howls creep up your skin as you shiver. You were in a long night - a cold grueling night.

***

You shiver against the bark, as rain pours down from above soaking your boots and clothing. The rain clouds cover up the moon - as if the night couldn't get worse - you feel small rain drops drizzle down from the skyline. Tapping your nose and cheeks, falling hard onto the ground after a few seconds. You roll your eyes in annoyance, tightening you grip against the tree bark as the rain soaks you from head to toe. In this case you were going to get sick if you didn't dry up soon - and sickness in the kingdom was a true tragedy. Your grip is slippery, chunks of bark peels off the tree and onto the ground below. Startling the animals that roamed below - one snarls as it's hit on the head with one piece. Tightening your legs and arms you realize if you fall now, in this darkness, at this moment..

You would never see another night again.

Determined to survive you travel even further up top into the tree line, it wasn't the smartest idea, staying put in the position you were in and waiting the rain out seemed like a logical solution.

But you needed to get to the tree line.

The sky could tell exactly what time it was, where the rain was coming from, and when it would end. It was better visually, other than waiting for you to fall.

But that also was a thought, what if your foot slipped when you were trying to get further on top, surely by that height you wouldn't have to worry about getting eaten alive by creatures of the night - you'd simply die just by hitting the ground. In all actuality, you didn't wanna think about it, but each time your damned eyes just peered down you saw death. This entire forest reeked and felt like death, or was it a curse, a game? A game to see which Queen can be the most traumatized?

If so, you were pretty sure by the end of this you'd have to see the royal therapist. If there even was one in this kingdom you served.

Grunting you pull yourself up, cheering yourself on internally. You're just nearly there, one more step and the sky line would be clear!

Rain droplets splatter your face, gliding across your cheeks and drenching your hair. Just a few more branches, a few more pulls. The dark clouds peer through leaves above, and you can already see the rain clouds gathered together. You sigh in relief, the rain would stop soon, you estimated the rain would most likely stop in approximately five minutes. And the moon would shine down again. the clouds were just passing by.

You breath in the fresh air, ignoring the pelting rain.

You just simply needed to breath, tears run down your face as you stare off into the Kingdoms silhouette - staring angrily at the sky refusing to place your fate in another persons hands. Clutching onto your dagger your carve into the tree branch.

"I will not accept the fate you place me under, you scoundrel pieces of shit!" You say quietly under your breath, a promise you will get to retell to your future children when the time came.

***

Birds chirp all around you, it's officially the first day.

The beating sun scorned your skin, but the cough in your throat is enough to pull your attention away from the scorching heat. You are developing a cold.

Your throat tickles and your nose feels stopped up, your hand shoots up to cover the suns beating  rays off your face. It was early, if you had to estimate most likely seven in the morning. The sun came down behind the kingdom at exactly seven thirty, (you made sure to observe), which only meant you had had twelve hours and thirty minutes to find food, make a fire, track down a goblin, and lastly if you were lucky enough to stumble upon safe herbs to create a tea that would soothe the pending cold.

If an infection didn't kill you, it'd be a cold that would have a final say, but the cold was the least of your worries.

You had a goblin to track down, and those tricksters could kill you faster than any fever.

You slowly move down the tree, checking your surrounds.

You found yourself a loose rabbit wandering off into its borough, noting your next meal for the day was only a few feet away. Your boots crunch onto the dried leaves and wet dirt, you search for dried logs that survived the rain fall, along with rocks that you could create a pit with. You set up directly in the sun in hopes to dry out a few damp logs. In the meantime you went to the rabbits borough - it had two entrances and from what you learned from Kirishima it would attempt to escape from the back. You stealthily placed a large heavy rock at the back entrance blocking its way.

Intricately you back away, you weren't so immune to dead animals. Your father went on annual hunting trips all the time, but, this would be the first time you are hunting out of survival.

The entirety of the "game" was survival.

You check up on your logs, noticing they are now dry from the suns heat. You grab your sticks rubbing your hands up and down to create a spark - fire blazes in front of you. Normally you'd say it was to hot to start a fire, but at night you rather face the cold than a grueling hungry Ogre. Of all things you had to deal with in life at this moment, a bitch ass Ogre was not one of the problems you had the proper strength and patience to deal with.

You grab an end of a stick, lighting the other half on fire. Waving it as a torch, your meal for the day would be served.

You rush over to the borough, lightly throwing the stick into the hole before closing it off with the boulder. Running over to the other end you hold your dagger.

You felt bad for the poor thing.

But a girls got to eat.

***

You have no idea where to start.

When one thinks of a goblin one would refer to the story books that claimed they lived under bridges - shunned away from society maybe even deep into forests. But those were simply just stories, if you had to think like a goblin you'd live far away from the kingdom in fear of being killed.

Nobody prepared you for the hunt, only survival.

You decide you should move, being stuck in the same place wouldn't get you very far. The herbs you were in search for in the meantime for your throat weren't found so you inevitability gave up on the luxury of a warm leaf of tea. You cough into your arm, sniffling your nose from running. The heat rose your temperature to the point you had to stop your travels to lie down, mentally cursing yourself for wasting time.

Heaving, you look up towards the sky, noticing the sun has moved positions. Only a few hours away of setting and you have yet found a single clue where you could find a goblin. You crouch down beside a creak, cupping your hands and drinking away the water from your palms. Splashing your face with it as well to cool the rising fever you felt approaching. You only had three days and if you were gonna make it back to start on time by the third day the heart must be in your possession. Your feet ache, and your calves muscles cramp. The lower part of your back is sore and the sun is burning the sides of your feet - you were in complete misery.

Black dots appear in your line of sight, you stumble onto your feet holding back the urge to vomit what little food you had left in your system.

Your hand quietly slaps over your mouth, clamping it shut.

"Well well well... what do we have here?"

Before you can even answer your sight goes dark, and you feel your head hit the ground. It falls silent.

***

Humming.

The sound of a cackling fire.

And the warm rich scent smell of hazelnut soup.

You slowly open your eyes, "What the-" your heart rate rises in fear, where were you? Who's here? Why are you here, how are you here? You search for the dagger but are left bewildered when the sharp blade is nowhere to be found. You shuffle backwards, your hands running over the wooden floorboards - splinters penetrate your skin. But you could careless, you remember passing out from the heat - or was it from a fever? You didn't know, footsteps approach you.

"Oh well it seems like you're awake!" A females voice cheers, you scan her body, taking in her frame. She was tall, and very beautiful, her striking long brown hair and dark green eyes, a dark red gown adorned her body. Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you bark at the woman, "Who are you-"

"Now, that isn't a way to speak to a woman who saved your life your Majesty."

"How do you know who I am-"

The woman chuckles, "Well I hear everything! The forest, it speaks to me. And not to mention the witches that live here love to gossip!" You stare at her, blinking your tired eyes. It still didn't make much sense, yes technically you ruled this land as well but it's so far away. You can feel your pounding headache even worsen, "So you're a witch?" You ask, pulling your feet in.

"Ha! You think I'm one of those people! How rude. See I'm just a modern lady sitting in a cottage, I don't suppose you would know that kind of lifestyle." The woman shrugs, sipping her cup of tea.

You nod, "I'm afraid.. I don't actually." All your life you were surrounded by jewels and gold's, fed the most expensive meats and the most tasty fruits. Living a fast paced life of "don't say that." "don't touch that." "sit like this." and "who told you to speak." Speaking to Mina about eventually running away from marriage, even planning to take her too.

"Well it seems to me you are part taking in those heinous games the Dragons throw women into. What a shame, you are beautiful too."

You arch a brow in curiosity at her, "What do you mean?"

"I mean this isn't going to end well for you. I mean, look at you! You look like you couldn't hurt and fly, I wonder what King Bakugou must be up to? You wouldn't stand a chance against a goblin!" The woman laughs manically placing her cup of tea onto the table, she steps towards you. "I managed to survive one night alone-"

"Oh please, If I didn't take you in the wolves would've had a feast. You should be thanking me." You roll your eyes in annoyance, "Now dear," she grins, "you look parched. How about some tea."

Tea.

Your body is practically begging for a warm remedy to sooth your raw sore throat, oh.. you realized that you're actually growing sick. The headache on the sides of your temples is beating - pounding against your brain. Your vision is cloudy. How could you not of realized. You were so distracted by where you were you barley remember you couldn't find the herbs you searched for.

The lady wags an empty cup in your face.

"Come on. Your cheeks are burning red, and whether that's just a sun burn or fever I'm sure you need a sip. You're burning up a storm."

A part of you wonders her name, but was it truly important? Could she possibly show you were you could find a goblin? You look over your shoulder out of the window realizing the sun was just barley going down.

"H-How long was I out?" You shakily ask, pulling your hands into your chest.

The woman arches a brow, "You know for a Queen you surely do stutter a lot. You've been out since noon."

Lord if you didn't have strength to be patient you probably would've thrown a wooden slab at her by now, you breath in heavily through your stopped up nose; coughing in despair. Blowing out a few pieces of hair from your face. "Well, then do you want the tea or no - your royal highness?" She asks in a taunting matter.

"No. I'm fine." You huff.

"More for me then-"

"What's your name?" You interrupt, "Id love to know the name of the woman who saved me after all." You grin tilting your head to the side. The lady clears her throat, "Marigold. My name is Marigold." You nod, finally knowing her name. "Well Marigold, do you know where I can find a goblin?"

The word seems to stop Marigold in her tracks. Her face grows pale for a second before returning back to her natural nonchalant expression. Blowing a raspberry she proceeds to laugh, "Well honey, that's a days trip. They live deep into the forest. You wouldn't make it there in time."

Hmm, you nod suspiciously. Recalling the last conversation you had with Kirishima.

"What do goblins look like? I've only ever read about them." You asked, moving beside him following him into the horse stall. He combs out the mane of his horse, "Well that's a tricky question my Queen. They are real tricky and can spew lies just to get you where they want... they promise you things. You have to be real smart to not fall for it - I've encountered one in my youth. It didn't look anything like those storybooks."

Your eyes wander her body; she looked normal. But to trust her would be a stretch, one that could kill you. Her voice sound normal. You watch her closely, "Where's my stuff?" You ask. Marigold arches a brow and shrugs her shoulders; "What stuff?"

You bark, "My dagger! My holster for it! Where is it?"

"Oh those things.. why do you need them?"

"I need to leave-"

"It's dark out, you wouldn't want yourself to increase your fever now would you. I promise this tea will sooth all your pains away. Even the ones deep in your heart."

You arch a brow, narrowing your gaze. Even the ones deep in your heart. Your brush her off as a bluff, "You don't know what you're talking about." You push yourself up from the floor, stumbling from the sudden wave of nausea. Sweat beats run down your forehead as you attempt to stand up straight. Marigold clicks her tongue, her long fingers run through her long brown locks. "No. No. It seems that... I do know what I'm talking about. A Queen who's too good for her new kingdom, thrown, stuck and forced into a loveless marriage; suddenly thrown into the enchanted forest to find a heart that she will be forced to eat? Poor unfortunate girl, you were better off dead."

Her words cut deeply, anyone could figure that out though. She didn't know you, how could she possibly think she had your life figured out. You were a Princess made into a Queen; it wasn't that hard to understand. To create peace between your kingdoms you had to marry Bakugou.

"Darling... you are unhappy." She takes small sips of her tea, "I can help you escape.. you don't love him you don't even know him. Come with me, and I can help nourish you back to health. You won't even have to return, I'm quite lonely myself. Now, have some tea. Your cheeks are practically scarlet." Marigolds grin is sinister, she taps her nails slowly against the table; that's when you realize:

Her fingers and nails are sharp, green, and coated with old blood.

Her green eye sharpen with each passing second - her pupils are almost snake like. You gulp down the fear that rose in you, ignoring the raging pound against your chest. What do you do? You can tell she's growing impatient, if you run out now with no weapon you could kiss your life away. If you stayed... no. You needed a knife, your dagger, anything even a wooden stake would do fine. "I don't bite, sit down." Marigold says menacingly, your feet  scuff the floor as you make your way to her. This is the time where you're supposed be strong, you guess.

Marigold lifts up her tea kettle, you notice her teeth for the first time.. how sharp they were.. separated and long.. how could she disguise herself as someone so beautiful?

"Remember.. they are tricksters. They are going to tell you things you wanna hear, they can be anyone and anything." Kirishima's words rang through your head, "Well wouldn't that make them a shape shifter? I've heard those are a thing too, how can I be certain?" You pout, how would you know. The creatures of the Enchanted Forest were so complex. He crosses his arm, "You'll know when they begin to turn.. back into the creature they were originally. Don't catch yourself entertaining, they'll slice your throat in a second."

Your breathing grows heavy, she's a goblin. She's what you've been looking for, her name wasn't Marigold - Marigold was a the woman who the face, the body belonged too. This thing... is morphing. You choose your words carefully, slowly reaching out for an empty tea cup and quietly asking her to fill it. If you could just lead her into the kitchen somehow you could possibly get a knife, "Well now that's the spirit my Queen. I promise this tea with sooth everything away, melting all the overwhelming emotions you may be feeling." The woman mutters before pulling back a hot tea kettle.

Hot.

Tea.

Kettle.

Boiling water is in there. Your heart prancing in joy, you have a chance. You had an opening, quickly, you stop her with your hand. "Actually, may I poor it? I-I sometimes like mines a little more full than usual." You smile nervously, "Oh why of course, here. Have as much as you'd like - it came right off the cauldron."

You nod, taking the handle away from her and carefully pouring the boiling tea into your cup. You make note of her wandering eyes, you've got to make this quick. You finish pouring, opening the kettle lid you ask aloud, "What kind of tea is this? It smells wonderful." You needed a distraction, a reason to open the lid.

"Lavender green tea with a speck of rose water-"

Your throw the boiling water over her head, her screams erupt in the as dining room; as her skin bubbles up. You throw the kettle at her head and knock back your chair, running towards the kitchen. "You wretched! Horrid- I'll slice your throat!" The Goblin screeches, you search the drawers and cabinets for something, anything! But to no avail you didn't find a single thing. Now you were completely done for.

Heavy footsteps and angered huffs make their way towards the kitchen - it's now or never. Throwing pots and pans you make sure to strike the goblin in the face, "After I saved your life! This is the thanks I get?" You hear, bending down to hide underneath the counter your eyes lock with a shining blade.

Your dagger!

Hidden behind the cauldron, you just needed a way to get back there. You needed a way to grab it, the goblins footsteps grow heavy. You silence your breathing with your palms, "I could've helped you, I could've been your escape. You greedy rat!" You hear tables being flipped over, cabinets being thrown open violently, "Wait till I get my hands on you.. I'll cut you open and gut you like a fish."

You attempt to keep calm, either way you were a goner if you hadn't left in that moment. When you hear the goblins footsteps move away in distance you shuffle onto your feet and zoom towards the cauldron. The crackling fire and boil contents bring you an idea. You hurry for the dagger, flipping it between your hands.

"There you are.." you hear a snarl from across the room, readying your blade to attack, you throw your hands up, "Thank you for the hospitality, but it looks like you have something I need." You point towards the goblins chest, the heart. A viable beating heart, only feet away. In mere seconds the goblin launches at you, reaching out to tackle you. You swiftly move out of the way throwing yourself to the ground, your palms throb in pain from the splinters lodged deep into your flesh - but that's the least of your worries. You scurry to your feet and push over the boiling cauldron over the goblin and stab your dagger deep into its head. Blood splatters your face in small droplets, staining your face and clothes.

You've never killed a "person" before.

Never did you think you could actually do it, but the small sigh of relief escaping your throat tells you that you are finally safe.

You proved what you had to prove. And for the night you had sanctuary.

Your mind races in adrenaline, you're alive.

Yet you had to kill in the process, does that make you one of them? No, you did what you had to do. It was a matter of kill or be killed. You pull your dagger away, out of its head, you didn't kill an innocent women. You killed a beast. Small gurgles and a moan fall from its mouth, the sound of death. You wipe away the blood on your forehead with your forearm and roll the dead corpse to the side.

The heart...

A token for the kingdom.

***

Blood stains your chest; dried up to the color brown as you stumble through the forest. Your eye lids feel heavy with every step you take yet you fight off the urge to fall to your knees and succumb to the dark black dots in your vision. It's tempting, yet you are so close to the finish.. you walked the full second day. With no breaks and no source of water on the way, your fever had returned full force as the sun blazed down your body.

You cough into your arm as your second hand clutches onto the heart you were meant to return. Fresh blood coats your hands from the animals you had to fight off for the heart, the trip back was just as worse, your eye lids flutter, opening and closing with each step you nearly fall to the floor.

You look like a dead girl walking.

Your feet shuffle and kick at the ground below.

Your back is sore and your throat feels dry from the cold of the night - the forest was ruthless. You can hear the tribal drums from afar, the sound edging closer and closer, increasing its volume with each step. You stumble to the ground, exhausted, thirsty, and sick. You consider staying down, to tired to even pull yourself up. You hear voices, they sound so close.

"I told you already, she'll be here."

Bakugou?

The king, your husband.

"Give her some more time."

It must be near afternoon then, you push yourself up when you heard Kirishima's voice agree with your husband. Providing you some more time to make it to the finish line - you assume the politicians want to speed up the process. You swore they must have something against you.

Your body feels sticky from the old, dried blood on your chest. Fingers still freshly coated in blood and dirt you push yourself off from a nearby tree - edging closer to the entrance of the Enchanted Forest. The setting suns sunlight peers through the small branches and leaves of the trees above, kissing your exposed shoulders, reddened from the sunburns that littered your skin. You wipe the sweat off your forehead; smearing a combination of dried and fresh blood all over your face. But you don't care, you just had a few more step till sanctuary.

The entrance is clear, open to the trail you followed.

You can see Kirishima from a distance, his rough shoulders tense in worry. Beside him, Bakugou stands with his arms crossed over his shoulders. An expression you couldn't make out contours his face.

You know you've finally made it out when a wave of heat smacks your face even harder - the setting sun beating on your body you stumble over to the King.

A smirk on your face as you hold up the heart, his eyes widen in surprise, taken aback you watch his lips move. But no sound comes out, it's all muffled around you. Black spots collect in your vision, "I-I did it.." you mumble, falling into his chest his hand reaches out to touch your forehead.

You lie passed out in his arms as he calls out to his guards, Kirishima collects the heart from your hand just before it could fall. "What do we do?" The dragon frantically says, Bakugou looks out for the Counsel men, his eyes fall onto the President. Glaring he announces, "We're taking her back to the Palace now!"

"You will do no such thing, your Majesty! She will be brought to the plaza hall, your people are waiting! Handmaidens, guards, take Queen Y/N, preserve the heart and bathe it in pigs blood. We are continuing the ceremony."

Your fever rose with each passing minute, and the exhaustion you'd expedited already was enough to kill. Bakugou breathes in heavily knowing he had no say in the ceremony. There was no way he could just simply override the parliament. Arms wrap around your body as the guards and handmaidens assist in take you.

They rip you away from Bakugou's arms.

"We'll take care of her after the ceremony-"

Kirishima interrupts the Counsel man, bearing his sharp teeth he growls, "I believe you will. I don't necessarily like the taste of humans." He threatens as they user you off. Bakugou stares in annoyance at the carriage that rushed you off to the plaza. Nightfall was close, and he could already feel the rumbling of ceremonial drums beneath his feet. A hand comes to pat his shoulder, the Counsels president, Hagoku Tekona, smiles. "You should probably head back to the plaza.. she might wanna see you as soon as we wake her up."

"You're just gonna wake her up?"

"We'll just drench her in pigs blood to wake her, she'll anyways have to. The tradition calls for the Queen to bathe in pigs blood as she intakes the heart to be fully part of the dragon clan-"

Bakugou, walks away, reaching out for Kirishima he taps his back.

"Make sure... they don't throw her around too much."

Nodding in agreement Kirishima fetches their horses, "I'll take care of her. Make sure she's conscious." The two jump onto their horses settling into the saddle, Bakugou mutters to himself, incoherent words bungled all in one sentence, he pulls back on his horse. Kirishima arches a brow in worry, eyeing his friend he doesn't know what to say neither what to do, the dragon mutters, "You seem surprised. Did you think she wasn't going to make it?"

Nodding Bakugou turns to face Kirishima, with notable surprise written on his face. "I thought I was going to have to find another wife..."

Chuckling Kirishima shakes his head before taking off with his horse, "Depending on how well tonight's ceremony goes.. it appears Bakugou that you have a wife beside your side."

"It appears.. so."

AUTHORS NOTES: Yooooooo! How are you guys, sorry for taking to long. This chapter was longer than the others so I’m happy with where this is going. I have been going through a few things, remember guys I’m just a teenager so it can be hard to fit things in on time. I just got a job, just waiting for the orientation, I have school work and I’m glad I have all A’s! Anyways I hope you liked it!!

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[tamagochiie]

a line without a hook | part three.

part three. “merely tolerable, really.”

chapter synopsis. Had you known freedom tasted like this, you wouldn’t have bothered to form an attachment with Mr. Ackerman. Was there really a point in what you were doing? 

word count. 7.5k

tags. swearing, angst, tones of misogyny

notes. This is a very late post, and I apologize for that, but I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. As for the upcoming chapter for this week, there may been another delay. I’ve been swamped with a lot of assignments and its my finals week, so I hope you all understand :/ 

back to master list

<< part two. | part four. >>

Your mother always told you gossip to women is like honey to a swarm of flies: you can catch more of them depending how sweet the scandal is. But she never thought to tell you what it'd be like if you were the honey, that the women would stick to you, drinking the life out of every little thing you do and unpack it together with their girl friends over afternoon tea and biscuits.

Your name, along with Mr. Ackerman's, had travelled from one tongue to the other in the last four days.

Each story are more intricately fabricated than the last. You heard all sorts of things, too many thing to keep track of — something about Mr. Ackerman's family background and more so yours, but you didn't want to pay heed over something that didn't come directly from the man himself.

And just the other day, while you commuted to town to deliver Reiner's forgotten lunch, you overhead a group of women whispering that you were already singing with the church bells.

You had shuddered at the thought and assumed it was something your mother must've cooked up given how she easily melted at Mr. Ackerman's feet when he came to visit a few days ago.

You and Mr. Ackerman were both aware that his visit, and all the kind and loving words he had said before you and your family, were merely for show. And that it was for purpose of sweeping your house clean of all trespassers and violators of your freedom.

But nonetheless, even with a letter that came to heed you of his visit, you were still left utterly speechless.

Mr. Ackerman had strolled into your cozy home, he hadn't been swathed in his usual drab choice of clothing, but settled with more pleasing fashion that didn't say,"I'm pessimistic and moody, and I've got a reputation for killing for sport".

He had been bathed in shades of blue, but still leaned on the darker side of the color spectrum. It had been a good change save for his signature cravat, and it led you to wonder just how many he owned.

You came to the conclusion he owned quite enough to be stitched together and make a thick and long blanket to last through the winter.

However, what had left you gobsmacked and rapidly blinking in succession was not Mr. Ackerman's slight change of style, but the little smirk across his lips while he spoke to your mother. His tone hadn't been clipped and did not drip in annoyance, but was a twinge softer — completely out of pocket for a man with a reputation for being dark and brooding.

Sasha, on the other hand, had been easily tickled in pure curiosity by Mr. Ackerman, poking and prodding him with peculiar and rather personal questions. You had expected he'd yell at her, seeing he'd be the kind of person to do that.

But he didn't snap. It was obvious his patience had been wearing thing, so he kept his replies quick and short just like his temper.

Pieck never spoke a word, but had instead observed the exchange as she sat on the couch, sandwiched between Connie and Jean while your mother had done her best to entertain Mr. Ackerman in small talk even though the man reeks of disdain for it.

Though Mr. Ackerman had successfully wooed your mother, and probably the rest of your sisters and Connie, Reiner was anything but.

Your brother protectively glued himself to your side, glaring down at Mr. Ackerman with a vexed look plastered across his scruffy face. Unfortunately, Reiner's attempt to be intimidating had fallen short and made you not only you, but Mr. Ackerman, suppress a stifling laugh.

Regardless of your brother's wishes, Mr. Ackerman's visit had been deemed fruitful. Your mother's eyes as well as her heart completely set on Mr. Ackerman and Mr. Ackerman alone.

To which both requests you firmly nodded and smiled at.

But your smile had been quick to fade.

You agreed to this little sham because you admired your freedom, but ever since Mr. Ackerman's visit, despite no men coming to bother you from the early hours of the morning till the late afternoon, you find yourself anything but free.

Your mother, the seventh circle of your personal hell, has taken it upon herself to berate you—tells you to make more of an effort on your appearance. She'll comment on how you sit, how you speak or how you eat, and every other thing you do.

You may have been liberated by the lusting grips of men, your mother's iron clad hold on even the thought of you being a few steps away from marriage is much tighter, and much more stubborn than you ever imagined.

So you spend your days hidden in your room, away from your mother and the rest of the world.

Sometimes you'll read or stare out the window, and when you do decide to step out of your little bubble, you'll be sure to check if the coast is clear from any possibly ambushes from your mother.

Though the only time you really do go out is to check the mail to see if Mr. Ackerman has written to you — he has not — or spend some time with your great love, your horse, Maria.

But for the most part, you plant yourself on the couch right up against window sill with your back slumped on the wall and legs sprawled out. You stare outside, not really looking at anything in particular.

Maybe the chickens.

You heavily sigh, fogging up the class as you gaze idly, twirling the ends of your hair. You grow jealous of the chickens and the roosters because at least they have their freedom. Their simple minds and their simple lives; the lay eggs and crow at dawn.

Damn chickens, you seethe in thought.

There's a faint knocking on your bedroom door that cease your internal tanget. You turn your head as the door creaks open, revealing your sister, Sasha, poking her head out between the gap. A friendly smile adorns her pink lips as she holds a plate of food in her hands.

"Can I come in?" She asks, already stepping inside. "I brought you food. You've been cooped up in here for too long, I thought you might be hungry."

You chuckle and motion her to come in.

Sasha moves briskly and steps inside before shutting the door behind her. She tiptoes across the room and over to you. She lightly taps your foot to make room and you swing it off the couch.

She places the tray between the two of you. A few loaves of bread, some grapes, and other fresh fruit that you assume she's stolen from the batch Reiner's supposed to sell.

She swipes the loaf of bread, breaking it in half and hands you the bigger piece before chewing her's down.

"You alright?" She asks, her words muffled by the bread. "Mamma's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?"

You bob your head, humming in response as you eat the bread bit by bit, taking your time.

Sasha follows your line of sight, checking to see what you've been so keenly staring at. Only to find that it's just a bunch of chickens running around.

"I'm overwhelmed," You confess breathily. You pull your legs up to your chest and rest your chin onto your knees. "I don't like the feeling one bit."

"Is it because of Mr. Ackerman?" Sasha looks at you with concern outlining the softness of her face. You don't really reply, just lulling your head in thought. "You surprise me, you know."

"I do?"

Sasha hums delightfully as she takes her last bite of her bread before moving onto the grapes.

"For someone who admires her freedom and never spared an interest in even the thought of forming an attachment, you latched onto Mr. Ackerman rather quickly." Sasha had always been mistaken for an idiot at a surface level, but she's a lot more perceptive than people give her credit for — than you give her credit for. And for once, you hated it. "One could even say that it's a bit...odd. But you've always been off, so maybe it isn't so out of the blue."

"Oh, how you read me so well," You say, sarcasm oozing from your words. You take a quick bite of bread.

"What's he like?"

You shrug your shoulders, pouting in thought. "I've only ever met him thrice," You point out, laughing at the curiosity avidly pooling from her eyes. "There's not much I can judge. If anything, I think you'd know more than me since you've pummeled the poor man with one too many questions."

Sasha takes the tray of food and scooches closer to you before putting it on her lap.

"But that's different! You've gotten first hand experience. Is he really like all the rumors?" She asks, a little too keenly. "Is he really as mean as they say? Because when he visited the house, he seemed too stiff for comfort."

You snort and are quick to cover your mouth to keep the bread from spilling from your lips.

"Mm, well, Mr. Ackerman is man of few words and very few expression, but he seems...genuine?" You don't mean for it to come out sounding like a question, but the more you speak, the more you're hit with the realization you know absolutely no idea who the man is.

All you're really left with is his hatred for attention, and your mutual need for peace. Everything else you try to think of comes up short.

Mr. Ackerman hasn't written a letter to you since his visit. It's not like he said he was going to, but a very small and naive part of you thought he would.

Sasha continues to rain down on you with more questions, but it isn't as persistent as you'd expect her to be. Its either her line of concentration snaps too quickly for you to formulate a response, or she's just too excited to hear more.

You answer what you can until you can no longer think. Eventually you're too tired to talk about you and the subject of the conversation shifts to Sasha.

"Hey, Sasha," You carefully speak between chews, minding the grape in your mouth. Sasha's eyes, still colored in hunger as she takes another loaf of bread, darts to look at you. "What about you, though?"

"Hmm?"

"You and..." You shift in your seat and lean in. "You and Nicolo - are you two really - Oh! My God, are you alright?"

Sasha nearly chokes on her bread. Clenching her fist, she beats her chest to help soothe the burn in her throat, coughing for air.

"Sasha!"

"I-I'm fine!" She finally says, swallowing thickly. "Sorry, yes, I'm fine."

"Do you need water?" Sasha shakes her head as she rests her hand on your shoulder to keep you still in case you choose to leave. You move even closer to rub her back to ease her, but once she does, a smirk plays across your lips and chuckle stumbles from your lips. "So, I guess it's true. You and Nicolo really are —"

"Shut up!" Sasha interjects, her head snapping up to look at you with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "Please! I've had enough of mamma pestering me about this— ever since Pieck decided to tattle on me! If you're going to being just as annoying as her than—"

"I won't be!" You argue, your tone playful and lilting. "I'm only asking, and you're taking forever to say anything!"

"Well, fine! Alright." Sasha sharply huffs in defeat as she tosses her bread onto the tray and sets it back onto the couch. "Yes, okay, I suppose I might have feelings for Nicolo, but I don't know. I can't tell."

"You can't tell...?"

Sasha lets out another breath as she slumps against the wall. Her head tilts up to look at the cracked ceiling before looking back down to you, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks the right words to convey how she feels. She nervously twiddles her thumbs while doing so.

"How do you even know when you like someone?"

You blink at Sasha, taken aback by her question while she looks at you eagerly.

You realize, after a few breaths, you don't have a definite answer because unlike Pieck, you've never really experienced the feeling yourself. You always lived vicariously through fictional characters you read in novels, and Mrs. Bloom's sweet story of how she met her husband.

But other than that, you come up short—you can't tell at all.

"I think I'm the wrong one to ask." You confess, causing Sasha to look at you quizzically as confusion stirs in her mind. "I haven't really found the answer myself, I'm sorry."

Sasha sighs dejectedly.

"It's best to ask Pieck, isn't it?"

"As me what?" Pieck's voice, delicate and laced in curiosity, has your heads turn to the bedroom door.

It seems you were both too deep into your conversation to hear her knocking.

Pieck stands by the door, her olive green dress flows in the gentle window coming from the opened window, her hair into the usual messy, low ponytail that falls down her shoulders; her eyes heavy-laden with sleepiness.

Your eyes trail down to her hand, finding a pile of letters tightly held in it.

"Pieck, what's that?" You ask, dismissing her question with a question.

"Now hold on," Pieck hides the letters behind her back, pressing herself against the door to create even more distance—as if the wide expanse of the room wasn't enough. "What's the question?"

Sasha rolls her eyes. "It's silly."

"Well, if it's from you, I'm sure it is."

Sasha grumbles at Pieck's sarcastic retort, and you watch as your two sisters begin to bicker.

"If you're going to be an ass, I won't tell you." Sasha crosses her arms and twists her body away from Pieck and towards the window, her eyes falling to the clucking hens.

Peick nimbly trots across the floor and over to Sasha's side, crashing into her and quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders, nosing through Sasha's hair bunched up in a high pony as she rests her chin onto her shoulder.

"Go away!" Sasha growls, her face contorts a sour expression as her attempts to shove Pieck off fails.

"Oh, c'moooon," Pieck coos, peppering kisses over her little sister's cheek, "won't you tell me? I hate being left out, especially when it's the two of you."

Sasha grunts as she tries to pry away from Pieck, but only to be caught in sloppy kisses on the cheek and the temple of her forehead. Though Sasha visibly shows disgust, even you can see that she loves being showered in affection from Pieck.

Pieck, being the eldest and holding the most responsibility, had always held you both with great love and adoration.

"Alright!" Sasha yells in surrender, tangled in the arms of her sister and somehow in a headlock as Pieck sits behind her. "I'll tell you, I'll tell you! Let me go and give me room, please."

Sasha elbows Pieck away from her, giving her enough space to breathe, and you snatch the tray off the couch and onto your lap to keep it from falling.

And as Sasha begins to explain her little dilemma, Pieck comfortably sits herself behind her, propping her chin back onto her shoulder and winding her arm around her waist as she listens intently. Pieck's gentleness doesn't go unnoticed by Sasha, and you watch as she sinks in the hug.

Pieck clicks her tongue, her eyes look at you as she falls into a thought, not deep enough to overthink and get carried away as she finds the answer.

"Hmmm, love and likeness can be complicated, but only if you let it be." You tilt your head at Pieck as she continues on her train of thought. "But you can tell if you like someone if you enjoy being with them and find their company pleasant. Do you find Nicolo's company pleasant?"

Sasha mindlessly hums in thought as her head lulls back on Pieck's shoulder.

"I do, actually." Sasha admits without hesitation. "I think..." She takes a beat to suck her teeth as she continues to think about it a little more, "I like the food he makes and that he, well, never seems to be bothered by me..."

"He's always so kind—like his eyes. His smile's nice, too, I suppose. Whenever he speaks, whether it's about food or well, other things, I can't help but listen."

There it is, the shimmer of affection in her light brown eyes and the oh-so-subtle smile across her lips. You almost miss it, but the world stills around you as you're caught in her bubble.

Pieck gives you a knowing look, smiling playfully.

Without saying a word or even slipping a sound, you and Pieck come to the agreement that Sasha'll have to come to her own realization that he loves him. The question is when she'll arrive at it.

Sasha brushes it off, not wanting to muddle herself any longer. She plucks the letters from Pieck's grasp and eagerly swifts through the pile while humming thoughtfully, completely ignoring Pieck's groan of disdain.

It's the usual; a couple of people from your father's family, inquiring when you're to sell the estate, one from your distant aunt from your mother's side that never bothers to actually visit, but diligently sends letters whether it be rain or shine, and one for —

"You've got a letter!" Sasha chirps, snapping her head up to look at you before shoving it into your hands. "It's from Mr. Ackerman! He's finally written to you!"

You throw your legs over the edge of the couch, sitting upright and fixing your hair as if Mr. Ackerman's just right there, watching you as you open his letter with shaky breaths and nimble fingers.

