#granted they’ve been running around my head for nearly a month now but still

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S DESIRE - CHAPTER 43

*Warning: Adult Content*

                                      ~ Six months later  ~

Piercing screams startles Montreal Hunter from sleep. 

He bolts from the couch where he'd lain down for a rest and stumbles to the front door, heart pounding hard and fast. 

Throwing it open, he sees the cause of the sounds and sags against the frame, hand pressed to his chest as relief replaces his instinctive fear. 

Martin Hunter's kids, playing tag with Kit Montaine on the lawn in front of Monty’s house. 

He forgot they had agreed to watch them while Martin supervised some renovations on the old house he had bought in town. 

After his divorce was finalized by human law, it became clear that Elena had controlled nearly all the family's wealth. 

She left Martin the barest minimum she could and he hadn't fought her for more. 

All he wanted was to never see her again. 

Then, with some help from the rest of the Hunter family, he had scraped together enough for a down payment, come to Spring Lakes and found a sweet old fixer-upper close to a good school. 

For having had their lives entirely upended and disrupted, the kids seemed happy with the change. 

Martin had told Monty he'd made sure Elena never hurt them, that any violence got directed at him but kids are perceptive. 

They might not have understood, completely but they saw and understood enough. 

Their old house hadn't been a happy place and Martin still blames himself for not getting them out of it sooner. 

He's not the only one with lingering guilt, either.  

When Monty and Kit had gone back to Montana to help Martin move, He'd caught his dad watching his brother with a sad, curious look, even as he smiled and laughed with their mom. 

As we cleaned up after dinner, Monty had asked his father what was wrong.

"Martin lived with us, or less than a mile from us, for most of his life. He was always a happy, carefree boy, with that bright, mischievous smile. Seeing it again is wonderful. But I keep asking myself, 'When did my son stop smiling and why did I not notice it?" He shook his head and sighed. "I guess sometimes, when you're close to someone for long enough, you stop really seeing them. Start taking them for granted. Stop saying 'I love you' because you figure the other person knows. Like you, Monty. I don't think you know how much you're loved. I'm glad you've got Kit to remind you of it, now."

Monty is glad, as well and as he watches Kit roll and tumble with Martin's kids in the grass, he vows to make sure he knows it, too.

                                                  ~ ☾ ~

They've had a lot of 'firsts,' in the last six months. 

First real date. 

First trip to the beach. 

First time holding hands in public. 

Kit has had many more 'firsts' of his own and Monty often has to remind himself of how restricted his life had been before they found each other, of everything he's been through and everything he's missed out on. 

He's catching up fast, though and devours books as if he needs them as much as food or oxygen. 

Maybe he does. 

He spends a lot of time in Noah Hunter's bookstore and in the public library and on the phone Monty bought him and Monty worries Kit’s going to run out of things to read soon but Noah reassures his brother.

“He's slowing down, already," Noah tells Monty. 

"It's like he was starving before, and 'wolfed' down knowledge like food. Now that he's not quite so hungry, he's learning to savor things and to pick out what he likes best."

Monty: ‘I've got him, too.’

                                                     ~ ☾ ~

"Are you ready for this?"

Kit's lips brush Monty’s as he leans over him where he lies in bed, his honey-gold curls framing his bronze-toned face and his dark eyes shining bright. Monty slides his hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a kiss, reveling in the sensation of his mouth against his, the warmth of his smooth skin and the fresh forest scent of him.

"You know I am."

Monty slides his hands down his bare back to his hips and rolls to trap him beneath him. 

He squeaks and then shivers as Monty kisses his throat and chest, inching his way lower as he worships him with his lips. 

He squirms as Monty reaches the band of his underwear and gently wraps his fingers in the back of his lover’s hair.

"Monty... I think we're supposed to save this part for later," he gasps.

"You started it."

Monty nuzzles Kit’s navel and trace his fingers up the inside of his thigh.

"Monty."

Kit bucks and shivers again and Monty lifts himself and looks down at him.

"You really want to wait?" Monty asks, his eyes traveling his form. 

He's filled in and toned up a bit, though he's still slim and beautiful and... foxy.

"Do we have time?" Kit whispers, gazing up at Monty with all kinds of questions in his dark eyes.

"Plenty."

Kit bites his lip and turns his head aside but Monty sees a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. 

"Okay, then."

Monty: ‘He's not the only one who can play games.’

"Nah, maybe you're right," Monty says, sitting back with a sigh. 

"We don't want you showing up with marks on your throat from where I kissed you or your legs all weak and your face all flushed from all the ways I made love to you."

Monty starts to get up and Kit grabs for him, catching the front of his shirt.

"Wait..."

"Yeah?"

"What if you..."

"What?"

They know each other well enough now that Monty knows Kit likes this kind of teasing, likes to be chased but not hunted and likes to be the one to make the first move.

"What if you... If we just... If..."

Monty raises his brows at him. 

One rule he'd made was that if Kit couldn't say it, they wouldn't do it. 

Kit huffs in mild annoyance and then sits up. 

He crawls onto Monty’s lap, loops his arms around his neck, presses his body to his and then whispers in his lover’s ear.

"What if... I'm on my back and you tease me with your tongue until I'm all helpless and trembling and then you put your cock inside me and you fuck me slow and easy, until you come so hard it takes you five minutes to catch your breath. That way, there'll be no marks on my neck and my legs won't be weak because you'll have done all the work. That is... if we really have time."

Monty tries to think of a witty comeback but his brain jams and the only sound that escapes him is a sort of strangled groan. 

Kit falls back on the pillows and lifts his arms above his head, raising his brows at Monty. 

There's a laugh on his lips and a light in his eyes and Monty can't resist him. 

Monty swallows and then shifts himself to lie over Kit and kisses him so he knows that he's his heaven and the only heaven he wants. 

And then they do as Kit suggested and they're almost but not quite, late for their own wedding.

                                                     ~ ☾ ~

It was Gracie's idea. 

She thought it would be adorable and fun, two brides and two grooms, both sets joining their fortunes together in a ceremony of love.

"You sure?" Monty had asked, when she'd proposed the idea. 

Grace and Chloe Foley's wedding was already planned and adding Kit and Monty to the affair seemed troublesome. 

"We don't want to steal your thunder."

"Don't be a potato bug," she'd laughed, hitting Monty’s arm. 

For a human, she was pretty strong and it hurt almost as much as if she'd been Freya Hunter. 

"Chloe's hyped for it. Our friends and families overlap anyway, so the guest-list stays almost the same. All you guys have to do is stand at the altar with us and we'd be honored if you did."

"I'll ask Kit," Monty had said, feeling his face heat up. 

"If he... says yes, then... you can count us in."

Monty had asked Kit to marry him that night, under a peaceful, star-strewn sky outside their little house. 

And Kit had said yes, of course.

                                                     ~ ☾ ~

And so, here they are, about to get married in the flowering meadow beside Grace and Chloe's house, on a beautiful spring day in Spring Lakes, with all their family and friends looking on. 

Gracie's family is almost as big as Monty’s, and seem like genuinely good people but Chloe is as alone in the world as Kit. 

Her one close relation is Ian Foley, who beams from the front row of white plastic seats, a tear glinting in his single blue eye and Sam Asato at his side. 

Martin sits with his kids, looking tired but happy, Alpha Dane Hunter sits with his mate Julian Hart and their twins, who are just nearing the age of true havoc and Mr and Mrs Hunter sit front and center, holding hands. 

The rest of Monty’s siblings and extended family are there as well and he sees many happy faces filled with joy for Monty and Kit and for Chloe and Grace. 

Everyone is dressed in their best, though Monty’s 'best' isn't much to speak of. 

Having a tux custom-made for a guy his size isn't cheap and he’s lucky it still fits him. 

It's not top rack, by any stretch but Monty still feels like a prince as he stands facing Kit, who is wearing a suit Martin gave him. 

Grace looks stunning in a white dress, while Chloe is equally beautiful in a fitted tux. 

Alpha Astrid Hunter officiates and in no time at all they're happily wed, in the Wolf world as well as the human one. 

Then there is good food and good company, tears and laughter and at last the day is done and Monty and Kit return to their little house at the end of its solitary road. 

Monty Hunter carries his mate/lover/life partner Kit over the same doorstep where he had first found him, half a year before.

Monty: ‘Mine, as I am his, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, my heart's desire, fulfilled.’

                                             ~ THE END ~

[crisis-aversion]

Sometime last month @pastelpaperplanes made an OC based on a cup and inspired me to do the same, but I only just had the time to actually draw these idiots... Anyway welcome my two newest mains, they’re absolute idiots but so are all my OCs lol (also this is one of the few times I’ll ever post refs to this account, they’re usually reserved to my TH XD)

Yes I did just take a really quick photo of my two fave cups in front of the microwave I’m sorry that I’m lazy btw I tried to make a recording of me drawing this but I kept crashing my app so maybe I’ll figure that out later with another piece yeah you’re right prolly not

The image isn’t accurate for height reference, Red’ only comes up to about Blue’s shoulder height (I’m not good at scale, but then again I wasn’t paying attention while drawing this either). Also they’re both Autobots I just can’t be bothered with insignias lol

Blueband is a veteran I mean not technically cause he still fights but whatever and Redglow is a rookie. Blue’ saved Red’s aft after he got himself in trouble by taunting a group of Decepticons and then just kinda. adopted him. They’re rarely seen apart now, and Blue’ is still stuck saving Red’ from his dumb antics

It’s all good but I’m sure Blueband ain’t gonna be adopting another idiot rookie any time soon

I realized halfway through drawing him that Red’ looks kinda like Knock Out but I’m gonna blame that on the fact I did this immediately after drawing a couple KO next gens

[karanna1]

AU - Lena Luthor Saves Krypton

Lena is somehow sent back in time and finds herself on Krypton 30 years before the planet explodes. Kara doesn’t exist yet. Krypton has no idea what’s about to happen to them.

Lena realizes that with her knowledge of what’s to come and intellect to devise a solution, she can do two things. One, she can save an entire species from near extinction. Two, she can save Kara from ever having to experience the pain of losing her family, her home, and being abandoned. Kara could live a happy life and never know the burden of Supergirl or being the last daughter of Krypton.

So instead of trying to find a way back to Earth, back to her own time, she settles into life on Krypton, becomes fluent in Kryptonese, and sets about with a spectacularly single-minded focus of changing the future - to save this dying world (and Kara).

She succeeds...mostly. They can’t fix the damage that’s already been done to the planet. Their sun will die and destroy Krypton still, but with Lena’s help they’re able to locate a barren planet in another system that has a white star. It’s brand new, strong, and will live for untold trillions of years (provided Kryptonians didn’t try to harness its power again).

They terraform the planet and create “New Krypton” using the dome concept that Zor-El invented fused with Coluan bottling technology. All Kryptonians are instantly transported to their new home that’s identical to the old one save for one difference - the white sun grants them god-like powers that are beyond what Lena ever saw Kara and Clark capable of on Earth. Kryptonians are overwhelmed en masse by these powers. Some go power mad and attempt coups and form radical sects. Others realize the gift they’ve been given and, with Lena’s guidance, Kryptonian society develops under a new mission - to travel the galaxy and offer help to all those in need. Not just offering knowledge and technology this time, but themselves with their newfound powers.

Lena keeps her distance from the House of El as much as she can. It’s nearly impossible considering their standing with the Kryptonian High Council. Lena has to work very closely with the Council. Jor-El and his brother, Zor-El, are brilliant scientists and statesmen. Alura In-Ze is a rising star in the judicial system. Her marriage to Zor-El, second born son of the House of El, caused quite a few waves, but when Lara Lor-Van, a brilliant biologist and prominent noble of the House of Van, agrees to marry Jor-El, it’s all anyone can talk about. All 4 of them live very public lives due to their professions, their positions on the High Council, and their nobility.

They’re ever so fascinated by Lena Luthor, the human from Earth that appeared one day to save their entire planet. Their savior. The one their people have named “The New Dawn”. Lena wants nothing to do with the House of El. It’s too much. She can’t bear to be so close to Kara’s family without Kara. It feels wrong. Unfortunately, with how much Lena tries to avoid them, the 4 nobles think they’ve done something to offend her, and constantly attempt ways to make amends. It only makes Lena’s life that much more difficult.

But she still knows the exact date and time that Kara Zor-El steps into existence. Later, she will know the moment Kal-El is born (mostly because Lara’s natural birth is all anyone can talk about).

Lena meets Kara on New Krypton entirely by accident one day when Zor-El brings his brilliant young daughter, a prodigy in the Science Guild, to see Krypton’s finest laboratory entirely unannounced. The same laboratory that Lena founded and runs. She’s stricken, having tried to avoid this moment for as long as she could, knowing that eventually she’d have to see Kara as child, which would spell the end of every fanciful dream or slightest hope she had of a chance that someday she would find Kara, her best friend, again. Seeing the reality both warms her heart and breaks it all the same. This bouncing bundle of joy and inquisitiveness has the same blinding smile, in all its purity, with that same head of golden hair.

“You’re THE Lena Luthor?”

She kneels before her so they’re at eye level. “I suppose I am. And you’re THE Kara Zor-El?”

The ten year old gasps. “You know who I am?”

“Of course. I know all the important people. And you are a very important person, Kara.”

“I am?”

Zor-El interjects. “I’ve told Lena all about you, my dear. I’m sure she’s grown tired of my endless babbling about my wonderful daughter and her keen scientific mind.”

“Not at all,” Lena replies a bit flatly and tries to tune him out as she focuses on the young girl who will one day be a most extraordinary woman. “Do you enjoy the Science Guild, Kara?”

“Yes! I love to learn new things. As many things as I can! Sometimes father asks me to work with him in his laboratory at home and I help him with his projects!”

“That does sound like fun. I enjoy creating things as well.”

“You’re the most brilliant bio-engineer on Krypton! I’ve read all about you! You saved us.”

Lena shies away from the praise and instead fumbles her way forward, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Zor-El, whom she’d never given the time of day until he walked in with his daughter.

“Tell me, Kara, do you like other subjects besides science?”

Kara fidgets, a little confused. “Well, I don’t...they don’t give you much time for other subjects. I-I do try to read about other things like art and history when I have free time, but I’m not really allowed—“

“She’s a hard worker and a wonderful student,” Zor-El interrupts again.

Lena ignores him. “Do you enjoy writing, Kara?”

“Writing?”

“Creation comes in many forms. I enjoy being able to create things with my hands. Machines. Technology. Things to help people. Science is my passion, but there are many other ways to help people. Ways that I’m not very good at, but others are. Writing takes a curious mind, creativity, and a way with words. I believe you might have a gift for that.”

“A gift for words?” Her little brow crinkles as she considers it.

Lena nods. “A writer can do a great many things that a scientist cannot. They are equally as powerful and important. What matters is doing what you love most, what inspires you most. You’re going to do great things one day, Kara. Maybe with the Science Guild, maybe with something else... The future is limitless for you.”

“You really think I could be that important someday?”

“You already are.” Lena smiles and breathes deeply. “Do you know what your name means where I come from?”

She shakes her head. “I have read about Earth. It’s very far away and my Aunt Astra says their civilization is primitive and filled with savages. They have my name there too?”

“Daughter, do not speak—“

Lena waves off Zor-El’s warning without looking at him.

“That’s not an unfair assessment of Earth compared to Krypton, but I do believe humanity would surprise a great many Kryptonians, including your Aunt. In my native language, Kara means ‘beloved friend’.”

Kara beams in a way that is so achingly familiar. It’s like an echo in Lena’s memory. Not exact, not complete, but the beginning of what it will become.

“I like that. Does that mean I’m your friend?”

Lena feels it in that moment. The melting warmth simultaneous with the absolute shattering of what was left of her heart.

“I will always be your friend, darling. Always.”

Kara leaves with her father and Lena’s coworkers are concerned when she goes off planet for an impromptu holiday without notice. She returns two months later and picks up as if she never left.

It’s around that time that one of the people she’s befriended in her years on Krypton remarks at how ageless she seems for a human that supposedly has a short life span. It sparks Lena’s curiosity. Indeed, it’s been nearly 30 years since she traveled back in time and found herself on a new planet. Yet you’d be hard pressed to find a single physical difference. Kryptonians aged slowly under a red star, and even slower still under the white star, but Lena was human. Her body wasn’t designed to accommodate solar radiation the way Kryptonians did. She was over 50 years old now, yet she still didn’t look a day over 28.

More years pass and New Krypton thrives. The galaxy is brought together through New Krypton’s diplomacy and thousands of planets and species are united under a banner of peace. There are always dissenters, but happiness and prosperity is widespread. Lena finds joy in friendships and attempts romantic relationships, but nothing ever really takes. Still, she’s content. She misses Earth, of course, and hopes to return one day before she dies, whenever that will be, but she’s found peace in knowing that she is able to be the one thing she’s always wanted - a force for good.

She’s at dinner with coworkers one night when Lara and Jor-El spot her. She sighs and straightens, preparing for their next attempt to get in her good graces.

“Do they never desist?” One of them mutters next to her ear. “Surely they’re intelligent enough to know when they’re not wanted?”

“Don’t be unkind, but help me keep it short if it goes on too long.”

“Lena! It’s wonderful to see you,” Lara says.

“You as well. How are you?”

“Very well, thank you.”

Lena’s table has gone conspicuously, and therefore awkwardly, silent.

Lara and Jor-El look around at the group uncomfortably.

“We were wondering...well, our niece is being inducted to the—“

“The Science Council as First Order,” Lena finishes for her. “Yes, I’m aware. It’s a great honor. I’m sure the House of El is quite proud.”

“Indeed we are,” Jor-El jumps in. “She’s a most remarkable young woman and we couldn’t be prouder of who she’s become.”

“We are holding a celebration to mark the occasion and were wondering if you might honor us by attending? It will be quite the event.” Lara does a slight eyeroll. “Jor is insisting on all the fantastical things.”

Jor-El nods enthusiastically. “My brother isn’t one for celebrations so I’ve taken up the mantle. Kara deserves all the praise she’s earned with her hard work and dedication.”

“You’ll have to forgive my mate’s enthusiasm. He’s quite invested in Kara since she can share his passion for his life’s work while our son is—“

“Disgustingly hopeless,” Jor-El grumbles.

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow. “A great disappointment he’s been then?”

“Goodness no!” Lara shakes her head and shoots a warning look at her husband. “Kal is a fine boy. Just...a little lost.”

“Perhaps he is simply in need of a different path than the one his father has in mind,” Lena finds the words tumbling out of her mouth without thinking twice. The couple stares at her agape, but she continues without care. “I can certainly sympathize with the need to step out of the shadow of a family’s overbearing legacy.” She sighs. “While I thank you for considering me, it’s simply not possible with my days usually booked from dawn to dusk. Besides, parties have never been altogether pleasant endeavors for me.”

The disappointment on their faces isn’t what changes her mind. It’s that as soon as she says the words, she regrets it. She’s, of course, kept up with Kara’s doings and was concerned when she heard about the recent move in the Science Guild. Was journalism just a secondary passion since she couldn’t truly use her mind on Earth the way she could on Krypton? Or was this a woman just following in her family’s footsteps because she believed it was the right thing to do? Lena hadn’t seen or spoken to Kara in 16 years. Not since the day Zor-El brought her to the lab.

In the end, it’s Lena’s concern and curiosity for Kara’s well being that wins out. Though she very well knows that the woman that existed in another life, on another planet, is not the woman who lives here now on New Krypton. Even if she shared the same name and the same face...maybe even the same bright eyes and sunny smile. Even then.

“Send me the invitation. I’ll see what I can do,” Lena says, to the surprise of everyone at her table, including the two standing next to it.

They nod, stunned but pleased, and say their goodbyes quickly, walking away.

Lena’s coworkers all turn to her in surprise, but she refuses to answer their questions and excuses herself early for the evening.

She doesn’t show for the celebration. She torments herself for a week coming up to it and can’t bring herself to go. The fear of the past and her memories being trod upon are too strong. But somehow she finds herself in the Starling Grove anyway, just as it comes to an end. The evening is late and guests slowly make their exit after the long day of partying. Lena practically sneaks in, staying in shadows, not knowing what she hopes to find or what she could see that would make all her fears come true.

Is it any wonder that fate would intervene? That there would be no circumstance in which Lena could fly so close to the sun and not be touched?

“If avoiding people is your specialty, you’re very skilled at it.”

It’s almost terrifying to hear her voice again. It’s a different language being spoken, but the voice is the same. As if it’d been snatched from the deepest recesses of Lena’s memories, of a different life and a different world, and brought to the present in flesh and blood with a bolt of lightning.

She turns and it’s Kara smiling at her. Not the sunny smile. The soft, tender, reassuring one. The one that she used to share with Lena when she had one of her harder days. Kara was no longer the small and precocious child she met all those years ago, the one that she could almost convince herself was a complete stranger and that there was no connection between the child and the woman she knew. But that was gone now. The Kara standing before her was the same one she’d left behind on Earth. The one she’d given up in order to save her. The one who walked into her office so many years ago, trailing behind her cousin, and Lena knew she was done for. 

Her eyes were so blue as she looked at her...bluer than Lena remembered and it seemed so impossible. Perhaps it wasn’t real. Perhaps she was dreaming. But she wasn’t...was she?

“My skills must be rusty since you were able to catch me.”

Kara put a finger to her smiling lips. “Shh. Finding people is one of my untold gifts.”

“I imagine you have a lot of those.”

Kara looks pleasantly flustered and she stammers over her words in a way that Lena knows so well that the sound of it squeezes her heart in a vise like grip.

She’s not the same person. She’s not your Kara. Your Kara doesn’t exist anymore. Over and over she repeats this in her head.

“Wait...” Kara finally collects herself and peers at Lena more closely. “You’re-you’re Lena Luthor! My Uncle said you might be here, but I never thought...”

“On my home world, they like to say it’s fashionable to be late. However, tonight was just a tad bit too far. I...I simply wanted to stop by and wish you well. A-and to congratulate you on your achievement.”

Did she manage to say that with any passing conviction?

“Thank you. That means a great deal coming from someone like you.”

“Are you happy?” She blurts before her good sense can kick in. “This life...does it make you happy?”

Kara looks at her oddly for a long moment, clearly thrown, but not put off. Lena doesn’t know what else to say that could fix her blunder. 

“Yes,” she says, a serene smile creeps across her face. “I’m very happy. I love my family and my friends. I enjoy my work. I hope to have a family of my own one day, but I don’t mind waiting for the right person. Everyone always wants to rush me into something, telling me that I shouldn’t be alone, but I don’t mind it. When it’s right, I know that it will be worth the wait.”

Lena’s heart stutters and freezes. “I-I’m glad to hear that. Truly. I shouldn’t take up anymore of your time though. I’m sure you have somewhere to be and it’s late so I really should be going anyway.”