You quickly but carefully open his letter, scanning through his words and your eyes bulge out of it's sockets.

"What's it say?" Pieck inquires, excitement dripping from her lips as she scooches closer to try and peak at the letter. "Will he be visiting again?"

You shake your head.

"Well, don't be shy!" Sasha whines, "What is it?"

You open and close your mouth, blinking frantically as your shock still rides through your body. "Mr. Ackerman would like me to visit him at his estate next Tuesday."

When your mother heard news of your presence being requested by Mr. Ackerman, she took it upon herself to teach everything you needed to know about being "prim and proper". She stole your remaining days of peace and prepped you as best as she could.

When it came time for you to leave, she was adamant that you opt to take horseback instead of taking the carriage. All, especially your brother Reiner, were completely against it when they noticed the storm clouds reeling in. But your mother was deeply rooted in her stance, firm like a tree that not even the wind of your brother's disdain could change her mind.

So there you stand, having been caught in the rain, dripping from head to toe as the Smith estate towers over you, as if it's ready to swallow you whole in one go. You have to crane your neck back in a particularly painful angle to get a good look of the entire building, and you’re sure you’re only seeing the very tip of the iceberg.

Your mother warned you it would be much larger than you were used to - you just never imagined it to look like something out of a book.

Shivering and tightly wrapping your coat over you to trap any warmth you might have left with one hand, you swiftly knock on the door with the other. A shuddering breath escapes you when the door creaks open, revealing a servant to greet you in.

“Ah, Miss,” The servant’s eyes widen in fright, flinching back.  His gulp is audible even with the thundering behind you. He scans you from head to toe, and he doesn’t bother to mask his sneering at your drenched frame and all the mud collected at the hem of your skirt. “You must be Miss Blouse, yes?” You greeted him with a sneeze, and briefly apologized. “Come quickly before you catch a cold.”

But your second and most aggressive sneeze yet tells him you might already have one.

“He’s been expecting you,” Is all the servant says before guiding you down that hall.

You rub your eyes, wiping your hairs sticking to your face as you take in the sight before you. The air in the estate is chilly and deadly quiet - enough to hear the sound of your clothes dripping with water and to catch the servant clicking his tongue at you.

You hold your breath; you didn’t think the estate could get any bigger, but it does. The hallway is vast and seemingly endless; portraits of many different men and women - all who you assume were probably family members of Mr. Smith because of the signature blonde hair and blue eyes - canvas over the great walls.

Giddiness tickles down from your chest and into your stomach as you trail behind the servant, your arms swaying to the side with a little skip in your step. You try your best to catch a peak at every room and hall you pass by, but everything moves in blur.

You can’t tell if you’re tired from your travels or if it's the pace you’re walking in. You take deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together as the servant ushers you into the drawing room.

“Mr. Ackerman will be here shortly,” is all he leaves you with, not bothering to spare another breath.

You’re surrounded by more paintings and books, but a particular painting catches your eye. It’s a portrait of a woman relaxed on a chair; she looks nothing like the ones outside.  She has soft features and kind eyes, her lips supple and plump with an endearing smile. Her dark hair flows down to her shoulders, framing her face.

You squint your eyes, inching towards it with your hands clasped behind your back to avoid reaching out to touch it. The longer you stare, you find a weird sense of familiarity in her. But you just can’t -

“You’re wet.” You snap your head towards the gravelly voice to find Levi standing by the door with his brows pulled down in horror. “You’ve tracked in so much rain water, I thought a dog had stalked in.”

“Oh, I’m quite fine - achoo! Thank you for asking - achoo!” Your feeble attempt to shoot down his sarcastic remark is embarrassingly interrupted by your persistent sneezing. You wipe your nose with the back of your glove, earning a look of disgust from Mr. Ackerman. “Excuse me, I got caught in the rain.”

“I couldn’t tell,” He clips with a tight lip. “You could catch a cold -”

“Achoo!”

“It seems you already have…” Mr. Ackerman groans, and you find yourself picking at your fingers in embarrassment, your head lowered to the floor. “Follow me, I’ll give you something to change out of.”

Mr. Ackerman wastes a single breath, nor does he allow you to. But instead, with the utmost jaded expression on his face, he turns on his heels and leaves the room, expecting you to follow. You have to admit, with a fuzzy feeling buzzing in your head and the sudden sensitivity to the ache in your bones, it takes you a moment to pick up what he says and follow suit.

Has it always been this chilly?

A tremble in your damp coat, exhaling tremulously as you trot down the hall behind Mr. Ackerman. Your struggle for warmth doesn’t fall on dear ears, but it does motivate him to pick up the pace, up the winding steps and into another hallway.

Your shoes continue to click against the marble, passing by paintings and statues; for a moment you mistaken yourself to be wandering around a museum and not someone else’s home. But your head is spinning and you can’t appreciate the art even if you wanted you - you can’t even glance at a painting without wanting to vomit.

Mr. Ackerman comes to a jagged halt, causing you to nearly stumble against him. He glares at you over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” You mutter before stumbling a few steps back to give him space.

“Wait in there,” He instructs dryly, “and I’ll get someone to help you in a bit.”

“Oh, I - I don’t understand -”

“You have a cold,” He points out, “and I don’t think you’ll appreciate it if it were me helping you change out of your clothes.”

Your cheeks flush and your heart paces quickly in your chest; embarrassment overwhelms you and you wish the ground would swallow you up. He’s too direct and it makes your knees a little wobbly along with the rest of your body - you’ve turned into jello.

“Just wait in there and there’ll be a maid to bring you clothes. I’ll meet you again once you’re done.”

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You whisper, your eyes finally snap from the floor and meet Mr. Ackerman’s same old arid visage, but there’s a tenuous, unfamiliar gleam in his eyes you can’t seem to read.

He sternly nods, but just before trodding off you call after him, “Mr. Ackerman?” Your voice hushed and trembly.

“Yes, Miss Blouse?” He watches you expectantly, his head faintly tilting to the side. “Is there something else?”

Ironically, despite Mr. Ackerman coldness and indifference, you can feel that he cares - his warmth. And you can’t help but feel dangerously eager, a little selfish even, for wanting more. You can’t help but want to push further, but you’re reminded of the rumors and prefer not to push your luck.

“Thank you,” You say with a smile, a genuine one that catches him off guard, but not that you can tell with your glossy eyes.  “Thank you fo - achoo! I appreciate your kindness, Mr. Ackerman.”

There’s a very, very subtle blush that spreads across his cheeks that reaches the tips of his ears, and maybe if it wasn’t for the odd lightly in the hallway, you would’ve caught it. But once again, Mr. Ackerman thanks his lucky stars and gulps, “Don’t mind it too much,” and spins on his heels before striding down the hallway.

You watch till his footsteps fade and his slender frame disappears as he turns the corner before finally looking at the door beside you. You stare at the door knob, your hand fidgeting over it before finally taking it in your hand and opening the door.

You gasp in awe, your eyes going round - the room can eat your house in a single bite. Even the bed that sits at the center, headboard pushed up against the wall, is bigger than the one your share with Pieck. Maybe bigger than the bed your mother and father shared.

You step inside, pushing the door shut behind you before twirling and taking in all the green and gold in the room. You’ve never seen so much gold - you’ve never seen gold in general, but here you are completely surrounded by it.

The strident knocking on the door causes you to still, staggering over your feet to find a familiar face greeting you with a cheerful smile, balancing a folded pile of clothes in their hand.

“Hange!” You squeak in shock, nearly losing your balance.

“Miss Blouse,” They playfully salute to you before entering in completely. “I saw you come in earlier and Levi said you’d be in here, so I thought to help. Though he did oppose, I'm not one to follow orders anyway.”

They cleverly wink at you, stretching their arm out to hand you the clothes and you meekly take it.

“How are you feeling?” They ask, taking a seat on the bed, “You can change over there, behind the partition,” They point to the other side of the room where it stands beside the window, and you quickly shuffling behind it.

You finally peel off your clothes, finally being freed by way your damp clothes and the way it clung to your body. You sigh heavily, tremulously.

“So, how are you feeling?” Hange’s voice echoes in the room from where they sit. They lean back on the heel of their palms, lulling their head bad carelessly as they wait for your response. “Levi said you might have a cold, and luckily for you, I’m a doctor.”

You hum in response, your focus directed on changing your clothes as quickly as possible.

“I’m, uh, I think I’m okay,” There’s a tingling in your skin and an unbearable ache in your bones. Your whole body feels sensitive; you’re not sure if you feel chilly or too warm. But you don’t want to be a burden, especially since you’re already borrowing someone else's clothes.

Whose are these anyway? You can’t imagine these are Hange’s, it’s way too small.

“He said you were sneezing!” They say, their voice slightly raising. “That you were sneezing a lot.”

“Probably just allergies!” You try and laugh it off, hoping Hange doesn’t press any further. But much to your displeasure, Hange isn’t one to simply let things go.

But the moment you step out from the partition, tying your hair up to keep from staining the dress, Hange strides over to you, placing her wrist onto your forehead and hums.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m fine.” You press.

“You’re a liar.”

“I'm not!” The whine that escapes your dried lips, takes enough energy from you to have your vision grow spotty and have your knees give in. Hange loops their arm around your waist and you slump onto their chest for support. “Right, maybe I am a liar,” You admit breathily, your eyes fluttering shut. “I’m really sorry, this is extremely impolite and my mother would kill me if she found me like this.”

“Never mind what your mother says,” They sigh before helping you over to the bed, “nothing good will come of thinking about what your mother says,”

You laugh softly, finding irony in their words.

The cushions are warm and comforting, pulling you into ease as you’re swayed by your need for rest. You try to combat it by blinking away, but drowsiness overtakes you like an unrelenting storm and you fall perilous to it the second your head sinks into the pillows.

You're greeted by a sharp, persistent ache in your head and a stubborn throb in your bones. You moan in discomfort and writhe beneath the cotton bed sheets.

You feel something cold dripping down your head, but before you can reach to check, you feel a wet cloth being placed on your forehead. You crack your eyes open and draw a bitter breath to find Mr. Ackerman towering over you. His brows pulled into a deep line of focus and his eyes colored in determination as if its taking all his verve to adjust the way the towel sits on your head.

He looks down at you and his expression softens.

It softens?

"You're awake," Mr. Ackerman notes. Maybe its the sickness, and that you're probably imagining it, but does Mr. Ackerman's tone sound a lot gentler? Its almost as if he's concerned for your well-being — almost as if he's worried and relieved you're finally awake. But his face remains unreadable, devoid of emotion. "You've been asleep for quite some time, but your temperature seemed persistent. Hange said as long as the rag is frequently changed then you should be better. How are you feeling?"

Does that mean he's been changing the rag? He said it should 'changed frequently' —

You arch your back when the ache in your bones come back stronger than ever. You whine in pain and drown back into the mattress.

"I don't feel too well," You croak, swallowing dryly.

"Do you need water?"

You can only nod.

Mr. Ackerman swiftly reaches for the glass of water that sits on the bedside table. You try and sit up , your bones feel like chalk as it grates against each other. You try to take it from him, but he raises his free hand to stop you. “Let me,” is all he says to you before bringing it up to your lips.

Baffled, you still drink it.

Your thoughts are still too foggy to draft a single thought. But all you is know your heart’s drumming in your chest and your breath is hitched in your throat for an entirely different reason that’s far from your cold.

You sigh in relief after a few gulps, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“Mr. Ackerman, you said that I’ve been asleep for quite some time,” You recount, looking at him puzzled, “How long have I been asleep?”

“Two days.” He replies flatly, as if he's not bothered by it at all.

“Excuse me?”

Mr. Ackerman hums as he falls back into his chair grabbing the book beside him before opening it up to the page he left off.

“You needn’t worry,” He eases without looking up to meet your eyes, as unbothered by the worry screaming in your eyes. “I’ve already written a letter to your mother the moment you fell asleep and informed her of your current state.”

“And what did she say of it?”

“She deeply apologizes for overstaying your welcome, but is pleased to know you’re in good hands.” Mr. Ackerman turns to the next page before he crosses his legs. His eyes flicker up to look at you to find irritation seeping out of your through eyes narrowed at an empty space on the floor, chewing on the inside of your cheek “I assured her that **you are in good hands, Miss Blouse.”

“I’m sorry,” You apologize again for the umpteenth time as you stressfully run your fingers through your hair. “My mother must’ve planned this in hopes that I may grow closer to you.”

Mr. Ackerman cocks his brow at you, “Are you blaming your mother for your cold? Shouldn’t you be blaming the weather, or that you rode on horseback on a rainy day?”

"I cannot blame my mother for my cold or the weather, but I can blame her for scheming along with it." You sigh, leaning your head back onto the pillow, "My mother is an opportunist, so she must've seen the rain clouds as her 'moment to grasp'. She was adamant that I take horseback and not that carriage. My mother is many things, but most importantly, she's a scheming woman."

Much to your surprise, Mr. Ackerman smirks at your words. He smirks.

He licks his thumb before turning the page of his book, his eyes ghosting over the words without much intention to actually read.

"What are you doing?" You ask, twisting to face him, your hand tucking beneath the side of your face.

"I'm reading." He isn't.

"Here?"

"Would you rather I not keep you company?" His grey eyes blink away from the page and up at you. "Isn't this the whole point of your visit, to get o know each other?"

"W—Well, yes, but I didn't think you'd take our proposition quite literally." You voice falls soft at the end of your sentence and you feel yourself shrink in embarrassment.

"How else are we to make them believe we've formed an attachment?"

"Oh, well—"

"Is my company a bother?"

You shake your head. "Is mine?"

Mr. Ackerman chuckles and if it weren't for the whirling of your brain, you would've caught it. "Merely tolerable, really. You best get some rest, Miss. Blouse."

When you awaken again, it’s a little later in the afternoon and the sun is harshly bleeding through the glass window and casting over your face.

The first thing you notice is not the freshly changed rag resting over your forehead, but the empty chair that Mr. Ackerman sat himself earlier. You pout and you feel a little disappointed.

Disappointed?

What?

You prop yourself up on your elbows, drawing a sigh of relief. The smell of fresh sheets permeate your lungs and your tilt your head back before tilting it back up again.

Through your hooded gaze, your eyes scan through the room. You finally appreciate just how beautifully decorated it is. Shades of complimentary greens canvas the room and soft golds accent the room here and there. It’s ingrained in the walls and on the doors, and coloring the the bed posts, too.

With nimble fingers, you peel the covers off and a wave of cool air washes over your body.The floor is just as cold when your feet meet the carpet. You shuffle around the room, nosing through things but never really touching anything. You're too scared you might accidentally break something.

But the thirst of your curiosity has yet to be quenched, so you find yourself straying out the room, trotting down the hall and twirling around the space gleefully.

The estate is something written in the books. If it wasn't for the dreary, unsettling air hanging over you as thick as fog, the feeling would be magical.

Too busy to play make believe in your head, you find yourself too far off the path. Everything looks the same, and you eyes widen in panic.

Think, think, think, you chant inwardly, twisting your head around for something familiar.

Panic rises from your chest and lodges into your throat, and the last thing you need is to fall onto Mr. Ackerman's bad side.

But before your knees can shake in such unnerving trepidation, faint whispers echoing down the hall and towards you pull you from your thoughts. The voice are so faint and low, you nearly mistaken it to be elves.

You listen intently and follow the source, passing through a few more paintings and doors to lead you to a fragment of light bouncing off the wall and onto a door left ajar. You come to an immediate standstill when you recognize the voice — it's Mr. Ackerman.

Every inch of you tells you to turn around and walk away, but you aren't your mother's daughter for nothing. So the greater part of you belonging to her tugs you close, stealing a peak through the little gap as you hold your breath.

"When did you hear of this?" Mr. Ackerman's voice is gravelly, laced in annoyance. You hear him sharply huff followed by the sound of a hand slamming against the table, causing you to jolt in place. "How long have you known?"

"Not long," The unfamiliar, gruff voice says, and Levi grumbles. "Be thankful I'm telling you now and not waiting any longer. How could I with all your dallying? Since when have you taken any interest in marriage?"

"I haven't." He clips, tone dry. "The point is —"

"The point is, he's back and the last thing you need to do is wasting your time in courting a woman. Honestly, Levi, since when have you been so reckless?"

"Erwin," Mr. Ackerman grits, "my personal affairs have nothing to do with you. Who I choose to spend my time with has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" Mr. Smith seethes, yelling in a whispers. "If you cannot do your job, then how can I trust you? Do you not remember the reason why we're here?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"It seems that you are," Your eyes widen at Mr. Smith's counter, "she's slept here for two days, and you for two days, you've watched over her instead of doing what I've instructed you to do."

"She was sick." Mr. Ackerman argues flatly.

"Hange is a doctor for a reason."

"And I don't trust them for a reason."

You can only assume it's Mr. Smith who sighs dejectedly and clicking his tongue agitation. It only further piques your interest, and you wish it doesn't. But you can't help it, hearing that Mr. Ackerman stayed by your side while you rested made your cheeks burn and you can't help but grin to yourself, completely overjoyed.

You mentally kick yourself for being so much like your mother.

"You cannot hold that burden with you forever." Mr. Smith sighs.

"Whatever," Is the weak counter Mr. Ackerman spits back. "I'll take care of it tonight — the one of Governor Pixy's."

"Be sure to make yourself like an artificial night when you do." Mr. Smith commands, his voice smooth and stern. "You mustn't be caught."

"When have I ever been?"

You quickly leave, sprinting down the hall the moment you hear a chair grating against the floor.

Your heart drums in your chest and you breath tremulously. You heard something you shouldn't have even if it was only in incoherent pieces. Truly, it could be anything, but with the rumors circulating around him, it shouldn't be so surprising.

So why is it?

You find yourself in a more familiar part of the estate and you breathe out in relief.

You’re about to head back into your room when you stumble past a room, catching a glance of a grand piano standing tall from the corner of your eye. You retract your steps and turn your head to get a better look, your lips falling into an 'o' when you do.

She's beautiful, you think.

It’s an alluring, glossy ebony piano — one Sasha finds herself drooling over to play on whenever she sees one. She'll hate you so much when you tell her about it.

Against your better judgement, with all the bells warily ringing for you not to, you walk over to the piano, your hand shadowing over the wood. You take a seat before the keyboard just to take a good look at her. You have no intention to play her, really. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't for the life of you.

Your eyes flicker to the fall board of the piano and find a name engraved in gold.

"Petra," you whisper. "It's very nice to meet you. You're very beautiful, aren't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" You shoot up from the chair and snap your head up to find Mr. Ackerman fuming at you. His eyes dark with rage and his jaw screwed shut, gritting at you. "I asked you a question."

"I— I didn't touch anything." You peep. You feel incredibly small underneath his scrutinizing gaze. You wish the ground would swallow you up right then and there. "I, I really didn't—"

"Get the fuck away from her." Mr. Ackerman speaks lowly, his voice quietly trembling, but you can't hear it. 

Even if you hadn’t done anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve been caught red handed. Fear buzzes in your head and fogs up any line of thought. 

"I'm sorry?"

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE PIANO!" He bellows, his eyes as fiery as his anger, causing you to stumble back and nearly trip up on your feet. "Who the fuck do you think you are, wandering into places you have no business? Is this what you shitty farm people are like? You get a chance to walk into a place thrice the size of your home and they think they could just parade around?!"

"I—I didn't mean to —"

"You and your family are fucking disgusting."

There are many things you're willing to put up with. You don't mind if someone were to come after you and call you out, but coming after your family is completely different. So your kindness and the very last bit of your patience snaps like a twig.

"I would imagine you're the disgusting one." Your voice is still small, but you’re building up to your confidence, peeling your eyes away from the patterned carpet to stare daggers right back at Mr. Ackerman who stills completely.

"Excuse me?"

"I'll admit I've overstepped and I deeply apologize for that," You begin, your voice no longer wavering in fear, "but how dare you? My family’s been nothing but kind to you."

"I think you've mistaken that I fucking care."

"I've heard many things about you, too many, for that matter. Yet I never labelled as anything as derogatory as what you've called me." You draw out a sharp breath, closing your eyes for a moment to steady you heart before continuing, "I think its disgusting, I think,  that such a man as yourself, who've I've heard has been through hell and back, would think so lowly of people that's no different than him."

You never dared to listen to the rumors or any of the gossip. Even when your mother would try to entertain any of it, you’d stop listening or leave the room if you could. But if Mr. Ackerman was willing to aim for such a low blow, you couldn't think of a reason why you shouldn't do the same.

"I think you’re 'fucking disgusting' for forgetting where you came from."

Mr. Ackerman clenches his jaw and balls his fits tight til his knuckles paint white. He's ready to fire bullets into your self-esteem, but before Mr. Ackerman can even utter a syllable, a servant appears behind him, clearing his throat to cut of the momentum.

"Apologies for the intrusion," The servant says, his tone monotonous and dry, "but it Miss Blouse's brother is here to collect her."

You widen your eyes at the servant, and your expression softens. 

“Reiner’s here?” You voice is small again. 

“Yes, Miss.”

"Perfect." Mr. Ackerman huffs, his whole body still tense. "Get the fuck out."

You snap your gaze back to Mr. Ackerman, sneering, "Gladly."

tag list. @castellandiangelo @astronomyturtle @regalillegal @oshuncheyenne @drapetomaniaac @whalerus @hinaamaya @ggsmashgg @kyosugi92 @daikushiji @acker-baby @lundabean @moonxochu @melodiamore @unlikelyfestivalshepherdhuman @osmosly @halparkebitch @leashaoki @bonkybabe @myeg1993 @chikenbitches @subtlepjiminie @mangobee

[navegandoaciegas]

I love my baby to death

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: fluff, friends to lovers, tiniest bit of angst but really tiny I promise, 3.5k words, set after Endgame

Summary:  “Say, hypothetically, there’s a 100 year old fossil who’s a bit confused most of the time but he’s got the spirit, right?, and he’s outside with a packed duffle bag, what would you do?”

You were supposed to enjoy a solo roadtrip after years of Avenging, but Bucky invites himself along and you can’t say no to his happy face.

A/N: I haven’t slept in a week because of nightmares and I just needed something to cheer me up, I guess. Reader took Steve’s side in CA:CW and spent two years with him as a nomad. You can choose to see her and Natasha as a platonic relationship or a romantic one, it’s up to you.

masterlist

Read the sequel to this here

“They’re just so fuckin’ gross I don’t understand how you can eat them.”

Bucky sends you his best death glare as he continues digging in his soggy cardboard In-N-Out fries.

“We could have literally stopped by Arby’s three miles west of here” you continue, “they have the best fries. We’re missing out, clearly.” you deadpan eyeing his food skeptically. 

“The curly ones? God no, they’re so spicy. I don’t know why you like your food to hurt but I don’t.”

“Okay, first of all they’re not spicy at all, I don’t know where you got that from. And second, they have a taste at least, unlike these.” You reiterate your point by swinging one the fries in his face. Bucky just grabs your hand and bites the fry, almost biting your fingers off too.

“Yeah, like that god-awful spicy chicken you forced on me the other day? No thank you, ma’am, I’ll stand by my own food choices.” 

You snort. “Not my fault your post-Depression ass can’t handle anything other than salt and black pepper. But sure, go ‘head and enjoy your sorry excuse of a meal, Buck.”

“People from your generation sure love complaining, huh? Back in my days you ate what your mama made you and never bitched about it, or else you went to bed hungry.” 

God, he’s such a grampa. You make a show of rolling your eyes and huffing in annoyance. He likes his senior citizen card a bit too much. He tries to stifle a laugh when he sees the look on your face and just shakes his head at you. 

California (and Bucky Barnes) has stolen your heart and you’ve loved this road trip so much you often wonder why it took you being snapped and facing the end of the world twice to retire from the avenging business. 

Fresno is interesting, to say the least. 

He wanted to stop by, saying something about wanting to see “an old pal from the war” ’s hometown for himself, and you’ve been dreaming about exploring Yosemite for as long as you can remember.

-

Online pictures of Yosemite National Park were stunning but the real thing is just breathtaking. 

You never thought camping would become your thing and you never imagined you’d enjoy stargazing so much. In five months you’ve discovered how big of a nerd Bucky really is and he’s been trying to teach you the names of all the stars and constellations. 

He sees Big Dipper, Orion, Ursa Major and Minor; you see pretty twinkling lights and the occasional shooting star. Nevertheless you sit through hours and hours of explanations, because when he speaks of the things he’s passionate about, Bucky is the most beautiful thing in the world.

“You know, the stars are one of the things I missed the most.” he says softy, furrowing his brows as he does when he remembers something from the past. “Stevie and I used to do that as kids sometimes. We’d sneak out of our houses and go on the roof of this abandoned building to watch the stars. Now there’s so much goddamn light everywhere, you can’t even see them anymore.”

Sometimes when you stop and think about it, really think, you can’t imagine how hard it must have been for them, having everything, even the night sky taken away from them. 

“Steve never told me.” 

“He probably missed the stars too.”

You eye him looking for clues on how he might feel, but you only see a sad smile on his face. “You miss him, don’t you?”

“Every damn day.” his voice cracks and you hold him closer.

“I know Buck, I miss him too. I miss him so much that sometimes I feel like my life has no direction without my Captain.” You’re barely holding back your own tears at this point, “But we’ve got Sam if we need orders, yes?” but you still try to make him smile. You’re always going to try for him.

Your attempt works and he snorts. Always bring Sam up to cheer Bucky.

“I hope he was happy, you know.” he says, “I hope he made the right choice and never regretted a thing. I hope that now he looks back and thinks he wouldn’t have had it any other way. His happiness is all I could ever ask for.”

You cling to each other that night and cry until the early morning. It feels good to let it all out, to let Steve go and look at the future. You’ve lost too much but tonight you only have hope.

-----

New York

Five months before

“Words on the street is you’re retiring your crusty old ass from the field.” 

Sam is leaning on the door of your hotel room with his arms folded and a pleased look on his face.

“Rumors travel fast in this post-apocalyptic word, I see.” you say as you continue stuffing a duffle bag with all the clothes you have left.

“How are you?” Sam asks, with his newly found Captain voice. You wonder if it’s something in that damn shield that gives them that stern commanding tone.

“Tryina analize me, Sammy? I’m not one of your guys at the VA.”

It’s not like you’re pissed at Sam, you love him with all your heart, you’re just angry at the world and Sam’s the one standing in your way right now.

You hear him sigh, “I know what you’re feeling right now, I understand why you would think that-” “Don’t” you interrupt him, “Don’t give me that speech, Fury did that for you already. I’m not running away from my problems.”

“I’m not saying that-” you really don’t want him to talk today, so you stop him again “No but you’re thinking it.”

“I know what it’s like.” he says raising his voice “To lose who you care the most in the world. We all lost someone important but you lost Natasha and I know, trust me I know what you feel right now, because it’s what I felt when I lost Riley.” 

You stop and swallow the tight lump in your throat.

Your eyes well up with tears as you turn to look at him. You’ve been so blinded by your own pain and anger you didn’t stop for a moment to think about others. “I’m sorry Sam, I shouldn’t have treated you like that.” you say sobbing.

Why did she have to leave you?

Stupid, stupid Natasha. Why did she have to sacrifice herself for the world?

Why her?

He hugs you tight and rocks you back and forth. “I understand why you’re leaving and I’m not here to stop you, I promise. Just keep in touch, yes? Text me everyday so I’m not tempted to track you down and fly wherever you are to see if you’re good.”

You smile for the first time in a long time.

“Don’t worry Sam, you’ll get tired of all the selfies I’ll send you, eventually.” 

“You know I’ll never get tired of this pretty face.” he says raising his eyebrows suggestively, making you laugh. “Good, that’s my girl. I missed this laugh so much.”

You stay in his arms a while longer until it’s time for you to leave.

“This is not the only reason I’m here.” he says and clears his throat, “Say, hypothetically, there’s a 100 year old fossil who’s a bit confused most of the time but he’s got the spirit, right?, and he’s outside with a packed duffle bag, what would you do?”

“What?” you manage to stammer out. “Bucky just... wants to...tag along?” 

You are now as confused as Bucky is most of the time.

Sam shrugs. “I guess? You know he’s weird like that.”

What he really means is he’s just like you, lost and confused and in desperate need to live a little, but he doesn’t say it out loud. There’s no need to.

“So, would you mind if he came too?”

You see Bucky standing outside, leaning on your SUV. He’s cut his hair short and he looks hotter than you would like to. He turns around and waves at you with a big smile on his face. Like Sam often says, you too like his energy.

“No, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

----

Denver, Colorado

It’s a long way from New York to Colorado and if you’re honest, you’ve loved every minute of it and you’re glad Bucky came along with you. He’s witty, laid back, snarky, smart and overall a fun guy for someone who was a prisoner to nazis for 70 years.

“Look all I’m saying is I think Edward is a fuckin’ creep. Would you like it if someone stood in your room and looked at you while you sleep?”

“But is that someone a hot vampire, Bucky?”

“It literally doesn’t even matter.”

“Stop saying literally Buck, you’re a 100 year old man, not a valley girl.”

-

“Are we there yet?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Lemme check a map.”

“Bucky it’s on the screen there, Google says we have 20 minutes left.”

“But can we trust this Google guy?”

-

“All I’m saying is if you made and enjoyed congealed salads you probably don’t deserve your right to vote for the future of this country.”

“I mean...fair enough?”

-

“Do we count blipped years or not?”

“At this point it, it barely makes a difference in my case, doll.”

“Honestly you’ve got a point, old man.”

-

“How are you so calm right now?”

“My standards are so low it’s practically impossible to piss me off.”

“But you aren’t even a little bothered?”

“Chill, it’s just a flat tire, it’s gonna take 10 minutes to fix.”

“Buck we talked about the things that are unacceptable. ‘Chill’ coming out of your mouth is one of those.”

It’s your second week in Denver already, and you’re having the time of your life. 

Bucky is spooning you like he usually does. You think back to the first time you’ve shared a bed and you almost giggle at the memory. 

“Uh, Buck?”

“Yes?”

“We might have a problem.”

He enters the room after you and his eyes widen when he sees it.

There’s a bed in the room.

A single bed.

You weren’t expecting much from this place that gives you ‘Bates Motel’ vibes, but you thought you’d have two beds, or at least a couch.

“I’ll just sleep on the floor, don’t worry about it.”

“What?” you shriek “Absolutely not, I’m not letting you suffer all night. We’re going to share.”

“But I-”

“No buts, you know how many times I slept with Steve? I’m used to you supersoldier men by now, I’m no longer affected by your kicks.”

He stays silent. “You and Steve used to…?”

Only then you realize you could have phrased it better.

“God no, I meant just, ya know, share bed.”

He smiles and nods. Why does he look relieved?

Now he clings to you every night, and most times he’s the little spoon because he likes to be held. You used to hate sleeping tangled with someone else until you woke up on top of Bucky, his hands caressing your back, and he told you he had the best night of sleep he’s had in decades.

There’s a lot of things you do just because they make him happy, actually.

But how could you not?

There’s no point in denying your feelings.

----

Salt Lake City, Utah

God, you love Utah.

You drive through immense stretches of red desert whilst Bucky blasts Nicki Minaj like his life depends on it; that’s how it always ends up when he rides shotgun.

He insisted on visiting Monument Valley despite it being out of your way, but you can never find it in yourself to refuse him anything, so you drove 9 hours straight from Denver to the southern border of Utah just so he could see a place that looks a lot like the ones in those Western cowboy movies from the 50s and 60s he loves so much.

“Yasha would have hated it here so much.” you say as you pull over the Airbnb you’ve rented for a couple of days in Salt Lake City.

He snorts, “Yeah, I bet she would have.”

You thought time would heal all wounds and that someday you might stop feeling the void in your life when you think of her, but now you know you’ll never stop hurting. She was such a big part of your life for so long that your heart will never stop aching for her. 

Sometimes you think how she never got to see you again after you were snapped. 

You wonder if she ever stopped missing you.

You know you’ll never not miss her.

-

You’ve driven for more than humanly possible in two days, but he’s a supersoldier and you’re really stubborn, and now you can’t wait to sleep in a nice bed for the first time in a long while. Usually you just make do with motels, but tonight you wanted to treat yourselves.

You enter the place and notice immediately the two queen size beds. 

You should be relieved, and if it was 4 months ago when you first shared a bed you would probably be, but now you’re so used to his warm body next to yours, his flesh arm over you and his face resting in the crook of your neck that you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to fall asleep without him.

“I’ll go shower first if you don’t mind.” you say as you mentally berate yourself for your thoughts. 

Your goal to not fall in love with Bucky Barnes flew out the window somewhere in the green fields of Western Iowa, but at this point you’re just treading a dangerous path and you know you’re going to get hurt.

There’s no way Bucky feels the same about you, right?

You get out the shower, put on a t-shirt you’ve stolen from Steve ages ago and get out of the bathroom, only to stop when you see Bucky on the bed you claimed as yours.

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind but I feel better when I sleep with you.”

Maybe he does.

----

Nevada

Technically it takes roughly 43 hours to get from New York to Sacramento by car. It took you almost five months.

You’ve been covering Interstate 80, stopping and visiting towns, cities and parks along the way as you pleased, sleeping in seedy motels, your SUV or that fancy ass tent Bucky bought somewhere in Ohio. You’ve begged Bucky to drive from Salt Lake City straight to Sacramento, stopping only when it’s absolutely necessary; you’ll be visiting Nevada after California anyways, so for now you’re just enjoying the scenic drive, with the windows rolled down and the air messing up your hair.

“What’s that song called?” Bucky asks and raises the radio’s volume.

“That’s Dani California by Red Hot Chili Peppers.” you answer absentmindedly, distracted by the seemingly endless stretch of black asphalt and yellowish nothingness around it.

She’s lover, baby and a fighter

Shoulda seen it coming when I got a little brighter

Bucky sings along and smiles glancing your way.

“I like this.” he exclaims when the song ends “Can we listen to it again, please?”

You smile softly and play it again. If there’s one thing Bucky is capable of is listening to the same song on repeat multiple times until you’re so sick of it you don’t ever want to hear it again.

 Who knew the other side of you

Who knew what others died to prove

You never thought Bucky would be like this, or that you’d be privileged enought to see this side of him.

There’s a big smile on his face and the orange hues of the sky reflect in his clear eyes. He’s got one hand on the steering wheel and the vibranium one resting on the car’s door and he looks so different from the man haunted by his past and loneliness you met in Budapest all those years ago. He looks so carefree and relaxed now, so happy. 

You are proud of him.

California rest in peace

Simultaneous release

California show your teeth

She’s my priestess and I’m your priest

I love my baby to death

------

San Diego, California 

You’ve hiked the hills of southern Cali and gone parapending in Torrey Pines. You landed on a breathtaking beach with beautiful dark sand and soon found out, much to Bucky’s dismay and utter disgust, that it was a nudist beach.