“Oh! Um. Yes, of course.” She looks disappointed, but Lena can’t think about that. “Thank you for being here.”

Her legs feel as though they’re weighted with cement as she walks away. Her mind screams at her to run, but her body doesn’t seem to get the message. She doesn’t want to leave Kara’s side. Not like this. Not after she’s found her again.

But it’s not her. Not really.

“My Lady?”

She turns around at once. Kara stands there, fiddling with her hands, her head tilted to the side.

“Apologies. I-I remember reading that you never liked that title. You prefer...what was it...” She closes her eyes as she searches for it. “Oh!” Her eyes fly open again. “Miss Luthor. I should have addressed you as ‘Miss Luthor’, yes?”

The ‘Miss’ was heavily accented and sounded nothing like how she used to say it, but it still tore Lena apart.

“I never forgot what you said.”

The voice in Lena’s head screams again for her to run, but instead she draws closer. She needs to hear it. 

Her Kara.

No, it’s not her.

“What did I say?”

“I was a little girl. My father brought me to your lab to show me around.”

“I remember.”

Don’t let her do this. Don’t let her pull you in again. You can’t. For both of your sakes, you can’t.

“You talked about different ways of creating. Of passion. It’s silly, I know, and I’m sure you say it to all the children who read about you in school and have a serious case of hero worship, but...you told me I was important.”

“You are.” 

It’s a reflex. She can’t help it.

“And you said that I had a gift for words. I never understood why you would say that. How you could know...”

Lena chuckles awkwardly. “Looks like I was off the mark since you’ve just joined the Science Council.”

“But you weren’t.”

Lena’s breath hitches.

“I’ve never told anyone else this...” 

Kara steps closer, sharing a secret that Lena doesn’t know she deserves to hear. She wonders if she still knows how to breathe with Kara being this close after so long...so many years gone... 

“I started writing that day. That very night I went home and I tried it. I never stopped. I’ve never been happier than when I’m writing. Imagining stories or just writing my thoughts, putting memories into words, keeping a record of each day and what I’ve done, who I’ve seen, what my first thought is in the morning and my last thought at night. All of it.”

Kara was so close. She could smell her. Nothing like what she remembered. It was something altogether new and still...still... Lena’s heart beat so loudly, she was sure every Kryptonian within miles was wondering what that raucous drumming noise was. What must Kara think? Surely she could hear it. Lena was embarrassing herself.

“You inspired me.”

Lena doesn’t know how she manages it, but she somehow strings together coherent words. 

“But you continued to pursue...”

“The Science Guild, yes. I’m very good there. It comes easily. It makes my family proud.”

“It’s not your passion though.”

Kara shakes her head gently.

“What stops you?”

“Well, what if I’m not really good at writing after all? I’ve never told anyone about it. I’ve never let them read anything... What if I make a terrible mistake and humiliate myself and my family?”

“Following your heart isn’t a mistake.”

“That’s not a very Kryptonian sentiment.”

“No, but it is a human one.” Lena sighs. “I tried so hard, for so long, not to listen to mine. But it won out every time. Despite all the pain it brought me...I remind myself that it’s what brought me here. To this planet. To this time. To do good. To be good. Following your heart is the most terrifying notion, but in my experience, it has also led me to the greatest moments of joy and love that I’ve ever known.”

Kara stares at her in wonderment. Her long blonde locks flow over her shoulders. Her dress is white and flowing, almost luminescent under the glow of the evening flowers blooming in the garden. It became quickly apparent how very alone they were, the last guests and servers from the party were gone. The torches were still lit, but it was their own world.

Wasn’t it always?

It’s not her.

“I don’t think I could be as brave as you.”

“You have always been brave and I know that you are capable of the most extraordinary amount of courage...courage and boundless hope. You are the one who inspires me, Kara. You always have.”

“Me?” She replies in the softest utterance. “But I haven’t done anything nearly as incredible as you.”

“The kind of person you are is far more important than any sum of career achievements. Don’t let fear make you hide in the shadows, Kara. Step into the sun. You’ve always belonged there.”

“What about you?”

“Me?”

“When will you step out of the shadows, Miss Luthor?”

A voice calls for Kara in the distance. It’s jarring and breaks the spell that seemed to lock them together in time suspended.

They step away, now acutely aware of how close they’d been this whole time.

Kara blushes and opens her mouth to say something, but Lena can’t bear to hear it.

“Goodnight, Kara Zor-El. I hope you enjoyed your party.”

Another voice joins the first. Two people are calling for her now. Kara seems frustrated and turns back, yelling to them that she’d be there soon.

She turns back. “I—“

But Lena’s gone.

She leaves New Krypton again. Journeys to other planets under the guise of a holiday and scientific exploration. She wonders if now is the time to return to Earth. She can’t even call it home anymore, but it’s home...isn’t it? 45 years could be enough to make New Krypton home and maybe it was. Maybe it was more of a home than Earth. But New Krypton had spectres walking among the living. Lena’s past had caught up to her here as well. She was no longer alone. Would Earth be any better with a reminder at every street corner? A certain smell. A park bench. A pair of glasses. Food. All of the food on Earth. She would never truly escape there either. It has to be a different planet. Not New Krypton, not Earth, something else entirely. 

She searches across galaxies for it. Finally, one appeals to her. She can see herself settling down there. She can make a new life for herself...again. She returns to Krypton with determination. She resigns from her position, ignores the High Council’s pleas, ignores their more pointed demands, and even their attempted orders when it appeared that nothing else was working. She packs her things and bids farewell to her friends. They’ll visit now and again, but soon she won’t be seeing them at all. It doesn’t bother her all that much. She’d find replacements eventually. No one had ever been like... Well, she’d never let anyone get close enough to try.

She was walking out of her building for the last time, her luggage already sent ahead, and was headed to the transport when she heard her voice again on the wind, calling her name. Of course she would hear her now. This was exactly why she needed to leave this place. The sooner the better to end this torment.

The transport doors were nearly closed when a hand shot between them. The metal alloys were crushed in a powerful grip and the doors were jerkily pried open again.

Kara stood in front of her. Her hair windswept, almost what it used to look like when she would fly to Lena at breaking speed to rescue her. Did she fly here? Was she really here?

“Kara?”

“Lena, don’t go.”

“What are y—?”

“That’s government property!” someone shouts at Kara from further away. 

A Kelex zooms in beside her. “And you were flying within city limits which is strictly prohibited. Unfortunately, Lady Kara, this means we must place you under arrest.”

A patrolman, the one who shouted, walks up behind Kara, nodding his head in agreement.

“Arrest?” She rolls her eyes at the Kelex and turns to the patrolman. “The doors were an accident and sorry about the flying thing. I’ll pay the fines. I doubt Alura In-Ze will take kindly to you dragging someone in for petty infarctions, let alone that someone being her daughter.”

Lena finds herself walking out of the transport, entirely of her own volition, and watches it leave without her. Kara is arguing with the patrolman over what her fines should be, but suddenly Lena feels someone take her hand. She looks down and sees that indeed there is another hand holding hers. She drags her gaze up to find those blue eyes again. A ghost. A spectre. Everything she was trying to escape.

“I’m sorry to just...burst in on you like this. But you’ve been gone for months and I only just heard that you’d come back, planning to leave New Krypton for good. I didn’t...”

“You didn’t what?”

“I don’t know.” Her brow furrows in frustration. “I didn’t plan this. I just...when I heard, I felt like I had to stop you.”

Lena pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. She needs to get ahold of herself. This was all so out of control.

“Why?”

Kara is just as bewildered as she is. “Well, I...I’m not sure. But we’ve only just started.”

“What?”

“Don’t you feel it? I know you must.”

She swallows thickly. “Kara, I...”

“I think there’s a lot you haven’t told me. A lot that I hope you will tell me. You promised me once that you would always be my friend. Please, Lena. We both know that this...it’s not supposed to end here.”

“When is it supposed to end?”

“I hope not for very long time.”

“I’ve lived a lifetime already.”

Kara grins. “Then what’s one more? Should be easy if you’ve already done it.”

Lena shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Somehow I do...and I don’t. I know it’s strange. I know what I sound like. But I think you understand. Don’t you?”

“Kara...”

“Are you hungry?” She interrupts. “I’m famished. The flying thing is really fun, but I always get so hungry after. How about it?”

“I’m supposed to be boarding a ship in 20 minutes.”

“We can eat fast!”

“I know you can eat fast, that’s not the point,” she mutters. “I have to go.”

“But you see? You say things like that. Like it’s normal to just know these things about me, but it’s not. How do you know? We’ve only met twice and both times it feels as though you know everything about me.”

“Everything?” She scoffs. “No. Never.”

“Well, the important things anyway.”

Lena falters.

“Please? Just...for a little while? There’s always another ship if you really must go.”

No.

No, I’ve been through this before. I saved you. I saved your people. You’re happy. I don’t belong here. I’ve never belonged. This is your world. I don’t belong anywhere. I did what was right. I helped people. I still help people. But I won’t do this again.

“I’m pretty sure you know that a Kryptonian can tell when you’re lying. The white star brought us untold abilities. And the longer I’ve lived here, under this new sun, I’ve discovered more abilities. Would you like to know about them?”

Lena can only stare.

“If I’m close enough...and I concentrate hard enough...I can feel what you’re feeling. It’s not mind reading exactly, but something deeper. I can feel you right now.” She swallows hard. “What have I done to cause you such pain, Lena? I never thought that... If you have to go, I won’t stop you. I just thought...” She sighs defeatedly. “I don’t know what I thought. But it wasn’t this. It wasn’t pain. Or anger. Or betrayal.”

Lena’s eyes widen at the same time as Kara’s. She seemed to realize it only as she spoke the word aloud.

“Betrayal?” Kara whispers, half to herself. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand.”

“You’re lying.”

“Stop it.”

“I can’t! Tell me what’s happening. How can you be so angry with me, but also feel...like this...when we don’t even know each other?”

“But we do.” 

At last she admits it. 

In the quietest whisper. 

“We did. Once. In another life.”

Kara nods slowly. “Where?”

“On Earth.”

“I’ve never been to Earth.”

“Not in this time. But in another...you were Earth’s Champion. Our Protector. The Paragon of Hope.”

“As you are the Protector of Krypton? Our Salvation. The New Dawn.”

Lena shrinks uncomfortably under the titles.

“Will you tell me more?”

“You believe me?”

“Of course I do. You’re Lena Luthor. Also, with my powers I can sense you’re telling the truth, so...” She shrugs lightly at that, a sheepish smile.

“Right. Well, I admit I’m still a bit resentful that after everything I’ve been through, I still didn’t get even a hint of those powers.”

Kara takes her hand again, tentatively this time. She probably thinks Lena will pull away.

She doesn’t.

“There’s been a rumor for ages that you’re immortal. Are you saying that’s not true? From what I’ve read, humans have a shorter life span than us. Your species only live about 85 years or so.”

“I’ve heard the rumor and, yes, the average human lifespan is shorter than a Kryptonian’s.”

“You look pretty darn good for your age if you’re preparing to join Rao in a few cycles.”

Lena has to laugh. She lets Kara lead her away from the platform and down to the street. They walk hand in hand.

“So you’re not immortal?”

“It remains to be seen.”

“Then maybe our white sun did give you a hint of something after all.”

“Maybe. I have yet to ascertain the cause.”

“I could help you with your study, should you choose to explore it further.”

“You want to study me?”

Kara blushes. “I...I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant—“

“I know what you meant.”

Silence falls between them.

“You’re still holding my hand.”

“You’re still letting me.”

“It’s strange.” She stares. “You’re different. You’re so different than you were before, a completely different person, but somehow...when I look at you, you’re exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Are you different now too?”

“Yes.” She shrugs. “I think so anyway.”

“But we’ve still found each other. That means something.”

“Are you sure you want to hear this? You might be angry with me. I...I made choices that changed your life. A great number of lives.”

“I want to hear everything. But even if I do get angry, I won’t leave. I promise.”

Lena starts at that. How could she know exactly—? The realization hits her. 

“My fears...you feel them right now, don’t you?”

Kara nods. “I won’t betray you, Lena. Whatever mistakes I’ve made before...in that other life...I won’t make them again.”

“You’ll make other mistakes.”

“Of course!” She laughs. “I’m gifted, but hardly perfect. You’ll make mistakes too, even if you are the Great New Dawn.”

“Two prodigies...” Lena raises an eyebrow. “I don’t know how people stand us. We must be insufferable to be around.”

“I can’t be held accountable for the jealousy of others.”

Lena chuckles. “Good to know you’re as competitive as ever.”

“And you? Are you competitive as well?”

“On occasion...when it comes to the right things.”

Kara grins. “Tell me more about Earth.”

“Earth or...you on Earth?”

“Both. Or just one. Whatever you like. We have all the time we need. We’ll get to it eventually.”

“Kara?”

“Yes?”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of losing you? Yes, I’m afraid. I thought I did when you left me in the Grove that night.”

“It’s different this time though.”

“Different how?”

“You were afraid before. O-on Earth. So you lied to me. Hid things from me. You were afraid I’d reject you.”

“So I lost you anyway?”

“For a while.”

“I know who I am and I want to share all of that with you. I’m afraid I’ll lose you if I don’t. Do you think that means I learned my lesson with a second chance?”

“Even though you don’t remember the first?”

Kara tilts her head thoughtfully.  “Are you familiar with the theological concept of reincarnation?”

Lena nods.

“Many species and cultures detail it differently, but the belief that a soul does not reside in an afterlife fascinates me. The idea that one could instead be reborn and is destined to learn new lessons with each life that it failed to learn in the last. Maybe we found a way to do that without needing to die at all.”

“Are you sure you’re the First Order of the Science Council? Because that sounds an awful lot like preaching I’ve heard from the Religious Guild. You’re in the wrong profession.”

Kara rolls her eyes. “If anything, I should have joined the Artisans. But it’s too late for that.”

Lena’s quiet for a moment. They’re walking along streets she’s never seen before and doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.

“I think I’m learning...” she says softly, “that it’s never too late. If you want something enough, it’s never too late.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Lena looks around. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“No, I thought you did.”

“No. I guess we’re lost then.”

Kara shrugs with a charming, sunny smile that lights her whole face. It’s the one that Lena hasn’t seen in over 40 years and it takes her breath away.

“Oh well.” Kara squeezes Lena’s hand happily. “I suppose we’ll find our way together.”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Twelve Months - Good Omens fanfic

Happy 31st Anniversary of Good Omens! :D

To celebrate this momentous occasion, I have posted a slightly-sad, slightly-sweet Wake the Snake fic on AO3, because our demon has been napping for a whole Twelve Months, and sometimes Angel gets a little lonely!

Thank you all for another fantastic year in this fandom!

--

Twelve months.

Aziraphale pushed open the door to Crowley’s flat, a simple shopping bag tucked under his arm.

The lights were still off, the curtains drawn in the awful empty room he called a study. Nothing had changed.

He passed through the enormous, rotating section of wall and into the solarium. This was still bright—many of the plants flourishing despite being unattended so long, despite clearly not having enough water. A few had started flowering. They waved their branches at him as he entered, perking up eagerly.

The angel waved back, but first he peeked into Crowley’s bedroom.

He was still where Aziraphale had left him, on his last visit a month before. Bright red hair spilled across black pillows, grown into a stringy mop. Duvet pulled up to his messily-bearded chin. One hand curled up beside him on the bed.

Still asleep.

With a sigh, Aziraphale crossed over to the plants, who greeted him excitedly, unfurling their newest leaves, a few vines hanging down to brush his face.

“Hello, my lovelies. How are you all doing? Look at you, grown at least a foot since I saw you, I’m sure. And you! What beautiful pink buds. Very impressive.”

He didn’t think Crowley would approve of how he spoke to the plants, but the poor things had been so distraught on his first visit, straining to keep upright, trying to hide their yellowing leaves. So much healthier now, much happier for just a bit of attention. He picked up the watering can and gave them all a quick splash. He didn’t know how much water each needed, but it didn’t seem to matter.

“You keep it up, dears. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Picking up his shopping bag again, Aziraphale headed down the hall to the kitchen. The kettle sat on the island where he’d left it, and he quickly refilled it and set it to boil. While he waited, he pulled his latest creations from the bag: a small pumpkin spice cake from a recipe he’d been perfecting since fall, a lemon coconut cake, and a few apple cinnamon muffins.

Two plates—a muffin for each, a slice of the coconut cake for himself and the pumpkin spice for Crowley.[1] The rest went into the refrigerator, where they would never go bad or stale.

Aziraphale put the plates onto a tray, along with forks and napkins. Next he found two mugs and pulled the little tin of his second-favorite tea out of the bag just as the kettle boiled.

For himself, a teaspoon of the expertly blended leaves, steeped for exactly three minutes, resulting in a pale brown tea with a slightly spicy aroma. For Crowley, he dropped a tea bag into boiling water and let it sit until it was almost black.[2]

He carried the tray back to the solarium and selected a bright red-and-gold tulip that was nearly vibrating in its eagerness to be noticed. A moment to assure the other plants that they were still doing fabulously—particularly a self-conscious little succulent that had rather drooped over the winter but was making a fine recovery—and he once more headed into Crowley’s bedroom.

Crowley had rolled over, and now sprawled on his back, sleeping soundly. He’d apparently kicked a bit, too, as the blanket had slid down past his stomach. Aziraphale smiled as he set the tray on the chair he’d brought in some months ago and got to work.

“It’s wonderful to see you again, dear,” he started cheerfully, carefully rearranging the objects on the little bedside table. “I have a few things for you again, I hope you don’t mind.” Just enough space to slide the mug and the little plate. Perfect.

“I received a package from Tadfield again. Everyone wrote a note and then gathered them all together, really quite clever. They’re all doing well, if a bit bored.” The table was nearly overflowing with little items now, brought in by Aziraphale to cheer the place up. Framed pictures of their human friends, quarantining with their families, clustered in one corner so tightly you could hardly see them anymore.

He pulled the latest out of the shopping bag. “Anathema has started a garden,” he explained, pausing to show the photograph to Crowley’s sleeping form. It showed the witch, kneeling outside her little cottage, working on growing several rows of herbs. “I got the impression she was off to a rough start, but she hopes to send us some mint in the next package. Although Newt warned me not to expect too much, as they’d already forgotten which patch is mint and which is oregano.” He set the picture with the others, and slid the potted tulip alongside it. “I’m sure she could use some advice from you, when you’re ready to share.”

“Nnnnh.” Aziraphale spun eagerly, but no, just Crowley shifting in his sleep again, rolling onto his side.

The angel paused to pull the duvet back up to Crowley’s chin, tugging it straight and smoothing a hand down his back. In a way, his friend was nearly unrecognizable, with that hair and ridiculous beard, but in another way looked the same as ever. That was always Crowley’s way, of course, constantly changing yet somehow always the same.

He lingered, taking in the shape of that face, leaning close, lips hovering above his cheekbone—

Aziraphale pulled back, quickly digging into his bag again. “Oh! Ah, the, um, the children have been making projects for their art class. This past month was sculpture, and they sent us some. Look!” He pulled out four little figures of oven-baked clay. “Ah, young Wensleydale has made a very clever model of a train car. Brian’s is…abstract.” He turned the next a few different ways. “And Pepper’s is, ah, either a very complex symbolic representation of the Patriarchy, or…a troll, I think.” They just fit on the edge of the table, all in a line, a very mismatched tableau. The fourth, on the end, was the best, in Aziraphale’s opinion. “Adam made a little Dog, and it’s very well done, don’t you think?” The canine figure posed with one leg raised and head cocked, ready to play, but the shadow it cast was just a little too large, too ominous, for such a small creature.

With a sigh, Aziraphale shifted the row this way and that. “I sent a letter to Warlock, over in America, but haven’t heard back since Christmas. I believe they’re very busy with something. Politics. You know how it is.” When the Dowlings had left England, they’d planned to return for a visit the following summer. A global pandemic had had other ideas.

“In any case, that just leaves Tracy and Shadwell. I understand he’s decided to hate the concept of literacy this month, so no word on how his war with the squirrels is going. And Tracy has declared she will spend the summer making a fairy garden. I thought her sketches looked very promising, and she promised to send us an update in June. I’m sure you’ll find it charming.”

“Hrrrrm.” Crowley sank under the duvet, nestling down a little deeper. Aziraphale smiled, settling into the chair with his plate and mug.

“Things are loosening up again,” he explained, taking a bite of cake. Delicious, if he said so himself. Sharp and not too sweet. “People are getting vaccinated, shops opening up. It’s really a lovely breath of fresh air, at least when you’re not wearing a mask.” A long sip from his mug, then he held it, fingers tapping. “It’s been nice walking through the park again, just in time for the baby ducks. And that record shop at the corner, they’ve had some wonderful new additions. Which reminds me.”

Putting aside his mug, Aziraphale dug through the bag again and pulled out a handful of square plastic cases. “They had a whole shipment of those little records the Bentley likes. Modern music. I picked out the ones with the rudest names. I’m sure you’ll enjoy them.” He pulled out the first disc and placed it atop Crowley’s phone. The device blinked in confusion a few times, then obediently copied all the music.

“Of course, it’s not all good news.” He stacked the rest of the discs atop the phone and returned to his tea. “Reopening means the customers are coming back. Yesterday, this one individual spent almost an hour browsing the same three shelves. And then he tried to make off with one of my books.” Another long sip. “Granted, he offered to pay, but still. What sort of establishment does he think I’m running?”

Aziraphale paused, waiting for Crowley to respond, not that he ever did. The demon’s eyelids moved a little, but no more.

Sighing, Aziraphale turned to his muffin. “You know, many times in the last year, I’ve wished you were there. Particularly during reopening phases. You could have posed as a customer, and then I’d be able to tell people I was at the capacity limit. Oh, and the people who would call to try and buy my rarest books. Collectors, or so they claimed, but then they just turn around and sell to anyone for twice the price! I’m sure you’d have some biting things to say about such people.” He smiled at Crowley’s sleeping face. “I’ve missed that, and your jokes. Rather more than I expected to.”

When his plate and tea were finished, Aziraphale set them on the floor and reached again into the bag. “Now, I have been attempting to teach my computer how to use the internet. I think it’s going quite well. Adam and his friends gave me a ‘homework assignment’ to find articles on recent news events, and I made the most wonderful discovery. Did you know that humans now share their news through humorous pictures? I printed out my favorites to show you.”[3]

He flicked through a few. “Ah, to start with, a few months ago there was this American politician with amusing mittens who showed up everywhere for a few days. It was extremely droll.” He leaned closer, holding them up for Crowley to see. “Ah, a few more from America. The murder hornets arrived, though by that point everyone had forgotten them. The election became increasingly confusing, and it all ended in a parking lot. For a little while everything was ‘This-or-That Total Landscaping,’ and before that everything was cake.” He showed a few extremely clever illusions. “I did try to make my own, but couldn’t manage it without miracles, which I felt was cheating.”

Really, leaning like this was starting to strain his back. Aziraphale shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, the better to share his pictures. “Ahhh. Also for a time everyone’s calendars were stuck on ‘March.’ And then earlier this year, a group of people learned how the stock market works, but sadly not how to spell it. The whole situation seemed very much like the sort of thing you’d be involved in. And…Oh, this angel from a television show was sent to Hell for…reasons.” He glanced at the shape beside him. Crowley had curled in slightly, pressing against Aziraphale’s back. “Yes. Various reasons. And then this musician, I suppose, went on his own. Both had many people extraordinarily upset.”

The next few images would really tickle Crowley, if he could actually see them. “The biggest news is that a large ship got stuck sideways in that canal in Egypt. Stopped half the world’s shipping for a few days while they dug it out! I’m sure you would have liked that very much. Exactly your sort of trouble. The humans were all very excited.”

The final photo was another of the ship, an image Aziraphale had made himself, printing out a blank version and writing on it in felt-tip pen. The hull of the enormous ship was labeled, “An eternity putting up with the tedious bureaucracy and frequently conflicting commands of my superiors until I begin to doubt my own judgement and sanity,”[4] while the small digger working steadily beside it was “Crowley.”

Aziraphale watched the demon beside him, not really expecting a reaction, certainly not getting one. He reached over, brushing brilliant hair back from Crowley’s forehead. “I think you’d have had rather a lot of fun last year. Or perhaps you’d have been upset you could only watch from a distance. Or…”

He’d leaned much closer than he’d intended, hovering just above Crowley’s forehead.

“Well!” Aziraphale stumbled to his feet. “I suppose that’s just about everything.” He picked up the tray from where he’d rested it on the floor, starting to re-load it with everything he’d brought in. Crowley’s cake and tea sat untouched, as always, but Aziraphale wouldn’t dream of skipping them. “We’re all very optimistic for the summer. Two months and everything should be just…just tickety-boo. Perhaps we can go for that picnic soon, if…yes…”

They’d made such plans for 2020. All the things they would do now they were free. Plans, and other thoughts carried in their minds, possibilities that would play out in their own time. Not too fast, just a slow, steady exploration of everything they could be…

“Well. Pleasant as that idea is, best not to—to plan too much, as the previous year made fools of us all. I just…” He turned away from the tray and watched Crowley sleep, hands clasped before him. “I miss you terribly. And I wish…very much…”

He picked up his shopping bag. One item still inside. The same one he’d been carrying for months, trying to find the courage to bring it out.

With a shaking hand, he reached in and drew forth a soft hand-made doll. He’d spent much of the winter on it. Simple white cotton for the head and body, wooly curls for the hair, and stiff white lace for the wings. Dressed in waistcoat and bowtie made from Aziraphale’s favorite tartan.

He still wasn’t sure why he brought it. He’d stitched several little toys, particularly a lovely black-and-red serpent with gold button eyes that had watched him from the sofa since November. But this, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, this one was for Crowley.

“I, ah…” He shuffled closer, doll clutched in both hands. “I made, um…” Back to the edge of the bed, one hand fumbling across the duvet. “…thought you might like…”

Crowley’s face stood out in stark contrast to the pillow, pale skin and bright hair. Aziraphale wanted to drink it in, memorize every detail, to hold him over until next month. The curve of his nose, the sharp angle of his cheekbones. His lashes flickering as his eyes moved. His lips, pursed ever so slightly…

“Bless it, Angel, are you going to kiss me or not?”

Aziraphale gasped, pulling back from the bright gaze of slit-pupil eyes. “You—you’re awake!”

“Nnnh. Half.” Crowley shifted, head moving across the pillow, eyes threatening to shut again. “Wouldn’t miss your visit.” One hand reached out, plucked the doll from Aziraphale’s unresisting fingers. “For me?”

The angel nodded. “If…if…you like it…or I could—I could just…”

Without a word, Crowley pulled the doll under the duvet and curled up, tucking it under his chin, a faint smile on his lips.

“If you were awake you—you should have said something! I’ve been going—going off like a fool all this—oh!” Aziraphale could feel his face turning hot as he recalled a few times his tongue had been a bit too loose for propriety.

“Mmmmmh.” The golden eyes were shut again.

“Crowley?” No response. “Crowley!” Aziraphale scowled. “Anthony J. Crowley, if you’ve fallen asleep again, I swear, I’ll—”

He’d do what? The angel fumed, but what could he really threaten? To stay away? Never.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you in June. I’ve had several new requests for extremely rare manuscripts and I need to go pen some responses reprimanding these vultures for their cheek. I can—”

“You can stay.”

He spun around. Crowley had one eye barely cracked open. Gently, he pulled back the duvet, showing there was just enough space for Aziraphale beside him.

“I…I couldn’t.” But he stepped forward, not back. “I have business tomorrow, things to—”

“Just tonight then.”

His fingers brushed the mattress and pulled back as if burned. “You—you don’t really mean this, you’re just talking in your sleep.”

“Nah.” Crowley settled the doll by his pillow, making space. “Why else would I give you my key?”

“I…to…water the plants?”

“They take care of themselves.” Crowley held open his arms, eyes shut once more. “I missed you, too.”

Well. What could he say to that?

Aziraphale took off his shoes and slid into bed, into Crowley's arms. They wrapped around him gently as Crowley wriggled closer. “Mmmm. Y’r softer than the doll.”

“Oh.” He’d been called soft many times, generally as a way to imply he was a failure as an angel. But just this once, it made him feel rather pleased. “Soft is good?”

“Verrrry good.” Crowley twisted a bit, trying to find a comfortable way to rest his long limbs, and finally settled curled up against Aziraphale’s chest, tucked below the angel’s chin with a leg hooked over his knees.

The angel smiled. “And you’re…you’re noodlier than a stuffed snake. Err…”

A chuckle, just a stirring of breath across his throat. “Can’t wait to hear the story behind that.” Crowley nuzzled against his shoulder with a sigh. “Good night, Angel.”

Aziraphale swept the brilliant hair back again and bent down, pressing his lips to Crowley’s forehead. A soft, gentle kiss that made his friend smile a little more broadly. “Good night, my dear.”

Crowley drifted off again, burrowing close, as the angel continued to gently tease the back of his hair. Perhaps, he thought, perhaps tomorrow's work wasn't so very urgent. Perhaps a bit of rest would do him good. And perhaps...

Well. Don't plan too much. But for the first time, Aziraphale felt a bit of optimism about the coming summer and its possibilities.

“Sleep well, Crowley.”

[1] Crowley had invented pumpkin spice, and Aziraphale assumed he must like it. In truth, Crowley despised it, and regretted every autumn how it took over the entire world. He missed apple cider season. [2] Aziraphale had suspected since the early 1950s that Crowley secretly took his tea with several lumps of sugar, but would continue to pretend he didn’t know until Crowley confessed. Considering current circumstances, that was unlikely to be any time soon. [3] Aziraphale’s fax machine, revived after over three decades of disuse, had been somewhat confused to be asked to perform any task at all, much less to print memes onto photo paper with perfectly balanced color; but like the plants and Crowley’s phone, it couldn’t stand to disappoint the angel. [4] It was possible he hadn’t quite mastered this new form of communication.

[youareinlovees]

hiii i just send you the creative writing so uh only reply to this ask if you didn't get the other one by some chance and i'll send it again :D

Thank you for your service bestie 😁 I think it might be easier if I put it under a cut but omfg I'm obsessed with it and the dynamic is so spot onnn wtf

Hiiiii I bring you a gift!! I hope it's good, I don't really post my ~creative writing~ and this is my first time writing these two so hopefully, it'll suffice. Also ironically I think they may be one off the longest things I've written. Anyways ////

-

As he approaches the Belfast rental that served as his temporary home for the next few months, he can't help but smile. For the first time since they started filming he not coming home to a vacant house. Instead, this time, he's going to be coming home to his beautiful, wonderful girlfriend.

He's been looking forward to this all day, barely able to focus on blocking and script reading with the thought of her just blocks away weighing so heavily on his mind. It certainly didn't help that he had spent so much time the night before looking through her photos at the Brits. She had looked absolutely radiant, her beautiful features perfectly accentuated by her lovely outfit.

Gosh, he's so obsessed with her. She easily occupies much of his thoughts on a near-daily basis and whenever they were together he can barely get enough of her. They've been apart a few days now and even that was slowly killing him. He needs her. Need to be near her, to touch her, embrace her, kiss her soundly. And the fact that he's about to be able to do so makes his heart swell with joy.

Opening the front door, his heart beats loudly as anticipation grows in his stomach. "Honey, I'm home." He quips.

Immediately he's greeted by a white and brown fluff ball scampering around his feet. Chuckling to himself, he bends down, scooping the excitable cat into his arms.

"Hello there Benjamin."

"Well someone missed his daddy." A warm voice floats across the room and he looks up, a grin forming at the sight of his lovely girlfriend.

Benjamin squirms in his arms and he releases the fluffy cat before striding across the room. His hands land on her arms, covered by gray fabric that's soft to his touch. "I hope he wasn't the only one."

With a cheeky grin, she presses up on her toes, lips meeting his as her arms loop around his shoulders. Her lips are warm and soft and feel like home and he revels in her touch.

"He wasn't." She breathes after pulling back slightly. Her blue eyes flutter open, looking up at him through her dark eyelashes and he's fairly certain he falls even deeper in love right then and there.

Their next kiss is far shorter, though the passion is still there. Finally, he glances around the room and then back to her, eyebrow cocked. "Bring enough boxes?"

She follows his gaze and then laughs. "It's five months, babe, I have to be prepared."

He chuckles and goes to reply when her eyes light up. "Oh! And I set up my recording gear in the guest room. How does 'Kitty Committee Studio," She cups her hands, as if miming parenthesis, "(Belfast, Ireland)' sound?"

His eyebrows shoot up. "It sounds like you've been busy."

Her shoulders bounce up as she gives a little shrug. "A bit. I'm really excited for this chapter of our lives and I don't mind having a few crazy days if it means getting to spend more time with you."

A smile breaks across his face, his heart swelling with joy. She always says the most romantic things, things he couldn't even dream of saying on his best days-- though she's quick to disagree with him, citing his stint as "William Bowery" as evidence-- the writer in her popping out in all facets of life. He loves that part of her, seeing her mind at work as she pours her heart out, representing her inner feelings with the most beautiful sounds. It means a great deal to him that she loves him enough to express it so wondrously through her music. He's not sure if he can ever repay her for those amazing sonic gifts, his platform far less diaristic than hers, but he certainly tries his best to show her just how much he appreciates and loves her each and every day.

"What's that face for?" She asks and he realizes he's been gazing lovingly at her far longer than what would ordinarily be considered comfortable.

"I love you." The words slide off his tongue easily, an outcome of saying them for the better part of almost five years now but they hold the same weight, the same truth, every time he says them.

She beams, her eyes twinkling. "I love you too."

He kisses her soundly and then squeezes her hand. "Also congrats on being a Global Icon winner, love. We should celebrate."

"Oh yes! I'll get the wine." She nods and begins to head into the kitchen when he grabs her hand. It's a gentle yet firm grip and there's an amused look on her face as he pulls her into his arms.

His voice is low, a suggestive tone to it as he raises an eyebrow. "That's not the type of celebrating I had in mind."

"It's not?" She questions, tilting her head but he can see amusement dancing in her eyes.

"You're a Global Icon now, I think I need to pay my respects." He tilts his head, moving ever closer to her until their noses bump together, lips barely touching. He can feel her breath on his skin, smell her woody perfume. She's so close yet not nearly close enough. "Can I do that?"

She nods, skin brushing against him. Desire for her courses through his veins and with that simple gesture he finally gives in to it.

Their lips crash together, caressing and pressing against each other. His hands are in her hair, long blonde strands tangling between his fingers. She sighs breathily into the kiss and then he's met with her tongue swiping against his lips, a silent question of permission which he is quick to grant.

He can feel her hands on his biceps, fingers squeezing around his muscles before loosening and running up over his shoulders and to his neck. In turn, his hands slide down her back, slipping under the loose bottom of her shirt, his fingertips gliding over her hips.

Their kisses get a little bolder, a little more desperate, and soon he's pulling away from her mouth and kissing down her neck, nipping gently at the skin there. Her soft, breathy moans serve to spur him on and he sucks roughly on her neck, causing her to groan loudly.

He spends a few more minutes kissing across her neck, down to her collarbone, trying to cover every inch of exposed skin. Her fingers tighten in his hair, gently pulling him away from where he was kissing dangerously close to her pulse point. "Babe... No more teasing."

He gives her a devilish grin and then his lips are back on hers, frantic passionate kisses until they're both absolutely breathless.

Taking a small step back, his eyes scan up and down her body. "Get undressed." He tries to command but she merely smirks and gives him a wink.

"Make me."

A devilish grin crosses his face seconds before he surges forward, kissing her once more as his fingers pull on the hem of her shirt. The second it's off of her, he can feel his heart rate spike at the sight of her lacy black bra. No matter how many times he sees her like this, it will always send a bolt of energy racing through his core.

"Gorgeous," He breathes, bending down to trail kisses right above the fabric.

She utters a soft "ding" which causes both of them to chuckle. Her laughter soon dissolves into a moan as he expertly unlatches her bra and pulls a nipple into his mouth, his hand going to cover the other one.

He massages her breast softly, hand moving in sync with his mouth as he sucks long and hard. Her fingers glide through his hair, nails occasionally scratching across his neck, causing a shiver to run up his spine. After a moment, he switches up his tactic, his teeth grazing against her nipple as he rolls her other one between his thumb and forefinger.

Her moans grow louder and louder and the next thing he knows, she’s pulling at his shirt, trying to take it off him. He obliges, his fingers going to hook into her waistband in turn.

She's completely naked a second later and he can feel his pants growing tighter at the sight. His hands wrap around her biceps, gently guiding her to the couch as her hands stroke across his now bare chest.

"Sit." He urges her and she obliges, sitting down with her legs pressed together and a playful smirk dancing across her lips.

Chuckling to himself, he kneels down, placing his hands on her knees and his chin on top of his hands. Gazing up at her, he takes in everything. Her blonde hair falling across her shoulders, the amused cock to her eyebrow, the freckles splashed across her skin. Everything about her fills him with an indescribable joy.

"I'm really proud of you." He says after a long quiet moment.

Her playful smirk morphs into an adorable, breathtaking smile as she tenderly strokes his cheek. He returns the look before turning his head and placing a kiss against her palm.

"I love you," Comes her quiet voice, laced with adoration.

"I love you too." He ducks his head, placing a kiss on each of her knees. "Now... let me show you just how much."

Sliding his hands down between her legs, he gently pushes them apart. He weaves his way between her thighs, one kiss at a time, drawing nearer and nearer to where he knew she wanted him most. And then he pauses, mere inches away, and begins to kiss back up her leg. She lets out an annoyed groan, cupping his face in her hands and not so gently guiding him back.

Chuckling, he slips his hands beneath her legs, hooking them up over his shoulders. He pauses again, looking up at her. Their eyes lock and he gives a little smile before leaning in and placing small kisses around her clit. There's a gasp, followed by a soft whimper and he can't help but grin, his kisses becoming deeper in turn.

His tongue flicks between his lips as he travels down between her folds, giving an experimental taste. He can feel himself grow harder as he realizes just how wet she is.

And it's all for him.

With that final thought, he focuses all his energy on making her feel good. His tongue continues to slide in and out of her, tasting her with fervor. Her fingers tangle in his hair, her whimpers turning to low moans as he moves.

And then he pulls away slightly, glancing up at her. Her chest is heaving, eyes half-lidded, and her lips hang open ever so slightly.

"You're beautiful," He finds himself breathing and she squirms a little as the air from his mouth brushes against her core.

If she's going to respond, he certainly doesn't give her a chance, pulling her clit into his mouth and sucking roughly.

Taylor shouts his name, her fingers clenching in his hair. He barely notes the pain, however, hand flattening on her stomach to hold her in place as he concentrates solely on her uninhibited cries of pleasure and the contracting muscles beneath his mouth.

A second later, he slides two fingers inside of her, moving slowly at a pace he knew would torture her. His fingers reach as far as they can-- which in his case are very far-- and he gives them an experimental few pumps. Her walls flutter around him and he smiles-- mouth still on her clit-- and begins to stroke her walls, still sucking on that little bundle of nerves.

Her ankles lock around his back, thighs squeezing his head, keeping him in place. He can tell she's getting close, her moans increasing with frequency so he doesn't let up. Rather, he doubles his efforts, sucking and stroking, harder and faster.

It's sexy, so sexy and he looks up, maintaining eye contact with her even though her eyes are barely open. He can hardly see the blue peeping from below her eyelashes. The whole image is enough to make him come undone and he groans, the sound vibrating from his chest.

Her heels dig into his back, a long moan that morphs into his name tearing from her lips as she comes undone. He doesn't stop, still moving in order to draw her orgasm out as she twitches and writhes above him. Eyes never moving from her face, the whole sight imprinted in his brain, memories forming to torture him in the dead of night or on long trips away from her. But he doesn't mind, the occasional distance only serving to make the reunion that much sweeter.

Finally, her body sags and he moves away, trailing soft kisses up and down her thighs and over her hips. Her fingers brush through his hair, pushing it away from his face and then trail down to stroke across his beard. He's sure he has her coated all around his mouth so he licks his lips, glancing up at her to see that she's smiling.

"I love you," are the first words out of her mouth, causing him to drop another kiss on her hipbone.

He rests his chin against her stomach, a small smile on his lips. "I love you too. I guess it was good then?"

She laughs and then beckons him upwards with one finger. Obeying, he pushes himself up, crawling along her body to hover over her.

Cupping his cheeks, she laughs again. "It was amazing. Thank you."

Now it's his turn to laugh, turning to nuzzle her hand. "Anything for a Global Icon."

She tilts her head, cocking an eyebrow. "So you'd do the same for Elton John or Robbie Williams?"

With a chuckle, he shakes his head, "No, I like boobs too much."

"Oh is that all?"

"Yep." He ducks his head, peppering kisses over her chest as if to prove his point.

She cups his cheeks again, guiding his face back up to hers. Her face is twisted in an exaggerated pout, pink lip jutting out and he half-heartedly resists the temptation to pull on it with his teeth.

"Really?" Her tone is innocent but he can see the cocky look on her face and he loves it.

They're silent for a long moment, each party daring the other, a silent dance of who is more stubborn. But the strain in his pants is almost too much to bear, her smug looks not doing him any favors, so he relents. "No," He places a quick kiss against her lips. "I like you far too much to consider doing anything with anyone else ever."

"Good," Her hands slide up from his cheeks to hook around his neck, "Because you're all mine."

"Indeed I am."

Their lips meet again, this kiss far more passionate than the last. Tongues dancing together as their hands glide across each other's skin, exploring and scratching.

Pretty soon he feels her hands on his waistband and then the button on his pants being popped. Pulling back slightly, he gives her room to pull down his jeans and then boxers, sighing with relief as he's finally released from their confines.

Kicking his pants from his feet, he returns to kissing her, hands sliding up and down her sides. He groans loudly into her mouth as he feels her hand wrap around his cock, giving him a few slow strokes just how he likes it. He has to stop kissing her to grit his teeth. God, if she keeps doing that he's going to cum any second now.

His hand wraps around her wrist, stilling her movements. "Couch or bed?"

"Couch," She says without hesitation. "I want you inside of me now."

She lies down longways and he climbs on top, hovering over her. Grabbing her thigh, he guides her leg to hook around his waist, her other one following in suit.

His dick slides across her clit, the action causing both of them to moan and a moment later he pushes inside of her. Her mouth forms an open "o" as he moves in slowly, eyes never leaving her face. She's wet and warm around him, a perfect fit. It's like they were made for each other.

He moves slowly at first allowing both of them to find their rhythm. It gives him time to suck on her neck or her chest, little ways that will add to her pleasure. But pretty soon she's urging him to move faster, thrust harder and he's all too happy to follow her commands.

They move together, him building up speed as her ankles lock behind him, pushing him in even closer. Their moans echo together, unintelligible aside from the occasionally uttering of each other's name. Her nails claw down his back, too short to leave a mark but the action still arouses him even more.

He's close-- so close he can barely think straight-- but he's determined to get her there first. Hand slipping between them, he begins to rub slow circles on her clit, the action causing her nails to dig in further.

As his hand speeds up in time with his thrusts, she yanks his head down to kiss him only to tear away seconds later as her body convulses and she cries out.

Her walls clamp down around him, so tight he nearly collapses in surprise. A few thrusts later and he's a goner, body twitching as he cums.

When he can finally see straight, she pulls him down next to her, snuggling into his chest as they lie on the couch, hot and sweaty from their actions.

"Welcome home, darling." He mutters into her hair, pressing a kiss against the top of her head.

She hums in response, tilting her head to kiss him.

He has a great feeling that these next few months in Belfast are going to be quite fun.

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

sorrry for being a pain! here’s some more eheh and thank you.

laugh quite a lot and i like to read, i’m quite bubbly but i don’t trust people very easily. relationship wise id like my independence and my love language is acts of service. altho i do quite like hugs and forehead kisses PDA-wise. i’d like to date someone who after a bad day we could both talk about it and like comfort each other but could also go a few days without seeing each other and conversation would still flow like nothing has happened. i have a large family so they need to be good with kiddos and dogs!



Don't worry about being a pain! I just needed a little more info, that's all haha

Also, I got really carried away with the drabble part... it's a little long whoops

Okay, anyway, hear me out, I match you with...