He grumbled something about ‘hygiene’ and ‘decor’ and you just laughed at his flustered state.

“First time seeing a naked woman, old man?” you asked in between fits of laughter.

You didn’t notice the sea lion swimming next to you in La Jolla and not even Thanos’ creepy gang could have scared you as much when you turned around and looked him dead in the eyes. Bucky got his revenge filming you as you shot out the ocean with a shrill, covered in algae and terrified. 

You are loving the San Diego area so far. Minus the sea lions.

“Hey I- uh- do you mind if I take the car? I wanted to go do some shopping.” Bucky tells you.

He’s really embarrassed for some reason.

You shrug and mumble a ‘sure’ before going back to basking in the sun by the pool of the hotel you’re staying at.

“Okay, I-I guess I’ll g-go then, I’ll come pick you up at 5.30 for dinner.” he stutters out.

Weird, you think, but you don’t give it too much thought. Bucky is like that.

-

Dinner time rolls around and as promised Bucky comes pick you up on time.

You’re wearing a short green dress with white daisies printed on it and a pair of strappy white sandals. You look good and you know it; Bucky knows it too, judging from the glances he tries to sneak your way.

“So, uhm-” he clears his voice, “I know it’s going to sound weird but I promise it’s not. Can I- Can I blindfold you?”

Can he...what? You could split me in half and I’d be glad about it, you’d like to say.

“Kinky. You could at least buy me differ first, tho.” you settle for something safer instead.

He blushes three shades darker than his usual color and you take the black scarf he’s handing you, barely concealing a teasing smile.

He drives around for a while. When you get to your destination the first thing you hear is the waves beating on the shore and the smell of the ocean. He helps you get out and guides you somewhere.

“Wait here.” 

You hear him park the car in reverse, open the trunk and fiddle with something. He comes up behind you and removes the blindfold. You feel his hot breath on your neck and it sends tingles down your spine straight to your pu- “You can look now.”

When you open your eyes you are stunned for a moment. You turn around with a big smile that turns even bigger when you notice the blankets and the little picnic he’s assembled in the trunk.

“Buck, this is- I can’t believe you remembered.”

Somewhere in Colorado you mentioned how romantic you thought Sunset Cliffs were, and how much you wished you could do something like this. It was a fleeting moment, a thought uttered out loud absentmindedly over a couple of drinks in some bar. You were tipsy and you were running your mouth about all the things you’d want in a partner to some random girl who became your best friends for the night.

You realize you’re tearing up when his fingers grace your cheeks.

It feels nice to be cared about so much. It’s been too long since someone took such good care of you.

“I thought I’d do something special for you.” he says with an adorable blush.

“Thank you Bucky, I love this.” you hug him tightly and bury your face in his chest, inhaling his scent.

“Anything for my girl.”

“When did I become your girl, huh?” you ask teasingly.

“Probably when I invited myself on this trip.”

You both laugh at that.

You swallow hard when you see the look on his face. God, how did you miss the signs? You were always a better sniper than a spy, Yasha always told you.

Your heart is beating out of your chest in anticipation as he leans down slowly and your lips brush lightly. His hands are on your waist and yours on his broad shoulders. He kisses you timidly at first, and more passionately as he gains confidence. 

“I wanted to do this since Bucharest.” he confesses after your lips part.

“Took you long enough, Sarge.”

But it was worth the wait.

-

Tonight’s sunset will be burned in the back of your mind permanently. 

You kiss and laugh some more, and feed eachother seedless grapes because they’re the only ones you eat. He’s brought strawberries, white wine because you don’t drink red, hummus and pita and an assortment of cheese and crackers.

You kiss and talk, cuddle, laugh and kiss some more all night.

You’ve accepted long ago that you’ll never fill the gaping hole in your lives, but that night when you make love to eachother the void in your hearts that Steve and Natasha left behind doesn’t seem as encompassing as it usually is.

---

Thank you for reading! If you liked it, please reblog and comment, feedback is always appreciated 🥺🤲 might fuck around and write Bucky’s POV too.

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #74/188

#74: Well. Yell, scream, say something, anything / #188: Say it.

Rated M.

Atlantic City is a calamitous disaster. At least that’s how it starts.

Not because of their case - of course it’s awful, as most of them are. There’s nothing not awful about a duo of killers targeting vacationers during the height of the summer tourist season. Everyone is on edge, it’s hot and cramped, and there isn’t much time before they’ll almost certainly find two more dead bodies in the early morning hours outside one of the many casinos dotting the shoreline. But they’re used to that; it’s practically their daily vernacular at this point, a bit of normalcy in the current chaos between them. The case is the least of Aaron’s concerns, or Emily’s for that matter.

It’s everything but the case this time.

Things go downhill before they even cross the New Jersey state lane. A last minute hydraulic fuel leak on the jet renders air travel a non option. Instead, they get stuck in the same SUV with Reid for company in the backseat for the four hour drive. Aaron almost feels sorry for him, but he’s completely oblivious to the brewing storm inside the confines of the car for the entire first leg of the trip. Reid chatters endlessly, yet neither of them seem to hear a word he’s saying. By the time they hit the Atlantic City Expressway, Emily is all but ready to leap out the window. Hardly any words are exchanged between the two of them at all; they aren’t needed. It’s in her body language and his reticence, the firm clench of his hand on the steering wheel and her weary head resting on a fist, angled as far away from him as possible.

“This is a mess,” Aaron mutters with more than an hour left to go, and he isn’t talking about the thickening traffic. He’s talking about them, and the ending to what never really had as much as a beginning in the first place.

Things spun out of control towards the end. There was a breakup, if it could be considered as much. What they had was never labeled or defined, it just was. It was built on a mistake, nurtured through secrecy and quiet whispers in the dark. It then spiraled into something else entirely, creating an impasse between them during the day that bled into endless nights spent wrapped around one another in beds across the country for almost four full months.

“We can’t do this,” Emily finally said in a darkened hotel room in Seattle exactly 12 days prior to this one. He’d been expecting it, recognized the signs of her pulling away a little more with every kiss he left on her smooth skin, every shudder of her body beneath his and every breathy pant in his ear. There’s nothing tangible left of them, just broken fragments and heavy silence, and every reason why they shouldn’t have ever started this in the first place plays out right before their eyes. “There’s only one way for this to end, you know.”  

There was nothing he could say to talk her out of it as she threw the covers aside, reaching for her clothes on the floor. Aaron offered an “I’m sorry” for good measure yet it didn’t feel like enough, probably because it wasn’t at all. But it’s over, she reminded him as she closed the door firmly, without looking back.

Or so they think.

A mishap at the hotel in Atlantic City leaves the team two rooms short, meaning the team will have to double up for the next few days. JJ is seven months pregnant, which automatically gives her the comfort of her own space, and it goes without saying Dave will get his own too. Reid shuffles his feet and makes eye contact with Morgan, looking slightly relieved when he nods in agreement. That leaves Aaron to concede and Emily to shrug her shoulders indifferently, even if her face is anything but that. The caretaker of the slightly run down hotel  only slightly leers in Emily’s direction as he passes over the two room keys, and Aaron can’t help but step between her and the counter and swipe them both out of the man’s hand with a curt “thanks.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Emily says low enough for only Aaron to hear, snatching the key out of his hand and taking off in the direction of their room. “It’s just a damn key.”

“Did you see the way he stared at you?” Aaron questions with a hint of impatience in his tone as he goes to follow her, but she’s not listening.

“202 is the other way, you know.” The man chuckles with a jab of his finger, as if he’s seen this exact scenario play out many times before - two people disappearing behind a closed door, a disaster waiting to happen. “You two have yourselves a nice stay.” He doesn’t seem to care that just a few moments ago, Aaron’s FBI badge was in his face. He looks almost amused, which only adds to the visible tension between them both.

With an exasperated sigh, Emily turns on her heel and spins in the opposite direction toward their room. “I can’t believe this,” she mutters, staring at the tiny gold numbers on every door until she finds the one they need. Aaron doesn’t miss the way she squares her shoulders, the quick intake of breath as she twists the key in the knob.

The door squeaks on its hinges when she pushes it open; the room smells slightly of mold, but even that isn’t the worst part. The proverbial icing on the cake is when she stops dead in her tracks with him right behind her, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Fuck.

There’s only one bed. It sits in the middle of the damn room, practically mocking them both. Aaron doesn’t miss the subtle glance Emily throws in his direction, searching for his reaction just as he is studying hers. “I’ll take the couch,” he says immediately, keeping his face neutral, setting his bag down on the rickety piece of furniture that has clearly seen better days. “You can take the bed.”

“That hardly qualifies as a couch,” Emily tells him sharply. “That’s a chair, Aaron.”  

She’s right, he thinks in annoyance. It wouldn’t even fit half of him, and staring at it makes his back hurt in anticipation. But sleeping next to her for however many nights they’re here isn’t exactly an option, either.  “I don’t want to make you -”

“Let’s just agree,” Emily says through firmly clenched teeth, making it a done deal. “To be adults about this. We can share a room for a few days without it being an issue. That includes the bed.”

…

They should have known better, but it’s too late for that.

As expected, the rest of the day is exhausting. It only ends because of the promise to look at things with fresh eyes in the morning at the urging of the equally weary Atlantic City police. By the time they make it back to the shabby room, they’re both tired, hot, and cranky, hardly uttering a word after bidding goodnight to everyone else.

“You shower first,” Aaron says as he holds the door open for her, giving her enough space to pass him. “I have to check in on Jack.” He knows her routine once they get back from a case - a shower is always a necessity, and in the better days, they’d always taken turns on first dibs. Or just showered together, which was always his preference.

If she thanks him he doesn’t hear it, and the bathroom door closes behind her, the lock added for good measure. But twenty minutes later - how long does she need in there - he has to avert his eyes when Emily steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam, the scent of shampoo lingering in her wake. She’s wrapped in one of the hotel issued towels, which is a generous description for the scrap of fabric that barely covers her, awkwardly crossing the room to dig through her suitcase.

Look away, Aaron wills himself, struggling to get comfortable on the tiny couch. It’s a lost cause, and will undoubtedly be a very long night.

There’s a mishap with the towel, a soft curse under her breath as she scrambles before it hits the floor, and an inopportune moment when their eyes meet, succumbing to what they silently agreed would never happen again. It’s how Emily finds herself pinned under his weight, her back pressed against the mattress as Aaron lowers to his knees and dips his head between her legs. Any protest that falls from her lips is short lived, her hands in his hair, her legs curling over his shoulders as he slowly begins to take her apart. Emily arches into him, unable to stifle the moans that are now a constant stream of affirmation, and Aaron doesn’t bother with reminding her the walls are thin. He doesn’t care, and something tells him in the moment he coaxes her climax out of her, neither does she.

“I missed you,” he says when he slides into her to completion a few moments later, giving her a moment to adjust to him before starting to move. He kisses the space between her breasts and Emily all but ignores him, pushing him over onto his back to straddle his hips with a smirk.

The pace she sets is quick, the rhythm fast and rough, and it’s over almost embarrassingly fast. He’s gotten her down against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her as she whimpers into his mouth. Her body is shaking in the aftermath as he thrusts hard once more, holding her against him. For a few quiet moments, the only sound is that of their breathing, a heaviness falling over them both at the realization of what’s just happened. And yet, she stays on his chest, her limbs not quite ready to work, in the comfort of his embrace for a few moments longer.

Afterward, Emily puts as much space as she can between them, which isn’t much given the size of the bed. “If this was your way of not sleeping on the couch,” she says sleepily, her voice muffled by the pillow, “I guess you won.”

...

The next morning, as the sun rises over the shore, Aaron finds her on the balcony, wearing nothing but his undershirt that was abandoned on the floor, the sound of the ocean in the distance. He mumbles something about getting coffee, the first thing that comes to his mind. He knows she (and he) could use some, judging by the minimal amount of sleep they got. Emily doesn’t say a word, just pushes him against the sliding door and drops to her knees. His head falls back against the glass, his hand tightening in her hair as she brings him into her mouth, letting him hit the back of her throat. In between his eyes closing, his hips stuttering against her face, Aaron watches the brilliant mix of orange, yellow, and red fade into daylight, and wonders just how things got to be such a fucking mess in the first place.

They’re two for zero now, and as the day dawns hot and there’s another set of bodies found, it’s abundantly clear no one is leaving Atlantic City anytime soon. And much later that night, they hardly make it to that damn bed before the score becomes three.

…

Aaron wakes up a few hours later from a restless, uncomfortable sleep. The room is stuffy, the pillow underneath his head is flat, the hum of the air conditioner a constant nag even if it does little to cool the room down. Before he opens his eyes, he knows she’s gone. The space beside him is cold - Emily is nowhere to be found, and there’s thunder rumbling ominously in the distance. He dresses in the dark, grabbing his keys, doesn’t bother with an umbrella, and makes the short trek to the boardwalk.

It’s where he would go, and it’s where he finds her, sitting on a bench, her arms folded across her chest, long legs crossed at the knees. She’s ripping at her fingernails, a sure sign something is wrong, and wearing a blank expression that doesn’t change when she slowly turns her head to see him coming right towards her. “I had a feeling you would find me.”

Aaron shrugs, but doesn’t miss the way she flinches when he sits beside her. “Not many places to look. It’s 1 AM, you know.”  

She sniffs with disinterest, continuing to pick at her fingernails.“Why do we keep screwing up?” Emily says after a long pause, and what he sees is like a swift kick to the chest. She looks disappointed with herself, disgusted even. All because of him. “Why can’t I just … quit you?”

“Why do you keep coming back?” He challenges her right back. “If all you’re going to do is walk away again?”

Emily turns her head to stare at him with widened eyes. “We both know the answer to that, Aaron. We both know this was never going to work.”

“No, you decided that. All on your own.” He remembers the night in Seattle as if it were yesterday - the night she left. The sting of her words is still fresh in his mind. “But maybe you’ve already compartmentalized it,” he adds with a bite in his voice that wasn’t there before.

Emily recoils at his words, recrossing her arms over her chest. She rises to her feet, pacing  around the bench.  “What do you want from me, Aaron? What were you expecting when we drunkenly decided to sleep together once? It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“You. I want you. And not just this fuck then forget bullshit,” he says over the growing wind and thunder, the skies threatening to open. In the distance, the ocean churns, the tides crashing against the shore as his anger builds. “I want to be with you,” Aaron adds with a waver in his voice. “Regardless of how this started.”

Emily blinks with confusion and bites her lip, as if holding back tears. She shivers, rubbing her arms, her lip starting to tremble. They can’t. Her silence is an answer in and of itself, one he refused to accept.

“Well?” He demands, the anger rising in his voice, and Emily curses his resolve.

“Well what?”

“Well. Yell, scream, say something, anything,” he snaps, searching her face for a sign of anything besides the emptiness painted across her features. “Don’t just say nothing.”

But Emily indeed says nothing, just regards him with wide, darkened eyes that tell him what he needs to know. In the dark, with only the lights of the boardwalk to cast eerie shadows on her face, she looks almost ethereal, a haunting comparison to the fear he sees. That’s what it is, he thinks. Fear. Fear of what could be, fear of what might never be.

“Say it,” he pleads. “Please, Emily.” The rain starts to fall, coming down relentlessly and soaking them both to the skin almost instantly. “

“Aaron,” she whispers, barely audible over the thunder and now the rain. “It would never work.” She holds up her hands in defeat. “We can’t.”

“What are you so afraid of?” He grabs her by the shoulders, just tightly enough that she can’t duck out of his grasp. Emily squirms uncomfortably but he holds her fast, unwilling to let her go, for if he does, she may never come back. “Why are you so damn afraid of this actually working? Do you have any damn faith?”

She opens her mouth but snaps it shut, her chin trembling with effort. He expects her to slap him, to jerk away and disappear into the night. He’s waiting for her to leave like she did three weeks ago. But she doesn’t. What she does instead surprises the hell out of him. Emily kisses him, slanting her mouth against his in the pouring rain, pressing her rain-soaked body right into his. It takes a full ten seconds before he kisses her back.

It’s a compromise, an agreement to not make a decision one way or the other, at least for the time being. Even so, Aaron envelopes her in his arms, a hand cupped around the back of her head and the other anchored across her shoulders. He kisses her back with an urgency he can only attribute to the fact that he’s in love with her, something he’s known for way too long.

He doesn’t have to tell her that, because somewhere amongst all the doubt, she already knows.

An hour later, after a hot shower (taken together) the score becomes four. And a few hours after that, as the sun rises yet again, nearly blinding them in a cramped Atlantic City hotel room, Emily tentatively agrees to try.

It’s good enough for him.

[handwrittenhello]

where the road then takes me

Prompt: Law of Surprise Relationships: Geralt/Jaskier/Renfri, Geralt/Renfri, Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier & Renfri Rating: T Warnings: None Summary: When Jaskier runs into a pack of wild dogs while searching for his lost hen, he's lucky that Geralt is nearby to save him. But he has nothing to repay the witcher with except the Law of Surprise, and who do they find upon returning to the farm, but Jaskier's sister, Renfri, back early from marauding?

For @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo!

(ao3 link in reblog)

--

Jaskier, eighteen, had grand dreams.

They were little more than dreams, unfortunately, because seeing as how he and Renfri had grown up fending for themselves, stuck in a tiny village on the border of Creyden, he didn’t have much opportunity to go to school or learn to play the lute or anything, really, besides tending to the farm while Renfri got… freelance work elsewhere. That was all he cared to know about it—she would leave, and return home every couple of weeks with a decent bag of coin and blood-spattered clothes, which Jaskier would bitch about cleaning. She made enough for them to live, though not comfortably—Renfri had kept him fairly sheltered, but he knew that they were one of the poorer households in town.

Which was why Jaskier only dreamed of traveling the Continent, singing songs and weaving grand tales for the commonfolk. Instead, he was stuck here chasing down their old hen again, after the coop had blown down in the storm for the fourth time. Henrietta was a sneaky fucker, already gone by the time he woke up in the morning. He cursed but pulled on his boots and stumbled out into the cold morning air to look for her.

He cursed all the way to the edge of the forest, where she’d apparently disappeared into, judging by the tracks and the few scattered feathers he found. “Damned hen. Ought to just eat you and be done with it,” he muttered, pulling his cloak tighter around him before heading into the forest.

He followed her trail as the sun slowly rose, stopping when he heard barking in the distance. Fuck, he hoped that was the hunters’ dogs—he hadn’t thought to bring a knife to defend himself with. Whatever it was, he trudged onwards, because they couldn’t afford to lose a hen. Renfri would kill him if—when—she found out.

And then he heard it—familiar squawking, accompanied by those same barks, louder. He crept closer and saw exactly what he’d feared—a pack of wild dogs circled Henrietta, one of them darting in every so often to snap at her slashing claws. She was fending them off pretty handily, actually—Jaskier knew how vicious she could be firsthand.

But the dogs would no doubt attack in force soon, and then she’d have no chance. Without thinking, Jaskier picked up a rock and threw it at the nearest one, hitting it square in the nose. It recoiled and turned its attention away from Henrietta, which was exactly what he wanted.

Unfortunately, it turned its attention towards him, which was exactly what he didn’t want. “Oh, fuck,” he spat, and turned tail as the pack gave chase.

He dashed over tree roots and fallen logs, blind stupid terror coursing through his veins. He had no plan beyond don’t get caught—and he could only run for so long before tiring. He threw a glance backward and saw that they were gaining on him—and fast.

Not looking where was going, he was taken completely by surprise when he slammed into something hard, bouncing off it and landing with an oof on the mossy ground.

Dazed and still half-blind with fear, he didn’t even notice that he’d slammed into a person until they moved, stepping over him and taking on the dogs with an easy confidence, sword swinging with preternatural force.

Two swords, armor, incredible speed and fighting skills? As the man finished dispatching the last of the pack and turned around to reveal mutated cat eyes set in a heavily scarred face, Jaskier realized who the man was. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The witcher sheathed his sword, holding out a hand as if to calm Jaskier. “It’s alright,” he rumbled, voice full of gravel. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Jaskier picked his jaw up from where it had dropped. “I know that,” he answered, getting to his feet and half-heartedly brushing the dirt off himself. “You’re a witcher.”

“I am. Usually fight more dangerous things than wild dogs, though. Also don’t usually see unaccompanied kids running around being chased by them.”

“I had to get their attention somehow. Henrietta was—wait, Henrietta!” Jaskier, remembered, abruptly spinning on his heel and dashing back to where the pack had cornered her.

“Wait!” the witcher called from behind him, but Jaskier paid him no heed.

He was gratified to see that while he’d been running for his life, Henrietta had seen fit to begin making herself a nest right in the same spot. “Oh, aren’t we cozy?” he grumbled, creeping closer in an attempt to grab her. He was almost upon her when the witcher ruined it, crashing through the underbrush behind him and sending her clucking away just as Jaskier pounced.

Jaskier sighed and turned to face the witcher, who at least had the good grace to look a little guilty. The guilt soon disappeared, though, when Jaskier rounded on him and began to lecture. “Now look what you’ve done. It’ll take me ages to catch her,” he complained, watching as the witcher’s eyes grew incredulous.

“You risked your life for that scrawny thing?” the witcher asked, amused disbelief coloring his tone.

“That scrawny thing is probably the most valuable thing we own, so yes,” Jaskier snapped. He couldn’t stand it when out-of-towners looked at him like that, like he was a stupid farm boy who knew little more than dirt and chickens. Which, to be fair, he didn’t, but it wasn’t as if he wanted it that way.

The witcher’s face cleared to something more akin to understanding—thank the gods it wasn’t pity. “Then I suppose I owe it to you to help catch her,” he said, and in the blink of an eye he’d snatched Henrietta up. Jaskier accepted her into his arms somewhat stunned.

“Thank you,” he eventually managed to stammer. The witcher said nothing in return, and they stood there for a long, awkward moment, before Jaskier realized he was probably waiting for something. “Oh! I don’t—I don’t have anything to pay you with…” he trailed off, recalling all the old adages, that witchers never worked for free. Fuck. Renfri wouldn’t be home for days if not weeks still, and the only coin he had he needed to save for the market day after tomorrow.

The witcher began to speak—what it was he was going to say, Jaskier didn’t know, but he interrupted as an idea struck him. “But I can offer you the Law of Surprise!” he suggested, recalling the ballads of children promised to witchmen. “We’ve a bitch due for pups soon—perhaps we’ll return home and you’ll find yourself with a companion to warm the long nights on the road!”

“Hmm,” the witcher replied, but it wasn’t a no, so he figured that it probably meant he wasn’t about to be forced into the witcher’s debt. Humming, he led the way back to the farmstead, the witcher a silent, hulking protector at his back.

Once they arrived, Jaskier was quick to secure Henrietta in the barn, where normally there would be pigs, but now, after sickness had taken their only sow, there was only dust and hay and the occasional mouse. He left Henrietta to her mouse hunting and led the witcher to the cottage, throwing open the door, excited to see what surprise he might find.

“Jaskier, why the fuck have you brought a witcher home?” asked Renfri, perched on the table and cleaning underneath her fingernails with one of her many knives.

Jaskier paled. “Renfri! You’re—you’re not meant to be home yet,” he choked out.

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” she drawled, eyebrows knitting together. Jaskier, helpless, threw a glance back at the witcher, who was wearing a thunderous expression. Shit.

“I—not in this case, no,” Jaskier said tersely. “Fuck.”

“Some welcome,” she said faux-calmly, hopping down off the table. Jaskier recognized the tenseness in her form that spoke of a predator preparing to pounce. Sure enough, she lunged a moment later, her knife held a half-inch away from the witcher’s throat. Jaskier yelped. “Did he hurt you, Julek?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the witcher’s face.

“No, nothing of the sort, now put that down,” Jaskier hissed, tugging ineffectually at her arm. “He saved me, in fact, and…”

“And?” Renfri asked lowly.

“…and I may have promised him the Law of Surprise in return,” Jaskier finished all in a rush, wincing. “I swear, Ren, if I’d known…”

“That’s the thing about surprises,” the witcher interjected. “But you needn’t worry. I have no plans to claim your—sister?” Jaskier nodded. “As I said before, I need no payment.”

Renfri lowered her knife, and Jaskier breathed a bit easier for it. Renfri was a formidable fighter, but Jaskier doubted even her strength against a witcher. If a fight had broken out, he’d have had to—well, not help, because he was rather useless in a fight, but it was the principle of the matter.

“I suppose I could do worse for myself,” Renfri mused, looking Geralt over critically.

“Wait you’re—Renfri, he said he wouldn’t claim you, you don’t have to.”

“And what if I want to?” Renfri answered. “He seems a decent sort. And not too hard on the eyes, either.”

The witcher, looking uncomfortable, stood there and said nothing.

Jaskier threw his hands up. “You’re insane. And you!” he said, turning to the witcher. “Are you agreeing to this?”

“The life of a witcher isn’t well suited to… companionship,” the witcher replied, face twisted. “Walking the Path is difficult.”

“And if I promise that I can handle myself?” Renfri asked, twirling her knife in one of the many tricks she was proud of. “I’m no stranger to the road. It’s Jaskier you’d have to watch out for.”

“I resent that,” Jaskier said mildly, mostly out of principle. But the prospect was too exciting to dwell on it for long—was Renfri truly proposing that they set out with a witcher? “Ren, do you mean it?”

“If your witcher is fine with it, then I don’t see why not,” she replied. “What do you say, witcher?”

“Geralt,” the witcher corrected her. “If we’re to travel together, you ought to at least know my name.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. It rolled off the tongue wonderfully. “Oh, this is so exciting! I’m going to write so many songs, just wait,” he gushed. “The Witcher and the Shrike—I can hear it now.”

Renfri pulled him out of his thoughts with a cuff to the shoulder. “Ow,” he said mildly. “Wait—you are planning on sharing, right?” he interjected. “Because, I mean, look at him.”

“Am I a toy to be shared among siblings?” Geralt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that a no, you don’t want to sleep with both of us? Because I’ll respect that, I will, but also, not to objectify you or whatever, but dear gods please, I think my poor heart might break if I didn’t get to fuck you at least once.”

“Jaskier! Leave my Husband Surprise alone,” Renfri said, shoving him away. “Go get packed. Essentials only!”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” Jaskier placated, raising his hands in surrender. “Don’t get up to anything while I’m gone, you lovebirds.”

As he left, Geralt turned to Renfri. “Is he always like this?”

“Yeah, he’s chronically stupid. Gets it from our father.”

“Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“Don’t know, but it’s too late now. You’re stuck with us, witcher,” Renfri replied, looping an arm around Geralt’s.

Geralt made a show of sighing, but in truth, he wasn’t annoyed as all that. At least it would make life more interesting.

[rukia-writes]

Threesome with Eren Jaeger and Eren Kruger? Please Rukia? 🤤🤤

I don’t know who put this request in my inbox but may your days be filled with love and peace.

✨Setting: fairytale AU ✨

✨Rated: MATURE! No minors 🔞, No minors DNI✨

✨A/N: things do get rather naughty.✨

“Little red riding hood!”

(Name)’s mother called from the kitchen, soon her daughter arrived in the kitchen with her red hood on that she had from when she was little.

“What is it mom?”

“Take this to your grandmother, she’s sick and needs to get well.”

(Name)’s mother handed her daughter the basket filled with goodies.

“Sure. I’ll take it.”

(Name)’s mother begins to tell her “Stay on the path.” “Don’t get side tracked.” “Don’t talk to strangers.” (Name) heard the same lines all during her childhood, she was fully grown adult now and didn’t need to hear such things.

“Bye mom!”

(Name) had the basket in hand and was making her way to her grandmother’s house with her red cape on, (Name)’s mother waved bye at the door while smiling.

The sun was shining and the birds were chirping as “little red hood” made her way to her grandmothers house, she did look in the basket and see what all was in it.

Alcohol and cake.

(Name) didn’t know how her grandmother was going to feel better with alcohol and cake.

At that moment she heard wood being chopped up ahead, knowing it had to Kruger and when saw that Kruger had just finished chopping down a tree (Name) smiled at the handsome man.

“Morning Kruger!”

Kruger looked up to see (Name) waving at him with a basket in hand, Kruger waved back with a smirk.

“You’re out early.”

“Yes, I’m on way to my grandmothers house.”

“I see. Be careful and don’t stray from the path.”

Kruger warned while smoothing back his hair making (Name) smile bashfully at the handsome wood cutter.

“I won’t-“

“Seriously, (Name). I’ve seen the wolf of the forest a few times already. Be careful.”

(Name) didn’t like the sound of that.

The wolf of the forest was wolf was dangerous to say the least.

“I promise to be careful. I’ll see you later.”

(Name) winked at the wood cutter who blushed while waving bye and then going back to work.

Later, (Name) was almost at her grandmother’s house when she heard a rustle in the bushes thinking it was perhaps the wolf she walked faster. Then (Name)’s heart jumped at the sound of a wolf’s howl.

“Hey (Name).”

(Name) screamed when Eren patted her on the shoulder, causing the young man to snicker.

“What’s wrong? You scared of something?”

“No...I’m just being cautious. Kruger told me the wolf was out and prowling around.”

“Oh, he did. Did he?”

(Name) nodded her head while Eren simply smirked and looked in the basket.

“What’s in the basket?”

“Goodies for my grandmother. She’s sick.”

“Damn, grandma is sick. That’s not good, you better hurry. Also, tell her I hope she feels better.”

(Name) agreed and the two waved good bye.

However, (Name) would see Eren sooner rather than later.

Soon, (Name) arrived at her grandmother’s house and knocked on the door. Hearing her grandmother say “Come in.” (Name) opened the door to see no one inside.

Closing the door behind her (Name) walked in to see that her grandmothers house was quiet and no one was in sight. However, knew she heard her grandmother say come in.

At that moment, (Name) was grabbed from behind by someone.

“Shh, Shh. Calm down it’s just me.”

“Eren?”

(Name) turned around to see Eren with a little smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought I would stop by...”

Eren and (Name) were still close as Eren pulled (Name) really close to him, his hands traveling down to her ass making her gasp, Eren smirked as he whispered in (Name)’s ear.

“Want to have some fun?”

“You saw the wolf go where?”

“It was by (Name)’s grandmother’s house. I don’t know what it was doing there.”

The tea maker known as Levi told Kruger who had just finished gathering ingredients for his shop. Kruger became worried and told Levi bye, who in return told Kruger, “If you see the wolf don’t let him get the better of you.”

Kruger remembered Levi’s warning and when Kruger arrived at Grandma’s house he opened the door, letting the door shut behind him as he was shocked by what he saw.

Eren was in between (Name)’s thighs pleasuring her with his tongue, Eren’s wolf ears and tail were now ever present. Kruger looked to see (Name)’s face in pleasure, a sight that made him hard and shocked.

Eren only departed from (Name)’s needy cunt when he heard Kruger swear. Eren recognized the wood cutter and so did (Name) becoming bashful.

“What are you doing here, Kruger?”

“What are you doing Eren?”

Kruger retorted back while giving Eren a glare that made Eren get a shiver down his spine as Eren’s wolf growled in Kruger’s face.

“I’m just having fun..why don’t you take a seat?”

Eren waved his hand and magically tied Kruger to nearby chair. Only pissing Kruger off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I just want to have fun.”

Eren then picked up (Name) exposing her cunt to Kruger who was now blushing, as Eren used his magic to pull up another chair. Eren sits down with (Name) sitting on his lap, his hands spreading her legs making Kruger clear his throat.

“You want to have fun too? (Name)’s having fun. I’m having fun. We can make room.”

“Where’s (Name)’s grandmother?”

“She’s safe.”

Eren responded back as he kissed (Name)’s neck making her moan while his hands started massaging her breasts and Eren’s cock started to enter (Name)’s cunt.

“There’s no trouble. See?”

Kruger heard (Name)’s moan and saw the pleasure ridden on her face causing his cock to become erect, Eren was being merciless with his cock as it filled (Name) tight and wet cunt.

“More! More! More Eren!”

(Name) was fully enjoying Eren’s cock that was fucking her in all the right places, not caring if Kruger saw or not. Eren moaned as he thrusted his hips upward to the animalistic pace he wanted.

“Take it all then.”

Kruger on the other hand was getting painfully hard as he watched Eren tend to his heat in a animal like way and turned his head away with frown yet when heard (Name) moan again he turned his back slightly.

“Horny wolf.”

“Horny wood cutter. You like her? Right. I’ve seen the way you look at her when she passes by-fuck!”

Eren slapped (Name)’s ass when she tightened around his cock, causing her to gasp in pleasure.

“So what?”

“We both want to fuck her so-I’ll let you in on this if you promise not to kill me.”

Eren offered Kruger who was now looking at Eren fucking his crush with such ferocity. Kruger loved the way (Name)’s face looked as it was writhing in pleasure, her legs open for Kruger to see and the way her breasts were being taken care of by Eren made him hard.

“What, are you in heat?”

“I am actually-and I want to fuck all night long.”

Eren spoke truthfully as he then ripped (Name)’s shirt and bra apart exposing her breasts and erect nipples. Eren’s long nails scratched her breasts a little bit making Kruger let out a “Oh, fuck.”

Eren heard Kruger’s words looking he saw how hard Kruger was, a wicked smile came to his lips.

“You like her breasts? Nice huh? You should feel how soft.”

Eren kisses (Name) on the neck while massaging her breasts making her moan a loud with Kruger biting his lip, his eyes never leaving Eren and (Name). Kruger wanted to be in her making her moan, saying his name.

“...Do you like that (Name)?”

“I do-“

Kruger asked (Name) who moaned mid sentence, Kruger thought it was so hot when she moaned. The wood cutter who do just about anything to be inside her at this point.

“I thought you came to save her..you’re not doing a very good job. She’s so tight-so tight..you want to fuck her. I know you do.”

Eren taunted as his hands gave (Name)’s breasts much attention seeing as how it turned Kruger on, and made Eren love it since it would make (Name) become wet. Massaging them, then playing with her nipples causing (Name) to moan more. Kruger took it all in.

“I bet she does feel good..she’s so wet.”

Kruger shifted in his chair as he looked at (Name)’s dripping wet cunt with lust. Kruger couldn’t take it, it was too much for him.

Levi’s warning went out the window.

“..Let me fuck her too.”

“Hm?”

Eren’s wicked smile never left as he then stopped massaging her breasts and lifted (Name) off his throbbing and erect cock. Causing (Name) to whimper at the loss of Eren’s cock inside her. Eren’s cock was already leaking pre-cum, Eren licked his lips.

“You want in on this? I’ll let you in on it. If you drop the hero act. You can have a turn inside her pussy. It’s amazing.”

Eren offered Kruger who was still holding to saving her and getting her home. Until he sees (Name) massaging her breasts with a naughty smile on her face.

“Save me Kruger. Save me with that big cock of yours.”