YELENA

-----

OKAY I'M SERIOUS HEAR ME OUT

At first impressions, things would probably be a bit rocky between you two

She found you frankly kind of annoying, and you found her too mysterious and stoic

BUT as time passed between the two of you, she found herself slowly enjoying your presence more and more

Because, although your cheerfulness and optimism seemed annoying to her at first, it ended up becoming a source of comfort for her

Whenever everything seemed to be going South, she'd always turn to you, and your unbothered smile

It lifted her up every time she saw it

But she wouldn't tell you this outright

She had a job to do, and a relationship would only interfere

So, surprisingly, it was you that had to confess to her

You weren't exactly sure what drew you to Yelena, but maybe it was the way her demeanor started to look less cold and apathetic, and more so confident and relaxed

So, with Onyankopon's reluctant help, you managed to get some alone time with her, and confessed your feelings to her over some warm tea and pastries you bought from a local bakery

She admitted, very casually, that the feelings were mutual

Somehow, throughout the whole thing, the most reaction you got out of her was a light pink tint on her cheeks

But, considering Yelena, that was a big step

Following the start of your relationship, your dynamic didn't change all that much at first

Things were kept mostly private while she eased into things a little bit

Not only did she have a steel reputation to maintain, but she had also never been in a relationship before. It was a new level of vulnerability for her

During this time, though, she'd worry about her abilities as your girlfriend

She wasn't exactly extremely affectionate, and scarcely had free time to spend with you

So you'd always reassure her, during your rare times alone, that you loved her, and she had nothing to worry about whenever she'd forego your time together in favor of working late hours into the night

And once her confidence in your relationship began to flourish, she was a lot more open about it to other people

It wasn't uncommon to see Yelena walking around holding your hand as she went to and from meetings, or to have her brush her hand soothingly across your thigh whenever said meetings got tense

She was still a bit more affectionate behind doors, but that was to be expected

She especially enjoyed the height difference between you two, bending down to wrap her arms around your waist and stand up straight, pulling you into a hug

And trust me, she'll melt if you wrap your legs around her and lean on her shoulder

It's one of those rare times you can see her blush

But, throughout your relationship, you notice just how quickly Yelena is at your hand and foot

Getting Yelena to do anything for others is a bit of a... challenge... but when it comes to you, she does it all without another word

She treats you like a queen, always preparing food/drinks when you need it, giving you massages when you feel tense, helping you with your paperwork to lift stress off of your shoulders, even when she has her own work to finish long after you've gone to sleep

She also gets very protective over you after a few months of dating. Honestly, sometimes, it borders on possessiveness

Her work is dangerous, and she hates to drag you into it, but it seems mostly unavoidable

So, she often tries to stick by you in tense situations, steering you away from danger

Whether that be encouraging you not to get involved with people she knows will backstab you, to physically getting in between you and harms way

She just needs to make sure that you stay safe, she wouldn't be able to live knowing she let something awful happen to you

She does respect your space, though, and leaves you to your devices often

And it makes her so proud to see just how amazing you are, both on the battlefield, and in meetings, pretty much anywhere

She admires how strong and capable you are in so many ways, she loves to see you flourish like that

Plus, I can totally see Yelena being a huge family person

Once the war ends, she'll start with something simple, like a dog

And so, you lead her to a dog shelter, expecting to walk out with a doberman or an English mastiff

Nope.

Instead, she ends up getting a tiny little chihuahua puppy, small enough to fit in her palm

The image almost makes you laugh, but the death glare she shoots you following her choice shuts you up right away

She'd name it Teacup or something

And god, she'd love that little dog to death

But even so, after years of living with you and the dog, she still felt a little lonely

So, she'd probably bring up the idea of adoption (since, of course, you're both women and can't just have a child)

Bonus points if Yelena has to dress up as a man to go to the adoption center because the employees were hesitant to let two women adopt

And that would lead you two to where you are now: a small little house in a big city, living within mere blocks of all your best friends, and your three adopted sons. And Teacup, of course

Yelena has no idea what she did in her life to deserve it all, but god, is she glad things worked out the way they did

-----

"Y/n?" A voice, unassuming to the unknowing ear, but easily recognizable to you, piped through the commotion. Soldiers and officers milled about left and right, chattering and laughing, filling the long hallway with loud echoes of banter.

You squeezed your way in between men in uniforms left and right, searching for the source of your voice. You didn't have to look far, though, since her impressive stature already stood her above almost everyone in sight.

Once you were in arms reach, Yelena reached out to intertwine your fingers in hers, filing through the crowd with much more ease than you had been granted, given her intimidating presence.

She pulled you down the hallway, further from where the soldiers had all gathered, and led you down to the hotel room you had shared for the time being. She whipped the keys out of her pocket, sliding them in and unlocking the door with a click.

You brought your hands to your head, rubbing small circles into your temple in an attempt to quell the dull ache already materializing.

"Geez, those guys are so noisy." You sighed, resigning to your headache as you collapsed on the sheets of the bed, tension leaving your body as the plush mattress engulfed you.

"It's unavoidable." She sighed, locking the door and stuffing her keys back into her front pocket.

A comfortable silence filled the space, Yelena shedding her suit jacket at the door and hanging it up on a nearby rack. You basked in the silence, the lack of chaos finally bringing you a moment of relief after nearly five days of non-stop obligations. A small smile formed on your lips as you felt your girlfriend gently drape a blanket over your still form, the warmth engulfing you immediately as she knelt down to remove your uncomfortably tight shoes from your feet.

The relaxed smile dissolved from your face almost immediately as a shrill ringing piped up in your ears, disturbing the silence. You were practically scowling by the time you opened your eyes, but they softened at the sight. It wasn't you, turns out, but a kettle of boiling water from the other side of the room. Yelena already had two cups laid out on the counter, and was digging through the cabinet containing all the teabags.

Your eyes fluttered shut once again, vision going black as you took in solely the sounds of the room. The piping quieted suddenly, replaced by the hollow sound of pouring water, then the clanging on the metal pot as Yelena sat it perhaps a little too carelessly back on the metal stove. If there had been any other noise, perhaps a thud of footsteps outside the door or a running air conditioner, you wouldn't have been able to pick up the quiet plop of Yelena dropping the teabags in, but it was surprisingly discernable through the quiet.

For the next few minutes, there wasn't much at all, save for the rhythmic taping of Yelena's foot, spurred by her rare moment of impatience. You could already feel sleep taking a hold of you, weeding the tenderness out of your muscles and numbing the pain in your head. Your breaths evened, preparing to drift into a short, sweet unconscious.

But, before sweet sweet sleep could engulf you, the old metal trashcan opened harshly, hitting the wall and startling you out of your tranquility. Yelena yawned, throwing out the teabags and bringing both steaming cups towards the bed.

She placed one on the nightstand, holding the other in her hand, steadying herself as to not spill the boiling water onto the sheets. Her large and slender hand found your back, rubbing up and down soothingly.

"How was the meeting?" She asked, taking a long sip from the cup.

"Tired..." You sigh into the sheets peeking your eyes open to gaze at your lover. She had her eyes transfixed on the steaming beverage in her hands.

"I figured it would be." She sighed, placing the cup onto the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. "They've been working you to the bone recently. I know you still have more work to do before the day is over, but I prepared you some chamomile tea with honey."

You resigned from your comfortable position on your stomach, sitting up the lean against the head of the bed as you took the cup to your side. You took a long sip, enjoying the taste of the tea, warm and soothing, and not too bitter due to the honey mixed in.

"I can't wait 'til tomorrow." You sigh. "It's my day off, for once. There was this new restaurant in town that I wanted to try. I heard it's good."

Yelena hummed in response, making a mental note to set up a reservation.

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"What do you mean?"

"You don't need to take so many hours." She responded dully.

"But I want to." You sigh, setting the cup down to your side. It was still too hot. "Stuff needs to be done, someone has to do it."

Yelena frowned, bringing the cup back up to her lips to distract yourself. "You overwork yourself too much. Seriously."

"Maybe."

A silence filled the room once again. Not awkward, like you expect, just content. You knew you had very little time before there was more work to be done.

After an amount of minutes, maybe five, maybe twenty, a knock sounded on the door.

"L/n?" The voice traveled through the door. "Your meeting is in five minutes, are you ready."

You sighed, kicking the blankets off your legs. "Yeah, I'll be there." You pick up your suit jacket off the floor, pulling it over your shoulders. Just as you are about to leave, a hand grasps around your risk, tightening quickly and forbidding you from leaving.

You turn around and soften at Yelena as she sits at the edge of the bed. She tugs you closer, and you put your hands on her thighs to stabilize yourself as you lean in to plant a kiss to her lips.

"Good luck at your meeting." She says, running a thumb over your wrist. "I'll be right here waiting for you when it's over. I'll have something nice prepared for dinner." You smile and thank her, pulling away to kick your shoes back on.

You reach the door, grabbing the knob and twisting it.

"I love you..." She calls from behind you. Her voice is muffled slightly, and if you turned around now, you were sure that her back would be turned to you, probably already busying herself with paperwork.

"Love you too." You echo back, opening the door and slipping out, hurrying to the meeting room while you try to smoothen out your tussled hair and rub the tiredness from your eyes.

Yelena hears the door click, turning around to stare longingly at the cup of tea you left at your nightstand. She saunters over to pick it up, now cold, and bring it to the sink. You hadn't taken more than a few sips, it seems.

She sighs, placing the dish into the counter. "Seriously," She exhales, “what am I gonna do with you..."

-----

[doctors-star]

lister/rimmer for “Oh no, I feel bad- SYKE, no I don’t.” pretty please

“You’re being weirdly helpful today. What do you want?”

Rimmer opens his eyes parodically wide, fingers splayed against his sternum in an elaborate moi? gesture. It is an appearance of surprise and hurt so manufactured that Lister almost wants to applaud the performance, bow at their audience of stars, and abandon the bastard to his machinations. But unfortunately, Lister has been granted prophetic visions of the future and knows with deep and terrible certainty that, were he to do so, he would spend two minutes wandering the empty decks, trip over Kryten’s best mop, slide on one of Cat’s abandoned silk cravats, and go and find Rimmer to bitch about it and hope that he’s doing something more interesting. So, given that interstellar travel is remarkably exhausting, it’s far better to cut out the middleman and instead lie here on the sofa and watch Rimmer direct scutters to haphazardly clean the living quarters inch by mind-numbing inch. They’ve even got little white glove-fingers on their claws, so that Rimmer can demand that they swipe something to test for cleanliness and then bawl them out for miniscule specks no-one else can see. Once, Rimmer had conjured up a white glove for himself and gone round doing the same thing, but when Lister had pointed out that he couldn’t pick up dust and therefore was imagining things, Rimmer had only doubled down harder - so hard that he’d worked himself into a real tizzy about going video-blind, or being permanently stuck with dust on his finger for all eternity, or dying, again, and had needed to go and have a lie down in the dark for a bit. So this is - debatably - an improvement.

Normally, Lister wouldn’t give a toss about Rimmer bossing the scutters about on yet another mad powertrip, but he’s going too far. He’s thrown out all Lister’s mouldering dishes, professing concern for Lister’s health but probably just trying to irritate him, and he’s cleared out the space in the corner of the bunkroom that Lister had hesitantly earmarked for the crib - and in doing so, had thrown out Lister’s third-worst t-shirt, the one with the curry stain vaguely resembling Maggie Thatcher, and which he likes to keep around in order to spit at it every now and then. The final straw, however, had been when Rimmer had nasally informed him that he was getting in the way of the scutters’ gruelling floor-cleaning regime, and that he had better go and put his feet up instead - to keep out of their way, of course.

“When have I ever tried to manipulate you to get what I want?” Rimmer says with a voice which he probably thinks is sweet and just makes him sound like a particularly jammy and unpleasant used-car salesman trying to get off with the seventeen-year-old girls coming in for their first Fiat 500.

Lister narrows his eyes. “Do you want that alphabetised or chronological?”

Rimmer blinks at him balefully, still very much putting it on. “Can’t I just do something nice without an ulterior motive?”

He considers this. “A person could, even if they never have before. You, though, I genuinely think the shock of it would kill you.” Lister spreads his hands invitingly, obligingly lifting one foot out of the way of a scutter before letting it once more dangle over the side of the sofa. “So, out with it.”

Rimmer shifts nervously from one foot to the other, inventing something at speed as though he never expected Lister to call him out on this - in which case, he’s a moron. More so than usual. “I don’t want the twins sleeping in our room,” he blurts out all in one rushed go, and Lister raises an eyebrow. “They’ll - they’ll cry, and keep me up, and I’m not giving up my Learn Esperanto discs for rodent-sized versions of you.”

Lister makes a game show-style incorrect noise and blows a raspberry, just to watch the left side of Rimmer’s face twitch in irritation. “Nope, not happening. They’ll cry so’s I know they need me, so I gotta be here to hear ‘em. Anyway, I wouldn’t make you give up your Esperanto discs - they’ll be better at it than you in a few months.”

Rimmer makes a sucked-lemon face at him. “Your spawn is not piggybacking my learning, the little parasites,” he says sternly.

Lister cups a hand around his ear exaggeratedly. “What was that, little-Listers? Ni estas tre lertaj? Yes,” he says to his still flat stomach in a very gooey voice that makes Rimmer clench and unclench his fists like a prize fighter, “you are very clever!”

Rimmer wrenches one hand up and points at him viciously, the other fingers curled in so tightly that his knuckles go white. “I forbid it.”

Lister sticks his tongue out. “Move out. Anyway, that’s not the reason - you cleared the space for their beds yourself. So, what is it?”

Rimmer narrows his eyes. The scutters start inching towards the door and effecting their escape. “I want to pick the film tonight, and it won’t be Fast and 14ious again,” he says carefully, feeling his way into the lie.

Lister pulls a sympathetic face and makes his game show noise again. “Oh, too bad,” he says, “you know well it’s Cat’s shout tonight so helping me won’t do anything. Anyway, 14ious is the best one.”

“It’s scratched to hell,” Rimmer points out. “We have to make up our own dialogue for the entire second act - last time, Kryten had the central car chase pivot around a shipment of mopheads and got disturbingly into the sex scene immediately following.”

Lister winces briefly at the recollection, but shrugs. “Exactly, it’s the best one. Right, contestant, last chance, remembering that you still have your lifelines: ask the audience, fifty-fifty, phone a friend-”

Predictably, Rimmer frowns. “Phone a friend?”

Internally, Lister pumps his fist. “Sorry contestant, that’s wrong too - you don’t have any friends.” Rimmer offers him a truly poisonous look and Lister nearly falls off the sofa snorting with laughter.

Rimmer folds his arms. “Well, if you know so much,” he sneers. “Work it out for yourself.”

“Nah, ‘cause you’ll just say yes to anything in the hope I’ll shut my gob,” Lister says without taking offence, and Rimmer looks vaguely exhausted. “Come on,” he wheedles, “tell me what’s eating you.”

“Nothing!” Rimmer snaps, unfolding his arms in a jerky motion and stalking off to fold himself into his bunk so that Lister has to awkwardly lean his head over the back of the sofa to see him. “Maybe I just want to live somewhere with basic standards of cleanliness.”

“Yeah,” Lister allows, watching Rimmer rub at the webbing between thumb and forefinger obsessively, as though seeking comfort. “But usually you yell at me until I do it. This,” he says, gesturing at the hard work of the scutters, “could be interpreted as nice, Rimmer, so you’d better do something selfish before the Playboy cover designers get in touch and make you every Miss July for the next century, or something else equally unlikely happens.”

“You’re an unbearable goit with all the standards and appeal of a mangy, leg-humping jack russell.”

“That’s the spirit. Now, explain yourself, you uptight lunatic.”

Rimmer makes a face at his own knees, then looks up, sees Lister watching him, and makes an even unhappier face. “Well,” he says, and then Lister has to wait and listen to nothing but the noise of deep space and Red Dwarf slowly falling apart around them for a good minute. “We ought to be ready for the babies, when they arrive,” he says suddenly, addressing the starched creases in his trousers.

“Which will be in about seven months,” Lister prompts gently, turning around to lean his chest against the back of the sofa and watch Rimmer better. He rubs the back of his neck carefully, tugging at the baby hair under his dreads. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be prepared, but - seven months is a long time, in the depths of space with sod all else to occupy them. Rimmer seems oddly hung up on it. The thought occurs to him like a lead weight in his stomach. “Look, man, I know we never asked for ‘em, but they are coming, so even if you don’t want them around you’ve-”

“No!” Rimmer says sharply, and when he meets Lister’s eyes he knows Rimmer is entirely serious, even though he still doesn’t understand literally anything else about the situation. “It’s not-” he waves a hand at Lister dismissively. Then he fixes his gaze on his hands, and addresses his remarks to those. “Pregnant people are supposed to rest,” he says sternly, “and be undisturbed by - by mess, and noise, and small children.”

Lister feels a frown settle on his brows, and a worry settle in his gut. Rimmer swallows hard, adam’s apple moving like a yo-yo. “Why’s that?” he murmurs gently, as if - if he could only be quiet enough - the question wouldn’t spook Rimmer out of his honesty.

Rimmer shrugs one shoulder. “Stops the baby growing up strong,” he recites oddly. “Mummy said she’d spent so much time running after my brothers that she was worn out with me, and that’s why I was slow.” He sniffs. He looks horribly lonely, and a hundred thousand miles away, and it’s like there’s a fist around Lister’s heart slowly constricting. “And that she might as well keep focussing on them, since I was never going to catch up.”

Lister shakes his head slowly. “Rimmer,” he says, “you’ve got more hang-ups than Elton John’s feather boa rack. I’m not raising the kids like your parents did you, and I’m not going to lie on the sofa for the next seven months doing sod all.”

“Whereas normally you’re such a ball of energy,” Rimmer snipes, but his heart’s not in it.

“Yeah,” Lister agrees calmly, “I’ve a strict schedule of slobbing about in different places and I’m gonna stick to it. Rimmer.” Rimmer flicks his head up guiltily and Lister offers him an exhausted look. “You can’t just decide to only care about my health when it suits your trauma and really annoys me, alright?”

Rimmer frowns. “Why not?” he whinges - which is a surprise, because Lister was anticipating him latching onto the caring thing, and not getting much further.

Lister spreads his hands. “All or nothing, baby,” he says firmly and with cheer, and then shoots Rimmer a wink - which reminds him of the aforementioned caring thing, and sets him off sputtering.

“And - and I don’t care,” he manages in the end. “Watch me not caring, you odious toad.”

“Uh-huh,” Lister says, and then, when Rimmer chances a glance his way, blows him a kiss to make him go all red and cross. It’s really ridiculously endearing.

“This,” Rimmer says, pointing at him, “is a manifestation of my dreadful upbringing, and, and Stockholm syndrome, anyway.”

Lister manages a grin, and lets it go. As he slumps back into the sofa, he can’t help but wish that Rimmer wasn’t probably right - and not just because the man is obnoxious and intolerable on a good day, when he’s wrong - and failing that, that this Stockholm syndrome, this resolute and unbending care that humans apparently manifest for one another despite literally everything when there is nothing else in the universe except a few creeping lifeforms and the persistent love they put out like radiation from a life-destroying nuclear incident, touching everything and making it all complicated - he cannot help but wish that it wasn’t there, or that it was there more, or something. That Lister loved him less, or that Rimmer loved him more, or that there was anything, anything at all, that Lister could do to change that.

But there isn’t, and he hasn’t got a hope in hell of Rimmer ever acknowledging affection without yelling got you afterwards, so he’d better just - stop bothering, really. Lister sighs, and smoothes his shirt over his stomach. He doesn’t care that Rimmer doesn’t want to care. He’s fine about it.

He hears his own brain make the game show noise. In a fit of pique, he removes one vile sock and throws it into the cleared space designed for the cots, and tries not to think about the hair-pulling sense of satisfaction he gets from listening to Rimmer yell at him.

[e-milieeee]

a shoulder to cry on—ladynoir

Summary: When Ladybug finds Chat Noir on the roof alone and crying to himself, she decides that perhaps some people are more important than keeping their identities secret. 

Notes: Requested by @moonlit-midnights for day 1, the wall between us—pre-reveal, pre-relationship! @ladynoirjuly2020

Or read on AO3 | Kofi

Ladybug likes to think she knows her chaton like the back of her hand.

After all, how can she not? He’s her partner. He’s her other half. He’s her best friend. He’s saved her life; she’s saved his. Their mere existence is entwined in ways nobody else’s are.

Yet here he is, crying alone into his arms in the most secluded corners of the rooftops, nearly hidden away in shadow. If Ladybug hadn’t been able to track him down with the GPS on her yo-yo, she never would’ve found him. Even with his exact location, it had been a minute or two before she’d spotted him in the little corner he was curled up in.

“Chat Noir?” she calls tentatively.

He lifts his head. In the dark, the only part of him that is fully visible is his eyes: they glow a bright green in the dark, a sheen of tears visible over them.

Those eyes widen when he sees her, and then, abruptly, he buries his face back into his arms.

“Don’t look at me,” Chat croaks hoarsely. No puns. No flirting. Not even a greeting.

Ladybug knows him well enough to sense that something is very, very wrong.

“Chaton,” she calls again, unsure of what else to do. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“It’s just—” His voice breaks slightly. “I don’t want you to see me like this.”

It’s always been the other way around: Chat Noir, pulling goofy faces to cheer her up after particularly bad days. He doesn’t ask what happened; one look at her face and he knows, just like he knows the right things to say and the right time to say it. He knows how to coax laughter out of the grimmest situations, knows how to brighten up the grayest days—yet that’s all him.

And now, with the situation reversed, Ladybug has no clue where to even start.

“You can tell me, you know,” she tries. “What’s bothering you, that is. I’m… I’m a good listener.”

Chat raises his head once more, long enough for her to see desperation and frustration and sadness and anger. “Tell you what, m’lady? Th-this is personal. I can’t tell you anything.”

Oh. His head ducks back to the original position, and Ladybug struggles to think of the words to say. Before she can say them, Chat’s hoarse voice pleads, “Don’t look at me, please. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

There’s nothing she can do for him apart from oblige to that one request. So Ladybug makes her way around so that she’s sitting on the other side of the wall—enough that she’s still within earshot, but with distance to grant him his wish.

The only sign that Chat Noir is still there are the occasional quiet sniffles.

They sit in silence for a couple of unbearable minutes. Chat had obviously come up here to be alone, but for what reason, she doesn’t know—can’t know, apparently. She knows he has his off days, but those are usually covered up with even more over-the-top flirting and ridiculous displays of self-confidence.

Is it a healthy coping mechanism? Probably not, now that she thinks of it, but it had been manageable—she could roll her eyes, push his nose away and he’d laugh and that would be it. Now, everything she does feels wrong. This feels wrong.

Between the duty to the Miraculous and her duty to him not as her superhero partner but best friend, it’s a hard scale to weigh.

Ladybug takes a deep breath. “Chat,” she calls.

His voice is still rough from crying when he answers. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t, Ladybug, you know that.” Desperation is wound tightly inside his voice.

She leans back against the wall, staring out at the cityscape. It’s a familiar sight, one that she swings across with the boy who sits just behind the wall between them. The stone is cool against Ladybug’s back, just like the night air. They’re so awfully close to each other, but it feels far because he’s not next to her. Instead, he’s separated by that cold barrier of their identities, of their responsibilities, their duty as heroes. For the sake of Paris, for this fight against Hawkmoth—that wall must remain there.

But it’s unfair, is it not? To sacrifice every bit of themselves and not receive anything in return? It doesn’t need to be much, but right now, Ladybug hates the rules they’ve had to live by.

The decision is a surprisingly easy one to make. “You can tell me, you know,” she says quietly. “What happened, that is.”

Chat’s voice turns incredulous. “It’s personal. It would reveal too much—”

“It’s okay.” Ladybug’s own voice shakes. She knows what she’s risking. But for once, something else—someone else—takes precedence. “Chaton, you’re… you’re more important to me than our stupid identities, okay? If it gives you away, then screw it. I don’t care anymore.”

Silence, once more. Ladybug wonders if she’s said the wrong thing. After so long of insisting for them to keep their identities secret, it’s not surprising he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Then his voice breaks through the crisp night air, cutting through like a knife. “I had an argument with my father,” Chat Noir admits. “You see, my mom disappeared a while ago, and he was never the same since it happened. I learned to live with it, but…” The words tremble. “I guess it’s my fault for expecting more of him. And it’s stupid, because it’s not the first time he’s done this either. He’s busy running his company and going on trips and I would do well staying out of his way, but… I guess I’m just—” Another sniffle. “—disappointed, that’s all.”

There’s not much Ladybug knows about Chat’s father apart from the fact that he’s awfully busy. Through the roughly patched up explanation, Ladybug still doesn’t know much—but she can piece together weeks and months and years of hurt in his voice. And his mother—she’d disappeared? A phantom pain unwinds in her chest as well, gripping tight and not letting go.

So she gets up and moves around the wall. Chat Noir is still curled up in the same position: knees to his chest, his arms wrapped around his legs and forehead pressed against his arms. He raises his head at the sound of her footsteps.

“Ladybug,” he whispers, “please. I—I look like a mess right now, a-and I don’t want—”

She sits down beside him. “What you need is a shoulder to cry on,” she tells him. “I know I’ve been… well, I’ve been pretty strict about this stuff in the past and I’d like to think I have a reason to, but what’s the worst that could happen? I find out your identity? Maybe Master Fu was wrong, because we’ll find a way to work around that anyway.”

Green eyes meet hers. “Do you mean that?”

“Well,” Ladybug muses, adjusting her position so they’re side by side, her arms pressing against his. “I’m not saying we should be blurting our identities out just yet, but if you had a sucky day, it would be stupid of me to deny you a talk about it, right?”

He looks at her, then what sounds like a sob and a laugh mixed together. “Alright.”

Ladybug opens her arms, and Chat accepts the hug immediately. His arms wind tight around her waist, face buried against her shoulder, and he cries.

So Ladybug lets him.

She should’ve, a long time ago. But it’s not too late to start now.

Here’s my fics masterlist! 

[whowhatifs]

under the warmth of the sun

This is laaaaate, but here's for day ? of @hotwayhavensummer "Temperature" that I present still during the right week (in my timezone anyways) so that's a win. The theme of warmth got a little muddled with editing, but hopefully is still present enough. ;_;

This very much doesn't conform to the "A fell in love with the Detective at first sight so their demisexuality isn't very relevant in the story," this started out as a way of writing my own version of A experiencing the starts of sexual attraction for the Detective (or at least, the way that I do as an aspec person, it kind of turned into a self exploration that I've never put into words before and ended up making this piece a lot more meaningful to me than I'd set anticipated! Which is good!)

Fandom: The Wayhaven Chronicles

Characters: Ava du Mortain / nb!Detective (Sunny Larsen)

WC: ~2k

Rating: It's on the edge of M and E, I think? Either way, minors dni!

CW: Internalised aphobia, mentions of canon typical violence and blood

The bedroom curtains ruffle, picked up by the evening breeze through the window, cracked open, carrying in notes of warm earth and honeysuckle, mingling with the smell of them that still clings to Ava’s clothing, her hair, the sheets that are rumpled beneath her. She doesn't find herself inclined to get up, move, make the bed, be productive, instead closing her eyes and stretching...

... savouring the taste of Sunny that lingers on her lips, sweeping her tongue over them once again for a flavour that she knows too well to ever vanish completely anymore. If she pays attention long enough, will their touch imprint itself on her nerves? Even now, she can feel their hair between her fingers, curling around her almost as though in invitation to stay, to make a home in their presence.

With heavy eyelids Ava scans the room, almost lazy in her inspection. The setting sun paints the far wall in ambers and golds, catching on the dust that swirls in the air, as if in respect for the magic of this room. Her own extremities buzz with it, a low hum of satisfaction edged with something she can't place, clinging to her skin and surrounding her in warmth, centered around her heart that beats a steady rhythm in her chest.

The shower in the next room stops and Ava can hear them through the wall again, the clumsy footsteps on unsteady legs, the slow yawns, the almost lethargic heartbeat of pleasant exhaustion... A smile spreads across Ava's lips, with an ease she's still growing accustomed to, growing even wider as she hears Sunny move on from the bathroom, making their way back to bed. Back to her.

Sunny's gaze is still slightly unfocused, but wastes no time finding hers, before flicking over her form sprawled across their bed, open and relaxed. Something appreciative and tender crinkles in the corner of their eyes, making Ava's gut twist as she basks in their light. The dying rays of sunlight don't compare, as they catch in coiled hair that Sunny let's down onto their damp shoulders, bringing out a soft chestnut glow. They rub a hand over patchy stubble, left unshaven another day, comfortable in Ava's presence and no longer minding her seeing them slightly unkempt. Sunny notices her watching, takes in the adoration that nearly glows in her expression, and answers with a wide smile that makes their head duck, nose scrunched and eyes wrinkled at the corners. Looking almost like a near-sneeze if Ava didn't know better.

It's something Ava hadn't known she needed, this expression of theirs that lights up not only their face, but their entire body, making them twist around themself except for the hands that flap at their sides. A stark contrast to the tight-lipped, almost pained looking grins she'd been accustomed to in those first few months, until the night they'd shared over a bottle of wine, when she'd heard Sunny laugh louder than a breathy chuckle for the first time, but then they'd flinched and hidden their face in their hands. That evening, they'd quietly told her that their emotions made people uncomfortable, that when they showed themself it was too much so they'd learned to hide it. That they didn't want her to look at them like those others did, with a lip curled in near revulsion and a look in her eye that dipped towards pity. Told her how hard they were trying, how much they wanted her to stay comfortable at their side, and apologized for being "too much". It was the first night Ava had heard Sunny cry too, tears soaking her shoulder when she'd pulled them into a tight hug and told them honestly how that laugh had filled her with more joy and elation than nearly anything else in her 900 years.

If there is one grievance Ava will continue to hold against humanity, it is towards every person who's ever made Sunny feel the need to hide.

Since then, Sunny has become more and more open with their reactions, their expressions, at least when they're alone with the Unit and especially around her and Nat. Their name has become all the more fitting with the way she's seen them light up now. She hadn't known before that she'd only felt the sun through clouds, not until she'd basked under their unfiltered enthusiasm, warmed under the brilliance of their joy.

Skin dewy and bathed in light, Sunny's brown skin shimmers almost bronze to Ava's senses, a statue of precious metal that somehow exists here in this little town she'd once foolishly dismissed as having no importance. How wrong she'd been. They stretch and Ava follows the lines of the ivy vine tattooed across their ribs, chest, and shoulder, painted with masterful strokes over their skin and gilding the mirrored scars that arc below each nipple, catching the light all the more. Her eyes catch on water droplets suspended in the coarse hairs that descend from their navel. Not more than half an hour ago, she'd felt them against her cheeks, her lips, coated inside and out with their slickness and ravishing them with a growing hunger demanding more. More of the way Sunny pants around shuddering gasps, more of their hands going from gentle caresses in her hair to clutched and spasming desperately when she focuses the tip of her tongue to a rapid flicker over their cock, more of their hips rolling up against her mouth when she's pressed close with her lips wrapped around them, more of the way their thighs tense and shake and then collapse against her broad shoulders…

A quiet groan brings Ava back to the present, though for the life of her she couldn't say whose. Sunny slumps into the chair in front of their small vanity, combing fingers through their hair and working out the beginnings of knots. Every callous on those hands is as familiar to Ava as her own, most days finding their way onto her skin, rubbing gentle circles into her palms or deeper into tense muscles, softening tension she'd forgotten didn't need to be there. She's not sure when it became an unspoken habit of theirs to wriggle in behind her when she's sitting on the couch, or of hers to move forward and settle on the floor between their knees and to lean back into Sunny's embrace as their gentle hands find the muscles of her neck and shoulders, occasionally pressing kisses to the top of her head.

The first time Sunny had gotten so close she hadn’t been sure how to tell them, how to tell one of the loves of her life that yes she wanted so badly to revel in ecstasy brought by her hand, over and over for as long as they’d have her, but that if they tried to grant her the same pleasure in return they would find her dry and lacking? That she might not be able to give this to them soon, maybe not ever. Would they look at her and see yet another thing she couldn't offer them? Worse, would they try to cover a flinch as they wonder, in the back of their mind, if they'd done wrong? Would she ruin her chance to show them that they're everything she never hoped to find again? All of those fears were scattered to the wind when Sunny only smiled, barely batting an eye at the revelation, pausing just long enough to make sure she was comfortable and pressing butterfly kisses to her forehead, nose, cheeks, lips, until she had melted into a smile again.

Afterwards, soft and sated, curled into her her, Sunny had absently traced the muscles of her back, the touch gaining pressure as they went, thumb pressing firmly into a particularly tender spot between her shoulder blades. They'd lit up with curiosity and delight when that elicited a quiet sigh of relief from her lips.

A few days later, Ava had returned to her room at the warehouse after a long and frustrating day to find Sunny sitting on her bed, towels laid down and massage oils in hand. With the help of more anatomy diagrams than she'd imagined could be helpful, they'd spent that evening finding and gently loosening what felt like every tightly wound nerve in her body (which was quite a bit more than a few). It had taken time for Ava to get comfortable with her own nudity around another person again, catching herself growing on guard for any indication that she was missing an unspoken expectation, but none was ever imposed. Quite the opposite, Sunny accepted everything she offered with open delight, never a hint of dissatisfaction over anything she wasn't just as happy to explore.

How long has it been since then? It can't possibly be nearly a year, can it? Time spent with the doubt wriggling in the back of her mind that has her always watching, waiting in the background, for a sign that their patience is subconsciously beginning to run thin, for their face to twist into disappointment before they can hide it, anything at all to point to them waiting on her to change before they could finally find complete satisfaction at her side… but none ever came.

Is it that Sunny can’t see the cracks in her immortal veneer, obscured by infatuation or her appearance? No, they’ve certainly noticed flaws, her competitiveness, her difficulty expressing emotion in words, her sometimes overbearing need to be in control in uncertain situations, the way she holds herself back when it comes to being vulnerable… They’ve never looked away, they’ve walked forward with eyes wide open, aware of every step they've taken towards her. Even when common sense said to turn back they'd only pause to think before choosing her, over and over.

Ava’s heart aches, a flame flickering in the dark of her own doubt.

Sunny's never treated this part of her as broken, never put more stock in her body's reaction to them and ignored her words, never seperated her from her form and viewed it as an obstacle to be overcome. Never treated her like this is some part that is missing from her whole.

The bed dips as Sunny sits at the edge, tucking the last stray curls into their bonnet. Ava's eyes catch on the crescent scar that's faded on their wrist, from where Murphy had sunk his teeth into them. A punishment for trying to help, risking their life for their team, a team that hadn't even treated Sunny as one of their own yet. Right now it feels like a lifetime ago, though some nights in her sleep she can practically taste their blood in the air once again, body broken on the floor with rain pouring down on them, waiting for the crimson liquid to disperse so she can run to them, except in her dreams it never comes. Ten years from now will Sunny be able to see the bite or will it have melted into their skin, becoming invisible to all eyes that aren't as keen as her own? Eyes that can pick up the myriad of other marks, a lifetime written across their skin, a story she's begun to learn to read. There are so many Ava's learned the origin of, more still to discover, each one a little window into who they are and what's led them here to this moment with her. Windows that shine from within, the warm hearth of their soul reaching out to hers in greeting as if to say "yes, I see you."

I see you.

It's not as Ava's read, there is no earth quaking and cracking to reveal some slumbering need she'd been missing, nor does it consume her body with desperate fire. The world does not shift on its axis, nor is a new universe revealed to her, only a nudged permission to part the translucent veil and witness the heart of who they are, like feeling the ocean for the first time. It's not that she did not know it was there, she'd heard it's waves in conch shells, read poem's of its might and beauty, tasted salty air on her lips, seen the sun set over its waters in paint, and yes the first time feeling it for herself would forever be etched into her mind.

Made all the more beautiful by the fact that Sunny is doing nothing unusual, nothing even to draw her love and attention. They are flopped onto the bed with their back to her as they pull their leadened legs under the covers, requiring near comical effort.

"'S your fault, so no laughing," Sunny grumbles, but they're grinning when they turn around, wrapping around her in a loose imitation of a recently practiced Judo hold.

Sunny leans in, nipping at the smile on Ava's lips, before settling across her, sighing contently as the rest their ear between her breasts, listening to her heartbeat. Their shoulders slowly soften and drop, growing heavier with sleep, melting into her as they slip into unconsciousness, Ava relaxing into contentment below then and following soon after.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. ;_; I worked very hard to try to show that the way I experience attraction is different from an allo person's, but not less. Writing it out from the POV of a character that I love makes it a lot easier to be kind to myself and acknowledge that yeah the way I am is beautiful actually and wouldn't be better by being changed. 🖤🤍💜 Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go try to propose to my own OC, wish me luck!

Tags: @amlovelies @lilyoffandoms @agentnatesewell

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 46

Title: Not Broken, Just Bent

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts, profanity, angst

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty​

“I appreciate this,” Tyler says, as he and Desi work side by side in the front foyer; assisting the three littles with the zippers on their coats and the laces on their boots.

He’d called the neighbour on a whim; desperate for even the smallest bit of help. He’s never been one to just reach out to others; long drilled into him that only a pathetic and weak man needs a helping hand. But if the first nightmare in Dhaka had taught him anything, it’s that even the biggest and strongest need someone to lean on from time to time; his body and his spirit so broken that he’d required assistance with even the most basic and simplest of everyday living skills. Esme stepping up to the plate and never once complaining about the energy it depleted her of or the time it took out of her own schedule; never making him feel as if he were a burden. Accompanying -and chauffeuring, as both his physical limitations and pain medications made it impossible for him to function to that extent- him to doctors visits and physiotherapy sessions and counselling appointments with addiction specialists. Always wanting her right there with him even when the most difficult of subjects were broached or intense physical exercises caused excruciating pain. Her quiet presence and all of the patience and resilience inhabiting that tiny body both a source of strength and a tremendous comfort. Accompanied by the tender touch of her hands as they massaged his shoulders or rubbed his back or her fingertips cleared wayward strands of hair from his forehead and out of his eyes. Voice soft and soothing even during the moments where frustration and pain had him raging; a palm on the back of his neck and her nose pressed against his temple as she encouraged him to ‘just breathe’ and reminded him of how far he’d already come and how he was proving all of the doctors and the naysayers wrong.

Six years later she’d find herself back in that situation again; his babies growing and thriving inside her as she once more took on the role of his caretaker. Having to lend assistance with even the mundane things most people take for granted; helping him to the bathroom when the pain was too intense to make it even when the aid of crutches or a walker, keeping a well organized and attentively followed medication schedule, feeding him when the tremors in his hands -a side effect of the meds- made it impossible for him to even hold a fork or spoon. Giving him showers or sponge baths or washing his hair in the kitchen sink and trimming both his hair and his beard. And she’d willingly learned more intensive care as well; wound irrigation and cleaning and how to switch out the IV and medication bags when an infection in the lower back had forced him onto powerful antibiotics. She’d been overwhelmed and exhausted but had never shown it; never losing her patience or her temper with him and never reacting when his own -triggered by pain and frustration and vulnerability- kicked off.

Months of her constant presence, reassurance and steadfast care had opened his eyes to who his wife TRULY is; an incredibly strong and resilient woman that has been through hell and back -a number of times- but never lets the situation break her. Always positive and upbeat; gracing him with smiles or ruffles of his hair or kisses to his cheek and words of praise and encouragement. It had given him a new appreciation and respect for her; how easy she made it look while caring for him and keeping a home running and taking care of his children. Even now he remains in awe of her; the amount of determination and love that can exist in someone so small. And if it taught them both anything, it’s that they truly ARE a team; relying on one another in many different ways. What could have destroyed other couples only served to make them stronger. That foundation built upon a unique and powerful bond and formed through a complicated and dangerous situation never crumbling; holding them up with everything around them seemed to want to break them down. Everything became more solid; their marriage, their roles are parents, their friendship. And they’ve discovered they loved each other even more than they ever realized; a love so complete and whole and all consuming.

Now it’s his turn; shove all of his issues and his demons and monsters aside to take care of her. It’s the one thing he’s always been both good at, and consistent with; shelving all of his problems in order to focus on hers. It’s two fold. A chance to show her just how loved and appreciated and adored she actually is; a way of proving just how grateful he is for everything she’s done -for him AND their family- throughout the past twelve and a half years. And it keeps both his body and his mind busy; making her his number priority an effective way to battle back against his demons. But He realizes he can’t do it alone; the old adage of ‘it takes a village’ proving true. Seven kids in the house means a lot of noise and a lot of activity. Not the ideal setting and atmosphere for someone that is both mentally AND physically exhausted.

While Desi had been the obvious choice on who to seek out, it had taken Tyler nearly a half an hour to convince himself to make the call; feeling guilty for yet again turning to their neighbour to lend a hand. It’s primarily an ego issue; feeling like ‘less of a man’ for not only needing help, but outwardly admitting it and lowering his guard enough to ask for it. Esme would blame it on the toxic masculinity that still lingers deep inside; the ghost of his father telling him he should be dealing everything on his own and that not being able to is a sign of both cowardice and weakness. It remains a struggle at times; breaking away from that train of thought and reminding himself that everything his old man had taught him -or attempted to- had been unhealthy and toxic and nothing but complete bullshit. And Desi is like family; always stepping up when either of them have needed him. A loyal confidant and steadfast supporter, he’d easily and effortlessly blended with large broods; enjoying the time spent under their crazy and chaotic roof and giving the kids the kind of uncle they deserve. And while it normally takes Tyler months or even years to trust someone when it comes to his personal life and the safety and the well being of his family, with Desi it has come fairly easily. That laid back and enormously generous personality and the gentle and compassionate way he treats Esme and the kids had triggered Tyler’s instincts. Letting him know that the man was trustworthy and reliable and in no way a threat.

“Anytime,” Desi says, as he finishes with the laces on Takota’s boots and turns to help Brooklyn, allowing her to attempt the tying and only stepping in which she gets frustrated and gives up. “You know I’m here for you guys. Always.”

Tyler slips a purple and pink knitted beanie onto Addie’s head. “Seem to rely on you an awful lot.”

“It’s what friends do, right? Help each other out when they need it. They step up. Lend a hand. No one can go through life alone. No one.”

“You wouldn’t have been able to tell me that thirteen years ago. I was pretty sure that’s how I’d live out the rest of my life. And die.”

“Were you happy though? Living like that? All by your lonesome? Out there in the middle of nowhere?”

“I had company.”

“A dog and a chicken are NOT company,” Desi informs him. “Not by a long shot.”

“Dogs are man’s best friend, aren’t they? And it was a pretty smart chicken.”

“You can’t tell me you were happy like that. Living way out there, alone, no one to talk to. No one is happy living like that.”

“In all fairness, ninety percent of the time I was too out of it to be carrying on conversations.”

It feels like a lifetime ago; that rundown shack in the middle of the outback, surrounded by nothing but the sparse trees and dry earth and looming mountain ranges. It had seemed like the perfect place to let his wounds fester and his addictions take hold; no one trying to dictate what he could and couldn’t do, no attempts at trying to talk him into rehab or counselling, far enough out that not even Koen or Rata made it a habit of stopping by unannounced. Out there he’d been surrounded by nothing but emptiness; a perfect match for the gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been. A punishment of sorts. Nothing but the mistakes of the past and his overwhelming grief and guilt to keep him warm at night. Out there he could let the demons run rampant; drinking himself into oblivion and abusing Oxy at an alarming rate. His last coherent thought before passing out would always be the same; that the substances he’d put in his body would be enough to ensure he didn’t wake up the next day. But he always did; usually coming to in the middle of the warped and dusty floor or sitting at the kitchen table. Surrounded by empty bottles of booze and tipped over vials of pills and crippled by a brutal hangover; the headache and nausea and the dizziness so intense he’d have to crawl to the bathroom.

When it became apparent that the mix of alcohol and painkillers weren’t enough to do the trick, he began taking the most risky and dangerous jobs possible. By that time, he was fully engrossed in his death wish; too chicken to pull the trigger himself so instead relying on someone else to do it for him. Every time he went out, he’d all but pleaded to a higher power that it would be his last. Resorting to begging and pleading with whatever -or whoever- was watching his ass to take break; take their eyes off him or shirk their duties long enough for him to catch a bullet to the head. Yet it never happened. No matter how many times he’d spun that barrel and taken the risk, he always lived to see another day. Which in turn had only made his desperation even more intense; feeding into that grief and the sorrow that threatened to drown him yet never took him right under. That day on the cliff when he’d plunged into the water below, there’d been nothing stopping him from giving up; the weight of his regret and self loathing enough to keep him below the surface and allow his air to slowly run out. He hadn’t been afraid. He’d been ready to die for a long time.

Yet something had told him to keep going. A little voice hanging onto a thread of hope; louder than those attempting to destroy him. And when he’d pulled himself out of the water, he’d found he suddenly felt lighter; as if some of the burdens and past mistakes had temporarily lifted and been replaced by the first shred of contentment he’d experienced in a hell of a long time. Less than forty minutes later, he’d be watching Esme as she climbed up onto his porch. Studying her as she crouched down and showered his dog with attention. Finding himself both curious and intrigued about the unknown, tattooed and pierced dark haired beauty that had suddenly shown up in his life.

“You gotta admit, that kind of existence IS lonely,” Desi says, as he opens the front door and motions for the three littles to step through. “All alone? Out in a place like THAT? I’ve been there, remember. I’ve seen what it’s like. It’s desolate and it’s isolating and…”

“And it’s what I wanted at the time.’

Desi cocks an eyebrow, then steps out onto the front porch. “What you wanted? Or what you thought you deserved?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Tyler’s mouth, and he stands on the threshold with a palm flat against the door, effectively holding it open. “What seemed right at the time.”

“Were you? Lonely?”

“Never gave it much thought, to be honest. But in all fairness, most of my days were spent drunk and high off my ass, so…”

“You never once wished that you had someone around? Someone to talk to? Spend time with? Get...you know...PERSONAL with.”