Eren and Kruger both moaned at (Name)’s words, breaking Kruger’s will.

“Fine, fine. Just untie me.”

Eren chuckled as he finally got what he wanted.

Both men had their way with (Name) all that night, switching places and trying new positions. Kruger would give (Name) a nice tit fuck while Eren had his way with (Name)’s wet cunt losing count of how many times he came inside her. Eren’s heat was getting the better of him by the second.

Once Kruger finished his tit fuck and practically spraying (Name)’s face with his cum, Eren huffed a “I get her from behind, you get her pussy.”

“Aren’t you two tired?”

(Name) was still surprised the two were still wanting more, the two men only said “No” in response to (Name)’s question as (Name) was now sandwiched between the two Eren’s. Eren was now entering from behind and Kruger was laying down entering (Name)’s cum filled cunt.

The two men were giving (Name) the best sex filled night of her life as both worked well in there fucking. Neither got greedy, both were enjoying (Name)’s body to the fullest.

Eren was causing marks on (Name)’s hips from his nails, not that (Name) cared at the moment.

They were both rough, very rough. But it was a good rough. All three were dirty talkers.

“How does it feel? How does it feel to have two cocks in you at once?”

Eren.

“Good-it feels good! I want both of your cocks! All the time! More! Fuck me more!”

(Name).

“All the time? Aren’t you being a greedy little slut? Hm?”

Kruger.

“I’m your slut! I’ll be both your little sluts-“

(Name) couldn’t speak anymore as both men let their cocks do the talking and their hands do some spanking. Eren spanked (Name)’s ass and Kruger would spank (Name)’s breasts.

(Name)’s eyes were starting to roll back and a little drool was running down her chin from the pleasure.

Both men were at the end finally.

“Blow your load in her Kruger-Knock her up.”

Eren breeding kink was starting really come out, Kruger knew Eren had already filled (Name)’s cunt with his cum already.

“I planned on it. Let’s see who gets her pregnant.”

“Let’s. Will she give us wolf pups or just regular babies.”

Kruger whispered a “We’ll fucking see who’s regular” at Eren saying regular babies.

Both men seemed to be in competition at the very last moment as both Eren’s became irratic with their thrusting until all three had their orgasm both filled (Name)’s holes with their potent cum to the point some spilled.

All three were a panting and sweaty mess, their bodies laying on top of each other. Enjoying their adrenaline.

That’s when all three heard a voice from the closet.

“Honey? Is that you? Where am I? I took a nap-hello?”

“Grandma?!”

(Name) yelled surprise that her grandmother was in the closet the whole time, both Kruger and (Name) looked at Eren as to say “what did you do?”

“I just put her in the closet. I forgot about her. I’m sorry. Glad she can’t hear and took a nap.”

Both Kruger and (Name) sighed.

A wild night this truly was.

✨Rukia-Writes✨

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 58

Title: Scared.

Warnings: angst, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @ocfairygodmother, @ocappreciation​

Link on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860450/chapters/80937475

She finds him in the kitchen. Standing in front of the coffee bar in a pair of Under Armour sweats that sit impossibly low on his hips and his hair and the back of his shirt visibly dampened by sweat. She’d been stirred awake by the profound need to vomit; morning sickness hitting her hard and quick and finding her throwing off the comforter and rushing for the washroom. For forty minutes she’d stayed there; on her knees in front of the toilet with her cheek resting on the cold porcelain of the lid. It had taken longer than normal for the nausea to pass; accompanied by profuse sweating and the horrific dizziness. And she’d just begun to return to normal and had been in the process of splashing cold water on her face and brushing her teeth when she’d heard the front door click open. When he hadn’t come upstairs, she’d gone in search of him, shoving her feet into a pair of slippers and one of his hoodies.

“What are you doing up so early?” Tyler inquires, when she wraps her arms around him from behind. “ Not like you to be up before the kids.”

“Woke up to an empty bed. Thought I’d come down and check on you.” Her hands slid around to his stomach and slip up to his chest; lingering briefly on broad, hard muscle before retreating to his hips once more. She rests her forehead against his back; enjoying his familiar scent -mixed with the slight tinge of perspiration- that clings to the slightly dampened cotton of his t-shirt. “You worked out? Already?”

“And went for a run.”

“Must have been pretty damn early when you got up.”

“Still dark out. Tried to fall back asleep and when that wasn’t happening, decided to get up and start the day. I didn’t want to wake you up; all the tossing and turning I was doing.”

“Are you feeling alright?” Her hands move to his shoulders, gently kneading the muscles as she presses a kiss to the middle of his back. “ You’ve been getting up crazy early every day for a week now. Don’t you think maybe you’re going a little too hard? With the heavy lifting and the running and…”

“My body feels fine. Couple extra aches and pains and some stiffness, but nothing major. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ve felt worse, that’s for sure.”

“I just don’t want you pushing it, okay? Don’t go past what your body will let you do. I know sometimes you get really into it and you’re in a zone and it’s really hard to stop, but…”

“Didn’t we talk about this?” He turns to face her; leaning back against the countertop as the coffee brews and the kettle boils. “A week and a bit ago? About me not pushing the limits? I said I’d listen to my body. And I am.”

“I just worry. I know what you can be like; when you really start going hardcore with things. I mean, I get that you feel like you need to be bigger…”

“I WANT to be bigger. I don’t feel I need to be. We talked about this.”

“I know, and I’m just reminding you that your skills and your ability to keep us safe? They are not tied to how big you are. I just want you to realize that, okay? Before you totally start busting your ass because you think one has everything to do with the other. It doesn’t. At all. And I don’t want you forcing yourself to get bigger and hurting yourself and…”

“Esme…” He smooths her hair away from her cheeks; looping wayward strands behind her ears and then cradling her face in her palms. “...I’m fine. I’m just trying to maintain. That’s it. You know how hard that’s been; trying to keep weight and muscle on. Ever since...well, you know.”

“I do know. It’s been a challenge; getting back to where you were and staying that way. And I am totally onboard with that; you maintaining how you are right now. Because it’s the healthiest you’ve been. In years. I just don’t want you feeling that you need to be different. Bigger. I don’t want you thinking I want you to be that way.”

“I don’t think that. I’ve never thought that. I know you don’t give a shit; big, small, muscles, no muscles. I know none of that matters to you.”

“It’s not that it doesn’t matter. It does, in a way. Because I want you to be the healthiest you can be. But I love you ALL ways. Your size means nothing to me.”

A grin plays on his lips. “We’re talking over all size and not below the waist, yeah? Because I seem to recall you saying...many times...how much you enjoy the fact I have a huge…”

“You just HAD to go there. You just had to turn around and make this weird. You damn well know what I was talking about.”

“I make it weird when I start to get uncomfortable. You should know that by now. It’s only been twelve years and…” he consults his watch. “...one month…”

“And thirteen days,” she finishes. “What? I keep track too, you know. You’re not the only sappy one in this house. And why DO you get uncomfortable? Shouldn’t YOU know by now that you don’t have a reason to get like that? That I’m the last person you should be that way with.”

“I do know all that.” Pushing his hands through her hair, he allows the dark, silky stresses to slip between his fingers; palms skimming over her shoulders and down her upper arms before sliding around to the small of her back. “ Just sometimes I can’t help it. Guess it’s just years of being that way with other people. Sometimes the past comes back. No matter how far I feel I’ve gotten away from it. What’s the saying? Old habits die hard?”

“I was thinking more ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” she teases, then gives a yelp when he brings his palms down on her ass cheeks in a ringing slap. “You know, that shorter hair? How blond it looks? Totally hides all your gray. My old man doesn’t look so old anymore.”

“Fuck you, Esme.”

“I wish you would actually. The one morning I wake up really wanting it? You’re nowhere around. Sadly, I had to take matters into my own hands.”

“You didn’t.”

“I so did. I’m sorry, husband. I didn’t have a choice. You have no idea just how badly I wanted it. And when I woke up and you weren’t there…”

“You’re kidding me right now. You’re not being serious.”

“One hundred percent serious.” She gives a dramatic pout. “Sorry.”

“Why didn’t you wait until I got home?”

“I didn’t know how long you were going to be! Some things can’t wait. A pregnant woman’s hormones? They can’t wait. Sorry.”

“You’re bullshitting me right now.”

“There’s two things I for sure never lie about. Sex and orgasms. And seeing as you couldn’t give me the sex…”

“I could have given it to you when I got home. But you couldn’t wait, so…”

“I think you’re underestimating just how bad my hormones are right now. I know it’s been a while, but do you remember how bad things got? During my first trimester with Brookie and Takota?”

“Just with them? You were brutal with all of them. And with them and Millie, I couldn’t really do much about it because Dhaka kicked the ever loving shit out of me. Twice.”

“You held your own. You found ways. But let’s put it this way; combine all my pregnancies together and that’s pretty much how out of control my hormones are.”

A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. “Really? ‘Cause when you’re not pregnant, you’re pretty out there with how much you need and want. I’m older now. I don’t know if I can keep up with pregnant lady hormones.”

“Why do you think I have a whole drawer of sex toys? Take some of the strain and pressure off you.”

His eyes narrow. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

She remains stone faced for several seconds, then bursts into giggles when he scowls and attempts to step away. “I’m kidding! I’m totally kidding, babe. Totally. No!” She wraps both arms around his torso when he tries to side step her. “You’re not going anywhere! I was joking! I didn’t mean to insult you. Or your penis.”

“You hurt it’s feelings.”

“Want me to apologize to it?”

“Do you want to apologize to it?”

“Would it offend your penis even further if I said ‘not right because I’d probably puke all over it’?”

“He acknowledges that as a perfectly acceptable reason. But he also says once you’re feeling better…”

“Once it passes, I promise I’ll be very nice to him. But right now? Right now I need the penis owner to hug me.”

“I don’t know…” he chides, and wraps both arms around her much smaller, slighter frame. “...I guess I could do that.”

“You DO love me.” She perches herself on the top of his feet and curls her arms around his neck. “Although the way I’m feeling? It doesn’t feel like love.”

A palm moves to the back of her head, cradling it to his chest. “I take it you really didn’t wake up horny?”

“No. I didn’t. I woke up to puke. A lot.”

“I’m sorry, Me. That you’re feeling like shit. And for being the reason you ARE feeling that way.”

“You should be sorry. You and your penis and your talented sperm. And your stupid handsome face and your stupid blue eyes and your stupid voice. All the stupid things I can’t say no to.”

“Can’t? Or don’t want to?”

“Both,” she admits, and then giggles against him when his hand slips from the small of her back and travels down to gently squeeze an ass cheek. “I’ve never been able to say ‘no’ to you. It’s a blessing AND a curse, I swear.”

“Well, for what it’s worth…” he drops a kiss on the top of her head, then crooks a finger under her chin and tilts her face up towards him. “...I’m sorry you’re feeling like shit. And that it’s my fault you are.”

“Technically, it’s both our faults. I can’t hold you solely responsible. And I guess it’s a small price to pay; for bringing beautiful little humans into the world. If you ask me, we’re doing society a favour by sharing our genes. We make really cute kids.”

“I can’t argue with that. But is it really a surprise? We’re not exactly hideous.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re the looker in the family.”

He frowns. “I don’t know what the hell you’re seeing when you’re looking in the mirror, because when I look at you? Hideous does not come to me. You are definitely the hot one.”

“I think you underestimate just how good looking you actually are.”

“I think you overestimate how ugly you are. Wait….that did NOT sound right.”

“No, it didn’t,” Esme laughs. “But I know what you were trying to say. I think.”

“Let’s just agree that we make awesome looking kids and that it’s scientifically impossible for us to have ugly ones.”

“I can definitely agree to that.”

“And I am sorry.” Once more cradling her face in his hands, he presses a soft, brief to her lips, followed by one to her forehead. “That you’re feeling like crap. Any better now?”

“A little. I don’t feel like I should be taking up permanent residence in front of the toilet. And I meant what I said; about not caring about what you look like. And how your size has no correlation with the skills you have and the things you can do. You do know that, right?”

“I’m trying. To force myself to realize that.”

“Just be careful,” Esme pleads, as she runs her fingernails along his forearms as his hands linger against her cheeks. “Don’t over do. I don’t want you hurting yourself. I’m not nagging. I’m just worried.”

“Nothing to be worried about,” he assures her, and kisses her a final time. Much deeper and longer; fingers locking together at the base of her neck as she stands on her tiptoes and leans her body into his. “I’m fine,” he promises, and pecks the end of her nose. “If I feel like I’m pushing things, I’ll stop. I’ll even give you permission to give me a kick in the ass if you think I’m going too hard. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she agrees, and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin before retreating to the island and sliding onto one of the barstools.

“I’ll make you some of that tea. Maybe that’ll help. Think you can handle eating something?”

“Maybe. What are you going to make me in my delicate condition?” Reaching for the Ipad that sits on the countertop, she slides it towards her; pressing the home button to bring the screen to life and immediately checking her email.

“I’m not a rookie. I know what you can and can’t handle.”

“We’re not talking about sex, Tyler. We’re talking about feeding a horrifically nauseous pregnant woman.”

Grinning, he places a steaming mug of tea down in front of her and then drops a kiss on the top of her head. “And you say my mind is always in the gutter.”

“We don’t have seven kids and one on the way for no reason. Save to say your mind isn’t the only dirty thing you possess. Anything interesting happen while you were on your run? Anything exciting?”

“If you’re asking if I saw Mark, no, I didn’t. And it’s probably a good thing because I definitely would have killed him.”

“Not that he doesn’t deserve it, but I’m glad you didn’t see him either. Last thing I need is you in jail for the rest of your natural born life. I don’t quite feel comfortable bringing my children into that kind of environment.”

“You could always come visit me alone,” he chides, and drops a mixture of crackers onto a plate. “You know, for conjugal visits.”

“How romantic. Getting railed with a guard right outside the door. What’s more of a violation of privacy? What ruins the mood more? That or knowing one of your seven children could come running in any second?”

“For the record…” he opens the fridge and pulls out a block of marble cheese and a bag of grapes. “...my mood is never ruined.”

“That’s because when you’re in the sex zone, everything else ceases to exist. You practically forget you even have kids.”

“My dick forgets I have kids. He’s running the show. I don’t get a say in it. My brain shuts down. I just go along for the ride. And boy, can give you an awesome ride.”

Rolling her eyes, she pushes the ipad away and reaches for her mug; clasping it in both hands and blowing a stream of steady air onto it hopes of cooling it down. She watches him as she sips cautiously at her drink; noticing the way the muscles in his arms twist and bugle with even the simplest of movements. The veins more pronounced and the sleeves of his tee -once fitting with room to spare- now tight around his biceps and through the chest and shoulders. Within the past two weeks alone he’s stepped up the frequency and intensity of his workouts; no rest days and the weights much heavier and two hours in the gym now partnered with an hour run along the river. And while she admires not only the view and his consistency and commitment, it also worries her; the fallacy that his skills and his ability to protect his family are directly tied into his size. Mark’s appearance has only fed into things; turning Tyler’s need to be bigger and stronger into near obsession.

“You know…” she carefully broaches the topic once again. “....you’re built exactly like you were when we first met. And that was a good look. A VERY good look.”

“I put on that five pounds, And more. Nine in total. Doesn’t sound like much, but…” he slides the plate of food in front of her. A mixture of various crackers and cheeses and a handful of grapes; the lone breakfast she could tolerate and stomach during the beginnings of all her pregnancies. Until medication became the only thing that helped with keeping any water and liquid down. “...it’ll take a lot to maintain it.”

“Just have to keep eating like you have been,” she says, and selects a piece of cheese from the plate, nibbling at it as he moves to the coffee bar and begins preparing a mug. “You’re up to what? Five meals a day? High calorie, high protein?”

“Probably go up to seven soon. Maybe add in a few smoothies throughout the day.”

“That’s a lot, don’t you think? That’s what you were during back in Colorado; after we got back together. And you went into that whole lumberjack stage.”

“For the record, you called it that. Not me. And you didn’t complain about it at the time. You said you liked that look; me being thicker.”

“I did. I DID like it. It was a change. But things are different now.. YOU’RE different. You’ve been through a lot since then. Your BODY’S been through a lot. Not to mention you’re older. That was a long time ago. Millie wasn’t even in school full time yet.”

“So because I’m older it means I have to just let myself go? Get fat and out of shape? A dad bod? You should know that’s not me; I’m not the type to just around on my ass and not do anything. I’ve always kept in shape. Even when I was a fucking mess and living in that shack.”

“I know it’s important to you; keeping in shape and being healthy. And I’d never stop you from doing it and I’m not suggesting you shouldn’t stay with it. . I just…” she drums her fingernails against the countertop. “...it sounds like you’re going into a bulk.”

“Maybe a little bit of one,” he says with a shrug, and slides into the stool across from her; coffee mug raised to his lips as he regards her. “Why? Is that a problem?”

“No. It’s not a problem. It’s just…” Sighing, she takes a bite out of one of the crackers. “...I am trying so hard here. To navigate this as carefully as possible. Because I don’t want you thinking I’m nagging or attacking or…”

“Just say what you want to say. What are you worried about? I’m not going to lose my shit. We can have a conversation without that happening, can’t we??

“Usually. Eight times out of ten.”

“Just say what you want to say, Me. I won’t get pissed. Just say it.”

“I’m worried about you. I’m worried that Mark showing up is somehow putting it into your head that you need to be different. That you need to be bigger and stronger and…”

“I do need to be stronger.”

“You’re already strong. More muscles does not equal strength. You know that better than anyone. You’re the gym lover, right? You know more about this stuff than I do. Muscle mass does not equal physical power. Look how strong you were in Dhaka. The first time around. You were built EXACTLY like you are now. Look at the things you were able to do. Especially in that apartment. You were there all by yourself and you had to take down all those guys on your own.”

“I was armed.”

“Until you weren’t. Then you had to rely on your physicality, right? You didn’t have a choice. You had to trust in your skills and the strength you had. And it worked out really well, don’t you think? You got rid of all of them and got Ovi out of there.”

“That was all skill, Esme. Not strength.”

“It was a mix of BOTH. You were strong, Tyler. You were insanely strong. I saw what you were capable of. And you were built exactly the same way you are now. So if you didn’t need to be bigger and bulkier then…”

“I was also younger than. Almost thirteen years younger.”

“And at the risk of pissing you off, you were also an alcoholic and addicted to Oxy-Contin. Wouldn’t those have hampered you? Made you even a little bit weaker? You’re clean and sober now. That’s all out of your system. So if you’re just as big now as you were then and you don’t have addiction issues now….”

“I’m almost fifty fucking years old. You really think I’d stand a chance in that apartment now?”

“Yeah. I do. I do think you’d stand a chance. Probably even a better chance now. Because your mind isn’t all fucked up on booze and pain meds.”

“No it’s just fucked up in other ways.”

“That has nothing to do with this. You had PTSD then, you just didn’t realize it. Or maybe you did and you were just ignoring it and self medicating yourself. Numbing everything. Tyler, you already had the problems you do now. They were already there, babe. It just took a lot of extra fucking trauma to bring them out. Do you really think you didn’t have PTSD already?”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

“You’ve always had it. You’ve had it since you were a kid. Just no one ever gave a shit to get you help for it. And then Austin got sick and…”

“We’re not talking about that. We’re not talking about him.”

“I’m just saying other things happened. And they kept piling up and piling up and it took that fucking prick Nathan to really bring everything out. Those things were always there. It just took something to bring them to the surface.”

“Yeah, it only took getting shot in the back and getting fucking tortured. Hell of a price to pay, don’t you think? To make everything come out? Some fucking psycho slicing my face open and sticking his fingers in the bullet hole in my back. Threatening to rape my wife and my little girl and kill my entire family.”

She frowns. “What are you talking about? You’ve never mentioned that before. Threatening to…”

“I remember, Esme. I remember what happened in that storage locker. Everything he did, everything he said. Everything he told me he’d do to you and the kids.”

“When did this happen? When did you start remembering all that?”

“Couple months ago.”

“A couple months?! And you’re just telling me now? Why didn’t you say something? Why would you keep that from me?”

“I didn’t want you to know. The details. I figured it was just better to keep it to myself. What good does it do? You knowing that stuff? Why should we both be fucked up because of him?”

“What? You think I wasn’t already fucked up? You think seeing you that way didn’t screw me up? I was the one that was there. In the hospital. I was the one that was there when you got out of surgery and I was the one that got you the help you needed and busted my ass to get you sent back home where you’d be more comfortable and you’d heal quicker. That was all me. You don’t think that didn’t fuck me up?”

“I’m sorry it did. I’m sorry…”

“No,” she holds her hand up in a plea for silence. “ I don’t want you to be sorry because you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t deserve what happened to you. It wasn’t your fault Nathan was a total fucking sociopath. But I WAS there, Tyler. I was going through it with you. Who HAS been going through it with you. And you should have told me. That you were remembering. You owed me that.”

“I don’t owe you shit, Esme.”

“Really? So everything I did and everything I went through and all the times I fought for you meant absolutely nothing? Is that what you’re saying? That that meant fuck all to you?”

“I never said that. That’s NOT what I’m saying.”

“It’s been twelve years and in some ways you’ve changed, and in some ways you’re still the same. One day you’re a totally different person and the next you’re right back to who you were. When we first met. You go right back to being that guy that put all those walls up to keep everyone out. It’s like two steps forward and a whole bunch of steps back. Why? Why do you do this? Why do you go back to being HIM?”

“Because that’s who I am. That’s who I’ve always been. You’ve just been so caught up trying to make me something I wasn’t to make yourself feel better. Had to change me right? So you could live with yourself for making the decisions you did when it came to me.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I didn’t change you. You wanted to change. I didn’t force you. I didn’t demand that you change for me. I didn’t hold a gun to your head and make you become a family man. I didn’t…”

“You were pregnant with my kid. What did you want me to do? Let you walk away? Take my kid with you? Did you really think I’d let you do that?”’

“Holy fuck,” she scoffs, and pushes the mug away with enough force for tea to splash over the rim. “So this is what it took, huh? Almost thirteen years for you to finally tell the fucking truth. I asked you. After Dhaka. I asked you if it was what you wanted. If I was what you wanted. And you were so fucking convincing. I bought it. When you said it was. I actually fell for it. And in the end it WAS all just a bunch of bullshit.”

“No. It wasn’t. It wasn’t bullshit. I wanted you to stay. I wanted a life with you.”

“Because I was pregnant. Because you felt it was the right thing to do. Because you were trapped.”

“I wasn’t trapped. And it wasn’t because you were pregnant. I wanted you to stay BEFORE that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Why did you wait? Until I told you about Millie. Until I said I’d leave and never bother you again? Why didn’t you before that if I was what you wanted?”

“Because I almost fucking died and I was trying to heal and I was fucked up. I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind. And maybe I was scared. Because I was feeling all the things for you. Because I’d just met you and suddenly I’m feeling shit that I’ve never felt for anyone in my entire fucking life. I went from wanting to kill myself to having something...someone...to live for. I’m sorry if I was a little fucking overwhelmed.”

“You? You were overwhelmed? I put my ass on the line on that bridge and stuck my fingers in your fucking neck! I stayed there! I stuck around and did everything I could to keep you alive! You were overwhelmed?”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have. Maybe you should have just got your ass on the helicopter and left. Like everyone else did.”

“Yeah…” she slides off the stool, and angrily shoves it against the island. “...maybe I should have. Considering you just spent the last twelve years building a life based on a FUCKING LIE!”

“That’s not what I did. That’s not true. That’s not…” he captures her by the wrist when she attempts to stomp away, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh. “...where are you going?”

“I need to be away from you. I can’t be here. In this room. With you.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t walk away. If you walk away...”

“Let go of me,” she orders, and struggles in vain to yank her hand out of his grasp. “Let go. Now.”

“I’m not letting you walk away. Not until you listen to me. Not until you…”

“I’m done listening to you. You’ve said enough, don’t you think? What do you want to do? Hurt me some more? I don’t think that’s even possible. Because what you just did….what you just said...what you just admitted to…”

“I never lied to you. Ever. Not about us. Not about you.”

“You just did! You just told me that the only reason you even had me stick around was because I was pregnant. Because you felt obligated to keep me around. Because you felt some sense of duty.”

“I never said that. That is NOT what I said.”

“I asked you!” She manages to yank her hand free, and instead of fleeing the room decides to confront him. Standing between his splayed thighs and jamming her finger into his chest as tears coarse down her face. “I asked you so many times in the past twelve years! I asked you to tell me the truth; I asked you to tell me if you only wanted me to stay because I was having Millie. How many times have I asked you that? Tell me.”

“A lot.”

“Every time you said ‘no’. You said that you asked me because you loved me and you wanted a life with me. You wanted us to be together and have a family.”

“And that’s exactly why! That’s exactly why I asked you to stay.”

“It was a fucking lie, Tyler! You said I wanted to hear. What you knew would keep me there. You never meant a fucking word of it. It was all a lie.”

“No. It wasn’t. None of that was a lie. It’s the truth. I never lied to you, Esme. Not about that. NEVER about that.”

“You just told me! You just said ‘you were pregnant with my kid, what did you want me to do?’. Those words just came out of your mouth!”

“But I didn’t mean them. I just lashed out. All I heard was you say that I haven’t changed and I was still the same and I lost it. I snapped. And unfortunately that’s what came out. But it wasn’t the truth. Everything I said to you back then….about wanting to be with you and wanting a life with you and wanting a family...THAT was the truth.”

“Twelve years. Twelve years and seven kids. And it was all built on a fucking lie.”

“No. It wasn’t. None of it was a lie. You? Us? None of that is a lie. Stop…” He once more grabs her in an attempt to keep her from leaving; fingers curling around her bicep. “...I’m not letting you walk away. Just stop.”

“Leave me alone,” she pleads. “Please. Just leave me alone. Just let me go. You need to let me go, Tyler.”

“I can’t. I can’t do that.”

“You have to. You have to let me go..”

“Esme….”

“Please,” she begs, and tries to peel his fingers away from her arm. “Please just let me go.”

He finally relents; releasing his hold on her and holding his hands up in a show of surrender. Struggling to hold back a flood of tears of his own as he watches her flee the room; heart breaking just a little bit more with every step that takes her further away from him.

******

Tyler gives her a chance to cool down. Nursing his coffee while counting down the minutes on the digital clock on the stove; time passing agonizingly slow as he fights the urge to rush upstairs and pull her into his arms and kiss her until they’re both breathless. Then drop to his knees and grovel for forgiveness. He calls Desi and asks him to come and take the kids for a couple of hours; giving very little details but letting the uncharastically frantic tone of his voice do all the talking for him. And when he finally lets himself into the master, he finds her standing at the side of their unmade bed; an open suitcase and a pile of messy clothes sitting in the midst of the rumbled and tangled sheets.

He closes the door behind him, then cautiously approaches. Resisting the urge to stand behind her and place his hands on her shoulders and instead retreated to the dresser; leaning back against it with his arms crossed over his chest and fear quickly spreading through his entire body. “What are you doing?”

Esme doesn’t look up from the task at hand. “Packing.”

“I thought you were going to leave that stuff until the night before we leave. We’ve still got four more days.”

“You’ve still got four more days. I’m leaving. Today.”

His top teeth dig painfully into his bottom lip; biting back a ‘like fuck you are’ and instead offering, “Where are you going?”

“Home. There’s seats on a flight that leaves in four hours. I’ll call Andy on the way to JFK; see if he can pick me up at the airport.”

“Andy left Australia about three hours ago. He’s flying in for the wedding, remember? Your son’s wedding.”

“Then I’ll take a cab. Or I’ll call Estelle. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about it.”

His palms rub at his forearms, attempting to fend off the chill of dread that travels through him. “It’s kind of hard not to. You’re my wife. You’re pregnant with my kid.”

“Just let me worry about that, okay? It’s kinda my body. Not yours.”

“What the fuck is that supposed mean?”

“It means it’s my body. I’m the one carrying this baby. Not you. I’ll take care of it.”

“Take care of it as in make sure it’s okay or take care of it as in…”

She angrily tosses a pair of jeans into the suitcase. “I would NEVER do that to you. You think that little of me? That I would do something like that?”

“No. Of course not. I just…”

“Where’s the kids?”

“Desi came and got them. Took them out for breakfast.”

“How’d you convince him to do that?”

“I told him that some shit was going down and I needed to take care of it. That I needed to bust my ass and make things right.”

“I’m surprised you were so honest. What happened? Use up all your bullshit over the past twelve years? Had nothing left to give? Must have been tiring; keeping the lie up all this time.”

“Esme, stop. I never lied to you. Not about you. Not about us. Not about our life. I’ve never lied about any of that.”

“Our whole marriage has been a lie! Every year, every month, every week, every day. Even every fucking hour.”

“You can’t tell me you actually believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore. It’s kind of hard to trust anything you hear after you’ve found out your entire life...or a huge part of it...has been nothing but bullshit..”

“None of it was bullshit. I didn’t mean what I said. Downstairs. I didn’t mean….”

She finally turns to face him; hands clutching a t-shirt. “Was any of it true? Any of the last twelve years?”

“It was all true. Every day. All of it. It was all true, Me.”

Giving a derisive snort, she tosses the garment into the suitcase. “Don’t call me that. Things were good when you started calling me that. Things were great, actually. And I loved it; that you had this little nickname for me. Don’t ruin it, okay? At least give me one thing to hold onto.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You got seven beautiful children out of your lie, Tyler. At least something good came out of it.”

“Okay, you know what…” He finally approaches the bed, snatching the sweater out of her hands and dropping it into the suitcase; picking the latter up and angrily tossing it into the corner of the room. He’s desperate. Frantic. Needing to make that last ditch attempt to keep everything together. He won’t survive if things fall apart; at least not mentally. Losing her means he loses his entire world; the person who taught him what love TRULY is. It’s patience and it’s acceptance and it’s sacrifice and it’s sometimes painful as hell. And it tears him up inside; the thought of his world without his entire world in it. “...you’re going to listen to me. Whether you want to or not. Because I need you to hear what I’m saying. Esme…” he lays his hands on her shoulders, squeezing as hard as her body will allow him to. “Look at me. Please look at me.”

She shakes her head; chin remaining dropped to her chest.

“Please,” he begs, as his hands move to her cheeks; palms cradling her face and fingers pressing into the delicate skin as he tilts her head up towards him. “Just look at me. Don’t do this. Please don’t do this. Don’t shut me out.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He’s never heard her voice like that before; tiny and broken and lost. The hurt that he’s dealt her has struck extremely deep; the devastation and the heartbreak profound and reaching right into her very soul. Not even in the worst of times had he seen her like this; when she’d kicked him out and they’d spent six months walking on pins and needles around each other while desperately wanting to fix things and not knowing where - or how- to begin. She’s cried many times in front of him; tears of joy and anger and frustration and fear and horrendous grief. And he’s always been able to comfort her and ease some of the pain; his arms able to give her the solace and the escape that she both craved and needed. But it’s far beyond that; no lingering embrace or stroking of hair or whisperings of love will do the trick this time. It’s him that’s caused this; the shimmer of tears in her eyes and the trembling of her body and the look of pure devastation and loss that registers on her face.

“I don’t know either,” he admits. “And I don’t even know what to say. I just know I need you to listen to me. To whatever I DO say. Can you do that? I need you to do that. Please, Esme. Just listen, okay?”

She offers a feeble nod.

“I love you. I have always loved you.”

“No. Don’t you say that. Don’t make it worse. Don’t screw things up even more by keeping up the lie. If there was ever a time for you to be honest with me…”

“I AM being honest with you. I have never...EVER...lied about this. About you. About us. About our life.���

“I asked you, Tyler. More than once. Even after you brought up getting married. I asked you if it was because you actually did want me, or if you felt obligated to be with me. Because of Millie. I ASKED you.”

“And I told you the truth. I didn’t want to get married because of the baby. If there’d never been a baby...had you not gotten pregnant...I STILL would have wanted to be with you. I wanted to get married because I loved you. In a way I’d never loved anyone. That I didn’t even think was possible.”

“So you’re saying Millie had nothing to do with it? The fact I was having your daughter?"

“I mean, yeah, she did. In a way. I wanted us to be a family. I wanted it to be you and me and our kid. Because I knew we could make something of it. Don’t you think it was some kind of sign? If Dhaka couldn’t kill us, maybe things were meant to work out.”

“So if I hadn’t been pregnant…”

“I would have still wanted to marry you. I didn’t ask you to come to Australia because of Millie. I asked you because I didn’t want to lose you. I’d just found you. I wasn’t going to just let you walk away like nothing ever happened.”

“I gave up everything for you,” she snarls. “My entire life as I knew it. I gave it all up. And for what? For you to lie to me for twelve years? To base our entire life together on bullshit?”

“That’s not what I did. I didn’t lie to you. Our life hasn’t been bullshit. What I said downstairs? I didn’t mean it. THAT was bullshit.”

“Then why did you say it? If you didn’t mean it…”

“Because I lashed out. Like I’ve always done. Because all I heard was how I’m still the same person. I’m still the guy I was when we first met. The enormous alcoholic, drug addicted fuck up.”

“That’s not what I meant. I don’t think you’re that person at all. You haven’t been him in a long time. I didn’t mean…”

“You think what I said hurt you? How do you think that made me feel? I have busted my ass to give you a life. A GOOD life. I changed everything about myself. For you. And yeah, I needed to change; I needed to get my shit together and clean myself up. For once and for all. No more slip ups, no more going back to bad habits, no more running. And that’s what I’ve been doing for the past five years! I have done whatever I could to be the man you needed. That you DESERVE.”

“You are that man. I didn’t mean to say you’re not. That’s not what I meant; that you’re the same guy you were.”

“But that’s what I heard. You weren’t the only to give things up, Esme. You’re not the only one who had to adjust to a whole new life. I know the way I was living was pretty shit, but that’s all I knew. The job, the booze, the pills, hating myself, wallowing in my own fucking self pity. Do you think it was easy for me to just stop being that way? To just give up everything I knew for something else? Something totally different?”

“No. I know it wasn’t easy. I was there. With you. We went through all of it together. We helped each other adjust. I mean, we started living together and we barely knew one another. We were having a baby yet we were still learning about each other and trying to make a life together.”

“And that was pretty fucking scary wasn’t it. Jumping into all that and not even really knowing one another.”

She nods in agreement.

“ Everything said it shouldn’t work. That it WOULDN’T work. We were both pretty messed up. Some ways it was the same, some it was different. All the cards were stacked against us. All of them. And we somehow made it...US...work.”

“We had to put the effort in,” she reasons.

“And it was hard, wasn’t it. Nothing was easy about it. We pissed each other off, we disagreed on a lot of things, we had to get used to living with another person. It was damn hard. Wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She finally reaches out to touch him; running her fingertips along the neckline of his t-shirt; intently focused on a single loose thread in an effort to keep her emotions in check. And he immediately feels the change in the room; the pronounced shift from having to beg and plead to save his life to having to do damage control. The tension in her body releasing; shoulders relaxed and the tears in her eyes not as prominent and the way she finds it easier to look at him.