“If I wanted that, I could get it. Easily. There was no shortage of that, believe me.”

“You never wanted more than that? I mean, there’s more to life than THAT. What about bonding with someone? Yeah, sex is great, but what about everything else? Companionship. Friendship. Someone to come home to at the end of the day or however long you were gone for some times. Someone that’s just...THERE...you know?”

“I was a fucking mess. Way worse than you could even begin to imagine. Why would I bring someone into that? Why would I do that to someone? Ruin their life like that? They get with me, everything’s great for a while, then they discover just how messed up I am and take off. What would be the point? Bringing someone into that? That’s just wasting their time.”

“Was it about them or you? Not wanting to get involved with someone.”

Arching an eyebrow, Tyler leans against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Seems like maybe you were using all that as excuses. To protect yourself. That maybe you were scared to get too attached. Just in case they DID decide it was too much and run off.”

A slow grin tugs at his lips. “ You’re starting to sound an awful lot like Esme. You’re getting into the psychoanalyzing business too, huh?”

“I’m just saying that maybe it ran deeper than worrying about other peoples’ feelings. Maybe you were worried about your own too.”

“I was dead inside, Des. I wasn’t feeling a damn thing.”

“Except for shame and guilt and regret. And a whole hell of a lot of self loathing.”

“You really ARE spending too much with my wife.”

“I just think it makes sense. You protecting yourself too. But not willing to admit it. At least not out loud. Wouldn’t it have been worth giving it a shot? Finding someone? Seeing if they could put up with everything?”

“I was an alcoholic mercenary with a drug addiction and a death wish. Who would put up with that?”

“Esme, for one.”

“Esme is an entirely different breed all her own. I highly doubt there’s many out there like her. That would willingly hook up with a fucking train wreck and put up with everything I’ve put her through. That I KEEP putting her through.”

“You know, you’re not as bad as you think you are. Do you have some issues? Yeah. But shit, we all do. We’re all a mess. In one way or another. You might be a little messier than most, but…”

“A little? That’s being awfully nice about it.”

“Look, she sticks around, doesn’t she? She’s still here. Twelve and half years later. You really think if things were THAT bad she wouldn’t have hauled ass a long time ago? Didn’t y’all split up for a while?”

“Six months,” Tyler confirms.

“And yet you got back together. She wanted things to work out. Not like she kicked your ass to the curb and hooked up with some other guy. You guys fixed your shit, made things better. She wouldn’t have taken you back if you were that bad. She wouldn’t have put herself or the kids through that.”

“Still a lot for one person to deal with. We’ve been through a lot shit. Way too much, actually.”

“Shit that would have broken weaker people,” Desi points out. “Both of you...separately... are strong as hell. But the two of you together? That’s a force to be reckoned with. And maybe she is a different breed of woman. Maybe it was the way she was raised that made her the way she is. Or the way she WASN’T raised. But let me tell you, she is a tough little thing. Feisty as all hell.”

“Totally a study in contradiction. You see that little body and that cute face and you think she’s all innocent and sweet and the next thing you know…”

“You’re married to her and seven kids?” Desi grins.

“I was going to say the next thing you know, she’s telling you where to go and how to get there and putting you in your place. Totally not what I expected, that’s for sure. Woman that size to be such a challenge. And so fucking bossy. If you heard half the shit that comes out of her mouth…”

“She keeps you on your toes. Challenges you. She’s definitely no push over. Which leads right back to my point. If you were as bad as you think you are, do you really think a woman like her would stick around? Hell no. She’d tell you off and pack her shit and take off. There’s no if’s, end’s, or butt’s about that. You brought that much shit and pain into her life? Things would have never gotten this far.”

“You know, you make a little TOO much sense.”

“I just tell ‘em like I see ‘em. You’re not the massive prick you think you are. Maybe a little bit of one…”

Tyler smirks.

“She showed up right when she was supposed to. That day at your place. Think of all the things in both your pasts that had to go wrong for you two to cross paths. If even just one of things went right, you probably never would have laid eyes on her. And that would have been a damn shame.”

“Yeah,” he nods slowly, considering his friend’s words. “It would have been.”

“The right woman came along at the right time. If your heart and your head didn’t think so, you wouldn’t be where you are now. You wouldn’t have the life you do. Hell, you probably wouldn’t have a life at all.”

“I’d be dead. If Esme hadn’t come along. I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“Daddy!” Addie clomps up the front walk and climbs the porch stairs; abandoning the task of helping her siblings build a messy fort of wet snow. And she wraps both arms around one of his thighs and leans her slight, tiny body into him. “Do we REALLY have to go out?”

“It’s just for a few hours.” He scoops her up into his arms and settles her on his hip. “ Go get some lunch, go see a movie, stop at the candy store. Doesn’t that sound like fun? A day out with Des? You always love your days out with Des.”

“It does sound like fun and I DO love going out with Desi, but…” she curls both arms around his neck and nestles her face against the side of his throat. “...I want to stay with you and mummy. She was gone this morning. And it scared me. That she wasn’t here to do our thing.”

“Well tomorrow you can do your thing. Sometimes OTHER things come up. Can’t help that.”

“And I only got to spend a little bit of time with her because she’s been sleeping a LONG time!”

“She’s only been sleeping an hour. Didn’t you spend some time with her? Didn't you take a bath with her? In the big tub?”

“Yeah, but…”

“I need you to cooperate, okay? Mummy needs some rest. And she can’t really get that with all you guys in the house. Right now, she needs to sleep and when she wakes up, I need to be able to take care of her. And if I’ve got all you guys to take care of, I can’t really do that, can I?”

“Is she sick?”

“She’s a little under the weather.”

“Like a cough due to cold?”

“Nothing like that. She’s just feeling a little rundown. Nothing some quiet time won’t help. So you think you can do me a solid? Go out with a Desi for a bit?”

Addie sighs heavily. “I guess…”

“We’ll have a great time,” Desi promises. “We always do. Mommy and daddy need some time alone. It happens. They’ve got some stuff to take care of.”

Addie reaches for him; allowing herself to pass from one set of arms to another. “Like making a baby?”

“No one is making any babies,” Tyler informs. “Not in this house anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because our days of making babies are long gone. The shop is closed. All done. That’s it.”

“One more wouldn’t be so bad,” Addie reasons. “Another sister.”

“One more WOULD be bad. And a shock because neither mummy or I can have more babies. Now…” laying a hand on the back of her head, he leans in to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “....be good. I don’t want any bad reports when Desi gets back.”

“Why you telling me? I’m always good.”

Tyler stares pointedly at his daughter.

“Well, ALMOST always.”

“Remember what I said. No taking off. You stay with Desi. Or with TJ. Got it?”

Addie gives a thumbs up. “Got it!”

“Have fun. And don’t worry about mummy. She’s fine, I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“You better,” the five year old warns. “‘Cause that’s my mummy and if anything happens to her…”

“Your mummy is in good hands,” Tyler promises. “Daddy knows what he's doing. I’m not some rookie, you know.”

“You be nice to mummy,” Addie orders. “No arguing and no making her cry and no making fun of how tiny she is.”

“You’re kidding me, right? That’s my go to. Making fun of her height.”

“Speaking as a short person, it’s NOT funny. At all.”

“I wonder how funny it will be when I DO pick you and your mum up and put you in my pockets.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Addie’s eyes narrow as she glares at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” He pecks her pouted lips. “You and your mumma both know everything I say, I say because I love you guys. Can I help it that you’re both so tiny and cute?”

“Can we help it that you’re so big and have humongous feet and ears?” Addie counters.

“Ouch,” Desi chuckles. “Savage.”

“She gets that from her mumma. Little, but so full of rage.” He digs his fingers into his daughter’s side, tickling her until the pout turns into a smile and she begins to giggle. “Do I need to remind you that you got my ears? And my feet? You all do.”

“Poor us,” Addie quips, and then squeals and giggles even louder when he brushes his beard against her cheeks.

“I love you,” he says, and presses a kiss to the freckled bridge of his daughter's nose. “Be good, okay? I’m counting on you here.”

“I got this!” She flashes two thumbs up over Desi’s shoulder as he carries her down the stairs. “See you later, alligator!”

“In a while crocodile,” Tyler responds.

“Blow a kiss, goldfish!”

“Bye-bye butterfly.”

“Toodle-loo kangaroo!”

Tyler shoots her a wink and then steps out onto the front porch. Hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie as he watches Desi herd the noisy and excited and noisy bunch out the front gate and then down the slush covered sidewalk. Waiting until they disappear around the corner before heading back into the house.

*****

The shower feels damn good. Hot enough to sting and to cause a new layer of perspiration to form on his skin; gathering at his temples and along his hairline and above his upper lip. The latter he swipes away with the tip of his tongue and then places his palms flat against the tile; chin tucked into his chest and his eyes closed as the water beats down on his weary body. Physically speaking, he feels great; very little pain or tightness across the small of his back, a dull yet manageable ache in his repaired shoulder, the swelling of his right knee not as not as prominent as it usually is. The latter surprises him. He’d pushed himself extremely hard during his run that morning, greatly exceeding anything he’d ever put himself on the treadmill and far beyond the limits the specialists had put on him after his second surgery. And while he knows he shouldn’t ‘test the waters’ and there’s a legitimate risk of ligament tears and dislocations, he’s never been one to play by the rules. Refusing to let anyone confine him to what’s conventionally acceptable; always wanting to prove not only the naysayers wrong, but his own mind and body. An injury he can deal with; another operation and the recovery afterwards a lot easier to bear then the damage to the ego. His physicality has always been of major importance; strength, size, speed, stamina. And he’s had a hell of a time getting back to even seventy percent of where he’d been five years ago. When Nathan had managed to get the jump on him and achieved what no other foe had ever managed: breaking his body and mind.

He refuses to dwell on it. Nothing he can do will ever erase or lessen what happened; his body forever damaged and his entire lifestyle permanently altered. Physical injuries, mental health issues, the constant toeing of the line between addiction and sobriety. And he knows things could be a lot worse; dying that day on the bridge in Dhaka and never getting his second chance. He’d been given an incredible opportunity; an absolution for the mistakes of the past and a whole new life and a bright and content future. But it hasn’t been without its own share of pain and sacrifice and suffering; every blessing coming at an exceptional cost. Ones he’d happily paid and would do so again; willingly putting his own body and sanity on the line if it means keeping his family safe and sound.

A half an hour passes; hot water tank nearly drained when he finally steps out of the shower. Body still damp when he heads into the bedroom; a towel wrapped loosely around his waist and another being used to vigorously dry his hair. Slivers of light manage to trickle through the gap in the room darkening curtains, and he uses it to his advantage; quietly navigating the spacious master suite. She’s been asleep for more than an hour now; on his side of the bed with the heavy comforter pulled up to her chin and her cheek nestled into his pillow. Normally she would have argued with him; pointing out the list of things that -in her always busy mind- needed to be done before her sister’s arrival. But her ‘meltdown’ earlier had left her emotionally exhausted and she hadn’t kicked up even the slightest bit of fuss when he suggested she take time for herself; a long soak in the tub, her favourite ‘comfort’ clothes, a well deserved nap.

It’s been twelve and a half years of sacrifice and compromise on her part; giving up her old life in favour of a new one with him, adjusting to life in a new country only to have it torn apart and be forced back home, reluctantly agreeing to his return to the job and the worry and the stress that came with it. Five pregnancies that resulted in seven amazing and beautiful children; her physical and mental health paying a steep price each time, yet never denying him the desire for a big family. And the times she’s seen him near death. Horrendous injuries inflicted upon him; those long days and nights by his side in various hospitals and eventually the arduous and painful roads to recovery. Yet she’s done it without complaint; throwing herself into caring for him and their family and consistently putting her own well being on the back burner.

Lowering himself cautiously onto the end of the bed, he once more scrubs at his hair and then tosses the towel in the direction of the laundry hamper; sighing when it misses its mark and falls heavily to the floor. While mentally weary, his body feels great; relieved to be relatively pain free and filled with an uncharacteristic optimism. The silver lining within a very dark and immense cloud. A welcome boost of confidence he hasn’t experienced in years; brave enough to consider that maybe...just maybe...the worst is now behind him. And as he studies his reflection in the mirror atop the dresser, for once he’s not finding all the faults. No anger or disgust when his fingers lightly travel over the myriad of scars that inhabit his face, no thoughts of how battered and worn down he appears. Instead he notices that his eyes seem brighter; not as haunted and empty as they’ve been since his return from Cambodia. His face has filled out; the slight weight gain making the lines that accompany aging -and a hard life lived on the edge- not seem as prominent. His chest and arms are bigger; the slightest of flexes stretching the tattoos that decorate the insides of both biceps and shoulders. The positivity is surprising; years spent living in a state of self loathing and speaking self deprecating words long ago taking their toll and reducing him to a man that didn’t give a shit about his personal appearance. As long as he maintained his strength and his quickness and his skills, that had been all that mattered; not giving a second thought to his choice of attire or the thickness of his beard or the unruliness of his hair.

He’s still not what would be considered high maintenance; the opposite of a Desi who spends more time getting ready than the average female and has closets full of insanely expensive high end clothing. Still the most comfortable in bare feet and board shorts; jeans and a simple t-shirt considered ‘dressing up’ in his world. It’s an effortless existence; relaxed and content and low key. And it’s one the entire family -aside from a very ‘girly’ Addie- has adopted. Happy and secure; tucked away at the end of that dead end street and surrounded by nature and the smells and the sounds of the ocean. Their own slice of paradise; hard work, resilience, and a hell of a lot of money turning what had once been a modest residence into their dream home. It will be their ‘happily after after’; the place where they’ll raise their children, spoil their grandkids, and grow old and grey together. And for once, he’s confident that will happen. That they’ll get those moments Esme often speaks wistfully about. When their home is empty and it’s just the two of them; quiet breakfasts on the back deck and dinners down by the water. When there’s more grey in their hair and wrinkles on their faces, yet they still walk along the beach hand in hand or with their arms wrapped around each other; indulging in their bantering and their teasing and stopping to steal kisses in the surf.

And still giving her piggy back rides back to the house.

He feels the mattress shift slightly, and he watches her reflection through the mirror as she adjusts her position in bed. Rolling over onto her back and stretching languorously; a long, content sigh escaping her lips and the heels of her palms pressing into her eyes. When she props herself onto her elbows and looks at him, her hair is disheveled and her eyes are slightly narrowed; a pout of confusion and disorientation capturing her lips.

“Tyler?”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost one.”

The pout transforms into a frown. “In the afternoon?”

“No. Morning.”

“Smart ass,” she grumbles, and then flops down onto her back. A foot kicks off the heavy comforter in favour of coming in contact with his back; toes slowly brushing along the top edge of the towel. “What are you doing?”

“I was in the shower. Didn’t get a chance to do it when I got home from my run. With everything that happened and you leaving and having to take care of the kids....” his voice trails off. It’s the last thing he wants to revisit. His panic attack in the kitchen, the way his oldest son had sensed the urgency and the stress and stepped up to the plate to care for his little sister, the worry that his wife either wouldn’t return or would walk through the door and tell him that it was over. That he was just too much for her to bear; a heavy and troublesome burden weighing her down.

“Why’s it so quiet?” she asks, and he’s thankful for the change in conversation. “What happened? Did they get a little too feral? Get on your last nerve so you tranquilized all of them?”

“I sold them all. On the black market.”

“I hope you got a good price for them,” she chides, and trails the tip of her big toe along his spine. “I put a lot of work into those kids. Not to mention what my body went through. I think that’s worth a good penny, don’t you? Doesn’t it deserve compensation? My body going to absolute shit?”

“Your body is amazing. It was incredible when we met, and it’s even more incredible now.”

“You really are the most biased husband on earth. My ass is bigger. My hips are wider.”

“You’ve had babies. MY babies.”

“Yeah, I have,” she smiles, and once more props herself up on her elbows. “Only guy in the universe I’d ever give that many spawn too.”

He grins at her through the mirror. “I’m honoured.”

“You should be,” she playfully retorts. “You’re naked under that towel, aren’t you.”

“Well considering I just got out of the shower and I don’t wear board shorts or underwear when I’m in there…”

“Honey, as incredible as your body is and I could lie here all day admiring it, I’m going to need you to put some clothes on. It’s far too tempting to engage in X rated activity when you’re naked. Or next to naked.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. X rated activities. With me.”

“Normally it’s not. But I think I’m PMSing.” That dramatic, adorable pout again. “ I’ve got wicked cramps and I’m feeling bloated as fuck and you know my hesitancy on having sex when all of that is going on. I know it doesn’t faze you and as much as orgasms DO help, it’s just not my jam.”

“Say no more.” Sighing, he gets to his feet; grateful that the normally bone deep pain that resides in his right knee has settled into nothing more than a dull, manageable ache. And he grabs a pair of discarded jeans slung over the back of the chair by the balcony door; releasing the towel from around his waist and tossing it in the direction of the laundry hamper.

“Now that’s just evil,” Esme declares. “You are a bad, bad, BAD man.”

He smirks at her through the mirror. “Why’s that?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You know exactly what you’re doing. Just dropping the towel like that. That’s so, so, SO mean.”

“Gotta give you something to stare at, yeah?”

“I prefer to call it admiring. And I have done a lot of admiring over the last twelve and half years. You never disappoint, husband.”

“I aim to please.”

“And do you ever hit your mark. Each and every time.”

Grinning, he tugs the jeans up over his hips and ass and tends to the button and zipper; pushing a hand through his damp hair as he approaches the side of the bed. “Move.”

“I like this spot. It’s YOUR spot. It’s got all your grooves in it. It’s comfortable.”

“Yeah, but it’s MY spot. And you know how anal I am about my spot. So haul ass. Please.”

“Grump face,” she mutters, but wriggles her way backward across the bed; rolling onto her hip as he joins her; sliding under the comforter and laying on his side facing her.

“Come here…” Reaching out, he curls an arm around her petite frame and pulls her into him. Hand resting in the middle of her back as his other arm slips under her shoulder; thigh wedging between her legs.. “...I’ll make you feel better, baby. In a non X rated way.”

“You’re so selfless.” She presses her body against his; a hand pushing through his hair and her head tucking under his chin. Eyes closing and a long, content sigh escaping her as she breathes in his familiar scent. Clean and crisp; notes of sandalwood and citrus. “So generous. Where ARE the kids?”

“Desi took them out. Lunch and a movie. Candy bar afterwards.”

“He just offered or....?”

“I called him. Told him you were having a rough day. That I needed some time and some space and some quiet. To take care of my girl.”

A smile plays on her lips as she pulls back to look at him. “Your girl, huh?”

“That’s what you are, aren’t ya? Or would I rather I call you my old lady?”

“I would definitely NOT rather that. I like it; being called your girl. It’s cute. I like the sound of it.”

He presses a kiss to the bridge of her nose. Palm sliding up her back, across her shoulder and then gently cupping the side of her face ; thumb repeatedly brushing against the top of her cheek.

She likes these moments with him. Quiet and content; bodies pressed together in a pure and innocent form of intimacy. The way his gaze never wavers ; as if he's intently studying every inch of her features and committing them to memory. Love and adoration written as plain as day upon his face; the softness of his expression, the gentle touch of a callused palm and fingertips, the tender smile that plays on his lips. A beautiful man with a not so beautiful past. A childhood filled with torment and abuse and anguish and tremendous loss, followed by years of substance abuse and a life lived on the edge; hounded by immense grief and guilt and regret and anxious for death to claim him. It’s no surprise that he has the issues he does; no one can go through a lifetime of trauma and come out of it unscathed. But it’s a shock he isn’t worse than he is. Still filled with so much strength; resilient and brave and never backing down from even the biggest of challenges. Loving and compassionate and sensitive. A striking juxtaposition considering his choice of career. A hardened and highly skilled mercenary that kills as a means to an end, not because he enjoys it.

“So you actually CALLED Desi?” she inquires. “For help? That’s a little...out of character.”

“Didn’t have much of a choice. Your sister won’t be here until later and I wasn’t waiting that long. So I got a hold of him and asked him to do me a favour. If he could take the kids so I could concentrate on you. That’s kind of hard to do when there’s seven plus one under the same roof.”

“That’s HUGE for you. You didn’t just acknowledge and admit you needed help, you actually ACTED on it.”

“What’s so huge about that? I’ve asked for help before.”

“You’ve asked ME for help before. Never someone else. That’s not you, Tyler. You’d rather wear yourself thin or completely burn yourself out than rely on other people.”

“It’s one of my issues,” he admits. “For many reasons. But you know how I always say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you?”

Esme nods.

“That includes swallowing my pride and asking for help.”

“You doing THAT? THAT’S love right there. And probably some lust, too.”

“There’s a little bit of that in there too,” he teases, and then places a soft, lingering kiss on her lips. Their eyes closing when the tip of his nose comes to rest against her forehead; hand slipping from her cheek and finding the back of her neck, fingers gently and deftly massaging the tense muscles.

For several minutes neither of them speak; basking in the silence and the warmth that radiates from one another's bodies; his slow, even breaths ruffling her hair, hers tickling his bare neck. These moments are rare; the chaos of raising seven children and their respective work schedules and responsibilities. Both are looking forward to her being home more. The opportunity to actually be alone; walks on the beach or time in the water, hikes in the woods or strolls through town. And the road trips. Needing nothing more than gas in the tank and money in their pockets.

*****

“Feeling any better?” Tyler asks, and slips his hand up into her hair; fingertips gently kneading the scalp.

“A little. Have a headache though. Not sure if it’s PMS or my moods or my meltdown earlier. But it’s a bitch. A mean, old bitch.”

He pulls away. Hand moving to the top of her head and fingers pressing on her well known problem areas; along the tops of both brows, the inside corners of her eyes, the bridge of her nose. Attempting to alleviate at least some of the pain and pressure. “Good?” he asks, when she reaches up to push her fingers through his; drawing their joined hands down to her lips and pressing a kiss to the side of his wrist.

She nods, a smile curving her lips. “Good. You and your magic fingers. They certainly know their stuff. In many ways.”

“They have a talent all of their own.”

“They certainly do. MANY talents, actually. Are YOU feeling better?”

“Not bad. My body feels pretty good. Thought maybe I’d be in agony after my run, but…”

“You pushed yourself, didn’t you. HARD. Harder than you’re supposed to.”

“Come on now. Would I actually do something like that? Not listen to the doctor’s orders?”

“You most certainly would. And you definitely have. Be careful, Tyler. Don’t push the limits too much, okay? I realize you know your own body, but you don’t always listen to it. I don’t want you hurting yourself. Screwing something up and needing surgery. AGAIN.”

“I won’t go too hard,” he promises, and pecks her lips. “But right now? I’m taking care of YOU. Not the other way around. You’ve spent a lot of time looking after me. Worrying about me. Probably too much.”

“It’s not like it’s a job or something like that. You’re my husband. I love you. That’s why I do it.”

“And I love you. Which is why I need to step up and take care of you. Don’t be so stubborn, Me. Let me look after you. We’re a team, yeah? We’re supposed to be in this together? Let me pick up some of the slack.”

“It’s a bad habit of mine. Doing everything myself. I mean, in high school I was the one that got saddled with all the work during group projects. My classmates would fuck around and I’d be stuck having to do it all by my lonesome.”

“Well you don’t have to do this by your lonesome. It’s a two way street, right? You and me against the world?”

Nodding, she presses a kiss to his chin, then his lips. “You’re a good husband. I think I’ll keep you.”

“Good. Because I think I’ll stick around. I kinda like it here.”

Smiling, she lays a hand on the side of his face. Her fingers press through his beard; nails lightly scraping along his jaw. “Do you think we could talk?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing? You already said no naked time, so…”

“I mean a serious talk. Piggybacking off what happened this morning. More specifically, what happened with ME this morning. And WHY it happened.”

“I thought we already talked about it. When you got back. Didn’t realize there was anything more to say. You’re going through some shit. Depression. Probably PTSD. You got a lot of stress. And probably most of that can be blamed on me.”

“I’m not blaming anything on you. I never have. I never will. My brain was screwed up way before you ever came along.”

“I’m sure I made it worse. I’ve put you through a lot of crap. Twelve and a half years of it.”

“We are not doing this. YOU are not doing this. That’s all water under the bridge, Tyler. Things we went through and dealt with. It’s behind us. Can we leave it there? Can YOU? Because it’s not doing you any good; holding onto so much guilt and regret. I don’t want you doing that. That’s the last thing I want, actually.”

“It’s kind of hard NOT to do it. To think back on it all and not see how badly i’ve fucked up.”

“It was all beyond your control. Things went bad. That’s all there is to really say about it. Things went to shit and you reacted badly to them and you made some pretty crappy judgement calls. But we got past all of that. I don’t hold grudges against you. I don’t hate you. Or blame you for anything. It’s time you stop blaming yourself, okay?”

“You know me. I’m willing to try anything once. Except for maybe eating ass. That’s a little too far out of my comfort zone.”

“Well lucky for you, it’s WAY out of mine. But can we? Have a serious talk? Without it turning into a fight? I don’t want to fight with you. We’ve come a long way since those days; everything turning into a big blow out.”

“I don’t want to fight with you, either. But if it’s something THAT serious…”

“I mean, it’s serious but not THAT serious. It’s not life or death or anything. It’s just...I don’t know…” her fingers nervously fidget with the chain around his neck. “...it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Is it about us? Are we having problems I’m not aware of? Is there someone else?”

“No! Oh my god, no. Nothing like that. Other than dealing with our own mental stuff, we are fine. We are MORE than fine. And there isn’t anyone else. There never has been. And there never will be. You’re it for me. For the rest of my life. There’s no one else I want. I could EVER want.”

Smiling, he presses a kiss to her lips.

“It’s to do with me. What’s going on in my head. What HAS been going on in there. And I need you to promise that you won’t freak out. That you won’t hear the worst of it and shut down and lose your temper and…”

He frowns. “Esme…”

“Tyler, I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And right now, I need you to promise me that you won’t lose it. That you’ll just listen and let everything sink in. Not just hear a bit and react. Can you do that? Promise me?”

He nods. “I won’t lose my shit. Promise. What’s going on? Are you okay? Are you sick? Is there something wrong and you’ve been holding out on me?”

“I’m not sick,” she assures him. “Not physically anyway. It’s all to do with my brain. I’ve struggled for years. Long before I ever met you. And I’ve had some down moments; since we’ve been together. Especially after each of our babies. When postpartum was a real bitch to me. So it’s not like you don’t know what I deal with. In my head.”

“I’ve known for years. You told me pretty much right from the start. A couple days into Dhaka. About having depression. Being diagnosed after your dad died. And I’m pretty sure you’ve got PTSD too. After everything that went on in Bangladesh, ESPECIALLY on that bridge? You can’t say it would be a surprise. If you were diagnosed with it.”

“The furthest thing from a surprise. Now you promise? Not to freak out?”

“I already did. Can we get to it already? Because you stall any longer and my anxiety is going to go off the charts.”

Sighing, she curls a finger around his necklace and gently yanks him into a kiss. Lips lingering on his before finally pulling away. “I lied to you. About a year ago,”

“About…?”

“Do you remember when you were in Brazil? For a couple weeks? The whole drug cartel thing?”

He nods. “What about it?”

“Remember how when you came back, I mentioned a girls weekend. In Cairns. With Riley and Shaena. And how I was worried you’d be pissed because I wanted to go on it? Because you’d been gone for two weeks and me leaving meant we’d only have a couple days together?”

“Yeah, and I was fine with it. You needed a break. I didn’t have a problem with you going. What…?”

“There was never a girls weekend,” Esme admits, and his frown intensifies; deep furrows inhabiting his brow. “We made it up. So you wouldn’t know what was really going on.”

“Babe...what…?”

“I was in the hospital. For three days. And not just any hospital. A psychiatric one.”

“A psychiatric hospital? Why? What…?”

“When you were gone, I had a really bad time. I mean, I always do when you leave. I don’t sleep, I worry constantly, I stress over everything and even little stuff gets on my nerves and drags me down. But this was worse. WAY worse. And even though I knew you were okay and that you were coming home, I still had all that dread, you know? All that worry. Constantly wondering if maybe I’d never see you again. That maybe the last time you walked out the door really WAS the last time.”

“That was an easy job. I wasn’t even out in the field. I was strictly behind the scenes. I never even left the hotel. Not until I had to go get everyone out. I told you I’d stay behind and I did.”

“I know. But I still freaked out. I was still worried. I always worry about you, you know that. And one night it was really bad. I felt like I was losing it. I hadn’t heard from you that day and you didn’t return any of my voicemails or texts and…”

“We had problems with coms. I told you that. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk to you. There were legit issues.”

“And I tried telling myself that. That there were issues. But it didn’t help. And I lost it. Badly. I’m pretty sure it was actually a mental breakdown. And I called Riley because I was freaking out and I couldn’t get control of myself. I thought I was going crazy. And I told her that I felt like I was going to hurt myself.”

He blinks at her confession. “What?”

“I don’t think I actually would have done it. I think I was just feeling desperate at that moment. I don’t think…”

“You wanted to kill yourself? You wanted to die?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I was looking for a way out. An escape. And my brain wasn’t exactly in a good place and that’s where it went. Like I said, I don’t think I would have actually done anything. But I called Riley and she came over and stayed with me and the kids. Just in case.”

“What if she hadn’t been around? What if she couldn’t have come over? What if she still lived in Colorado? Would you have done it? Hurt yourself?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t THINK so? Esme…”

“I wasn’t exactly thinking right. I was in a really bad way, Tyler. REALLY bad. And I needed help. So I called her.”

“Why didn’t you call ME?”

“What would you have been able to do? You were in Brazil.”

“I would have come home. Right away. I would have dropped everything and had someone else be in charge. Do you really think I wouldn’t have? Come home? There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you. Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were so far away,” she attempts to reason. “And I needed help right away.”

“I would have talked you down. I would have gotten you through it. Why wouldn’t you get a hold of me? I’m your husband.”

“I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was just thinking in the moment. And getting ahold of you in Brazil wasn’t the first thing that came to my mind. It wasn’t personal. You should know that. That you’re the one person that’s always been able to help me. But you were thousands of miles away and you were busy and I didn’t want to put something else on you. Burden you.”

“Burden me? You’re my wife. You could never burden me. What the fuck, Esme? Why didn’t you at least tell me I got home? Why lie to me? Why make up this whole fucking story about a girls trip? Why…?”

“I didn’t want to put that on you. Especially when you had to stay with the kids. They needed you to be focused and all about them. And you wouldn’t have been able to do that if I told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You didn’t want me to worry? You’re my WIFE.”

“I was trying to protect you. I’m always trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Tyler argues. “I’m not a fucking child, Esme. I’m a grown ass man. I don’t need you coddling me and babying me and protecting me. I would have stepped up and took care of you. That should have been on me. Not your sister. Not Shaena. Not anyone else. Me.”

“I needed you to take care of the kids. You’d been gone for two weeks and they missed you and I didn’t want them to be without BOTH parents. It’s not personal. I didn’t make the decisions I did to hurt you. I made them to help you. To help our family.”

“How much help would it have been if I’d come home and you were dead on the floor? How much help would it have been if one of our kids had found you? Do you know how bad that would have fucked them up? Losing their mother like that? Do you know how bad it would have fucked ME up?”

“I wasn’t thinking of those things. I wasn’t thinking about anything. That’s the problem. All I wanted was an escape. That’s it.”

“An escape from what? Your shitty life with your shitty husband?”

“No!” She clasps his face in her hands. “I love my life. And my husband. You know what depression is like. It doesn’t care where you live or what you have or how many people love you. It’s all in your head. It’s a fucking monster you can’t escape from. You know EXACTLY what it’s like. I never meant…” her voice cracks with emotion. “...I never meant to hurt you. I would NEVER hurt you. I thought I was protecting you. And I know you say you don’t need me to. And maybe you don’t. But I do it because I love you. Because I want to make things easier on you. That’s all. It’s not to hurt you, Tyler.”

“You can’t try and convince me I’m not broken when you treat me like I am.”

She frantically grabs at the chain around his neck with one hand, his shoulder with the other. “That’s not what I was doing. You AREN’T broken. I don’t treat you like you are.”

“You are when you do shit like that. When you lie to me. Especially about something like this.”

“I’ve never lied to you. About anything. I’ve always been honest. About my childhood, about what Mark put me through, about…”

“What about the guy?”

“What guy? What…?”

“The one you went out with. When we were separated. Took you years to tell me about him.”

She frowns. “There was nothing to tell you. He was just some single dad I met at daycare pick up. That’s it. It was nothing important. Just some guy.”

“That you went out with. While we were still married.”

“Have you been just waiting to throw that in my face? Have you been holding onto that all this time? Just looking for the opportunity to hold that over my head? Why would you…?”

“I was faithful to you. Whether we were going to work shit or not. I wasn’t looking for someone else. I didn’t want another woman. And I could have had one. I could have had tons of them. It wasn’t for lack of opportunity, believe me.”

“Then why didn’t you do it? If you had so many chances. Why didn’t you take any of them?”

“Because I wanted my wife. I didn’t want anyone else. You, Just you.”

“And I wanted you! But you were a fucking mess and I was hurt because you weren’t fighting for me. For your family. So yeah, I went out on a date. Because someone showed interest in me and made me feel special and beautiful and wanted. Because I was hurt and I wanted you to hurt just as much as I was. I was so pissed at you. For not getting your shit together and coming home and fighting for us. So I went out on a date. And I enjoyed it. I enjoyed the attention."

“Did you fuck him?”

“No. I told you what happened. I told you he tried and I turned him down. I told him that I couldn’t do it because I was still in love with my husband. That I was still hoping we could work things out. That’s the truth. And that’s how I got that black eye. Because he didn’t handle the rejection so well. That’s the truth. All of it. I never slept with him. I’ve ever been with anyone but you. For the last twelve and a half years. Just you.”

He nods slowly, letting her words sink in.

“Tyler…” her nails dig into the back of his neck. “...don’t do this...don’t shut me out. Please don’t do that. I don’t want you to do that.”

“What do you want me to say? What…?”

“I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to lie to you. I…” tears flow freely down her face. “...I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry.”

“Come here,” he gently orders, and pushing a hand through her hair, settles it on her back and pulls her into him. “It’s okay, Me. Everything’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you. Not about the guy and not about the girls weekend. I was just trying to protect you. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know you weren’t.” Pressing a kiss to her temple, he rolls over onto his back; both arms wrapping around her and pulling her with him. “And I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have brought that shit up. I haven’t been holding onto it. Or waiting to use it again. I reacted. Badly. And when I do, nothing is off limits. I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean to say that shit.”

“It’s okay,” she sniffles, and curls her arms around his neck. “I know how you get. When you hear things you don’t like. But for the record? This is what I meant when I made you promise not to lose it.”

“I am so fucking sorry. I’m an asshole. A huge asshole.”

“No. You’re not. You just have no chill sometimes. I’m used to it. Or fairly used to it, anyway.”

“I never should have said what I did. About the guy you went out with. You had every right to. Go on a date. I wasn’t exactly stepping up. I just lost it. Hearing about you wanting to hurt herself and how you spent time in psychiatric hospital. Kinda kicked me in the nuts, ya know?”

“I was going to tell you,” she says, chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him. “When I got home. But I was feeling so much better and you and the kids were so happy to see me. I didn’t want to ruin that. And then we got on with life and there never seemed to be a good time. So I kept it to myself. It wasn’t to intentionally hurt you., I’d NEVER do that.”

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“And I don’t mean to treat you like you’re broken. Because you’re not. A little bent, maybe…”

He manages a laugh. “I’ve been put through the ringer a few times. Got a little too many miles on me. Quite the collection of dents and scars going on.”

“They’re beautiful. Every single one of them.” Wriggling further up the bed, she pushes a hand through his hair; tightly gripping the longer locks as she pecks the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry, Tyler. That I lied to you. I had good intentions. I really did.”

“You always do.” He curls an arm around her neck and kisses her. Long and soft and sweet; tasting the salty tears that linger across her top lip. “It’s okay, Me. Don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry.” He tangles his fingers in her hair, gently pushing her head back down onto his chest. “ Has it happened again? Feeling the way you did? Have you wanted to hurt yourself? Or worse?”

“No. I haven’t felt that way since. I’ve been depressed, but not like that.”

“And you’d tell me? If you did feel that way?”

She nods.

Sighing heavily, he places a forearm over his eyes. Lying in silence and feeling her body tremble against his; knuckles repeatedly ghosting along her spine as he attempts to get a grasp on the situation. Her mental health issues have never been a secret; she’s been on medication for years and has occasionally needed it to be tweaked. But to hear that she’d been THAT low? Considering hurting herself? Or even attempting something more permanent? It’s devastating. Feeding right into his worst fear. The thought of losing her to an event totally beyond his control. A wedge of emotion settles in his throat and tears prick his eyes; the realization of how close he’d come to losing. But he fights it off. Needing to stay strong for her. Always willing, ready, and able to put his own problems aside. Her rock and her protector.

“Tyler?” Her voice is impossibly tiny. Apprehensive. Scared.

“Yeah, babe?”

“I love you. So much. You’ll never know how much.”

Smiling, he slides his palm to the back of her neck and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you too.”

[swaps55]

Cantata

Pairing: mShenko | Rating: M

Summary: Sam Shepard and Kaidan Alenko, in the years before the Normandy. AKA, the slowest of slow burns.

Chapter Summary: N5 is a bitch. Kaidan worries. Clay Beaudoin attempts to have a night out. Aslany weaponizes a toothpick. Pendergrass reminisces about her favorite Asshole. There's banter and flirting and intrigue, oh my.

Many, many thanks to @nightmarestudio606 for beta-ing and handholding me through how picking someone up in a bar works, heh.

Because this chapter got way too long, welcome to Cantata’s first two-parter.

Chapter 5: Fall From Your Ladder, Part 1 (Ao3)

01 March 2179, Arcturus Stream, Arcturus System, Arcturus Station

Kaidan sits on the edge of the medical bed, spine curled, elbow propped on a knee, rubbing his temple with two fingers. Dr. Wendler finishes loading a dermal injector and presses it against the inside of his arm, humming softly.

“Sorry,” she says, stopping herself abruptly. “Habit. I’m sure that’s not helpful.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, shifting his arm as a familiar chill runs up and down from the injection site. The migraine drug cocktail always feels like someone shot ice water right into his veins. “The dice roll came up light sensitivity this time, not sound.”

“At least it wasn’t both,” she points out.

“There’s that.”

Once upon a time he maintained that kind of positive thinking about the migraines. Sometimes he still musters it up.

“This one seems milder than the last couple,” she observes. “Maybe this regimen is working.”

“Wishful thinking. I get the nice ones sometimes. Usually means the next one’s going to be a three-day shore-leave style bender.”

“And here I was rooting for the medicine doing its job,” the doc says, putting a dramatic hand to her chest.

He manages a small smile for her valiant effort at levity. “Oh, I’m rooting. Just not getting my hopes up.”

“Well in that case, be thankful you only have two days of shore leave.”

Kaidan huffs.

She grins. “Let me do one more scan, then I’ll stop torturing you.”

“Sure.” He runs a hand through his hair as she rummages through a drawer. No matter how small the migraine, the prospect of leaving the ‘Yang to wander around Arcturus isn’t exactly appealing. When the ship docks, he plans to start off shore leave by enjoying some quiet in the barracks.

His omnitool flashes with an incoming message. When he sees who it’s from, he sits up a little straighter.

Shepard.

It’s been just over ten weeks since they dropped him at Arcturus to catch an Earth transport bound for Rio. He wouldn’t say much about N5 quals before he left, in fact had gone out of his way to downplay his departure. Supposedly the pit stop at Arcturus is to re-acquire him, but as no one’s heard a word from him, Kaidan was beginning to wonder.

He brings up the message.

Source: Shepard, S., Lieutenant Commander, Arcturus

Recipient: Alenko, K., 1st Lieutenant, SSV Myeongnyang

Message Begin

Need backup. Anderson and Oseguera insisting on taking me to dinner. 19:00 The Parliamentarian. You better show up.

Message End

Despite the steady thump in his head, the corner of Kaidan’s mouth turns up in a smile. Had Shepard just ordered him to dinner?

Well, whatever went down in Rio, it still sounds like him, at least.

Five months they’ve been on the Myeongnyang, and Shepard’s now been gone for nearly half that time. Just as they’d started getting the hang of one another, too. Couple of combat drops since that first near-disaster on Mindoir and they’d almost developed a rhythm. Granted, the rhythm usually consisted of Shepard going off-script almost as soon as the shooting started, but now Kaidan knows to keep an eye out for his left flank, because Shepard sure wasn’t going to do it.

Hell, they’d even gotten him to crack a joke at the poker table. Who knew the Butcher of Torfan could be funny.  

“What’s the grin for?” Dr. Wendler asks, coming back with the scanner she’d been after. She aims it at his forehead and runs it slowly over his scalp.  

“Nothing,” Kaidan says, clearing his throat a little. “Heard from Shepard. He’s still alive. Was starting to wonder.”

The doc makes a curious sound in her throat. “And here I was getting so used to just treating migraines and muscle strains.”

“Maybe The Villa tempered him a little,” Kaidan offers.

She snorts. “Now who’s doing the wishful thinking? You’re good to go, by the way. Until next time. Care to take bets on whether it’s a bullet or a migraine?”

Kaidan gets slowly to his feet. “Think Beaudoin’s your guy for a bet. Heard him and Aslany making wagers on how many peanuts Pendergrass can shove in her mouth. Honestly, we might all be better off just giving them something to shoot.”

“Okay. Twenty credits says it’s a bullet.”

“You know what? I’ll take that bet.”

“Excellent. You’re all set. Enjoy your shore leave.”

Kaidan tips her a two-finger salute and heads for the medbay door. Instead of a quiet, dark room he’s got a shower and fresh uniform in his future. Not even back on the ship yet, and Shepard’s already derailing Kaidan’s plans.

He stifles a smile on his way to the crew deck.

Read from the beginning | Read the rest on Ao3 | The Cantata Playlist

[jemej3m]

hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND 

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

*

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet. 

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes. 

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it. 

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him. 

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone. 

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks. 

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer. 

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.” 

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.” 

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.” 

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma. 

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet. 

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge. 

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,” 

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought. 

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.” 

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.” 

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security. 

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.” 

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty. 

Now all he could do was wait.

*

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them -  Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew. 

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled. 

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing. 

Andrew ignored them all. 

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.” 

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.” 

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three. 

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home. 

 Andrew didn’t need to be told twice. 

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk. 

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.  

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled. 

The heater was on. 

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop. 

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.” 

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared. 

And he did. For the first time, he did. 

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair. 

“What else is new?” Neil joked. 

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?” 

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer. 

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended. 

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

*

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this 

srry its so short!!

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 14 (final chapter)

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.  

TW: Language, sexual themes, injuries. Rated M 

(This story is obviously non-canon, i.e. Diablo and GQ, but I hope you’ll enjoy it either way.)

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

I ran to a wall, searching for an exit. Hearing gunshots from outside, I became confused. The Bat works alone, I thought. The lights turned back on.

In the middle of the room stood a tall, caped figure.

This is ridiculous!, I thought. “You picked a hell of a time to show up, guano jerk!”, I yelled at him; readying myself for a fight – one that I was sure to lose, but I wasn’t going out lying down.

The door we had entered through sprang open, and in ran my friends; Rick leading the charge.

My heart nearly jumped through my chest. “Rick!”, I screamed, all dignity gone.

When he saw me, his eyes instantly lit up. “Y/N”, he yelled. “Get into cover!”.

“Stupid bat! You’re ruining another date night!”, Harley yelled, and shot in the direction of the caped crusader, missing by several feet. I looked in her direction. She was standing in cover behind a pillar. Behind her laid the bag.

I sprang towards her, and threw myself at the floor, sliding across it on my stomach. Grabbing the strap of the bag; I made myself disappear. I ran towards Rick; but my ankle gave in to pain, and I fell, reappearing a couple of feet from another pillar, dragging myself to sit behind it.

The Bat ran towards me, but the Joker shot at him from the cover of the now turned over table, Harley and he had been sitting on earlier. Forcing the Bat to jump for cover; gave Joker the time to run towards my pillar, avoiding balls of fire and gunshots, coming from Rick and Diablo. Before he could reach me, Floyd shot at the ceiling above him; making it rain dust and debris around him. He went to join Harley at her hiding place.

The Bat once again ran towards me. He was hit in the back by a wooden crate, thrown by Croc; and fell to the floor; struggling to get back up. Katana came at him then, sword raised; but he tripped her with a shot from his rope-gun, making her fall over – legs bound.

Who the hell is fighting who?, I thought. I climbed to my feet, and began limping towards Rick again. He was covering behind the table the clown had occupied.

A bullet whistled past my head. I was suddenly covered by thick black fabric; and swung around to lay on my back – the bat over me; staring at me with angry eyes.

“I told you to keep your head down!”, he rumbled. “The hell I will!”, I hissed; and swung for him with my claws.

He rolled to the side, allowing me to get up on all fours.

“Y/N!”, Rick shouted again; running towards me while aiming at the masked asshole I’d just gotten out from under.

A gunshot landed at my feet, making me stumble and fall again; the bag being pulled out of my grasp as I did.