“Do you really think if I was lying that I would have put that much work into things? That I would have given everything up for you? For US? Do you honestly think I wouldn’t have run? Like I’d run from everything else before?”

“I never thought of it that way,” she admits.

“You came into my life and turned my whole world upside down. Second I saw you on my porch, I knew that was it. That things were going to change and that there wasn’t a goddamn thing I could do to stop it from happening. And you know what? I didn’t want to. Stop it. And that alone? That should have been enough to send me running.”

“Why didn’t it? Why didn’t you run?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“It would have been so easy. All you would have had to do was tell Nik you’d take the job and then not even show up. Although, I guess that would have made no sense; you would have lost out on a pretty big pay day.”

“Honestly, the money wasn’t even the first thing on my mind. It was there, but it wasn’t the most important thing. Which is weird, considering that’s all that job ever really meant to me. The pay out.”

“So why did you show up? If the money wasn’t the most important thing…”

“I wanted to see you again. I guess I wasn’t that annoyed about it after all; Nik bringing someone there.”

She manages a small smile.

“You were different. You didn’t give a shit about where I lived or what it looked like. You didn’t seem to care about the booze all over the place and the pain meds right out in the open. You didn’t seem to notice I was huge fucking mess.”

“You weren’t a mess. You were hurt. You were holding onto a lot of things. A lot of pain. I could see it; in your eyes. I’ve always said that; you say more with your eyes than you do with your mouth. I knew it when you looked at me; when we were talking after Nik went outside. I knew that people didn’t really know you. That they didn’t really ‘see’ you. That they never took the chance or the time to.”

“You did. You took the chance.”

“I guess I realized you were different too. From everyone that I’d met while on the job. You weren’t like the rest of them. You weren’t loud and obnoxious and bragging about your kills the second I met you. I couldn’t handle it; guys proud of all the lives they’ve taken and not shy about sharing the gruesome details. They GLOATED about that stuff. And the worst part? They thought I’d be impressed by it. That I’d somehow find it attractive and throw myself at their feet.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring out my kill sheet right after I met you,” he chides.

“You’ve never been like that. You’ve never taken pride in what you’ve had to do. You’ve never killed because you wanted to. You killed because you had to. I guess I got that impression right away; you were quiet and soft spoken and like I said, your eyes. They gave a lot away. About who you really were.”

“And that didn’t scare you?”

“There was nothing to be scared of. You may have had your demons, but you were pretty good at keeping them contained. I knew they weren’t something I had to be worried about. You weren’t going to hurt me. You didn’t have it in you.”

“And you could tell all that just by my eyes?”

She shrugs. “You have very expressive eyes. Why did you show up, Tyler? In Fitzroy Crossing. If it wasn’t really the money…”

“Like I said, I wanted to see you again. Girls like you just show up on my doorstep. Figured that was a sign; someone like you just walking into my place like you owned it. And when you didn’t pay attention to the disaster it or I was…”

“You weren’t a disaster. If you were, I never would have gone along with Nik’s plan. I would have ran long before you did, believe me. Had it been anyone else? Any other merc? I wouldn’t have taken that job. You were different, Tyler. In a lot of ways. And especially didn’t hurt that you looked like you did.”

“You would have been really disappointed if Gaspar had still been in the game. Nik called him first.”

“I for sure would have ran. That...HIM...that would have been a ‘no’ from me. I guess I’m lucky. That you even came home that day.”

“I actually briefly considered killing myself. About half an hour before. Something told me not to.”

“I’m glad. That it did. Because if it hadn't…” she looks away, tears once again brimming in her eyes. “...we wouldn’t have any of this. This life, Our kids. Us. We wouldn’t even have existed. And I don’t know about you, but I’m glad we do.”

Smiling, he loops strands of hair behind her ear. “So am I.”

She turns her tear filled eyes back towards him. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I never meant to hurt you. When I said what I did, about you going back to who you were, I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I didn’t mean to say you WERE him. I just mean that you always go back to certain things. Like hiding stuff from me. Because you think you should protect me from it.”

“I should have told you. About Nathan. Remembering the things that happened. I don’t know why I do; revert back to keeping things from you. I guess I am trying to protect you. I guess I figured one of us was already fucked up because of what happened, why should the other one be?”

“But it’s not protecting me. When you hide stuff. It does this. It causes problems. Way more problems than what would exist if you just told me. After everything I’ve been through in the past twelve years, there’s pretty much nothing I CAN’T handle. And I was there too. Five years ago. The aftermath of it. I was the one there with you. And believe me, I’m just as fucked up as you are. Seeing you like that? Seeing you in Dhaka seven years BEFORE that? You have no idea what it’s done to me. The things that are STILL in my head. I can’t get them out of there. And I need them gone. I need them out.”

Laying a hand on the back of her head, he pulls her into his embrace. An arm wrapped tightly around her waist and her fingers tangled in her hair as she buries her face in his chest. “I’m sorry, Me. I am so fucking sorry. That you had to see what you did. That you had to do those things.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sobs. “It’s never been your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t have stopped what happened. I chose to stay. I couldn’t leave you there, Tyler. I couldn’t. I wasn’t leaving you on that bridge.

He attempts to gently shush her; palm moving to the middle of her back to rub in slow, soothing circles. “It’s okay. Everything’s alright now. YOU’RE alright.”

She turns her face up towards him, tears spilling down her cheeks as her entire body violently trembles. Voice terrified and frantic. “I’m not alright. At all. I am so far alright. And I need to be. I need to be alright.”

“You will be,” he assures her, and uses gentle fingertips to clear away the droplets glistening on her skin. “I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be okay. Right now, I need you to calm down. I need you to calm down and just breathe.”

“I can’t…”

“Yes you can. And you need to. For that baby. You need to settle down and breathe and…”

“I need help. I need help, Tyler. I need to get rid of this. This Dhaka stuff. In my head. I want it gone. You need to help me. Please help me.”

“I will. You know I will. As soon as we get home, I’ll call Doctor Klein and I’ll get you to see him, okay?”

She nods.

“It’s going to be okay. YOU’RE going to be okay.”

“I can’t breathe. I can’t…”

“You need to calm down. You’re thisclose to a panic attack and you need to settle down. Just breathe.”

“I CAN’T! I can’t breathe. It hurts...my chest…”

Muttering a string of profanities, he forces her to sit on the edge of the bed and then clasps her face in his hands. “Listen to me, you’re having a panic attack. I need to try and breathe, baby. Just breathe. I’m going to get you some meds, okay? You’ll be alright.”

“It really hurts...I can’t...take a breath.”

“I’ll take care of you.” He presses a kiss to her sweat slicked brow. “I’ll be right back. Just close your eyes and try to breathe. Can you do that?”

She nods.

Hurrying into the ensuite bath, he tosses open the medicine cabinet and begins violently rummaging through the contents. Various items tumbling off shelves and landing with a clatter in the sink; his own hands trembling and his chest feeling tight and uncomfortable. The blame and the guilt already screaming in his ears; silently berating himself for being the cause of not only her pain and her anger, but kick starting her ‘fight or flight’ response. Had he never said the things he had...had he never lashed out and even insinuated that he’d kept her around solely because she’d been pregnant with Millie...if he’d only…

He clutches the edge of the sink with enough force to crack his knuckles and turn his fingers white. And he drops his chin to his chest and briefly closes his eyes; forcing himself to push all of his own fears and worries and guilt and regret out of his mind. Needing to hold it together for her; be the shoulder to cry and the steadfast support and ‘the rock’ that she needs him to be. And when the sobbing and the gasping for air in the next room becomes even louder and incessant, he locates the bottle of anti-anxiety meds and asthma inhaler -prescribed to her for such events- and rushes back into the bedroom.

“It’s alright now,” he attempts to comfort her, and drops to a knee in front of her and shakes the inhaler before popping the cap off. “Here….take this...take it…”

Her hand covers his as he holds the device to her lips and she inhales shakily when he administers the dose.

“You need to take some meds, okay?” His hands tremble as he fights to open the bottle. “Just a couple. They’ll help. They work quick.”

“Something’s wrong.”

“Yeah, you're having an anxiety attack. You’ll be okay. Just…”

“No!” she interjects, and when she grabs his arm it’s with enough force that her nails cut into his flesh. “Something’s wrong. With the baby.”

The invisible vice tightens around his lungs. “What?”

“Something’s wrong, Tyler.” Her face contorts with pain, her other hand clutching at her stomach. “Something’s really wrong. With the baby.”

“Okay we’ll get you to the hospital and we’ll get you checked out. We’ll get you looked and the baby looked at…”

He doesn’t get the chance to finish the sentence; both of her palms now covering her stomach as she cries out in agony.

[ship-ambrosia]

Chilumi Week Day 3 - Diamond Dust (Snezhnaya)

Summary: Lumine arrives in Snezhnaya earlier than he had planned for.

   It’s snowing.

   Not like snow is any rarity in Snezhnaya, the land of eternal winter. But it’s the first one since he’s been back in his homeland that isn’t a blizzard. Childe liked blizzards more than most - that dangerous way the snow piles on top of you, losing every since of direction while your body grows colder - but it’s been almost nonstop the last few days. The weather drifting now is soft, snowflakes waltzing through the air. In the morning sun they glimmer, like some is shaking dust made of diamonds from the clouds.

   This is the Snezhnaya he wanted Lumine to see.

   Up until now all she has heard is bad things. He had once told her he loved snow because it was the perfect backdrop for bloodshed - he’d seen the look in her eyes. She didn’t like the idea of Snezhnayan snow. But his homeland was beautiful, and he knew as soon as she stepped her foot off the boat, she’d be in love too.

   With Snezhnaya.

   The familiar set of nerves begins to sink in, as it did whenever he thinks about Lumine. He had left Liyue almost immediately after the Lantern Festival; and yet, as long as he’s been back in Snezhnaya, he’d been in Zapolyarny Palace, or the occasional mission for her Majesty. His family didn’t know he was home. They probably thought he was still in Liyue. The next time he saw them, he’d have Lumine with him.

   Their plan had made a lot of sense, actually. The Tsaritsa’s Festival would be soon, which was the only time of year where boats were constantly docking in the city’s port. No one would suspect one more; in fact, the very trustworthy captain Childe had paid to transport his guest in secret was probably bringing people from Liyue here to enjoy the city of snow themselves. Ekaterina was returning on the very boat. No one would expect the Traveler.

   Lumine had thought that catching the Tsaritsa off guard would be the best way to get any information the Archon might know out of her, and he was unfortunately inclined to agree. So not only was he smuggling her into Snezhnaya, but he would be smuggling her into the Palace - right to his Queen. Surely, his actions would be scrutinized, likely punished, but he knew Lumine wouldn’t hurt the Tsaritsa. As much as he hated to admit it - so he didn’t think about it too much - any hostility was likely to come from the Cryo Archon herself.

   He wasn’t expecting the boat for another week. He had preparations to make, plans on how he was going to get her through Snezhnaya without anyone in the Fatui noticing her, one of the Fatui’s most highly ranked enemies. He had just been stretching his legs, taking a walk through the palace, when he’d overheard them, two Fatui agents talking in the halls.

   “Dock schedule for today?”

   “Oh, you should let her Majesty know... we received word that the Tide’s Breath, carrying passengers from Liyue, is arriving ahead of schedule this morning.”

   “Ahead, you say? How early is it?”

   “About a week.”

   Childe stopped dead in his tracks. He replayed the conversation over and over in his head. That was the ship she was on. That was its original arrival plans. Which meant that Lumine was instead arriving today.

   He left the castle before anyone could ask the Eleventh Harbinger where he was going.

~

   Snezhnaya’s port was smaller, less busy than Liyue’s. Where people milled about just to see what they could see in Liyue, only the dock workers were present. Currently, they were letting passengers off a large, beautiful ship, all curves and ornate carvings, marking the vessel of Liyue origins. The Tide’s Breath.

   Childe quickly made his way through the disembarking crowd, too focused on making it up the ramp to care about who he had to push out of the way. He was supposed to be onboard before the passengers were let off. That was his plan. He felt anger welling up inside him. Every minute counted. Every minute he wasted was another one that the Fatui could find their way on the ship, find their way to where Lumine was. Another minute that she could be dead the next.

   Not spotting the captain anywhere on deck, Childe made his way toward the rooms below. Sure enough, he could hear laughter from the room with double doors, two people in conversation. The light giggles that seemed to dance through the air, he knew those. Relief flooded his veins. She was fine.

   Pausing for a moment to compose himself, Childe gave a quick scan of the boat around him before stretching out his hands and pushing the doors to the room open. He stopped just in time to prevent the blade that was pointed at him from burying into his chest. All three of them froze, but Childe had a smile on his face. The doors swung closed behind him.

   “Well, I appreciate the warm welcome, girlie,” he spoke first, eyes glimmering with delight. He loved the way she made his heart race. Every damn time.

   He watched Lumine’s expression change from a tempered ferocity, to surprise, to relief. Her sword magically disappeared once again, and Lumine put her hands on her hips. Her expression changed again to one he was very familiar with - annoyance.

   “Did you really have to barge in here without knocking? I could’ve killed you.”

   “When have I ever let that stop me from doing anything?” He asked her, seriously.

   She shook her head - and then shocked him by moving forward and pulling him into a hug as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He was so much taller than her that the top of her head barely crested his shoulders; which meant that when he looked down, he could clearly see all of her. Part of him wasn’t sure it was real. He felt the adrenaline kick in, his heart started to race - but it was in an entirely different way than usual.

   “I’m so glad to see you again,” Lumine told him as she untangled her arms from around him. The young man from Snezhnaya found himself cold after she broke away.

   He looked toward her, this girl who he had tricked, tried to kill, and then sent an evil god to attack the harbor she was staying in, and thought about what she had just said. “Me too.”

   Clearing his throat, clearly to remind the two of them he was still there, the captain stepped over to them and clasped a hand on Lumine’s shoulder. “She was a delight to have on board, Tartaglia. Sorry about the early arrival. We had to get creative when your Fatui friend nearly came upon Miss Lumine. So the lass used her Anemo Vision to speed us up a bit. I thought it’d be suspicious if we didn’t dock even though we had arrived.”

   Childe cursed under his breath. He had known the risk he posed by putting Ekaterina on the same boat as Lumine. But he’d also hoped the Fatui would pay attention to her arrival, and use it to explain Childe’s interest in the boat. “Lumine, I’m sorry.”

   “Don’t be,” she answered softly. “You still got me here.”

   “We’ve got another problem though,” the captain said, and Childe immediately tensed. Had someone discovered her anyway? Who was he going to have to silence? He was thrown off guard though, when the captain yanked his coat off Childe’s shoulders.

   “Your lady friend here didn’t bring any warm clothes for Snezhnaya!” He exclaimed, draping Childe’s coat over her shoulders. “You oughta go buy her some.”

   “You didn’t buy any coats when you knew you were coming here?” He stared at Lumine in surprise.

   “I didn’t think about it... that it’s not like an expedition in Dragonspine,” she admitted. “Sorry.”

   He chuckled a bit. She was the savior of every city she found herself in, a skilled swordsman, a master investigator... and yet she had forgotten to buy a coat to go to the land of the Cryo Goddess. Childe turned to the captain, dropping a small pouch with the last of the payment he owed him inside. Clasping his own hand on Lumine’s shoulder, he grinned at her. “I’ve never taken a lady shopping before.”

~

   “Your family knows I’m coming right?” She asked as they were perusing the selection of a clothing store in Snezhnaya. Just as Childe had predicted, the moment they had exited the docks and entered the city, he had watched Lumine’s eyes light up. Snezhnaya had surprised her. He was still holding on to that warm feeling that had spread through his chest when he looked at her, that brilliant smile, framed by the diamond dust around her, like the embers of a fire that refused to burn out.

   Now he found it kind of funny, the two of them hiding in the back of a store from the eyes of the Fatui. The lone shopkeep had no idea that two of the strongest fighters in all of Teyvat were shopping for coats in his store right now.

   “Yes, but not until next week,” he pursed his mouth, looking at a navy and black coat. Maybe it was stupid, but he didn’t think Lumine would want to wear dark clothes. “I’m still figuring out what we’re going to do.”

   “Next week? Why don’t you just tell them my boat arrived early? That’s what happened,” she pointed out, and Childe realized he had neglected to tell her parts of his own plan.

   “Girlie I’m uh... not staying with my family, currently,” he stopped looking at the clothes, and turned to her. “I’ve been staying in the Tsaritsa’s palace. My family doesn’t know I’m in Snezhnaya yet.”

   She crossed her arms. “Well what are we going to do for a week? I don’t think I can stay in Zapolyarny Palace.”

   Despite their dilemma, he chuckled at the ridiculous idea. Right, the place he was going to smuggle her into on the last night of the Tsaritsa’s Festival. Probably not good to try and hide her there for not one week, but two.

   “I’ll think of something. See any coats you like?” He asked, handing a bundle to her. “Nothing like a genuine coat from the land of snow itself. Maybe this was your plan all along.”

   She rolled her eyes, and reached for one to begin trying them on, the coat a baby blue color. “I think a coat from Liyue probably would have been cheaper.”

   “Hey, I’m paying so it’s fine,” he turned back to the hangers to look for more in her size.

   “A week!” She mumbled to herself from behind him. “Sometimes when Paimon and I were out exploring, we’d lose track of time and be out there camping for three weeks! And now we don’t know what to do for one!”

   His hands stopped. “Girlie, I think you just solved our problem.”

   Realizing what Childe meant, he heard her rustling stop, too. “I’ve never been to Snezhnaya. There’s probably dozens of ruins and monsters out in the mountains.”

   “There is,” a grin found its way onto his face at the thought of seeing her in action again. He whipped around to face her. “And I, the Eleventh Harbinger, can be your-“

   The words died in his throat. It turns out the rustling hadn’t stopped because she was thinking, but because she had slipped a second coat on. He didn’t even remember pulling a white coat from the store, but she stood before him, white fur from the hood brushing her cheeks. That warmth spread through him again - but this time it was less gradual, less soft, and more like the bright burst of pain from being stabbed. Petals in his chest unfurled with a furious speed. He knew why. He knew it was because she looked absolutely beautiful; and the coat reminded him she was here, she was in Snezhnaya. She was with him, just the two of them.

   “Is something wrong?” She asked.

   “I think we should get that one,” he answered quickly, marching over to the shopkeeper and throwing down his bag of mora on the counter. Lumine followed him, he could practically hear her confusion in her breathing. Childe, for his part, refused to look at her. He knew he had to look ridiculous.

   He was quiet as they excited the shop, too, alert and aware of everyone around them as he led Lumine through the streets toward an inn. He knew he could keep her hidden there, amongst the crowds of ordinary people, for at least a night or two.

   “Childe,” she slipped her hand into his and tugged, stopping him.

   “What are you doing? We can’t stop in the middle of the street?” He knew he was blushing this time. Damn it, he was supposed to be the bloodthirsty, warrior of the Harbingers. He wasn’t supposed to just blush.

   But when he looked at Lumine, her eyes were sparkling, a smile across her face. And the damn snow. The snow made her look even more beautiful. And he thought that no sane person could resist something like that.

   “Back in the store... were you going to say you wanted to come with me?”

   “A week with you out in the Snezhnayan wilderness, fighting monsters and finding treasure?” He couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice, either. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t get lost out there, and Paimon’s not here.”

   She seemed to consider his words for a moment, before moving so that she was walking beside him, rather than behind. She didn’t untangle from him this time - she kept her hand firmly grasping his. “We have a deal.”

   He continued with her to the inn, as the snow continued to drift around him, and Childe was pretty sure he’d be able to get a week off from the Fatui to explore with her.

[slothgiirl]

the trash pile: alex turner x reader

The cybernetic augmentation juts out from her temple, leading down to her chin, the metal a dull grey. Nothing says belter more than slap job augmentations, Alex thinks as she smiles at him, reaching out with her hand to him.

He takes it.

She's pretty from what he can see from the dim yellow lights in the club. The augmentation somehow complementing her already well formed cheekbones. A mess of bleached blonde hair falling down her shoulders.

And she's already offered, dragging him out onto the floor shamelessly. He'd rather dance with a beautiful woman than stand around drinking and having to listen to all his friends talk about people, things, he's unfamiliar with.

They've moved on.

The floor flashes bright blue to the beat of the music. Too loud to carry a conversation. Too loud to think. Alex can finally stop overthinking, what he's done since he landed on Tranquility base six hours ago.

Her touch is solid and confident, hands on his shoulders as she laughs, one hundred percent in the moment. He doesn't think he's ever been like that. Her ease is as natural as Alexa's charm.

His gaze flickers back to the table they'd been sharing, but they've dispersed into the club. He can't see a trace of any of his friends. Matt had long since left, having a ceremony to wake up for. "Tomorrow," he'd grinned, promising a night of debauchery.

"Hey," Taylor calls into his ear, bringing his attention back to her, blue eyes like the sky back on earth. None of the gaudy recreations of sky broadcasted through the colonies. Mars was said to not even bother, letting it's people grow up with an orange sky.

She smiles, tilting her head, before leaning in.

And wow, Alex really has been alone for too long, as her lips on his send his heart beat into a frenzy. Blood rushing in his ears like a teenage boy all over again. It isn't real, but he thinks in that second he loves her.

Alex always has been a romantic.

They leave the club together. The corridors are still red for the night. The one thing he hadn't missed. Even Ceres had better artificial lighting mods.

"I've got to go to work," Taylor tells him bluntly, "but you should give me your number. I think we could have a lot of fun together." She looks at him with hopeful eyes, biting her lower lip. He wants to kiss her again.

But, he'll be gone the day after tomorrow. The entire base holds too many ghosts for him to feel entirely comfortable. It makes him keep looking over his shoulder, expecting Josh or Julian. Two people he's long since lost touch with.

"I'm actually not staying that long," he admits as she leads them through the corridors. Alex can still recognize the alcoves he and Matt would take smoke breaks in. Which turn would lead them back to the lifts. Another life.

"That's a shame."

He chuckles. Before his mind catches up with his tongue, "wait, did you say you're going to work now?"

"Yeah. Its so fucking boring," Taylor says, stopping besides the lifts. "Coms graveyard shift." She rolls her eyes.

"I don't blame ya," he admits. Alexa had worked the coms. She'd always complained about having to go thirty seven floors below, bundled up in jackets. Since it was less populated, the government enacted more energy saving features.

"Maybe we'll see each other again in the drift," she grins suggestively, right as she steps into the lift.

Alex watches the doors closed, before he turns around, deciding to go find an open store. He could go for some more coffee while he's here. Maybe even stock up on it. It shouldn't be hard. The Base wasn't a residential area. Tourists were coming and going as well as SFN members.

There was the launchpad.

He lets himself wander. Too buzzed to be as tired despite the early call time he has in the morning. It would be just his luck to miss Matt's big promotion because he'd overslept after having traveled a month to be here.

It's not hard to find an open bodega. The open sign flashing green in the dim of the night.

Maybe he should've gotten the night vision implants after all. Miles never shut up about it. How easy it was to make his way about different colonies even during night cycles. And you could only tell if you were looking for the little silver ring around the iris.

Alex slips inside, making a bee line for the food. It's been hours since he last ate. At this point a cup of noodles and instant coffee sound like a dream. He gets the little powdered donuts as well. Then goes for the liquid milk creamer.

Who knows when he'll next have that option. No one had yet to figure out how to increase cows milk production in space. And powdered never tasted the same.

He looks at the fruit. Incredibly overpriced since it's a bodega. But apples and oranges. . .Alex could still remember the taste of fresh squeezed orange juice his mother would make. She'd cut them all open, let him squeeze the juice out before sucking on the pulp.

Alex grabs the smallest oranges.

There's no reason not to splurge. He has the money for it. And work is never hard to come by with his skill set. There's a large market for the skills SFN ensigns have, but most of those ensigns just stay with the navy.

He turns to go pay for his small haul, but the sight of a woman staring out of a faux porthole stops him in his tracks.

Her profile could not hide how beautiful she was, her gaze caught by the live feed of the earth on the other side of the moon. Romantic dark eyes gazing into the side of the bodega, her questionable egg salad sandwich forgotten in her hand. The bump in her prominent nose only served to make her profile more striking.

"That's not actually the earth," Alex starts gently, catching her attention. "Ya know." She turns to him, trying to hide the fact that she'd jumped, startled by his presence. And doing a damn good job at brushing off the surprise.

He was right. She's beautiful. Well formed full lips. Her dark hair tucked a braid, looking better in trousers and patched up hoodie than most people could dressed to the nines. Her shoes stick out from the casual ensemble, patent red leather with a split toe. There's the hint of dark circles under her eyes, probably from a missed nights sleep.

And a scattering of light scars like stars by her left cheekbone.

"I know," she responds, "I just never thought I'd ever be this close to the earth."

"You could take a trip to the other side and see the real thing," he muses, unable to hide the longing in his voice. Alex knew in his bones he'd never step foot on earth again. Never walk the streets in Sheffield or London again. But he couldn't help but wish for a miracle.

She shakes her head, the warmth in her eyes receding as she closes herself off. "Can't. Have to meet with a friend and then go back."

"Must be a good friend if you've come all this way."

She shrugs noncommittally, "He's more of an acquaintance of a friend. I've never actually met the man. But things being as they are," she explains, "it's best done in person."

Alex is now intrigued, a red flag raised in the back of his mind that still flies away information happening in the corner of his eye just in case. It makes him a damn good private investigator. "Mysterious."

"Forgive me for not spilling all my secrets to a stranger," she notes, arching a brow.

He can't help but chuckle. "Ya got me there love. Let's try something else."

"Like what," she asks, the corners of his lips turning up.

"How are you finding our moon?" The moon might not think it was the earth's, and the government sure wasn't, but the moon still spun around the earth the way it had for millions of years.

"Disappointing," she admits, frowning, "Ceres is livelier. And would it kill them to use brighter lighting?"

"Austerity measures," Alex shrugs. It had been the answer for as long as he'd been alive.

"From what," she asks, tilting her head, a smirk forming on her lips, "there's no war or reason for shortages."

"Just repeating the party line," he admits.

"Well," she raises her sandwich like a sad little white flag, "I've got to get going. It was nice meeting you."

"Can I get your number?"

Surprising him, she shakes her head, "No. I doubt we'll ever meet again. I don't plan to stay on the moon for long."

"Lucky for you," he counters, following her to the sales woman, built like a rugby player, "I'm not from the moon. So there's hope yet for our paths to cross."

She snorts, digging around her pockets for money, slowly building up a pile of change to pay with. "Let me guess," she says knowingly, as her eyes look him over, taking in his hair now curling past his ears, the navy blue sweater and white shirt combo that had felt smart earlier but had wrinkled in the course of the night. "you're from earth."

Alex answers bashfully, "born there." He always felt like apologizing for having been born on Earth. For having spent his childhood breathing in air without a care. For not knowing how precious an atmosphere was.

"Well I don't plan to go to earth," she trails off, waving her receipt away.

"Neither do I." He hands the lady a bill too large for what he's bought and follows her out the door, not bothering for his change. "But I take it there's no way I can convince you to give me a number?"

"None."

"How about a name," he offers. Alex had not seen one person that he'd bothered to chase in years. And here she was, indulging him as though he was a stray puppy she had fed once and now followed her around in hopes of more scraps.

"Yours first," she snipes back, not missing a beat.

"Alex." He doesn't ever bring up his last name. Too much weight. A famous family. And an infamous past. Being just Alex was a luxury.

"Tisiphone."

A name fitting for someone born in the jovian system. Maybe even Dione. But Dione, while a newer colony, wasn't bloody awful for someone to want to leave. It had to be-"Titian," he guesses. The wild west of space. SFN cadets hated getting assigned there. Johanna had said the worst part was the perpetual twilight.

Too many crevices to hide in.

"Yes," she responds, "and hopefully never again."

"If we ever meet again," the romantic in him already imagining them crossing paths in a Callisto settlement, planting trees for the rest of their lives and learning to work wood, "can I take you out for a cuppa?"

Tisiphone laughs, smiling tight lipped, "If it happens then I'll say yes earth boy."

** ** ch 2

The ceremony drags on.

They all sit, gathered around the Kennedy Hab, the first large permanent building on the dark side of the moon. The benches are as uncomfortable as ever, as Alex gazes down at a sea of navy uniforms all with various ranks on their right shoulders. He's seated right next to Alexa. The boys down there somewhere with Matt.

It's an SFN event so Alex's paranoia is right for once. The second glances the captains and commanders threw his way were knowing. They recognized him.

It sets his teeth on edge.

Alexa pats his knee, comfortable around him despite their shared history. Johanna besides him with her fiancé. They both keep glancing at each other, infinite in their whispering. He wants that.

"I'll throw hands at anyone who says anything," Alexa reassured him. Looking especially nice in a long red dress. She's not single. But it clearly isn't serious enough if she didn't bring him along to celebrate her friends.

"That would make it worse," Alex responds, keeping his gaze forward, careful to keep his face neutral. It usually wasn't a problem. That being his default expression. But this was bringing up events from his past he's long since buried.

"Derek was supposed to be here," Alexa says to try to distract him, "you would've liked him. Life of the party. Miles and him had a one night stand and now we're all friends."

"Well that's not saying much considering Miles will sleep with anything."

She laughs, "True. But even Nick gets jazzed to hang out with him and you know how hard it is to get close to Nick."

"He's just careful about who his friends are," Alex acknowledges. Unlike Nick, Alex was just terribly bad at opening up.

Nick was just picky. "That says something good about little old me." Alexa twirls her hands over her head. Sticking her nose in the air. "Not such a mess after all."

"You've never been a mess," he tells her, watching as they begin to call up all the newly minted commanders. Matt shouldn't take long. H being closer to the front of the alphabet.

"Yeah but I've never been particularly good at anything but charming my way into things," she shrugs shamelessly. Alexa wasn't the type to lose sleep over her insecurities.

The Admiral present at the ceremony, Marcus Kapoor, speaks clearly over the microphone, "Commander Matthew Helders."

Alexa and Johanna both stand up, yelling, "congrats!" Alex claps as loud as he can for a beat longer than the rest of the room as Matt shakes hands with the Admiral.

Alex remembers his own ceremony seven years ago now. It had been a smaller affair. His entire career accelerated by his talent.

He swallows back the bitter lump that forms in his throat. There's no reason to cry over spilled milk, his father had often told him back on earth.

Try telling that to anyone who doesn't live on earth: most milk is powdered in space.

He finally lets his eyes search through the crowd, trying to spy the man who'd once been his great mentor and friend. But if Julian is present, Alex doesn't see him among the uniforms. He's sure that he'd know Julian anywhere. His hair perpetually sticking out wildly like he'd just woken from a nap, streaks of color running through.

It was a welcome sight from the mandated navy and neutral colors the SFN preferred. Everything was done to keep the SFN neutral, trying to avoid any conflicts between the colonies. And especially between Mars and Earth.

Unable to wait, Alex asks Alexa, "did Julian come?" Julian and Matt had never been as close as Alex had been to the older man, one of the rare people to turn down a promotion. But Alex thinks Julian still would've come and cheered Matt on.

Drinking at bars until morning talking about life and chatting about their mutual obsession with vintage terran music cemented friendship like nothing else.

She frowns, lines forming between her brows. "Captain Casablancas?"

"Yeah," Alex nods, a nervousness creeping into the lining of his stomach. Julian had also been the only person present during the incident that had chosen not to testify. If he had, Alex had agonized long hours over that large IF, he'd probably have been given a far harsher sentence.

And it looked like the man had finally accepted the rank of Captain.

Alexa places her hand on his arm, doe eyes settling on his, before gently attempting to break the news, which given what she was saying, was impossible to break gently. "You haven't heard?"

"No."

"Julian's dead Alex," Alexa explains, her hand anchoring him to reality, even as his world lurches, "some accident with a faulty seal."

Fuck.

What the bloody hell!

Alex clenches his jaw. Julian deserved more than dying in a preventable accident. He was, and remained the only person to have jumped tracks at the SFN, going from maintenance to exploration.

"I'm sorry," she tries, patting his arm with her hand. "I know you two were close. This is sort of the worst way to hear the news isn't it?"

"How long ago," Alex asks in lieu of responding to her. Julian. Alex could hardly call him a friend anymore.

By the time he'd worked up the courage to message the man, Julian hadn't bothered responding at all. A cold message that Alex could understand.

He hadn't tried to contact him again.

"Three weeks."

Alex nods, fixing his gaze on the stage. The names being spoken, called up on stage, meaningless now that Matt had gone.

He'd been traveling to the Base.

No one had bothered to tell him.

They make their way down to Matt, navigating the crowd who are also here to celebrate their relatives and friends. Alexa led the way, cutting through the crowd like a knife through butter.

Jo and her fiancé hold hands. His eyes never leave her form as she leads on.

Alex frowns.

He'd thought. . .he'd thought, when Matt had first met him upon arrival at the base's landing pad, that he could slide back into his old life. Pick up where he'd left off. Maybe get a job here permanently.

Alex hadn't realized how lonely he'd been until he'd sat around and watched all his friends eat and drink. Easily communicating with each other they way only tightly knit groups of friends could. Finishing each other's sentences.

They had once been like that with Alex. But years in between meetings left him out of the loop. It didn't help that he had chosen to self isolate. Choosing to take jobs that left him without a permanent home, spending his free time tucked into various hotel rooms.

"Alexander Turner," a voice calls out.

He turns, faced with a black woman in a sleek khaki green suit, a moon police officer uniform. Her hair is as sleek as the press of her suit. Dark curls dusted with grey hairs.

"Yes," he asks, halting with great hesitation. The last time he'd dealt with the moon police, they were ensuring he was under house arrest during his trial. For his safety they'd told him over and over.

"I'm Major Gabriela Moss," she tells him, sticking her hand out with great formality. "If you'd please come with me," she continues, as he shakes her hand. "There's a job I'd like to discuss with you."

Swallowing any nervousness he has, he nods. How bad could it be? Probably some white collar crime that the police don't want to deal with. Alex could stock up on lots of coffee with the money. "Lead the way."

She takes him to the precinct, located next to the base. Tranquility Base fell under SFN jurisdiction. But the residential areas ringing the building were left to the MP 505 precinct.

Her office is just like every other police office. Bright disorienting lights. Cream walls, with no decor. A desk bolted down to the floor, in case the artificial gravity malfunctions. And a photo of her wife and kids tilted just out of his view.

"What's the job?" Alex wonders if some idiot tried to rob the casino that was right within the base’s building. Trying to steal from SFN was asking for it.

"A man was found murdered in residential bloc 571 this morning," she explains, lighting up her monitor. A photo of an older man with a walrus mustache came up on the screen.

"Isn't homicide your department," Alex asks, twisting his ring around his finger.

"Usually," Major Moss admits, back straight, hands on the desk. "But this man had a false identification bracelet. According to our records he was born on the Moon. But when my officers requested his file from the Bloc listed, nothing appeared."

"You think he was hiding?" Only criminals bothered to falsify ID bands. But why the moon? He could see why a fugitive from the law or a crime boss would come to the moon, but to stay here this long?

Even earth was easier to get lost in, among billions.

"Yes," she surmises, "and for quite a few months. How he's gone undetected this long is a mystery."

"So you'd like to save your skin and sweep this all under the cover." Alex can see a coverup as it happens. The MPs would be humiliated at having let a fugitive run wild for this long.

But, he probably wasn't a criminal if he spent this long without so much as a word. Probably fleeing loan sharks back on some asteroid. Maybe from Titan.

The murder must have landed yesterday. Within the week at most.

"Will you take the job on," Major Moss asks, "there's more information I have if you agree to take on the case."

Alex sighs. He's intrigued. But taking on this case would mean spending more time on the moon which is both a good and bad thing. He hasn't had a proper chat with any of the lads since he last saw Matt on Vesta nearly two years ago now.

But he isn't exactly at ease this close to SFN. At least in the belt, there's lots of stations with little to no navy presence. Callisto's base was generally isolated from the rest of the population due to the way in which the colony on Callisto had developed.

A man's dead.

And from what he can tell, Major Moss would be more than happy for the case to go cold and never have to explain to her superiors how a man went undetected for so long.

But why bother?

Alex can't understand why the man needed to falsify his identity only to sit around. Unless he wasn't a criminal but innocently caught up with the wrong crowd.

It happened easily enough.

"Why me," Alex asked, still considering how suspicious it looked that the MP were giving away a case just because of the implications the man's murder had. The IDB read Sidney Trojan which made Alex laugh a little inside. Whoever had made the ID had a certain sense of humor. "I'm sure you've read my record by now."

Major Moss nods, leaning back in her metal chair, "Mutiny and treason are certainly high charges. But Mr. Turner, If I am being frank, I am more concerned right now with keeping the peace in my precinct. The last thing I want is any belter extremist to start making baseless accusations about how someone who is more than likely one of their own was treated."

"I'm not a belter." Alex had spent enough time among belters to know, no matter how much time he spent on Vesta or Pallas, he'd never be one of them. Being born and raised there was what made you a belter for the rest of your life. Johanna never bothered to hide the augments along her spine, jutting out like filled out ports. Held her chin up proudly despite the harassment she got, and proceeded to destroy them all in combat training.

"But you have spent time among them," the woman argues, revealing how little she knows and understands about belters. Major Moss had probably never left the moon. Never spent time amongst people in the belt, in the places the SFN never went. "My men are mostly from here or earth. You're my best option."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. It didn't seem like a trap to lock him up after all these years. Just a very ignorant MP major trying to do her job. "Alright," Alex nods. "Show me the surveillance tapes."

The older woman smiles, but no warmth reaches her eyes, a picture of cold professionalism, as she ignites the screen. The tapes start playing almost immediately. The night vision casting everything into grayscale in the corridors. The older residential buildings hadn't anticipated the amount of people that would live on the moon, the walkways connected the blocs only fitting three people at a time, a nightmare in an emergency. They were colorless concrete slabs, the metal having long gone dull.

Time stamped to 05:46 am.

A single figure appears, walking into bloc 571, looking like any person would after a long shift. In jeans and a loose hoodie, holding a very sad convenience store sandwich. A profile he wouldn't soon forget, complete with split toe boots.

Tisiphone.

Alex tries to justify her appearance. The death hadn't happened until 7 am. She must've been meeting her friend in one of the habs in the bloc. But he'd never been one to discount a coincidence.

It seemed that they would be having a chat sooner than anticipated under less than favorable circumstances. He just had to track her down.

His eyes watch the screen as the time ticks by, creeping closer to the time of death.

She claimed to be here to visit a friend which could very easily have been a lie to cover up meeting her potential victim. Tisiphone hadn't been here for very long, no one would willingly choose to eat convenience store sandwiches if they'd spent time here to get other food. Alex wasn't discounting the possibility of her commitment to looking inconspicuous at 5 in the morning, but then, if Sidney Trojan had feared for his life there would've been a struggle.

Someone would have heard in those older habs.

The time stamp reads 6:24am.

Tisiphone leaves the bloc, taking the passageway leading back to Tranquility. Mr Trojan would still be alive. Did she have an accomplice? Or is Alex making the wrong connection.

The time stamp reads 7:46 am. Mr Trojan would've been dead by now.

7 am was hardly the time for a murder to be committed. People going to work. So many witnesses. They must have been desperate. But the tapes proved useless to narrow down any suspects. Too many people, a perfect crowd to hide in. So there was that advantage. As well as, "I need all the records of the passenger manifests arriving for the last three days on the dark side of the moon and today's departures."

"Alright," she replies, holding out her hand.

Alex hands over his com. Letting her synch it up to her system and sending the files over.

"Good luck Mr. Turner."

This time, Alex does roll his eyes as he leaves her office.

Tisiphone had claimed to be from Titan, so that's the first thing he checks. Three days sound about right. He also highlights any belter arrivals. But apart from one family two days before, no one has come from the belt.

He finds the name he's looking for. Tisiphone Velazques, arriving from Hygiea the same night he had. Born on Titian twenty two years ago according to her IDB. It said a lot about how pathetic Alex was that he was currently finding a potential date on a suspect list.

She might still be innocent. But she was the only lead.

If she's a criminal, she'll be staying off grid, not wanting to leave her IDB just anywhere. But, being through, Alex checks Tranquility Hotel anyways, sending a message.

Want to surprise my girlfriend T. Velazques. It's our anniversary and I got back from a trip into Tethys four sols early. Has she checked in yet?

People were really stupid and easily fooled. Alex had learned that in the last few years.

Then he checks his messages. Twenty seven texts from his friends. Two missed calls from Matt. Shit. He'd forgotten all about Matt.

** *** ch 3

Matt clasps an arm over his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't say anything about Julian. I thought you knew and didn't want to talk about it."

Alex considers coming clean, but decides letting Matt think this is about Julian is easier. "No one tells me anything anymore."

The taller man sighs, "you must think I'm a wanker for not even telling you. Julian always asked me how you were doing you know."

Alex shakes his head. "I tried-It doesn't matter anymore. I just think it's bloody awful to have died so young in an accident of all things."

"The idiot engineers better have been court martialed," Matt comments, as they follow behind their friends to a bar in the casino. They've all been casting looks towards Alex when they think he's not looking, like he's a bomb about to go off.

Things can never go back to the way they were.

They get a few pitchers of beer. Singing Matts praises at every sip, taking the piss about how he's going to be the worst commander ever. Alexa's boyfriend, looking tall, dark and handsome, slips into the conversation with ease while Alex, drinks and checks his phone for a response.

"Alexa's boy toy," Johanna mutters under her breath to Alex. "Does the books for one of the gambling halls."

Alex nods. But finds he doesn't care. All that earlier anxiety about his leftover feelings for Alexa, his first love, gone when he realizes there's no sting as she turns to kiss her boyfriend.

He looks down at his com, refusing a refill of beer when he realizes the hotel's written him back. With a digital key and their congratulations. There goes the supposed privacy and protections hotels were supposed to offer their clients.

But this meant he was now leaning to Tisiphone being innocent. But he could tell she was connected to Mr. Trojan somehow. A gut feeling that t9ld him he was barking up the right tree. She might be able to tell him who would want the old man dead and why.

Alex excuses himself from the celebration, pointedly ignoring Nick's suspicious gaze as he leaves.

He stops and picks up a bottle of wine and a quart of strawberries, each the size of his smallest nail with a hint of red at the tip, just in case anyone in the hotel decides to verify any of his information. He can play the part.

Alex presses the elevator up to floor 10, brings up the key on his com, when the machine asks for verification.

The doors slide shut and Alex tries to formulate a plan.

He can't frighten his only suspect-link to the crime. A man was murdered and if he doesn't solve it, justice will never be served. It's his good conscience that's going to get him in trouble all over again.

The hallway is empty.

A tacky red coat of paint that's made worse by the orange lighting. The crimson hue edging towards black. Hardly a happy atmosphere.

Alex runs his hand over the rail, a vestige from the days before antigravity, as he makes his way to room 1004.

Unlike the lobby, the floor is still metal plates welded together. Shiny compared to the rest of the place.

The casino had seen better days.

And more occupied days.

Hesitating outside the door, he places an ear near the seal, hoping that Tisiphone isn't there. It would give her the advantage if she turns out to be the murder.

Better for her to be out. Gives him a chance to look around.

He takes a deep breath and unlocks the door with the key. It slides open smoothly, revealing mustard walls and a plush navy carpet flecked with gold. There's a small bed on one side of the wall, a black backpack laying carelessly on it.

The small cabinet looks untouched, but Alex still goes through every drawer, making sure he misses nothing, peaking into the bathroom and combing the medicine cupboard.

There's a needle and dental floss. A complimentary bottle of toothbrush tabs laying in its side.

Needle and floss.

For an injury, Alex surmises. Perhaps a fresh one that Mr Trojan had managed to inflict while defending himself? It wasn't the easiest way to treat an injury, but it was the way to go if you didn't want to draw any attention.

He slips back into the small main room, and begins to go through the backpack. It looks standard issue, the fabric a vegetable leather nylon mixture that wouldn't be out of place in an SFN pack. But he doesn't recognize it from any planetary police force.

Inside there's a plasma gun with two full charges. Shrapnel in a jar. An extra shirt along with a lined jacket, also black. And a small copper data box.

He checks the jackets pockets, finding two extra IDBs. Both blank.

It's all very incriminating.

And he didn't think to bring a gun along himself.

Alex removes the charge from the plasma gun, using the pillowcase to ensure he doesn't wipe away any fingerprints, tossing both of the charges into the bottom drawer of the cabinet. And leaves the gun on top of the blanket.

Then he takes a seat and waits.

No one would leave a gun with no plans to come back and get it. Plasma guns were hard to come by. Especially for civilians on the right side of the law.

It was just his luck that the first woman he feels any connection with, ends up tied up in criminal activity.

The whoosh of a door sliding open jolts him out of his thoughts.

Alex sits up straight, deciding he looks less confrontational if he's sitting down. Besides, years of training haven't left. His body still remembers combat maneuvers. He still wakes up at 0600 and goes through basic training like clockwork.

Even when he goes back to sleep right after.

A red boot steps inside.

Tisiphone holds a brand new pair of ear pods, still in their case. The moment she spots him sitting casually in her bed, her almond eyes narrowing in suspicion. Her grip tightens on the case, before she schools her features carefully blank.

In better lighting, the scars marring her cheekbones are more prominent. Flecks of silver against honeyed skin.

"'ello again," Alex says, giving a small wave, strands of his hair falling into his eyes with the movement.

She frowns, crossing her arms defensively in front of her. "Why are you here? Who even let you in?"

"I asked nicely," he explains, "terrible hotel service if you ask me. But as for why I'm here, you wouldn't happen to know who Sidney Trojan is?"

Tisphones lips form a tight line, her stance edging dangerously close to someone expecting a fight. Weight distributed well between her legs. "He's dead isn't he. Someone killed him."

" 'fraid so," Alex nods.

"Who do you work for?" Her eyes scrutinize him, as if waiting for him to strike.

Alex raises both his hands up in the air. "No one. The MP of the precinct where Mr. Trojan lived asked me to take the case on."

She doesn't move. "Earth then? Or some secret division of the SFN?"

It was a popular belief that the SFN held a secret military division. Especially among belters and martians.

"You don't seem surprised to hear he's been murdered," Alex observes, not missing a thing, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"Lots of people wanted him dead."

Tisiphone must have decided he wasn't a threat. She takes a step closer, waking into the bathroom and grabbing the meager supplies, tossing them into her bag, unbothered by Alex's presence right next to her. He's incredibly aware of the small distance between them as her hands make quick work of packing, ignoring the wine and fruit he'd brought: the small distance between her hands and his thigh.

But he doubts that there's a chance in hell she'll go out with him after today. She has the same determined look on her face Johanna had right as she'd punched him day 1 of hand to hand combat. A woman who doesn't take anyone's shit.

Alex snorts, "mind telling me who wanted him dead?"

"SFN. Earth. Mars. The Children of Prometheus. Park Vader's cronies back on Titan. Maybe even Park himself. Take your pick."

"Why," Alex can't help but ask, standing up as she slings her bag over her shoulder. If he lets her walk out now, he'll likely never set eyes on her again. And she has become his only connection to this man's murder.

He can't just let her go.

"He knew too much," Tisiphone shrugs.

"I can't just let you disappear," Alex tells her, sliding between her and the door. It was a dangerous position to be in. He keeps his hands up, trying to reassure her.

"Whoever killed Ivan is going to be after me too," she states, weighing her options.

"Let me help you."

She laughs humorlessly, "I'm long past help. I’ll only drag you down. And you seem like a nice enough man despite everything."

"Despite being born on earth," Alex guesses. War hadn't touched the system in a hundred years, yet there was a lot of bitterness from the colonies over earth. Over the imagined bountiful resources. The air, breathable unlike in so many other places.

He'd lived in enough places in the system to know that it was hard living in every corner of the solarium federation.

"Good bye Alex." Her dark eyes hold his gaze, waiting for Alex to step aside. He isn't sure how long her patience will last.

"If you leave the moon now," Alex threatens, "I'll have no choice but to find you suspect under the circumstances."

Tisiphone glares at him, "are you an officer? Am I under arrest?"

"No."

"Then you have no jurisdiction," she counters.

"But I was able to find you. I'm the only person who could've made that connection." Her shoes had given her away. Too distinctive for anyone trying to hide out, Alex notes. "Everyone else would've written you off. You played the part of a tired commuter perfectly. Your face isn't visible enough for facial recognition. And the timing is wrong."

"So you have to know I didn't kill him," Tisiphone observes.

"I do." Alex nods. "And I also know that you came here for a reason. I'm willing to bet it's why Ivan is dead now. Help me catch his killer and get some people off your back."

“Why do you care so much about him? He’s just another nameless belter to you people.”

He shakes his head, “because a man’s dead. He deserves justice.”

"How do I know I can trust you," Tisiphone asks, her knuckles relaxing their grip on her bag.

"I could've arrived here with the MP," Alex states, "but I'm here all on my own. Because I believe you're innocent."

She sighs. "Alright. I'll stay. But only for another twenty four hours. That's all I can give you."

He can work with that.

"Okay now let's get out of here. If I can waltz right in so can whoever killed Trojan."

"Ivan," Tisiphone corrects. "His name was Ivan Schlossberg."

"And is Tisiphone your real name," Alex asks.

She doesn't meet his eyes.

** ** ch 4

His hotel room is on the top floor. A half circle window looks out into the expanse. The grey panorama, flattened by robots, is broken up by the tops of other bloc, jutting out of the landscape like hills. The sun is the only recognizable feature in the sky. All the other stars and planets are too distant to be visible.

But Alex has the map of the system imprinted into the backs of his eyes. He could tell where earth and mars fall, navigating by stars like explorers of old, even with the slight changes that arise depending on where you were in the system.

Tisiphone looks out into space, eyes full of stars, as Alex interrogates her.

"Why would the UN or Mars be after Ivan?"

"I already told you," she responds evenly, her gaze still fixed on outer space, a melancholic quality that held none of the wonder people usually had when staring into the stars, "he knew too much."

"About what," Alex presses. Earlier she had named all the major players in politics. That which all SFN members despised because it made doing their job a nightmare of red tape.

Tisiphone looks over at him, turning her whole head towards him. "He was involved with the children of prometheus. Selling information. And Park doesn't like when his people decide to leave him."

It didn't take a genius to know what kind of information would be of value to the children of prometheus. "And your mutual friend."

She swallows thickly before answering. "Told me to find Ivan. That he could help me. I don't know anything more than that. Ivan was going to leave the moon with me and explain this later."

Alex doesn't believe that for a second. Tisiphone wouldn't have left so easily that morning if Ivan hadn't given her something. But he also knows when to let things go. "And why would they also be after you?" The usual targets for the children of prometheus were high ranking UN members or members of the Martian Presidium: the operating companies on the belt that treated their workers as expendable.

Tisiphone was none of those.

She takes a seat on Alex's current bed, her knuckles white as she grips the covers, studying the much more pleasant purple carpet. Not as matted or stained as the one in her room.

Her now shoeless feet revealing mismatched socks.

"I saw something I shouldn't have seen." She bites her lip as her eyes water. Alex forces himself not to look away, wanting to give her privacy. "Someone killed my friend and covered it up. And now they want to kill me."

He takes a step towards her, kneeling down in front of her seated figure, "I'm going to help you."

"You can't help me." Tisiphone shakes her head, looking straight at him, "you can only buy me time."

She flips through the stations as Alex combs through the flight records once more. He's isn't looking for random thugs. If this is a high profiled cover up the way she is alleging, then he needs to find a slicker cover.

He checks for any terrans that've landed here in the last few days. Any native mooners with no permanent address on record: the types of people that would easily fly under the recons. The least likely to be scrutinized.

Alex finds three profiles that fit the description. Two had arrived together under the IDBs Gemma and Nick Ryan. Siblings on vacation from earth.

They were passingly related, the same brown coloring. But Alex's searching gaze found no similar features. The bone structure was all wrong. Gemma's strong, squared. While Nick had a delicateness to his features that was absent in Gemma's.

They had the look of UN division operatives. A learned blankness that helped them slip from memory.

The third was on a flight from Ceres. An older asian man: Hugh Shen. There was no way he was born on the moon and had no records of living here. Alex knew most people born on the moon didn't chance leaving.

Opening for new immigrants were few and far between.

Then there was an oily quality that reminded him of many UN cogs that surrounded his mother like gnats.

In order to be sure that they are division members, Alex'll have to go to the scene of the crime. He knows the UN’s playbook. The methods that division uses. Growing up around his mother, he couldn't not have learned something.

Though Penelope Turner was an idealist, she was willing to do what was necessary to get the job done. It's why she was such an effective politician.

He coms Major Moss, letting her know he'll need access to Ivan's hab.

"Stay here," he tells Tisiphone. "Help yourself to anything I've got."

"Anything," she asks archly, "because I could run a bath. Never had one of those."

"Then by all means," he shrugs. The water bill was bound to burn a hole in his pocket, but going through life without knowing the laziness that baths inspired was no life at all.

She rolls her eyes, shamelessly combing through Alex's meager possessions As meager as hers really. Though he didn't have the excuse of being in hiding.

Alex takes the plasma charges with him.

Major Moss, along with another woman of medium build and asian descent, meets him at the entrance to bloc 571, the white paint having long since peeled off the metal walls. The orange lights flickered, needing replacement, as he walks beside her into bloc 571. He can hear the pressure seals around the door, as it slides open, letting them inside.

While the oldest blocs on this side of the moon, their shortcomings in cramped corridors were nothing compared to the space of the older habs.

Unlike Tranquility base, and the rest of the blocs on the moon, the lights inside bloc 571 were LED and white, the costliest to maintain. A knot of tension eased up in Alex's shoulders. His mind, despite the years in space, always unconsciously yearned for earth's natural light.

"This is officer Cong Xi," Major Moss says blandly, "she'll be taking you through all our available evidence. We're receiving pressure to wrap things up as quickly as possible. There are lots of people who want to move into a hub as spacious as this."

Alex snorts. That's what they cared about.

Cong nods, smiling warmly at him as she drinks coffee from her hot pink tumbler. "Nice to meet you Alex Turner."

Which meant she'd been briefed and knew all about him. There was probably a non-SFN version of his file on her com as they spoke.

Alex had never gotten the chance to read his file after the trail. His dishonorable discharge had left him without any credentials to ask for his file without heavy redaction if he got any response at all. He'd have asked his parents if he hadn't been a coward and taken the first ship to Vesta, hell bent on drinking himself to death.

"Likewise," he responds, realizing he's waited a beat too long to respond.

With that said, the Major turns on her heel, and leaves.

"Shall we," Cong asks him, waiting for him to follow. How did such a pleasant person end up working for the MP? Had to be an idealist. Or hadn't been working for long.

He nods.

Alex takes in the bloc.

The floors dull from nearly four centuries of feet walking over it. Not a scrap of white paint left. But the walls are covered with green plexiglass, an attempt to make up for the lack of actual greenery that hadn't been planned for in old models. Even Pallas had some weeds growing among the tangle of wires.

Each door is painted a different color, giving the neighborhood character. Ivan's hab is red, with a pattern of florals overlaid.

Officer Cong hands him shoe covers and a pair of gloves, "standard procedure," she tells him with a tinge of apologies interwoven in her voice, before she unlocks the door, letting them both inside.

Like most crime scenes, the place is covered with tape and plastic to preserve the integrity. But Alex can see the coziness that Ivan Schlossberg had built inside his hab. A glass top table with mismatched but colorful plastic chairs. Books covering a side table ranging from subjects like "Bloom: a guide to space plant maintenance," to "Catching Fire."

His desk is covered with bits of computer parts. Motherboards and processor chips. Different size screens, some with cracks.

This was the picture of a man who believed himself to be safe. He wasn't planning on running at the drop of a dime. So how had they found him?

Tisiphone had entered first.

Why not kill them both at once?

Or had they believed them both to be inside and cursed themselves when they realized the girl had gotten away?

As Alex looks about the room, noting no signs of struggle, Officer Cong studies him. Her gaze curious.

The mess of computer equipment makes Alex guess that Ivan tinkered with it to communicate with whatever group he was working with, likely using it to hack information from earth and mars. The rudimentary nature of his devices would have confused the much more advanced systems Earth relied on, massive data banks in the tundra chugging along. Ivan would've also had the flexibility of pulling the system apart and rebuilding it with different bits of code each time.

A waste of time, unless you were an old man with lots of time on your hands.

His collection of parts would've been written off as eccentricity.

"You can ask," Alex finally says, when he gets tired of the awkward silence.

"Are you really the mutineer?"

It was much better than being asked if he was that traitor. Particularly bitter belters had taken the liberty of making his days hell in the beginning, knowing he wasn't about to go get help from the SFN.

He nods, looking back at the door. Division wasn't above using chemical weapons. The seals on older habs built with the care of spaceships, no one outside this hab would've noticed. "The one and only," he finally says.

While there were lots of people who had problems with the SFN, it generally wasn't seen among rank and file members.

Cong hums, slurping her coffee.

Alex peels back the plastic over a particularly large pile of electronics, his eyes searching for something small, like a computer chip or drive that would be overlooked to the untrained eye. Toxic gases needn't be in large doses to pack a punch.

"I remember the trial on the net," she comments, "it was all my parents could talk about. My whole family really . . ."

A glint of copper catches his eye. Alex keeps his face neutral, letting Cong ramble on as he plays at looking at the body outline on the couch, as if he could magically find a guilty dust bunny, slipping the casing into his hand for later.

"-guess I was too young to care about that. Too caught up with boys and the latest hairstyles."

Alex nods, trying to pay attention. But with that casing, he's sure it was division. Certain mixtures created the same symptoms in the body as a heart attack. Given his age, it created the perfect cover.

But why come in and stab him after?

Who were they trying to frame-

They were after Tisiphone.

She had led them to Ivan, Alex's thoughts come together, each piece falling into place. They had watched her since she arrived. Which meant they knew she was headed to the moon, hence the two early dispatched division agents, purposely waiting for her to leave before killing Ivan, making sure she'd be the only suspect.

But their plan had gone to the pits.

They hadn't planned on Major Moss trying to burry the case. Or that Alex would be called on.

Instead of an easy frame job, it was a cold case waiting to happen. An MP officer would've just taken Tisiphone in. Assumed that the time of death was off due to some lab error and closed the case. But their plan had gone sideways.

"Find anything," Cong asks him suddenly, having given up trying to chat when it became obvious he wasn't listening. Though why he would make small talk about the event that had sliced his life into two distinct parts, he didn't have the foggiest idea.

Alex shakes his head, "thought the scene might hold a clue." He stands up straight, faking the appearance of disappointment channeling his mother's face when he'd come home with an F. "Whatever crime boss hired the hit must've hired a couple of top notch lads."

"Oh well them," Cong continues, holding up her com for him to read, "Major Moss needs us to come in. Apparently there's been a new development in the homicide."

Alex's chest tightens. God he hopes they haven't found Tisiphone dead. Or arrested her.

No. There's no way. He'd already be under arrest for harboring a criminal. No amount of goodwill would keep him out of prison this time.

Alex had to continue under the impression that she was fine. Because no one else had linked her to this case. No one had any reason to suspect her of anything at all. "Led the way then love."

Cong, like most girls (and some boys) since Alex had turned sixteen, blushes pink, before stepping around him and leading him back to the precinct--and to Major Moss's office.

The division agents who had landed on Tranquility base as siblings named Gemma and Nick, introduce themselves as, "Agents Barnes and Khan." They're already seated in front of Major Moss, only confirming Alex's conclusion.

The capsule in his pocket feels like a block of lead, weighing him down.

There's no way they know he knows.

Except they've been tailing Tisiphone since she landed. They might already know she's sitting in his room.

He needs to get off the moon. Alex had promised Tisiphone he'd keep her safe. And this case had just gotten much bigger than a homicide.

It was the type of cover up that required a neutral party to uncover. A High ranking SFN member that would do the right thing. Unfortunately Alex had learned the hard way that organizations were never as impartial and righteous as they claimed to be.

Bloody hell.

In between two impossible choices, giving Tisiphone up or calling his old mentor Vice Admiral Homme, he wasn't sure which was worse. Would Josh Homme even care?

Or was the UN's influence great enough to buy Homme's cooperation?

"I understand that Major Moss has made the mistake of handing a homicide to a private investigator," Agent Barnes says, smiling brightly as if she hadn't just flung shit at Major Moss, who to her credit, didn't even flinch.

"I'm the private investigator," Alex responds evenly.

"They've just finished informing me," Major Moss interrupts, smoothing down the lapels of her pants suit, "that they've identified the culprit."

Agent Barnes nods, then proceeds to do the very Earth thing of pulling out an actual paper file from a jacket and displaying it on the desk. "A career criminal from Titan named Tisiphone Velasquez. We believe her employer to be some drug lord that Mr Trojan was a long time customer of. When he got clean and moved to the moon, well. . ." Barnes trails off leaving a dramatic pause before clearing his throat, "Titian didn't forget his debts."

Ivan's hab was not the home of a drug user. Or a recovering drug user. He'd never been to Titan, to the city under the ocean, but he knew enough about drug lords to know that they had more to deal with than a customer with lots of debts on a colony as secure as the moon.

But Alex can see Major Moss eat up the story, her eyes gazing over as there's one less problem for her to deal with.

"Well Mr. Turner," Major Moss turns to him, "It looks like your services are no longer needed. I'll wire you the payment promptly. Meanwhile I'll circulate the perpetrators photo and have my officers be on the lookout."

"We will be taking custody of Miss Velasquez," Agent Barnes interrupts, "she has insider knowledge of a crime ring we have been monitoring for years."

"Of course," Major Moss responds, already typing out the paperwork.

He has to get off the base. He has to take Tisiphone far from here.

Alex turns to leave, reaching the door before he hears Agent Barnes mutter pointedly under her breath, "It's a wonder Ambassador Turner hasn't resigned out of shame. No clue how he can show his face in public."

Agent Khan coughs to hide a snigger.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. It's bait. And an obvious one at that. He has more than a few scars to prove how stupid responding to it would be, but they did just insult his mother.

"What did you just say," Alex asks through clenched teeth, not turning back to look at them, robbing them of the satisfaction. Mentally, he counts to ten.

He's not going to give them an excuse to place him under arrest.

Tisiphone is counting on him.

The fact that they're baiting him instead of just following him back to the hotel room is a good sign they don't know he's hiding Tisiphone. He tries to concentrate on the and not the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

Tisiphone.

Her petite figure sitting on his bed, scrutinizing everything with an arched brow. The look in her eyes as she'd stared with a refugee's longing for their ancestral home at the image of earth, the green returning to the land after hundreds of long reclamation projects initiated by the UN.

"Nothing to trouble yourself with Alexander Turner," Agent Barnes replies patronizingly, "There is no further use for your services here."

Alex clenches his jaw, and walks out the door.

He lights a cigarette as he makes his way through the dim corridors, the orange fading into scarlet, stopping only to pick up supplies he imagines needing as they travel to space together. Not all at the same store.

Alex will have to get everything out of her, if he's going to throw in his lot with her and hope they get to the bottom of the conspiracy before they're arrested and killed. Or just killed.

What could be bad enough that the UN felt it necessary to send division agents after a woman?

The problem is the IDB has been made.

He's going to have to hope she can get another one quickly. Tisiphone, whose name is more than likely not Tisiphone as all, wouldn't have survived this long is she was stupid.

Fuck.

He really should just turn her in. Or give her a heads up and be on his way. Alex could be on Pallas in four weeks, having the most questionable weed in the system, laced with the hell knows what. Take a case every now and then. Finally make his way out to Titan.

Logan had been his favorite western growing up. Right after The magnificent Seven. He'd made Matt have stand offs against him for days after seeing it, pretending he could manipulate metal. And Titan was the new wild west of space. And still people flocked out to carve their little piece of real estate.

Humanity is ever expanding.

Alex has to press the lift button twice, cursing and lighting another cigarette when the lift's lighting system dies as he ascends up, connecting with Tranquility's passageways.

More than once, he has to stop himself from glancing over his shoulder, sure he'll see an Agent following him. Hugh Shen had been absent from their little meeting. But that didn't mean he wasn't still skulking about.

Even the air changes from the corridors to the base. It's drastic compared to Ceres where the air quality is shit everywhere you go. The base has crisp clean air that didn't leave you all cotton mouthed for the wrong reasons.

From there it's easy enough to head to his room. Alex is already flicking through the net, looking for tickets to the belt. Or maybe they should go to Callisto. It was famous for being a no extradition zone: refusing to acknowledge any authority other than theirs and SFN's by extension. The relative safety was tempting, but he couldn't plan until Tisiphone told him everything she knew.

Alex wasn't stupid enough to think she wasn't holding something back. Her earlier explanation had been as vague as she could manage given the circumstances. He had no clue who her friend was. What she had seen other than a wrongful death.

There had to be a reason behind the coverup after all.

No government went around coverup murder for no reason. It just wasn't economical.

"You have to tell me everything you know," Alex tells Tisiphone in what he hopes is a commanding voice, as he tosses his bags on the bed, plopping down. His only shortcoming as a commander had been the complete and utter lack of confidence he had when giving orders. "Division has just shown up and thrown you under the bus."

Tisiphone's hair hangs down, damp as she listlessly scrolls through the catalogue of music offered by the hotel. She flinches at his words. "I should've left when I had the chance," she tells him harshly, uncurling from the settee and moving to grab her things. She jams her feet into her boots in one swift motion, clearly having been ready to make a run for it at a moment's notice.

"You're right," Alex tries, taking out the gas casing, ensuring the glint of metal catches her eyes. "It's a coverup."

"Obviously," Tisiphone scowls.

"I'm sure they've circulated your IDB by now," he continues, "they wanted to frame you for Ivan's death. I want to know what you saw so I can help you."

"Why so they can kill you as well," Tisiphone shakes her head, "No. . .no."

"What's so important that Division would risk breaking the treaty of Schiaparelli for," Alex asks, rubbing his temples. He wasn't a politician. The inner workings of government fell to the wayside of his thoughts.

There had been no major battles fought in a hundred years but relations between colonies were always fraught with tension over resources. Those skirmishes were usually fought in the Solarium Federations regulatory body, but Alex wasn't naive enough to discount the darker talk of division--their tendency to enhanced interrogation.

"Why do you want to help me so badly," Tisiphone counters, hands on her hip, glaring down at him as if he was the reason that Division had found her at all.

"Someone should," Alex shrugs, peering up at her. The line of her body fell naturally into a defensive stance, something that could only be so natural if she'd started training when she was very young. Tisiphone wasn't an innocent civilian, but she still didn't deserve to be disposed of. "And if I don't, they'll probably kill you and throw your body in some incinerator."

"Or they'll kill us both," Tisiphone replies archly.

"I'm offering you my help if you want it."

She peers down her nose at him, her lips pressed into a flat line, the slim line of her jaw fitting in perfectly with her feline features: a cat deciding if batting the toy was worth it. Turning on her heel, stepping into the bathroom, Tisiphone orders him to, "strip."

Smart girl.

It doesn't keep the burn from making its way up his neck as she turns the refresher, the low static drowning out any background noise as she takes a seat inside the fogged glass.

Alex kicks off his boots, gratefully that he'd actually kept up with his fitness all these years as he pulls his shirt off. There's still bruising in the crook of his elbow. He doubts she misses it as she stares up at him. It's a rush of relief when he notices the scarlet on her cheeks. This is embarrassing for both of them then, as he unbuttons his trousers, before taking a seat in front of her.

"Division blew up my crew." She starts with, staring at a spot behind him, her eyes welling up with tears. "They launched a missile and it tore their ship apart." She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm sorry I just. . .let me start over."

"It's okay."

"Shut up Alex and let me tell this in a way that makes sense." She swallows thickly. Taking a deep breathe during which she closes her eyes before continuing. "My name is Vera Albaicin. I'm an agent of the Guoanbu. Sixty eight sols ago my crew was handpicked to participate in an interplanetary task force with the UN. It was supposed to be an easy retrieval mission. We met up with the other crew. Everything was normal."

T-Vera closes her eyes, her hands closed tightly by her sides, trying to suppress the shiver that runs down her spine. Alex wants to offer comfort, but he isn't sure there is anything he can do to make things better in this situation.

"I took an EMU suit to-it was a strange ship. More like a capsule or probe. I had just made contact when my ship was hit." She shakes her head, a desperation in her eyes at the helplessness she must keep on feeling. Not having been able to do anything to save her crew. "Space. They died in seconds. The thing is. . .the only people who would've known about the mission were the UN and MPC. Earth and mars."

Alex nods, trying to probe her as gently as possible because there is still one unanswered question, "how did you know to find Ivan."

The UN and MPC must have decided that the knowledge was better off lost after having sent a retrieval team. Something they didn't want anyone to know about it. That fact that mars and earth had cooperated at all was throwing Alex off. Weapons would make sense if it was just mars or earth. But together?

Vera shakes her head slowly, her gaze meeting his, an intense anger to their depth he had not seen before. She was digging because she was fucking mad. This was a woman seeking justice. "I can't."

"Vera," Alex utters, unable to look away, trying her real name out on his tongue. "My name is Alexander Turner. I'm kind of famous for breaking the law," he finished with a self deprecating smile.

Usually, the last thing he wanted a potential date to know was his past.

Her eyes widen, her whole body freezing up as she takes in the new information, pursing her lips in an attempt to suppress a telling gasp. But instead of recoiling in disgust as he expects her to, Vera reaches for her neck, revealing a necklace obscured by her hoodie. It's a cheap metal thing that must be of sentimental value.

She doesn't stop there, thumbing the ring at the end of the chain before meeting his gaze once more. This time there's no hard glint to her cognac eyes, but a woman at last having caught on to a life preserver. "Julian-Captain Casablancas told me to find Ivan. Trust no one-trust no one but Alex Turner," Vera admits, unable to hold his gaze. "He must have known what was coming."

It's a ring he recognizes well, a twin to his own commander ring. The classic exploration insignia: the atom. Every detail identical for Julian and Alex had received their rank at the same ceremony, only Julian had been eight years older. Already the man Alex wanted to be: wanted to be with. The man had inspired camaraderie the way a good leader should, and clearly he had managed it in a martian girl as well if she had come all this way on his word alone.

"Can I," he motions, aware of the closing distance between them. Between him and Vera. Vera. He had to get his head around that one. Same woman, different name.

No. Not the same woman.

This woman was a martian secret intelligence agent. Not some naive little girl.

She nods, closing her fist around the ring before yanking the chain in a quick motion. It snaps off. The sound like the hull of a ship nearing the end of its lifetime, creaking. Then drops the ring into his outstretched palm.

Without Alex having to prompt this time, still caught up in seeing Julian's ring, still warm from Vera's body heat, in his hand. Julian hadn't responded to Alex's messages. He'd assumed it was because of Alex's past, but now he was left to wonder if Julian had wanted to protect him by keeping away from him. Keeping whatever he'd gotten caught up in that had killed him away from Alex. Vera adds, "I was confused why he'd told me that, given me his ring as I got into the EMU suit but. . .Ivan told me that he was just the messenger. He'd worked for so many sides not asking questions. Earth, Solarium, Mars. They were all the same to him. So he decided that the children of prometheus had a point and got in contact with them. Relaid information. Ivan-he was going to tell me more."

But he'd died.

Vera looks at him meaningfully, "but he did manage to give me the coordinates that he was given by his CoP contact. In case he ever needed a safe house or extraction."

"He never-," Alex begins to ask, not taking his eyes off the ring. In his hand was proof that Julian had been killed.

"He never met his contact," Vera confirms. "But they're on Callisto. Some hippie hub." She rolls her eyes and what a martian thing to do. Look down on every colony not hell bent on terraforming.

Alex turns his gaze on her once more, seeing her in a different light for the first time. Trying to spot what made her a martian. As if he could spot in vitro augmentation just by looking her over.

But all he saw was a petite woman with a hollowness under her eyes. Her full lips pressed into a grim line. Hair slowly drying into waves, catching the light like oil on water. Despite Alex's new information about Vera, he was no less drawn to her.

There was no sadistic edge that spoke of oprichnik operatives who the Martian People's council refused to acknowledge existed despite all the mounting evidence about their methods.

His gut was telling him that Vera was telling the truth.

"One thing though," Alex points out, taking off his own ring for the first time since he'd first received command rank, a command long since stripped from him, and sliding Julian's ring on his finger in its place as he stands up. His mind was made up. He was going to help Vera uncover this conspiracy. Clear Julian and Vera's name. And maybe, just maybe, reclaim some respect on his name.

"What?"

"You said earth and mars sent you," he says gently, having encountered enough martians to know how loyal to their colony they were otherwise known as having bought into the propaganda, "but Division killed your crew.. ."

"Yes," Vera nods, tapping her foot on the floor.

"Then wouldn't both earth and mars have sent the missile that killed your crew? Or wouldn't have mars already used this as an excuse to advance their agenda?"

"No," she supplies, refusing to even contemplate the idea that Mars would've been complicit in such an act. "The Guoanbu wouldn't have killed their own. We're-they're not like that."

“Vera," he sighs, "there's nastiness under every corner, no matter how nice everything is on top you know."

She shakes her head again, averting her gaze, There wasn't much to look at on the walls, but she was making due.

"Let's just find ya another IDB and get to Callisto-"

There's a knock at the door.

Alex and Vera trade wide eyed looks, having taken the plunge off the same cliff with nothing but a string of brand new fucking trust between them. A dead man's word to go on.

Fucking hell.

Matt and Nick flank each side of the room's door. Nick's stone face offsets the mixture of parental concern Matt's features contain, sighing at Alex's appearance, sticking his head out the door. Vera hiding next to the door, alert to every word.

He has to wonder how good her hearing is. Martian's always messed with embryos biology, designing the next generation to be fitter. Could she hear down the hall? What the people in the next room were saying?

Matt steps forward, "jesus fuck mate," he shakes his head. "Can't respond to a bloody com now Alex."

"I told you I got a job," he protests, trying to remember if that was true. His friends had fallen to the bottom of his priorities quickly. Alex had a habit of self absorption with whatever obsession came his way. It had made him a terrific ensign, practicing the same maneuver for hours until he could do it with his eyes closed.

"No," Nick corrects, not bothering to move the curls out of his face, watching him carefully, "you didn't."

Alex sighs, but doesn't budge. They mustn't see Vera. Soon her face will be plastered all over the net as a manhunt begins. Her IDB must already be flagged for travel.

He had to make his rightfully concerned friends go away and quickly.

"Al," Matt levels with him, "I asked you to be here because you might as well be my brother. I knew when I did that it would mean coming back to the moon. That it would bring up a load of shit for you."

"We're worried about you mate," Nick explains. "You're still here. You won't talk to any of us."

" 'm fine," Alex mumbles, unable to hold eye contact with either of his friends. He looks at his shoes as he realizes how unfair he's been to them both in the last two days.

This trip was supposed to be about Matt.

He shouldn't be here worried that Alex finally went off the rails.

"Alex," Matt utters, placing his hand on the door frame, leaning in close to Alex. "You know you can talk to me. I don't care what you did or why."

"Really," Alex tries, because as much as he'd like to have this long overdue discussion, finally get to explain why--no one had ever asked him why, they'd just condemned his actions as w r o n g--he has to get Vera off the moon. "I'm fine. Just been in me head."

"That's what I'm worried about," Matt responds, eyes locked onto his, as if Alex could disappear at any moment. "You've always been in your head too much Al. And it didn't matter when I knew you were looking after yourself. Had me and the lads with you but-Alex you looked like utter shit back in Vesta last time I saw you, hopped up on who knows what."

Alex swears internally. They really knew when to pick the worst moments. He was actually doing good. "I know. . .," he tries to find the words that don't require him to have an emotional breakdown in Tranquility Hotel, aware Vera's listening in, "it's been rough. Some days worse than others but Matthew," he whines, "I really am good."

"For how long though," Nick counters, crossing his arms against his chest. It was a good point but Alex really hadn't been in the dark lonely place in months. Maybe closer to a year now. Progress.

Something about waking up missing shoes and jammed into the seediest by corners of an asteroid had lit a fire under his arse about moving on.

He hadn't even hit the agents earlier. They would've deserved it but who gives a shit. Alex will always be a mutineer but at least his hands were clean. His conscience is a white pearl like a meditating bodhisattva.

"Can we just go inside and talk man," Matt pleads, his shoulder resting against the door, clearly seconds away from shoving his way in.

Guilt wells up in his mouth. Despite having every reason to say no, Alex wants to say yes, the word making its way to the tip of his tongue at Matt's insistence.

It was Matt and he was Alex and he couldn't just deny him like this after everything.

Terrans were only allowed one child.

The law didn't keep Matt from being his brother any less.

"I can't," Alex sighs. "I just-you've given me a lot to think about."

Matt rolls his eyes, hurt flashing through his features as he takes a step back, "bullshit."

"Just open up the damn door Alexander," Nick tries, clearly having had it with trying to do things the nice way, realizing Alex wasn't going to budge on his own. "We're ya friends."

"It's been six years Alex," Matt added. "I thought you'd want to talk by now."

Alex shakes his head, "it's not always a straight line."

"Let's have this conversation inside," Nick insists, "who knows when you'll be around next Al. And now Matt has a command. . ."

Matt shoves his way in.

Alex had forgotten how hot headed he could be. The foil to his cool and calm temperament: translating Alex's lit to others. Not that Alex had much trouble verbalizing, necessity being the mother invention. He no longer took hours to get a sentence out of his mouth.

"Matt!"

"Don't Matt me Al," Matt retorts spying Vera in seconds, who's already fallen into a defensive stance.

Matt brings a hand to his face, pinching his nose bridge, before heavily sighing, "You've got to be kidding me Al. You're hiding a murderer now."

"She's no-"

"I didn't kill anyone," she tries, folding into herself, trying to appear smaller and innocent than she actually is. Vera tries to play at being Tisiphone once more. "It's all a misunderstanding!"

"Then turn yourself in," Nick challenges, closing the door behind him.

"Al," Matt says, placing his hands on Alex's shoulders, "what the hell are you thinking mate! They're going to lock you up for this and not even-"

"Matt," he interrupts, "trust me. I'd love to have a nice long chat but things have gotten. . .complicated and-it's safer if ya don't know. Just. . .trust me."

Matt stares back at him, mouth drawn. An entire childhood together on earth, their toes digging into the soil, tracking mud all over the floors. Later a shared adolescence, their accents charming the girls and boys at school, Matt doing all the talking and never leaving a painfully shy Alex behind.

He nods. "You better come back because we're having this talk even if I have to go visit you in prison."

"There are things far worse than prison," Vera unhelpfully points out, tugging on her jacket over her hoodie, the collar lined with actual animal fur. Given the martian rationing system, it was an untold luxury for Vera to own a leather jacket with fur at all. "I'd even take death over enhanced interrogation."

She pretends to tremble with fear, "anything but gravity."

Alex snorts in spite of the dark subject matter. "Not helping."

Ignoring the other two men in the room, Vera hands Alex one of the spare IDB's he'd seen in her bag earlier. Had it really been only hours ago? "Here's your IDB now. Alexander Collins. Born on Pallas. Married to Morgana Collins," she points at herself, already dispatching the old IDB off her wrist and throwing it in her bag. "Came to the moon to get married. Off to Callisto to make a living," she explains calmly.

"Short and sweet," Alex notes, looking down at his own wrist, the IDB a second skin. He hadn't taken it off since he'd left earth. Many colonies like Callisto chose to implant the ID chip.

It was the key to getting on any ship. His passport and last link to earth. His last hope at ever stepping foot on the big blue planet again, however slim.

Visas for foreigners pretty much nonexistent.

Nick hands him a swiss army laser, "I implanted mine." It's news to Alex who hadn't even noticed, Nick having always been a bit chilly, wearing long sleeves year round. " 's nice actually."

Matt dramatically covers his eyes.

Alex slices through the metal, leaving a band of unblemished creamy skin.

It doesn't last long, as Vera easily replaces it.

"You should keep it," she tells him, patting his arm like a parent half heartedly consoling their child after a pet fish dies. "We are planning on fixing things."

"Yeah," Alex answers, running his fingers over the band. He already felt less confident without it.

[thepartyresponsible]

this fill is for verdantmoth, who asked for winterhawk. so here’s an alternate timeline where clint goes awol after the battle of new york, and, eventually, he and bucky end up working for the same circus.

Bucky falls in with the circus when it tours through Bucharest. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. They need manual labor and dependable security, someone intimidating enough to scare off troublemakers but not likely to cause trouble himself. And Bucky needs to move and keep moving, needs to eat, needs to sleep.

It’s still cold, so nobody asks any questions about his long sleeves and gloves. Nobody asks any questions at all, really. Except the archer.

As far as Bucky can clock, the archer is the only American traveling with the circus. He’s tall and blonde and muscular and handsome, has spiderwebs of old scars across his knuckles and elbows, lightning-forks of long-healed knife wounds across the blades of his forearms. He speaks Spanish like he learned it in public school, French like he learned it in Louisiana, Russian like he learned it in prison, and English like he’s fresh from Midwestern farmland, like sometimes he likes vowels so much he can’t quite let them go.

His name’s Clint. He gives a different last name every time someone asks.

“And what did you say your name was?” Clint asks, early on, with a half-smile like he knows damn well Bucky never gave one.

“James,” he says, because that’s what he read off the plaque at the museum before he caught a freighter heading east out of Boston.

“Uh-huh,” Clint says. His smile grows roots and blooms, and there’s no aggression in his eyes, but there’s a watchfulness, a weighing-up. “Your parents give you a last name, James?”

“Rogers,” Bucky says, because he figures last names are about families, and Steve Rogers is the only thing that makes him feel homesick.

“Got it,” Clint says. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

  Clint isn’t in his way very often. He just checks in, from time to time. He must be watching Bucky more than he’s letting Bucky see, because he tends to materialize on particularly bad nights. He brings beer or sometimes whiskey, cigarettes to share. One time, he brings a bottle of clear alcohol in an old jelly jar, and it’s so potent that it almost – almost – has an effect.

“You should be careful with that,” Bucky says, when the bottle’s half gone. Every time he sips, his lips go numb and then sting for a handful of heartbeats. He can’t imagine what it’s doing to Clint, who, despite his perfect aim and perfect arms, doesn’t seem to be enhanced.

“Oh, careful,” Clint says. He half-hums, half-sighs the second syllable of the word, flat on his back on top of his trailer and staring up at the stars.

It’s a strange thing, the night sky. Sometimes, when Bucky looks up, he gets flashes of being here before. Europe was different then. The geography, the buildings. The people. The stars were brighter, he thinks. When they weren’t cloaked over with smoke and ash.

“No fucking use being careful, James,” Clint says. He’s smiling when he says it, but it’s not one of the smiles Bucky likes.

“Plenty of use,” Bucky says. He picks the jelly jar up and relocates it to the other side of his hip. If Clint wants it back, he’ll have to crawl over Bucky to get it. And, as far as Bucky can tell, they haven’t progressed quite that far yet.

“You’re careful,” Clint says, more like a confession than an accusation, “and you’re good, and you work real fucking hard. You try to do things right. And you know what fucking happens?”

What happens is you fall off a train in the Swiss Alps, and HYDRA cuts your mangled arm off with no anesthetic, and they set your brain on fire over and over again until the ashes fall in an arrangement they can use.

“No,” Bucky says. “What happens?”

Clint breathes out, slow and even. Controlled. “You ever fuck up so bad you can’t let people look at you anymore?”

Bucky closes his eyes, and it’s like a lightshow on his eyelids. Faces of all the people he’s killed. We’re building a better world.

Sometimes, he has nightmares. And it should be the things he’s done. It should be all the blood, the kill shots into civilians, the families he’s put down. But it never is. The thing that scares him the most is Steve Rogers, reaching for him. Steve Rogers, with his own blood on his face. Cuz I’m with you til the end of the line.

Sometimes he dreams that Steve finds him, and it scares him so fucking bad he has to go on half-mile, one-mile, two-mile, and five-mile perimeter checks, circling broader and broader and then back in. Can’t sleep for shit after, has to work into the red-gray of exhaustion just to make himself stand down.

Someday, Steve Rogers is going to find him, and he’s going to call him Bucky Barnes, and Bucky doesn’t know what the hell he’s going to do.

He can’t fit back into that skin. They cut him out of it. There’s not enough left to stitch shut.

He can live with being a monster, just so long as nobody knows he used to be a man.

“You don’t like when people look at you?” Bucky asks, because he’s been learning about tightrope walking since he joined up, and what he’s learned is that you don’t look down, don’t think about the rope until you have to.

“Well.” Clint props himself up on his elbows, looks over, and grins, crooked and inviting. If there are ghosts at the backs of his eyes, Bucky chooses not to see them. “I don’t mind when you look.”

  Bucky likes watching Clint shoot. He doesn’t go to the shows, because he can’t tolerate the noise of them, the crowd, all the variables he’d need to track to feel safe in a place like that. But nobody cares what he does for long portions of the day, so he finds himself watching Clint practice, sometimes.

He never startles him, and he never tries too. But he doesn’t make a big production about showing up to sit in the grass of whatever field Clint’s found and watch as he nails bullseye after bullseye.

“You ever wanna try, James,” Clint says, once, “just let me know.”

But Bucky isn’t interested in a bow, doesn’t want anything like a weapon in his hands. And he doesn’t break that habit until a bar outside Bratislava, when he’s antsy, feeling exposed, and wishing he hadn’t let Clint’s blue eyes drag him out from the comfortable, anonymous trailer he shares with two hulking Russians who never speak to him beyond asking, politely, what groceries he would like them to pick up.

“They want you, too,” Clint says, half-drunk and animated, gesturing over his shoulder to a pair of locals he’s befriended.

Bucky must make some kind of face, because Clint immediately laughs. “To play,” he says. “Jesus, James. They wanna play doubles. Darts, not a foursome. I wouldn’t just barter you off like that. Not for two beers, come on.”

And he seems happy. Loose-limbed, even-keeled. There’s a misery that comes over him, sometimes, but it’s not here now. And Bucky doesn’t want to ruin that for him. Clint, whatever his secrets, whatever it is he thinks he’s done, is sweet and good-natured and patient with children and stray animals. Good, in all the ways Bucky thinks he used to be, too.

He’s nice. And Bucky isn’t, but Clint makes him want to remember how.

The darts feel like nothing in his hand. Lightweight, not dangerous. He could take out an eye with one, but the tips are so blunted that he’s not sure he could make a killshot. Maybe if he used his left.

Probably if he used his left.

He uses his right. Clint, who’s a showoff even when he isn’t drunk, alternates between hands. They outpace the Slovakians so bad that they laugh off the idea of a rematch, and Clint tightens his hand around Bucky’s wrist and tugs him out into the alley behind the bar.

It’s not that Clint’s mouth on his is a surprise, exactly. But there’s a difference in logically knowing something is likely to happen and actually facing the reality of its arrival. It’s surprising the way Christmas is surprising, like homecoming after long travel or recovery after weeks of illness.

Sometimes hoping for a thing makes it feel impossible.

But Clint’s mouth is insistent, soft and playful. Confident. He tastes like cheap beer, and his hands curl around Bucky’s hips like they’re staking some kind of claim.

“Goddamn, James,” Clint says, mouthing his way down to Bucky’s neck. “You’re a fucking sniper, huh? Been holding out. You never said.”

Something happens at the word sniper. Bucky’s here, and he’s on a ridge, with a rifle, watching Steve give away his position by saluting right the hell at him. Because of course he did. Because Steve plays soldier, but he hasn’t lost one. Not yet.

“Hey,” Clint says. His lips move against the skin of Bucky’s throat, and Bucky flinches, backpedals straight into the brick wall behind him, and he’s not trapped, not in any danger, but numbers rise up in his throat, a serial number that wants out, and he’s too busy swallowing the whole mess of it back down to tell Clint that it’s okay, that he’s fine, that it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just his useless fucking brain misfiring.

“Hey,” Clint says, again. “Are you--”

His hand curls comfortingly around Bucky’s shoulder, but he’s touching the metal arm. He probably can’t feel the cold of it through the thick fabric of Bucky’s jacket, not the way Bucky can feel it every morning, as the metal leeches warmth from his skin, but Clint’s smart, and observant, and it’s only so long before he figures out there’s something wrong about him.

“I gotta,” Bucky says, accent swerving way too far into Brooklyn. “I need to go,” he says, and that’s not even in English. That’s Russian. He’s so far gone that he’s speaking Russian. To Clint. Jesus.

“Okay,” Clint says, hands up, moving back. “That’s fine, James. I’ll just settle up inside, and then we’ll--”

But Bucky’s going to have to pay him back, because he can’t stay. He can’t. He shifts past him, jarring him with his shoulder because his depth perception’s fucked, and then he’s up the alley and gone.

He doesn’t watch Clint shoot anymore. And when Clint tries to find him, Bucky finds ways to make that difficult until, after a week or so, Clint stops trying.

  HYDRA tracks him down outside of Vilnius, and Bucky isn’t ready for them. He has a knife at his side and a knife at his back, but his guns are in his trailer, in a locked trunk. The children of the circus are nosy, and friendly, and fond of him; he’d wanted to keep the guns as far from them as possible.

“Soldat,” one of them says. His accent is American. He’s only using Russian now to make it clear he knows the words that’ll rewrite Bucky’s brain. “It’s time to come in for recalibration.”

There are times, even now, when Bucky wants that. He isn’t getting better in a linear fashion. It’s a scattershot, a splatter pattern. Somedays he wakes up, and all he wants is a mission. It was easier then.

But he knows what manner of mission they would give him. And beyond that, he remembers the chair. Steve Rogers may have walked willingly into the machine that unmade him, but he only had to do it once. Bucky’s not sure even Steve’s bravery would’ve held out the tenth time, the fiftieth.  

“No,” he says, because he might as well, while he has the chance. While his mouth still belongs to him, he might as well use it.

“Soldat,” the man says, again. And there’s an expression on his face like he’s disappointed, but his eyes are eager, and laughing.

“Gentlemen,” Clint says. He’s beyond the circle of HYDRA agents, fifteen feet back, with his bow in his hands. “Show’s not for another four hours, and he’s not part of it anyway. Time to move on.”

“He’s an old friend,” the leader says. “We’re taking him home.”

“You’re taking him nowhere,” Clint says. Casual, bored, and vaguely annoyed. Like he’s caught someone slipping into the tent without tickets.

“And you’re going to stop us?” the man asks. He’s half-laughing, and it’s well-earned. Clint’s in old sweatpants and a purple hoodie; his hair’s tufted up on one side like he was asleep ten minutes ago. “With your bow and your blunted arrows? I’m not afraid of bruises. Why don’t you--”

The arrow sprouts from his eye like a sapling. Burrows straight through into his skull. He jerks and topples over, dies on the fall down.

“That one was blunted,” Clint says, with that same irritated tone. “The rest aren’t. Got a few that blow up, too. You guys wanna see ‘em?”

There’s a single moment of stillness. The tense bit of pause between realization and reaction. Bucky takes out his knives, and the Winter Soldier goes to work.

  They don’t really speak until after they get a motel room in Bialystok. Clint arranges it, chatting in Polish to the desk clerk. He sounds like a native speaker, and Bucky stands there with his bag on his back and reflects on the fact that Clint’s accent was always a choice.

“Look,” Clint says, once they’re in the room. There’s one bed, but Bucky doesn’t think the plan is to sleep. The plan, probably, is to split up. To create a record of them checking in here and then rabbit off in separate directions. Bucky thinks maybe he’ll backtrack into Lithuania or dash down south to Ukraine, maybe catch a flight and leapfrog anywhere.  

“We are in,” Clint continues, “kind of a complicated situation.”

“Not that complicated,” Bucky says. “You should head west. I’ll go east.”

Clint’s eyebrows snap together. “I blew my cover all to hell for you,” he says. “We’re not splitting up now, Barnes.”

And Bucky never, ever gave Clint that name.

“Hey,” Clint says. “Hey, fuck you, don’t look at me like that. I’m not a threat to you. I’m just not a Goddamn idiot. James Rogers, are you kidding?”

Bucky saw Clint fight. They left seven men dead, and most of those were Clint’s kills. But in close quarters, Bucky’s better. And in every arena, he’s hardier.

“I don’t blame you,” Clint says, which doesn’t make sense. “For fucking off. I did it, too. But if HYDRA can find you, SHIELD can find you. And if either gets close, Tony Stark’s gonna know about it. If Stark knows, Steve knows, and--- just listen. Jesus.”

Bucky can’t help the way he flinches. Steve’s face, bloodied up. Steve, reaching out, because Bucky wears the face of a dead man, and Steve thinks there’s something left to grab onto.

“We have to go back,” Clint says. He sounds tired. He looks tired. “We were always gonna have to. Better to go than be dragged, Barnes.”

“You,” Bucky says, and then stops. Thinks it through. He knows all of Steve’s Avengers, but there was one who went missing after New York. Hawkeye. HYDRA had marked him down as dead; SHIELD had him as MIA, presumed KIA.

He was blonde, and muscular, and deadly with a bow.

“Hawkeye?” he asks. “You’re dead.”

Clint grimaces at the name and then smiles. “Well, look at that,” he says. “Guess it’s prophecy, right? ‘One fine morning in the middle of the night, two dead men got up to fight.’”

Bucky blinks at him. “Is that what we’re gonna do?” Bucky has a bag of weapons on his back, and he doesn’t want to use any of them. He can feel the blood of the dead HYDRA agents on his hands, hot and slippery, damning. “We’re gonna fight?”

Clint shrugs. When he smiles, his mouth is aw-shucks, but his eyes are aw, hell. “Well,” he says. “Not each other, I hope.”

Bucky thinks, of all things, about the feel of Clint’s mouth against his, the warmth of him, the way he used to look over at Bucky like he was something worth earning instead of something he deserved to keep.

It’s only after he realizes he doesn’t want to fight Clint that his brain starts working on how he’d do it, if he had to. It’s been years and years since he prioritized an emotional reaction over a practical one.

“No,” Bucky says. “I don’t want to.”

“Good,” Clint says. “Me either.”

It sounds so easy when Clint says it. Like that’s a choice he thinks they get to make. But Bucky will hurt anyone he’s aimed at.

“I can’t,” he says. “I’m not--- I’ll do whatever they tell me to do. I’m not safe. I don’t always have control. I kill good people.”

Clint’s smile hooks up wide, but it’s the ugliest one Bucky’s seen yet. Cutting like scalpel. Crooked and hateful and sad. “Well, hell, Barnes,” he says, “we’re a pair. It’s like we were made for each other.”

The way Clint says it makes it sound like a sentencing, but it bounces back and forth between Bucky’s ribs like a promise.

He doesn’t know what Clint did. He doesn’t even know everything he’s done himself. But he thinks, if they were made for each other, that’s better than being made for no one at all.

But, still. He has to say it. He can’t let good things happen just because they’re easy. “If I hurt you--”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Clint says, jaw tightening. “It’s never me that gets hurt.”

And Bucky figures that’s not true. But he understands. It’s the same for him. He does get hurt. HYDRA used to hurt him all the time. But he hurt other people worse, so, in the scale of things, what happened to him doesn’t matter. After all, he lived through it.

“HYDRA’s gonna come looking for me,” he says. It’s a warning, the last one he has.

Clint shrugs it aside like it’s nothing. “Good. That’ll make them easy to find.”

“I’m not worth all this,” he says. And that’s not a warning. It’s a confession.

“Me either,” Clint says, with a smile. “Like I said, Barnes. We’re a pair.”

Maybe they are, and maybe they aren’t. Maybe they’re just going to get each other killed. But Bucky has nightmares about Steve, because he’s not ready for Steve to see what he’s become. Clint’s had a good long look at what Bucky is now, and he doesn’t know enough to be disappointed or disgusted.

A pair of killers, a pair of failures. A pair of people who kill people better than themselves.

Bucky doesn’t know what he deserves, after everything he’s done. But Clint, at least, deserves not to be alone.

“Okay,” he says. He doesn’t know how the hell he’d even begin to say no, when Clint’s looking at him like he’s the last chance he’s got. “Okay, yeah,” he says. “We’ll stick together.”

Maybe, this time, they’ll get to stay that way.

[tootiredmotel]

He’s 42, and he’s loved

I did it, I freaking did it, here’s the Happy Birthday Dean fic.

AO3

After so many years of living in the bunker, Dean was no longer wired to sleep only four hours a night out of necessity. He was also not a morning person, never had been, so most days he allowed himself the luxury of sleeping in.

Today, however, something deep in his belly– anticipation, excitement– pulled him out of unconsciousness against his will. Eyes still closed and mind still jumbled, he couldn't imagine what it could be about, until the steady thumping underneath him was replaced by a hum and a voice so deep it never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

"Good morning."

Green eyes met loving blue, and Dean didn't bother fighting a smile or the urge. Not today. He reached up to run a finger along Cas's jaw, under his lips, down his neck. He kissed him, a hand cupping Cas's face as he used the other to push himself on top of him. He kissed Cas, whose fingers entangled themselves in Dean's hair, longer than he'd ever let it grow before. He kissed Cas, and by now it was both as natural as breathing and as striking as a blue moon. 

Cas's hands traveled from Dean's hair down the nape of his neck and onto his shoulders. "It's early," he mumbled into Dean's lips. Dean shifted to check the clock, 5:32 am, and caught sight of the duffle bags next to their nightstand.

"Big day," he breathed out, propped up on his hands.

Cas donned a half-smile and a twinkle in his eye. "That it is," he said, and flipped them over. Once settled on top, Cas started trailing feather-light kisses along Dean’s jaw and down his neck, stopping to pay special attention to that one spot just under his ear that Cas knew drove him insane. His hands found their way under Dean’s t-shirt, caressing at his hipbones and traveling up his belly, not as solid as it once was. Dean could feel the love, the reverence, in every touch and kiss that Cas, his Cas, laid upon him. It left Dean a total mess. 

Cas slowly found his way back to Dean’s lips, brushing over them with his tongue and seizing the opportunity Dean’s small gasp gave him. He swept over every crevice and corner of Dean’s mouth, once, a fleeting thing, before pulling away. It generated a whimper from the back of Dean’s throat that Cas had the audacity to smirk at.

“I love you,” he said, low and hoarse like a prayer, as he rested his forehead on top of Dean’s, breaths mingling together and eyelashes brushing against each other. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

42. Wow.

“So far?” Dean brought his hands up to grab Cas’s face like he was his lifeboat. “The best.”

Cas kissed him one more time, short and chaste, before dragging them both out of bed to get dressed. They found the others already waiting in the war room with their own bags. Sam and Eileen were still blinking sleep out of their eyes, but Jack had the energy of a golden retriever puppy and was the first out the door.

They stopped for breakfast at the 24-hour diner in town. They were the only lunatics there at 6 in the morning on a Sunday, and Dean made sure to tip that poor waitress well since she had to tolerate their growing rowdiness and excited chatter as they ate and gained their strength. Dean had to admit though, the energy that other townspeople were walking into was fantastic, especially after Cas went and chose some song by The Temptations at the jukebox (yes, there was a goddamn jukebox), prompting Dean to take him dancing around the place as best they could.

By the time they got back to the car, everyone was in great spirits, any and all morning grouchiness long vanished. They joked around and jammed the whole way, two hours passing by in seemingly nothing.

Warm sand and whispering freshwater welcomed Dean like they were created for him. Maybe they were. Maybe Cas made this particular lake. Dean looked ahead at him and Eileen, signing away at each other in between setting up the towels and chairs. So normal, so lively, so overwhelmingly human. The thought of Castiel, a creature of power beyond all mortal comprehension, molding mountains, and valleys, and lakes; it all seemed so foreign to Dean now. He was just Cas, standing there in a t-shirt and swim trunks, feet sinking into the sand, golden-rooted overgrown hair shifting in the wind. And it was all because of him. Cas was there, and Cas was human, for him. It’s something that hit Dean in waves sometimes, knocking the wind out of him and reminding him how absurdly lucky he is.

There was a chilly breeze in the air, the water was freezing, and they had the whole beach to themselves (because, again, lunatics). None of them ever waded too far into the water (pneumonia was still a very real thing), but none of them escaped un-splashed either. 

Dean watched whatever game was being played without him as he came back from the bathroom at one point, Jack sitting on Sam’s shoulders and trying to avoid the water Cas tossed at them. Eileen was sitting on one of their chairs, reapplying sunscreen, and Dean alerted her of his presence with a hand on her shoulder before sitting on the chair next to her.

“So,” she started after a while, handing Dean a water bottle and opening her own. “Forty-two. How does it feel?”

Dean thought about it. He was alive. He was topside. He was at a goddamn beach, watching his kid fall off his brother’s shoulders as his… whatever Cas was, cackled in pure delight. 

“Like a goddamn miracle,” he finally answered, and Eileen nodded. They tapped their bottles together, drank, and it wasn’t long before they were being dragged over to the water by their soaking wet significant others.

Not long before noon, they'd changed into everyday clothes and were walking back to the car, exhausted and starving. Their lunch stop had been picked out days beforehand, a steakhouse in Ellsworth where Dean made sure to mention it was his birthday before paying.

“Why do you need a discount?” Jack asked, once the waiter was out of earshot. “Aren’t our credit cards unlimited?”

“They are,” Dean replied. “We’ve got our Charlie to thank for that.”

Not that they still had her, of course. But Dean liked to thank her anyways.

“I wish I could’ve met her.”

Dean tossed an arm around Jack’s shoulders, ruffling the back of his head in the process. “So do I, kid.”

Dean decided Cas was riding shotgun on the way back to the bunker. Sam, exhausted from having lugged around both Jack and Eileen on his shoulders for a better part of the morning, had no complaints. He fell asleep not long after taking off, Eileen and Jack next to him following suit. 

Dean turned down the pop station playing on the radio and rolled down the windows as he merged into the highway, letting the soft music and the wind rushing past his ears meld into a single background track. That track was sometimes interrupted, enhanced, by Cas humming along to whatever song was playing. Dean didn't recognize a single one, another reminder of how heartwarmingly human Cas was, developing his own taste in music and sharing it with him just as Dean had done for years.

The first time he hummed along, Dean reached over and laid his arm on the back of the seat, running his fingers through the strands at the nape of Cas's neck for a while. The second time, he placed his upturned hand on the seat and didn't have to wait long before Cas's hand snaked its way into it. The third time, Dean couldn't take the whole reaching over thing anymore, and tugged Cas's arm so he'd scoot closer. He planted his hand on Cas's thigh, and Cas rested his own hand on top of it. They stayed like that the whole ride back, only interrupted by Dean bringing Cas's hand up to his lips, or the other way around.

They only stopped for gas about twenty minutes out of Lebanon. They had enough to get home, but Dean hadn't let Baby's tank run empty since he was 25, and damn him, he wasn't going to start at 42.

They had nothing else planned, but Dean had full immunity and control over the day, and as he pulled into the gas station, he decided: movie night. He gave Cas a quick peck before heading inside and picking up some popcorn, M&M's, and licorice. He glanced outside, saw Sam had woken up and was on the phone, and grabbed even more licorice. He couldn't bitch about it today.

Sam hung up as soon as he caught sight of Dean walking back to the car.

"Who was that?" Dean asked.

"Oh. Uhhh… Jody."

"Oh, uh, Jody?"

"Yeah," Sam stammered. "She says happy birthday."

"Huh. Thought maybe she'd call me herself." 

"She's busy, I guess," Sam said, quirking his head like he couldn't help but do when he lied.

"Right."

Dean slumped against the car as he filled the tank, and as Sam climbed back in, Cas climbed out, settling next to him.

"Is Sam lying to me, Cas?" He asked, studying the car wash sign far ahead.

"No, Dean," he heard Cas reply. "That was Jody he was talking to."

"But he is hiding something."

"Dean," Cas beckoned, and Dean turned to meet his eyes. "Trust him," he said, lacing their fingers together. "We wouldn't be devising anything malicious on your birthday." 

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "We?"

Cas simply smiled and said “I love you,” kissing the back of his hand and then returning to the car.

In contrast to how fast two hours went by that morning, those 20 remaining minutes back to the bunker felt eternal. Sam kept texting on his phone, occasionally showing Eileen something on the screen, to which she'd smile and nudge him excitedly. It was driving Dean up the wall the more he watched them through the rearview mirror, and he was about to say something when Cas placed a hand on his knee and squeezed. Patience, his eyes said. Also I love you. Always, constantly, I love you. It calmed Dean down. At least, enough to reach the bunker without peeking at the backseat again.

Dean stepped through the threshold, formulating the movie list for tonight in his head, when-

"SURPRISE!" 

Dean almost startled out of his skin. Streamers, balloons, confetti of every color imaginable, and a war table decked out in snacks awaited him below, along with a sea of faces of some of the best people he knew. Sam stood next to him and patted his back, wearing a proud grin on his stupid face. Dean turned back to find matching smiles on Cas, Eileen, and Jack, so taken aback that he wouldn't have started down the stairs had Jack not pulled him excitedly along.

Claire tackled him in a hug the second he came down the last step. "Now you're old," she said in his ear. 

Dean didn't argue, just mumbled a quiet "yeah, yeah" as he squeezed her, planting a kiss on her hair before she pulled away.

Jody and Donna followed, then the other girls, congratulations and "happy birthday"s left and right. Garth awaited his turn, and Dean made sure to initiate the hug with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

Over Garth's shoulder he spotted some faces. They were vaguely familiar, but one in particular was prominent in his memory, one he hadn't seen in far too long and now looked much older than at their last encounter. "Krissy?"

She smiled that cocky, crooked grin of hers. "Happy birthday, dweeb."

"Krissy Chambers, what d'ya know." He engulfed her in a hug, smiling at Aidan and Josephine behind her. "And you're all still together."

"Duh," Krissy scoffed, pulling away. "We're family."

Dean nodded, looking around as Sam, Cas, Eileen, and Jack said hi to everyone. A damn family alright.

And so the evening began. Everyone caught each other up, told some stories. Claire and Kaia were officially together, Krissy and Aidan were very much not. Baby Sam and Castiel were growing up great, and Garth was ecstatic to finally meet his son’s namesake. Donna brought freaking karaoke machine, so in between stuffing their faces with snacks (yes, licorice included, much to Sam’s disgust), everyone would take turns at the mic. Among the highlights: Alex, Patience, and Claire’s Since U Been Gone, Dean, Jody, and Donna’s Bennie and the Jets, Jack and Cas’s Don’t Stop Believing, and of course, a valiant collective effort for Sweet Caroline. Dean spent the night answering the "how does 42 feel" question. Made sure to give a different answer every time. "Like thirty." "Like sixty." "Like hell, and I would know." "Like heaven. Actually no, not that bad." Eileen smiled at him every time, because she knew. Like a miracle.

Dean was almost (almost) tired by the time the pie came around and the incredibly out of tune Happy Birthday chorus began. He was wearing two party hats at that point. Jack placed the pie in front of him, ‘HaPPy B-daY D!’ written in crust on top and Rice Krispy treats framing the plate. Dean sent Jack a knowing smile before reaching over to ruffle his hair in thanks. 

“Make a wish,” Sam said beside him. Dean regarded him for a moment, then Cas at his other side, then Jack and Eileen and Claire and Jody and everyone around the table, all with a soft smile. He blew out the candles.

---

“I would really like to ask you what you wished for, you know?” Cas said later that night, as he sat down next to Dean in their little library nook, everyone else long asleep. “But they say it’s supposedly bad luck to say it out loud. That it won’t come true.”

Dean pressed play on his phone and stood up. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, holding his hand out for Cas to take. Some Harry James piece filled the air as Dean pulled Cas close, studying every shade of blue in his eyes, every wrinkle that surrounded them, the outline of his lips and the shape of his jaw. He turned for a second to look at the party mess everyone promised to help clean up in the morning, then turned back to Cas. He met his lips, soft and deliberately slow, trying to speak volumes without saying a single word. It’s this. It’s you. It’s us. It’s love and family and peace. That’s my wish. That has always been and always will be my wish.

He pulled away and said, “It already came true.”

Cas happily nuzzled his face into the crook of Dean’s neck as they started swaying back and forth. They lost themselves in the music and each other, hands caressing and lips leaving soft kisses wherever they wanted. After who knows how many songs, neither of them could say, Cas mumbled into Dean’s shoulder.

“I love you.”

At long, long last, Dean finally replied.

“I love you too, Cas.”

Cas’s head shot up, and Dean caught only a brief sight of his eyes turning glassy before Cas pressed their lips together again, wanting and caring and so, so incredibly loving. It was as Cas pulled away that it dawned on Dean: he’d never, in his life, felt as happy, as satisfied, as loved as he did on this day.

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

And it was. It definitely was.

[waywardnerd67]

My World, My Everything

Summary: She was everything to him. His entire world revolved around her, but a decision had to be made. He had a job to do and in making this decision he would save everything that meant the world to him. Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 1899 Prompt: “All Our Own” -Radio Company (Lyrics are bold) A/N: This is for @atc74​ Collab Challenge Contest

His finger traced the worn edges of a small photo. The moment in which it was taken as fresh in his mind as if it had happened the day before. It was meant to be the most important day of his life and ended being one of the worst. Slipping the photo back into its spot held within his wallet taking one last, long look at it before closing it in place. Looking out over the dashboard of his car, Dean Winchester looked up into the darkening sky as the end came barreling his way.

October 29, 2005 - San Diego, California

Dean pulled into his normal parking spot at (Y/N)’s apartment building. It had been a few weeks since he last saw her. His case in New Orleans had taken a little longer than expected but now his plan was back on track. Before heading up to her place, he pulled out his phone hitting his dad’s number.

“Dad, when you get this call me. There’s something important I need to talk to about.”

Snapping the phone shut, he grabbed his bag and ran up the exterior stairs with his key in his hand. The door flew open just as he reached the top of the stairs. His eyes traveled the length of her curvy body marveling in her natural beauty. Her bright eyes matched the smile spreading across her face.

“Stop gawking and get your ass in here, Winchester.”

He jogged over and scooped her up holding her tightly, “I missed you pretty girl.”

Leaving (Y/N) had been the one of the hardest moments he had and finally pushed him to make a huge change in his life. Letting her go, Dean set his stuff near the door and kicked off his boots next to the black heels she must have worn to work that day. Seeing his stuff next to hers had his chest tightening with pure happiness.

Leaning against the counter he watched her cook as she told him all about her clients for the day. The only thought running through his mind was that this beautiful, successful business woman was all his. Instinctively he ran his hand over his right pocket of his jeans smiling softly as she continued to talk. Their dinner was simple and filled with laughter as Dean told her all about the voodoo case he had in New Orleans. The rest of their evening was filled with passionate love making and the most restful sleep Dean had in weeks.

Dean awoke to gentle kisses being pressed against his chest and shining eyes staring up at him. The corner of her lips curling into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow at her. One look from her had him pouncing and their morning began as their night had ended.

“Did you think about what we last spoke of?” (Y/N) was snuggled into his side with her leg draped over his waist.

He brushed his calloused fingertips against her soft skin, “Listen to yesterday long before the way it has become and it all came down to you.”

“And…?”

“I don't really know the way, played out stranger than it seemed. But what went down came true like an all day dream.” He pushed himself up as she propped herself up on her elbow.

Her eyes searched his eyes for the unspoken words he was holding deep within him, “Dean, it doesn’t have to be a dream. You’re twenty-six now and can make your own decisions. Especially when it comes to having a stable life.”

He ran one hand through his hair, “I don't wanna be the one to say it's wrong. When the heavens open and a new day comes along. I know I would rather be together alone in a big top circle and a world we can call our own. It's all our own.”

“Does that mean…” the sheet fell from her body as she sat up hope shining in her eyes.

“In a world we can call our own we'll find shelter, darling. Where I'll always promise to never let be. I’m here to stay.”

(Y/N) launched herself onto him kissing him wherever she could get her lips on, “Handsome, that is all I want is you here all the time. You have no idea how happy I am right now.”

“Well, you can show me how happy you are.” Dean laughed as she playfully smacked him.

She got up heading towards her bathroom, “Maybe I will if you join me for a shower.”

Dean was about to follow her when he heard his phone beep with a new voicemail, “I’ll be right there.”

He watched her go in closing the door behind her. Looking at his phone his body tensed as the missed number was his dad’s. Quickly dialing his voicemail he listened to the strange message.

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.”

There was EVP on the message which had panic tightening around his chest. He heard the shower turn on and his heart began to ache painfully. Pulling on his jeans his hand brushed against the small object that brought tears to his eyes. Getting dressed as quickly as he could, Dean grabbed his things then wrote out a note for (Y/N).

“I have to go. I love you, Dean.”

He shut the door as he heard (Y/N) called out to him. Running down the stairs and to his Baby, Dean took off like a bat out of hell. He knew the path all too well down to Palo Alto where his little brother, Sam, was going to college. It had been years since they last spoke but Dean always made a point to go find him from afar. Now, he needed his help in order to find their dad.

Present Day

Dean stood in front of his car alone facing the greatest threat the world had ever seen. Sam was back at the Bunker trying to figure out another way to save the world, but Dean knew it was pointless. This was his burden to bare. This was his destiny. Dying to save the world and his life was worth losing knowing that he was saving the world (Y/N) was living in. As he watched the dark clouds split open and a figure in a white suit emerging from them. Dean closed his eyes, the vision of (Y/N) clearly in his mind before opening them and heading straight for Chuck.

                                                          ***

(Y/N) was wrapped in her favorite blanket when the doorbell rang. A tall man, with long chestnut hair stood there. His eyes were bloodshot and tired looking. He was holding a small shoebox in his hands.

“May I help you?”

“Are you (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” His voice was hoarse as if he had been crying.

She nodded, “Yes I am.”

The man took a deep breath, “My name is Sam Winchester…”

Hearing the surname made her gasp, “You’re Dean’s little brother. W-Where is Dean?”

His hazel eyes connected with hers with tears in them, “D-Dean wanted you to have this when he… when he passed.”

(Y/N) stared at the box shaking her head, “No. N-No… he can’t be. Tell me, he’s around the corner or on his way. Don’t you dare tell me he’s gone!”

Sam held the box out to her, “I-I’m sorry, but I can’t. He sacrificed his life in order to save the world. He defeated God and defended all the people of this world. The only thing he made me promise to do is deliver this box to you.”

As she took a hold of the flimsy shoebox a blood curdling sob erupted from deep within her chest and her body gave out as she fell into Sam’s outstretched arms. He helped her inside to her couch as she let out all of her anguish knowing the world no longer had Dean Winchester in it. Sam sat with her until there were no more tears left for her to give.

“I’m s-sorry.”

He rubbed her back, wiping away his own tears, “No need to apologize. Would you mind if I stay while you open the box? I’ve been watching him carry this around since he came to get me from college. I’m curious what’s inside.”

She nodded her trembling hands taking the lid off. There were all kinds of trinkets from all his travels. A worn copy of her favorite book, Little Women, with his hand written notes. A small photo album with pictures of him throughout the years he was away from her. Seeing his piercing olive eyes and handsome face brought fresh tears down her cheeks. Then there was a small square box and an envelope. Within the box was a simple diamond ring, a soft gasp coming from her.

“Pretty girl, I know you probably hate me and you should. I had to leave. Not because of my dad or the job. I had to leave to keep you safe. There is nothing in this world more important to me than you being alive, safe, healthy. Even though the thought of you being with someone else tears my heart apart, I hope you found someone who loves you as much as I do. I want you to live a full and happy life.

If you’re reading this then Sam has kept his promise. I’m gone but the world is safe. Don’t be sad that I’m gone. There was no choice in the matter and no other way. I had to save the world in order to save you and that meant my death. (Y/N), I love you. You are my world, my everything. I wanted to give you this ring the morning I left. I kept hoping one day I might be lucky enough to give you this in person. Now, I want you to have it to remember that you were the only woman for me. I love you so much. Live a long, beautiful life. -Dean”

(Y/N) took the ring, slipping it onto her finger, more tears falling down her face, “Damn it Winchester, even in death you’re a charming son of a bitch.”

Sam started laughing and (Y/N) found herself joining him. They began telling stories about Dean to one another until the early hours of the morning. Exchanging phone numbers with promises to keep in touch, (Y/N) watched Sam drive away in the all too familiar black Impala. She looked up to the sky, a cool breeze whipping past her.

“Dean Winchester, if you can hear me then you get your ass back down here to me.” She closed her eyes praying that he would be in front of her when they opened.

                                                          ***

A thousand miles away, the Earth split open shaking the ground violently. A large hand grasped the edge of the opening pulling themselves up onto the dirt. Coughing and dry heaving until collapsing onto the ground. Catching their breath and getting up they made their way down the nearest road. Nearly an hour later, they entered a small gas station asking to use the phone.

“This is Sam.” The familiar voice brought a wave of emotions over them.

“Sammy, it’s me. I-I’m back.”

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[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 8

November 10th, 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was in her hotel room.  

The Leafs had lost to Chicago.  Chicago scored four goals in the first period.  It was a shitshow.  And although the boys rallied back late in the third period, they just couldn’t get that fifth goal to send it into overtime and at least get a point.  William scored two goals – en route to a hat trick – but didn’t get it.  He did get third star of the game though.  Aberdeen knew he was trying to impress his parents and show off in front of his brother.

The team was spending the night in Chicago before leaving late tomorrow for Long Island, meaning that Aberdeen had the day off and could actually go and explore.  She’d never been, and she knew eight or ten hours was not nearly enough to really explore a city, but she thought about taking a city bus tour that hit all the major sites.  Truthfully, she was learning more towards just spending the entire day at the Art Institute of Chicago.  It was on her bucket list.  

After the stress of travelling and the back to back games, she was tired.  She’d taken a long, hot shower before putting on her pajamas and slipping into the hotel bathrobe.  With her hair wrapped in a towel, she ripped open a sheet mask and put it on, massaging it onto her face.  She texted Kasha, who sent her some pictures and videos of Minerva sleeping on her bed, which calmed her down but also made her wish she was curled up with her cat.  Eventually, Aberdeen lay upright in bed, trying to get some reading of Women Talking by Miriam Toews done before she fell asleep.

But then there was a light knock at her door.

She was so tired and so annoyed and so engrossed in her book that she didn’t even bother to look through the peephole to see who it was.  She forgot she was in her pajamas and bathrobe.  She forgot she had an entire sheet mask on her face that made her look like Jason.  She just opened the door, not thinking about anything.

Which made seeing William on the other side of the door all the more frightening.  

He had quite the amused look on his face.  “Hey.”

She shut the door in his face.  She turned around so her back was against the door, internally freaking out, looking around for a means of escape.  She seriously contemplated jumping out the window.  It was only eight floors – that didn’t mean too many broken bones, right?  She could…she could…

“Open the door, Aberdeen,” she could hear him from the other side, his voice low but loud enough that only she could hear.  

“No,” she said, having the wherewithal to finally rip the sheet mask off her face and shove it into the pocket of the robe.  It was still wet, damn it.  A sheet mask wasted.  

“Come on, Aberdeen.”

“What are you even doing here?” she asked.

“Would you rather Brendan find me outside your hotel room or would you rather hide me in the shower where he wouldn’t see me?” William asked rhetorically.  

Aberdeen’s heart and her mind started racing, thinking that Brendan was on the way down to her room or down the hallway or something.  She rushed to open the door and stuck her head out, looking down both ends of the hallway.  William, for his part, slipped past her and into her room.  “Is he here?!” she asked in a harsh whisper.  

“God no.  Brendan’s asleep,” William said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  “It’s eleven at night, Aberdeen.  The man needs his rest.”

She looked back at him practically sauntering into her hotel room and shut the door, locking it behind her for full effect.  She crossed her arms to make herself appear angry.  William still had an amused smile on his face.  “I reiterate my question – what are you even doing here?”

“Why wouldn’t I be here?”

“Weren’t you going to dinner with your parents and Alex?”

“That’s done.”

“So, like, don’t you want to spend time with your parents?”

“They have an early morning flight to catch to Dallas to visit Jackie at SMU,” he said.  “They went back to their hotel and went to bed.”

“And shouldn’t you be doing the same thing?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I wanted to see you, minskatt.”

A blush overcame her cheeks.  “Will, this is really inappropriate,” she said, trying to mask it.

“Why?”

“You’re a hockey player in my hotel room,” she felt like she had to spell everything out for him.  “If Brendan finds out he’d freak.  If Kyle or Peter found out, they’d freak.  Hell, if your teammates found out—”

“Even if they did, they wouldn’t say anything,” William interrupted her.

She stopped dead in her tracks.  That was not plausible.  Any single one of them would go to Brendan in a second if she and Will were caught together like this.  In her hotel room.  At night.  Alone.  “I have a hard time believing that.”

“They wouldn’t.  They know that I like you, so they wouldn’t.”

Aberdeen couldn’t respond with anything because she could think of anything to say.  He flummoxed her constantly.  He kept rendering her speechless and she didn’t know what to do about it – didn’t know if she could do anything about it.  She watched as he leaned against the TV stand, crossing his own arms over his chest.  “I’m asking for a third time now – what are you doing here?”

“Was that a sheet mask you had on your face before?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

She gave him major side eye.  “Moisturizing.  The traveling is drying out my skin.”

Will let out a slight chuckle.  He looked past her towards her bed, and she followed his eyes and looked behind her.  “What book are you reading?”

Was he being serious right now?  Had he seriously made his way into her room to ask her about sheet masks and books?  Not like she’d do anything else with him.  But still.  “Women Talking by Miriam Toews.”

“Do women talk in it?”

She audibly scoffed.  “It’s about sexual assault in a Mennonite community.”

Will’s face dropped.  “Oh fuck.”  

Aberdeen couldn’t help but snort as she saw the look on his face.  She tried to cover her mouth and her smile but the attempt was futile.  He looked so embarrassed and it just brought her so much…well, delight.  “God, Will,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back to grab the book.  “You are something else.”

“You like to read, then?” he tried to recover the conversation.

“I have a major in English, Will.  And I want to become a writer.  You can’t become a writer if you don’t read.  Well I mean, you can, but you won’t be very good.  And beyond that, I’ve made it my goal to read the shortlist of the Governor General Awards and the Giller Prize,” she said.  She saw a slightly confused look on Will’s face.  “They’re Canada’s highest literary awards.  They’re like – well, not really, but you’re Swedish, so – it’s like being a Nobel Laureate, but obviously the Nobel is much more prestigious.  I read them too.”

The smile that appeared on his face was so innocent and pure that she wanted to wipe it off his face.  She couldn’t handle it.  “I remember that you want to be a writer.  You told me the first time we met,” he said.  Aberdeen shivered.  “So what are you doing here with the Leafs?”

“In my quest for any type of job, they were the only ones that called,” she informed him.  “No newspapers or magazines came calling, so it was this or bank telling.”

He pushed himself off the TV console, making his way over to sit beside her on the edge of the bed.  He looked over at her.  “I think you’d make a great writer.”

“Thanks, but you haven’t read any of my writing.”

“Can I?”

“No.”

It was Will’s turn to snort.  “Fair enough.  Maybe I’ll get to read it one day.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, smiling down at the book as she held it between her hands, being very careful not to lose the page.  “How was dinner with your parents?” she pivoted, not wanting to talk about herself or her writing anymore.  “I bet you miss them a lot.”

William shrugged his shoulders.  “I’m kind of used to it.  When I was a kid my dad would be gone a lot.”

Aberdeen thought the worst.  “Why?”

William looked at her weirdly.  “My dad was an NHL player, Aberdeen.”  He saw the shock on her face and couldn’t help but chuckle.  “Do you not, like, google these things?”

“Why would I google your dad?  I thought he was just…I don’t know, your dad!” she tried to defend herself.  

“Well, he is just my dad—”

“But he was an NHL player,” she said.  “What team did he play for?”

“A bunch.  He was a journeyman.  Alex and I were actually born in Calgary, but then it was Tampa, Chicago, Washington, Boston, New York…then back to Washington,” William listed off the cities he’d lived in.  “It was a lot of moving around.  A lot of back and forth.  A lot of missing dad.”

Aberdeen could never imagine moving around that much as a kid.  She was very fortunate to have lived in the same house her entire life, however old and small it was.  She knew William’s life growing up was probably very nice – much nicer than hers, in the sense that he had a lot more money with his dad being an NHL player and all – but all of that couldn’t make up for missing your dad because you couldn’t actually see your dad.  The first time Aberdeen realized she actually missed her parents was the grade nine orientation retreat her school ran, when she went to a camp in Muskoka for three days and two nights and got eaten alive by mosquitos.  She couldn’t imagine that feeling happening over and over again.  And not just over and over again…but throughout her entire childhood.  “But Sweden is always home?” she asked, trying to brighten up the mood.  

“Always,” he replied automatically, resolute in his tone.  “In the summers, when we’d be all together in Sweden, and it was just…you know, family time…that was the best.  Our house in Stockholm, or our house in the countryside…it was always amazing.”

Aberdeen smiled at him.  He was so clearly fond of Sweden and fond of his family.  If their Halloween talk didn’t secure it enough, this did.  She wondered how much he missed his siblings on a regular basis; how geographically, they were so far away from each other, but in every other way they were so close.  Much like she and Siena.  She missed Siena every day.

“Hey Aberdeen?” Will’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“You haven’t kicked me out yet.”

She gave him a look.  He started chuckling at her scrunched up face, still glowing with moisturizer.  “Don’t push it.”

***

November 13th 2019

Aberdeen felt both mentally and physically exhausted as the charter plane landed in Toronto just before midnight.  The Leafs suffered another loss to the New York Islanders, John’s old team (who booed him every time he touched the puck, the savages), even though they battled back again from a goal deficit.  Will scored.  John scored too.  But it wasn’t enough.  Now, the team was officially on a three game losing streak (okay, technically only two if you didn’t count the shootout loss against Philly).  Aberdeen was just…tired.  She had the day off tomorrow to prepare for the Major Donor Dinner that night, worked Friday, and then – surprisingly – a full weekend off, since Brendan wasn’t traveling to Pittsburgh.  

To says she was looking forward to it was an understatement.  

“Who’s driving Aberdeen home?” John asked out loud as he always did when they came back from road trips late at night.  She didn’t know if he’d taken it upon himself as the team captain to spearhead the movement, but she didn’t oppose it anymore.  If they wanted to be chivalrous, she wasn’t going to stop them.  

She usually rode into the city with Morgan, with Bee picking them up.  Twice she’d gotten driven back into the city with Saylor and Kasperi.  She was fully ready to hear Morgan’s voice pipe up like it always did – especially because Bee was always on time and already waiting for them by the time they landed.  She even saw him about to say it, but he was cut off.  “I’ve got it,” Will said immediately, not even looking at her.  Morgan looked back at him, shrugging his shoulders.  That was that.  

Aberdeen noticed he drove a Volvo – of course he would, the Swede.  She put her carry-on in the trunk and slipped into the passenger seat, waving goodbye at Justin Holl who had parked beside Will and was already backing out of his space.  Will slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the car.  He looked over at her, the smallest smile on his face.  “Hey.”

“Hello.”

“You tired?” he asked.

“I’m exhausted.”

“Good,” he said, backing out of the parking spot, making his way out and onto the street.

“Good?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for a while,” he said, a smile on his face.

She side-eyed him.  What exactly did he think they were going to get up to in his car of all places?  She was wide awake now.  “Why?”

“You always have your headphones in on the bus or plane when Brendan doesn’t need you.”

“So?”

“So it’s obvious you like music, and I’ve curated a playlist for this exact moment,” he smiled, fiddling around with his phone.  He really shouldn’t have been doing that, since he was driving and it was illegal to do so.  Aberdeen looked as he swiped through Spotify quickly, obviously knowing exactly where he needed to go.  

“What moment is that?” she asked.  

“Driving through Toronto at night,” he said, stopping at the red light.  She chuckled slightly to herself, leaning her head back on the headrest and looking out her window.  Of all the guys on the team, only Will would do something like this.  Bee never made any playlists for driving Morgan home in the middle of the night.  Hell, Saylor didn’t either.  She was more preoccupied with telling Kasperi the exact details of what she’d been up to while he was gone, or telling him where they were going to go for drinks and oysters after they dropped Aberdeen off. “You ready?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“If you put on Drake to drive through Toronto at night, Will, I swear to God…” she warned.

There was a dramatic pause.  The opening notes of Drake’s ‘Passionfruit’ played.  Aberdeen overexaggerated her scoff and disgusted face, and William’s infamous laugh was so loud it could be heard over the music.  “God, William…” she chastised playfully.

“Oh come on!  It’s a good song!” he tried to defend himself.

“It’s one of his better songs, sure.  I’ll give you that,” she said.  “But what a lousy start.”

Will’s jaw dropped.  “Oh, really?  You can think of something better?”

“I can think of a million different songs that are better,” she quipped.  She looked down at his phone sitting in the little cubby and went to grab it.  She scrolled through the list, getting more and more disgusted by the songs and artists he’d added to the playlist.  “Your taste in music is awful,” she scoffed again.

“HEY!”

“It’s true!”

“Okay Miss Superior Music Taste—”

“Okay, first of all, if you’re going to choose a Toronto artist to start a ‘driving though Toronto at night’ playlist, it should be The Weeknd,” she began, typing his name into the screen and swiping to add ‘Starboy’ and ‘I Feel It Coming’ to the playlist.  “Like, where is Tory Lanez?  Where’s Daniel Caesar?  And why is it all rappers?  This is so stereotypical.  You need better music.”

“It doesn’t just have to be people from Toronto,” he said, making a turn.  “And it’s all rappers because I li—”

“Seriously, this is awful.”

“You’re really mean when you’re exhausted,” he quipped.  

“If it doesn’t have to be just full of people from Toronto then I’m hijacking this playlist and making it good,” she ignored his comment, already swiping her fingers all over his screen and typing in name after name.  

Will would glance over occasionally, trying to keep his eyes on the road but finding it hard.  She looked so cute concentrating so hard as Passionfruit played in the background.  He bit his lip, trying to remain composed.  “God, you’re gutting that thing,” he said.

“That’s how bad it is.”

He shook his head playfully.  “You better hurry up.  Passionfruit’s almost over.”  Aberdeen finished off, keeping his phone in her lap as she let Passionfruit end.  “It better be good,” he said.

She shot him a playful glare.  “It’s awesome, thank you very much.”

As ‘Passionfruit’ ended, ‘Bride’ by San Fermin came on.  Aberdeen was immediately pulled into the sounds and beats, closing her eyes and let it wash over her.  William, on the other hand, furrowed his brows.  “What is this?”

“San Fermin.”

“Who?”

She shot him another glare – how many she’d shot him in this car ride alone, she couldn’t even say.  “Can you just listen?”

William gave it about a minute before he began shaking his head again.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t do this.”

“You’re weak.”

“Put on something good this time,” he said as she picked up the phone again.  He switched lanes to get onto the onramp for the Gardiner Expressway.  He saw Aberdeen scrolling through the playlist, finally picking a song.  ‘Green Light’ by Lorde.  “Lorde?  Really?”

“Don’t you dare say a bad word about Lorde,” she warned.  “She’s perfect.  Her music is perfect.”

“You think so?”

“She wrote Pure Heroine at sixteen.  Sixteen!” she exclaimed.  “I would give my left arm to have written like that at sixteen.  I was writing awful, pretentious poetry about stupid boys in my high school at sixteen.  And she wrote that entire album!”

William laughed, her clear enthusiasm and love of Lorde shining through in her words.  It was adorable.  She was adorable.  She was many things, but right now, she was adorable.  “Is she your favourite?” he asked.

“I have a lot of favourites,” Aberdeen admitted.  “But yeah.  She’s up there.  Do you not listen to her?”

William shrugged his shoulders.  “I know Royals.  That was the big one, right?  That’s basically it.”

“Well, you need to listen more.”

“Not the first time someone’s told me that,” he joked, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

Aberdeen bit her lip.  She knew they were in the context of talking about music and her favourite artists, but that was a loaded sentence.  When she and Brendan made their way to the locker room after the Islanders game, she could hear Mike Babcock’s voice from down the hallway.  She’d watched and listened to some of his post-game interviews, and she wasn’t completely ignorant to the fact that he constantly, constantly, backhand complimented William and his skills.  It didn’t matter if William got an assist, got one goal, even two goals – it was like Mike couldn’t say a good word about Will without undermining him somehow.  She remembered the season opener, when William told her “I’m used to it” when she asked about it.  She shifted uncomfortably in the passenger’s seat.  “Will…”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, minskatt.”

She paused to try to collect herself.  “What, like…I mean, I don’t mean to be nosey or whatever, or intrude…but what – I mean…like what kind of like—”

“Spit it out, Aberdeen.”

“What’s the issue between you and Mike Babcock?” she finally asked.  

Will looked over at her quickly, shocked that she’d asked the question.  “Hell if I knew,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders.  That was a lie – he did know part of it.  At least, he thought he knew part of it.  “I don’t…I…okay.  Last year,” he began, “the 2018-2019 season.  It was my contract negotiation year.  I went unsigned throughout the summer because I was holding out for a specific number and a long-term deal instead of what we call a ‘bridge’, so like a two or three year deal.  I…I didn’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto, no matter what anyone else said.  I still don’t want to be anywhere else but Toronto,” he explained.  “And so, because of that holdout, I didn’t attend training camp.  I didn’t play basically for the beginning half of the season.  There…there was a lot of drama.  A lot of rumours in the Toronto media – really nasty rumours, some of them.  A bunch of talk about trading me.  It produced this really…I don’t know, this really toxic, like, cloud surrounding me.  A lot of people were angry about it.  But I got my deal – I signed on December 1st, the last day legally possible to be able to play.”

Aberdeen thought back to what he told her about his dad.  How much Will missed him as a kid growing up because Michael would be travelling for hockey.  How much Michael was gone all the time.  How every few years, the family would have to pack up and move to a completely different city, in a completely different part of the country, following Michael on his journeyman hockey career.  Of course William wanted a long term deal.  It was no wonder.  He didn’t want to experience what he had to experience growing up – being shuffled around the league – now as an adult.  

“The media did their job though,” he continued, breaking her train of thought.  “They were relentless.  Malicious.  They turned a lot of people against me – a lot of fans who were influenced into thinking I was a spoiled Swedish brat.  Overhyped, overpaid, waste of money.  A plug.  Getting in the way of hiring a good Canadian boy, forgetting the fact that I was born in Calgary,” he almost smiled to himself, shaking his head.  “So…I don’t know.  I guess Mike didn’t get over my holdout.  Maybe he feels bitter about it.  Maybe he thinks I’m selfish, that I shouldn’t have held out.  Maybe he thinks I’m an overhyped, overpaid plug taking a spot from a good Canadian enforcer or something.  But it’s all hypothetical.  It’s all maybes.  I can’t tell you why, exactly, he always says those things.”

Aberdeen didn’t know any of this.  She didn’t know William held out on his contract.  She didn’t know there was a portion of the city that hated just him specifically.  She didn’t know about bridge deals, long term deals, and about him wanting to be in Toronto – nowhere else.  She didn’t know any of it.  And that’s when she finally realized: that was her exact problem.  This was why she kept making careless comments that made Brendan so upset.  She didn’t know anything about the team; she didn’t know anything about its members, how they got to Toronto, how they liked being here.  She didn’t know the history and barely took time to learn.

“You need to walk into this building everyday knowing and understanding the history of this hockey club beyond just the surface level and what Brendan tells you,” Kyle told her after she went crying to him like a baby.  “But you already know what to do, Aberdeen.  You just need to find it within yourself and do it.”

She needed to understand the team as an institution, but also as a group of guys creating and carrying on the legacy of that institution.  

Now she knew.

“That’s awful,” she said, considering everything he told her.  She couldn’t believe a coach would hold something like that against a player.  “You…you don’t deserve that, Will.  Any of it.”

“I know,” he said, nodding his head slightly.  “You don’t have to tell me that, minskatt.  Mike’s just…listen, he’s a good coach – a great coach.  I mean, he’s won two gold medals.  And he has a very specific system—”

“William,” she interrupted him.  He looked over at her.  “Don’t make excuses.”

He smiled at her – a true, genuine smile.  And as he did, the opening notes of ‘Style’ by Taylor Swift began to play, and a shiver ran up Aberdeen’s spine.  She had to look away – had to – because if she looked any longer at him, she would spontaneously self-combust.  That, or lean over the centre console and do something she would immediately regret.  As she looked out the front, she saw them approaching downtown – all the lights and the skyscrapers illuminating the city, and the CN Tower lit up brightly in red.  “This is my favourite drive,” she mumbled.

“What?”

“This is my favourite drive,” she repeated, speaking up.  “This…the Gardiner going into the city.  Swerving through all the buildings.  All the lights.  And this song is perfect for it.  Absolutely fucking perfect.”

William continued to smile at her, looking between her and the road as ‘Style’ continued to play.  The riff, the beat…everything was perfect.  She was busy focused on the view, and on the beat of the song, singing it lightly to herself, her voice getting above the volume of the song only minimally.  She even took out her own phone and began recording the drive and the lights, no doubt to post on Instagram later.  She looked perfect.  She was perfect, at least to him.  He needed to utilize every ounce of self-control he had in him as he continued to watch her.  “This is really hard,” he said out loud, breaking somewhat.

“What?  Listening to Taylor Swift?”

He laughed.  “No.  All I really want to do is reach across the dash and hold your hand but I know I can’t.”

She blushed, looking down at her hands instead of looking at him.  She always had a few rings on – a few dainty ones, stacked, and one her mom gave her that once belonged to her grandmother – and she began playing with them nervously.  He signalled to get off at the appropriate exit.   “Will…”

“I know, I know,” he said.  He was biting his lip down, hard, probably to stop him from saying or doing anything else.  “I’m sorry.”

The rest of their ride was silent, since it wasn’t much longer until he reached her condo.  When they finally arrived, she made sure he knew he didn’t have to get out of the car when he popped the trunk for her to get her carry-on.  She rolled it back to the passenger window.  “Thanks for the ride Will,” she smiled.

“Will I see you at the dinner tomorrow?” Will asked out the window, leaning over the centre console.

She paused for a second.  He knew about that?  She thought it was an office personnel only event.  “You’re going?”

“Of course I am,” he smiled.  

She rolled her eyes.  “Of course you are.”

“Brendan likes to shuffle some of us out as a surprise for the donors.  It’ll be me, John, Jason, and Mitch,” he explained quickly.  “So I’ll see you there?”

“Yes.  You’ll see me there.”