“Thank you, Chess!”, the Joker smiled down at me, and moved backwards towards the door, aiming at me.

“Hand over the bomb, Joker”, the Bat growled.

The clown held on to the bag firmly, aiming his gun at the caped man. “No. I’m sorry, but this is my new toy. And I don’t like sharing!”, he yelled, and pulled his trigger.

The Bat leapt out of the way; and the bullet hit the wall behind him.

Rick aimed his gun at the Joker. “Give us the bag, asshole!”, he shouted.

“Language!”, Joker roared, aiming his gun at him.

Harley kept her aim firmly on the Bat. “Let’s go, puddin’”, she said, and they both began to back towards the door.

“Quinn!”, Floyd called. “Come on, doll. We went into this together, let’s get out of this together!”.

“I’m sorry guys, but I can’t leave my J again”, she said sadly.

Joker pulled at her arm to come with him. “Come on, tootsie pop”, he beckoned, swinging the bag over his shoulder.

“Harley, the phone is in there”, I cried out desperately.

Harley froze. “Puddin’, they need that bag”, she said pleadingly. “Yeah, and I need my boom”, Joker answered. “Let’s go”.

“Harley!”, I tried again.

She looked from us to her lover. “I’m sorry, puddin’”, she said, moved her aim; and shot.

The Joker fell to the ground growling, holding on to his leg. She grabbed the bag, and slid it across the floor, in the direction of where the rest of us where standing.

The Bat dove for the bag, grabbing it, just as it landed in front of Digger; who’d spent the most of the fight in hiding – his loyalties in an uproar. He didn’t seem to know whether to fight him for the bag, or just step back, and let events unfold.

Frost reappeared through the door behind Joker and Harley; followed by a dozen masked minions, all aiming at us.

Harley went to her knees next to Joker. “I am so sorry, puddin’. But I had to do that”. He snarled and threw his head in frustration. “Fine!”, he yelled. “Babe, this is the lambo all over again!”, he said to Harley.

“I know”, she pouted. Frost dragged the clown to his feet, letting him lean against him for support. Harley fluttered her lashes. “See you in a couple of months?”, she asked.

The Joker smirked. “You know it, cupcake”, he said, and grabbed her face to kiss her.

“That’s all there is to that”, she smiled.

The group backed out of the door, aiming at us all the way. “Chess; you’re fired”, Joker called in my direction, as he disappeared.

Harley slowly walked towards us, sniffling. Diablo grabbed her in a warm embrace, and Croc patted her head.

Katana said something. “No thanks”, Harley answered. “He’s still my puddin’”.

Digger found a can of beer in one of his pockets, and offered it to her. She accepted it with a sad smile.

Rick took me into his arms, kissing the top of my head. “Let’s get out of here”, he said, and we moved for the door at the opposite end of the room.

“Chess!”. We stopped in our tracks. The Bat walked up to us.

“Careful”, I frowned. “You don’t want to damage government property”. Rick straightened his back, ready to act if needed.

The Bat chuckled hoarsely. “No”, he said. “I want to apologize”.

“For what?”, I asked. “For using my friend to get to me? For selling me out to Waller, and letting her torture me?”.

“I was going to say; for putting that GPS-tracker in your new leggings”, he smiled.

I shook my head. “Of course”, I said.

“Look”, he continued. “You seem like a righteous person. You don’t belong with these people”. He gestured at the squad, who were now flanked by the guards from our flight.

“I am gathering a group of friends, who all have special abilities”, he said. “We’ll be working towards a better future for not only America, but the world. I want you to join us”.

I looked at him, disbelieving. “Taking down criminals?”, I asked. “Yes”, he answered. “And who are those criminals? My friends here?”. “Well…”, he said; but didn’t continue.

I sighed. “You believe to be on the side of the good; but at the same time you’re breaking the law – deciding who gets punished, and who doesn’t. I’d say that’s pretty criminal in itself”, I said. “I don’t make it my business to decide who is bad and who is good. I just want to help people”.

“Look, man”, Rick said, grabbing my hand to hold. “Whatever you might think of these people, whatever they’ve done in the past… The work they’re doing now is important. And it’s work no one else will do”.

“You force them to do it”, the Bat answered.

“He’s got a point, mate”, Digger called at him.

“Yeah, he does”, Rick admitted. “But at least you can go back to your cell, knowing you made a difference, without being sanctimonious about it”.

I looked the Bat in his eyes.

“My side of the fence does seem a lot less self-righteous”, I said.

The Bat nodded. “We’ll probably meet again”, he said. “For your own sake, make sure it’s not as opponents”.

“Right back at ya’”, I said. “By the way; 1-2-3-4-5 is a shitty combination for a safe holding such important papers, Bruce”.

My fingers laced with Ricks, we followed our group out of the building. I could feel the Bats eyes on my back as we walked away. “Are you ok?”, Rick asked. “I am now”, I answered. “Shit, the bag!”, I remembered.

I spun around towards where the Bat had been standing. He was gone.

“Fuck!”, I screamed frustratedly; and limped back towards the middle of the room, desperately trying to see where he might have gone.

Rick grabbed me from behind, embracing me as tears began to stain my eyes. I wept into his shoulder, and he stroked my back; kissing my hair. “It was all for nothing”, I sobbed. “I didn’t make a difference at all”.

“Hey”, Rick said, looking down at me. “You made sure the Joker didn’t get to keep the bomb. You probably saved lives”.

I kept crying into his jacket, staining it with my tears. He picked me up, and carried me out of the room.

“Hey!”, Kelper called from behind us. “Can someone uncuff me from this chair? And maybe find me a new pair of pants?”.

---

We were back at Belle Reve in the conference room. Waller was debriefing.

“Well, that was a massive fail to what should have been a very simple mission”, she said.

“Waller; you sent us in blind!”, Rick growled. “You almost killed Chess!”.

“If you’d done your job like I told you to; your girlfriend here would have been in and out in no time”, she answered. “Allowing the Ph.D. sociopath to follow was not part of the plan!”.

“Psychopath!”, Harley sneered at her. She was sitting in her chair, dark shadows under her red eyes. She’d been crying the whole flight back, and the whole night through in her cell. “And I’m not. Not really. I can feel plenty”, she sniffled; and dug into a tub of ice cream someone had provided for her. I felt terrible for her.

“Shut up Quinn”, Waller growled. “You’re lucky your head is still attached to your neck”. She leveled her voice. “10 years off your sentences will still be granted to all of you – except miss Quinn”. Waller sat down in her chair at the head of the table; and looked at me coldly. “And you, Y/N”.

I gasped, and a murmur sounded among the squad. Croc was growling, and Diablo set fire to a pen.

“You absolute cunt!”, Digger said. “I second that”, said Floyd. Katana simply nodded from her corner.

“Y/N risked her life for your stupid ass plan with the bomb!”, Rick roared. “She gets her sentence reduced, just like everyone else”.

“No”, Waller said. She slid a file folder across the table at me. I opened it. “That”, she said, “is the official report – signed by commissioner Gordon – that you, Chess, stopped a terrorist attack on Gotham U; by sneaking in to the Jokers hideout, and stealing the bomb he had meant to use”.

I looked at the file in disbelief. Standing up, I limped towards Rick.

“You then gave the bomb to the vigilante known as the Batman, who turned it over to the authorities on your behalf”. She sighed. “You’re a free woman, Y/N”.

My arms fell, and I dropped the file on the floor; where Rick picked it up, and read it.

“But Kelper…”, I began. “The former judge Kelper has been taken into custody under the suspicion of corruption and the severe physical assault and rape of a young woman, 18 months ago”. She stood up, and began packing her briefcase. “Apparently Kelper admitted to the whole thing, while having one too many drinks at the country club with Bruce Wayne”.

I couldn’t move.

Waller looked at me pointedly. Pure hate flew between us. I got you, bitch, I thought. “Your nano-bomb will be removed once this meeting is over; and your gear and personal items have been packed up for you. They will be delivered to your place of choice”. She looked like she’d eaten something very bitter. “Unfortunately, I’ve been told that your apartment has been rented out to someone else; but I’m sure you’ll figure out some other living arrangements. You’re crafty like that”. She moved towards the door. “We’re done here”.

I looked at Rick. He seemed stunned – at once happy, but also heartbroken. I looked around at my friends. This is my family, I thought. This is home.

“Waller!”, I called. “I want to stay”. She stopped, and looked at me.

“Like I said, you’re free. The X Force consists of criminals; which you aren’t. Anymore…”, she added.

“I’m not a criminal”, Katana said, looking up at us. I smiled knowingly at her.

I found Ricks eyes. He looked at me meaningfully; and nodded. I turned to Waller again.

“You went through a hell of a lot to get to me. It seems a waste to deny my offer of staying on board”.

She seemed to consider my words carefully. “What do you want?”, she finally said.

I sat down in her chair at the head of the table. “I want the bomb out”. “That’s already a done deal”, she answered. “On all of us”, I added. The squads eyes all fell on me.

“That’s not happening”, she answered. “Your offer isn’t that good”. She went to leave again.

“Ok!”, I called. “I want the bomb out for myself. I’ll be a free woman, and I can decline any mission I want to”. She nodded. “I want a fair paycheck for each mission I join. They all get 10 years, I get 10 grand per day the mission takes; from briefing to completion”. Another nod. “Health care, dentist, retirement fund… all that shit”, I said. “And I get new equipment when needed; without GPS tracking!”. Batdick, I thought.

She sighed. “I have a feeling there’s more”, she said coldly.

I smirked. “Flag and Katana get the same pay and bonuses as me”, I said. “Floyd gets a weekend with his kid; along with a viewing of her upcoming dance recital”. Deadshot looked up at me, disbelieving. “Croc gets access to nicotine pads and gum. However much is needed for him to quit smoking. And a larger flat screen”. Croc grumbled, but smiled at me. “Chato has a nieces quinceañera coming up. She get’s tickets to Fall Out Boy; front row – center. With a card from her uncle stating that he loves her”. Diablo nodded at me in thanks; his eyes welling up. “My Little Pony – Twilight Sparkle merch for Digger”. His eyes lit up, and smiled – happy as a joey in its mothers pouch.

“And Harley gets a puppy – that Croc can’t eat”, I added, looking pointedly at the big guy, who smirked and nodded.

Harley burst into tears. “You’re a doll, Chessie”, she cried. I smiled.

“These are my demands”, I said, and looked back at Waller. “Take it or leave it”.

Wallers lips tightened. “You’ve got a deal, Chess”, she said, and reached out to shake my hand.

I took her hand, and squeezed it. She went to let go; but I held on to her. “Oh! And I want a vacation”.

She sighed. “Fine. Where? Hawaii? Dubai? I’m guessing you want first class, am I right?”.

“Nah”, I answered, and walked over to Rick. I put my arms around his waist, and looked into his smiling warm eyes.

“I have something better in mind”.

---

I woke up in a daze. The ceiling above me was wooden instead of concrete, and for a moment I couldn’t remember where I was. Smelling burning firewood and coffee, I turned my head, and saw a figure huddled under a blanket, crouching in in front of an old fire stove. Oh yeah, I remembered, and smiled to myself.

“Hi”, I said, and Rick turned to look at me. “Mornin’, kitten”, he smiled at me. “Coffee will be ready in a second”. I made to get out of bed. “Don’t…”, Rick managed to say, before I let my toes hit the floor, and stepped out of the bed; woolen blankets falling from my naked body.

“Oh my god!”, I gasped; my entire body tensing up from the cold of the room. I could see my breath in front of me. Rick ran to grab a blanket from the bed, and wrapped it around me; beginning to rub my shoulders.

“Told you”, he chuckled. “It’s colder than a penguins ballsack in here!”, I gasped. Rick wrapped me in his arms, his body rumbling from stifled laughter. “It’ll be warm soon enough”, he said. “Says the guy in long johns”, I scowled.

“Let’s get you back to bed”, Rick said, lifted me from the floor, and placed me back on the old pullout we’d spent the night on. He tucked me in under the blankets there, and kissed my forehead.

“I could get used to this”, I sighed contentedly. “Good”, he said, “because I’m not planning on letting you leave any time soon”.

He laid down next to me, putting an arm around my shoulders. “Are you sure no one knows where we are?”, I asked. “No one that matters”, he answered, and put his hand on my cheek, pulling me in for a kiss.

He placed a leg over mine, locking me down; and then moved to lay himself on top of me. Our kiss deepened, tongues intertwining; and his hands began to roam the blankets for an entrance to my naked skin. Finding it, he ran his fingers down my side, over my stomach; and up to my breasts – moaning in pleasure when he found my nipples erect in response to his touch.

I pulled my arms out from under the blankets, and began playing with the hair on the back of his head; continuously savoring the taste of his tongue; when I felt a different sort of rumbling in my stomach, mixing with the aroused feeling spreading from my core.

“Rick”, I breathed, as his lips moved to kiss the spot bellow my ear; avoiding the band aid covering the incision that had been made to remove the nano-bomb from my neck. “Mhmm”, he responded, not unlatching from his targeted spot. “I need…”, I gasped as he pulled at my left nipple. “Yeah, I know”, he breathed into my ear, continuing his relentless attack on my breasts; and moving his other hand down my stomach.

I grabbed his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. “No”, I said, and pulled my head to the side, to look at him. “No?”, he asked, confused.

“I need food”, I giggled at him. “And coffee. And probably to brush my teeth, after that thing you called hunters casserole last night”. “That was a family recipe”, he feigned being hurt. “And it was… very special”, I smiled, and stroked his cheek.

He sat up. “Well”, he said, “coffee I can do. Breakfast will take a few”. I sat up, and kissed him gently.

“I love you”, I smiled. ”I love you too”, he beamed at me, and kissed my forehead again, before standing up, and moving towards the door.

“Oh”, he stopped, and glanced at me. “But after breakfast; sex. Right?”.

“Oh absolutely!”, I answered. He nodded, satisfied.

Opening the door, the room instantly went cold again; and Rick hurried to go grab the crate of perishables we’d left outside, in the tiny shed by the cabin. Entering the cabin again, he put down the crate on the table; and went to hand me a small envelope.

“This was on the door”, he said, brows furrowed. “I didn’t think anyone knew where we were”, I said, a little worried. “I didn’t tell anyone”, he assured me.

He went to pour me a mug of coffee, and I looked at the envelope in my hand. Chess, it said on the front of it.

“If this blows up when I open it, I’m gonna be super pissed”, I mumbled, and heard Rick chuckle as he offered me the mug. I gently opened the envelope, and sipped at the coffee; warmth spreading through my body.

Inside was a picece of bespoke stationary; and a polaroid picture of my cats; lounging on an expensive looking couch. The letterhead on the pice of paper read Wayne Ent. On the middle of it, one sentence was written in intricate letters.

No hard feelings, right? S.

I laughed out loud, catching Rick by surprise; and handed him the letter to read. He chuckled along with me, gave back the letter; and went to fry up some eggs for breakfast.

No, Selina, I thought. No hard feelings at all.

I stood up and walked naked through the now much warmer room. Sliding my arms around Ricks waist from behind; I kissed his shoulder.

“What’s up, kitten?”, he turned and smiled at me.

“You know”, I answered, “maybe breakfast can wait a bit”. I kissed him. “Let’s see if we can repeat that finger-trick you’re so curious about”.

THE END.

 Tag list:

@gloriousgam3r​

@hyp-oh-critical​

[graymatters]

On Insecurity

Number 12 Grimmauld Place smells absolutely rancid as Draco Malfoy feels the warm wash of the wards permit his entrance. A putrid mix of days-old takeaway, stale whiskey and smoke assaults his senses as he scans the poor state of the front room.

He’s not heard from Harry for weeks. As a result, Draco had initially convinced himself that he’d imagined the last few months. Denial and disbelief progressed to a deep sense of guilt, whispering that he would never have been allowed to keep this anyway. Harry must have finally remembered that the creature he’d let crawl into his bed had ugly scars and a black mark that screamed ‘wretched’ and ‘undeserving.’ Draco knew it would happen eventually. He knew it back in December when Harry, wrapped in a crimson and gold scarf, cheeks flushed a beautiful pink, had actually smiled at him when he entered the pub.

Regardless, Draco had wrung every ounce of bliss that he possibly could out of these weeks. He’d savored each time Harry’s knee had secretly rested against his under the table, every soft touch in the middle of the night and the white hot touches that followed after. The short time they’ve had was more than he deserved and he wasn’t going to hurt Harry by asking for more than he could give.

Draco was well into drowning in his disillusionment when Granger had shown up, frazzled and desperate on his doorstep, asking if he’d heard from Harry. She couldn’t reach him by owl, couldn’t get through his floo and the house was warded shut. The distress in her eyes made Draco’s stomach drop and he cursed himself for allowing his self-deprecating nature to make Harry’s absence all about himself.

He weaves through the neglected home to find Harry in a dark and musty upstairs bedroom, sitting on a worn desk with one knee pulled up under his chin, his other leg dangling off the edge. He’s wearing old pajama pants that are two sizes too big and hang low on his hips, but didn’t make it so far as to put on a shirt. His hair isn’t just unkempt, it’s unwashed and greasy. A thin trail of smoke escapes from the end of a lit cigarette that dangles loosely from his hand. Harry absently watches the curling wisps float out the open window next to him.

He turns when the floor creaks under Draco’s weight. The bright green of his eyes contradicts Harry’s lifeless expression and makes Draco uncomfortable.

“Harry,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Draco fidgets with a stray string on his sweater and looks at Harry’s hands, his toes that graze the wooden floorboards.

“I’m not up for this right now,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper.

“And what’s that?” Draco asks, raising his eyes to look at Harry’s chewed lips, the anxious scratch marks that trail his neck and chest.

Harry turns to look back out the window. He places the shrinking cigarette between his lips and mutters around it, “A pep talk.” A clump of ash falls and lands on Harry’s knee. He doesn’t seem to notice.

“What if I’m not here for a pep talk? What if I’m here to bum a smoke?” Draco hopes he sounds confident.

“Then you’re shit out of luck,” he shrugs. “Last one,” he says a bit louder and casually blows smoke in Draco’s direction.

Draco steps towards the desk. “May I sit?”

Harry just shrugs again. Not a ‘no,’ Draco thinks. He sits, and brings his knee up to his chest, mirroring Harry’s position.

He glances at the ash pile that still graces Harry’s knee, raising an eyebrow in Harry’s direction. A subtle nod grants him permission and he brushes the ash off of Harry’s threadbare pants. Their fingers brush as Harry passes the cigarette to Draco. The smoke curls deep in his lungs. He blows it out the window and looks towards Harry when he says, “Hello.”

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“How are you, really?”

“Shit.”

“I can see that. And smell that.”

Harry huffs a hint of laughter through his nose and aims his gaze towards Draco. “Git.”

“If you wanted sugar-coated truths, you should’ve let Granger through the wards,” Draco shrugs and takes another puff of the cigarette. “This is vile.”

Harry reaches to pluck the cigarette from Draco’s lips. “More for me then.” He places a grin on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something.

“Thought you were ignoring me,” Draco admits.

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m ignoring everyone.”

“I can see that.”

“Can you smell that, too?” Harry smirks.

Draco ignores him and says, “Figured you’d finally realized the gravity of the mistake you made.”

“Which one?” Harry raises an eyebrow.

“The one where you’re sleeping with your arch enemy and sharing your deepest secrets with an ex-death eater,” Draco whispers.

The smirk disappears from Harry’s face and he says, “Sure, every time I see your face I can’t help but think, yup, definitely fucked that one up.”

“You wouldn’t be the only one if you did. Great conversation starter with my parents.”

Harry reaches out to interlace their fingers and says, “I look at you and ask myself what the fuck I did to earn this. I wonder what you were even thinking, getting anywhere near me after… everything.” He gives Draco’s fingers a squeeze. “You’re the one that should be questioning his decisions right now. Unless you think the unshowered and depressed look is sexy?”

“Honestly, Potter, I don’t think there’s a thing you could do to convince me this is a mistake. And the days-old filth and aura of misery is actually quite the turn-on for me. Had to restrain myself from jumping your bones the minute I saw those tattered pants.” Draco looks down at their hands for a moment before continuing, “Now, contrary to my typical behavior, I am not here to talk about me. Do you care to tell me why no one’s heard from you for weeks?” Draco asks as he watches Harry toss the cigarette butt on the floor. It joins a mess of dirty clothes, half-consumed takeaway containers, dirty utensils and piles of ash.

Harry thinks for a moment before answering, “No.”

Draco sends a stern gaze towards Harry. Harry’s knee falls outward and he releases Draco’s hand to place his palms on the desk. He leans forward so far that their lips are nearly touching. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco brings his hands up to cup Harry’s face, smooths his thumb over Harry’s cheekbone. He says, “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

Harry leans his cheek into Draco’s hand, closes his eyes as he rests against Draco’s support and says, “Hmmm… Have you ever watched a muggle telly? You couldn’t imagine what I had to pay to get this to work in this ancient fucking house, but how could I wallow in self-pity without it? Walburga screamed for days, can’t believe I didn’t invite you for the fun.” Harry proceeds to slip out of Draco’s hands and off the desk to lean against the doorframe. “Would you like to see?”

“How about we get you in the shower first? Self-care is important, Potter. No, I won’t take this nonsense. You find a clean, and I mean clean, towel and I will get the shower started for you. And before you even ask, yes, you must wash your hair. It is required, or Merlin help me, I will leave, you just watch.”

After Harry is washed, they spend the evening with limbs tangled under blankets, eating popcorn that Draco successfully did not burn. Draco mindlessly runs his fingers through Harry’s damp hair, untangling the strands as he goes. They watch reruns of a show called Friends , and Draco laughs but also questions this Ross fellow’s character. It’s nearly midnight when Draco turns to Harry and says, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry turns the volume down as Phoebe sings a rude Christmas song. “Hermione’s pregnant,” he says with a finality.

“Ok. You seem sad.”

“I’m not sad. I’m… Fuck, I don’t know. I’m happy for them, I really am. But,” he exhales loudly.

Harry shifts his hips to settle into the sofa a bit more, presses himself against Draco from shoulder to knee. Still uncomfortable, he turns sideways to slide his legs between Draco’s and leans his elbow against the back of the sofa. Draco waits patiently through the nervous repositioning until Harry responds, “I feel a bit... left behind? It’s like everyone else has figured out how to move on. How to, I don’t know, get past the fucking trauma that we went through, and just, keep going. Hermione’s on track to be Minister of Magic by thirty, Ron’s about to overtake Robards as Head Auror, you’ll be running your own ward at St. Mungo’s, I know you will. And here I am, still having god damned nightmares.” He looks into his lap, “I dropped out of auror training. I had a panic attack during a bogart exercise and I just... left.”

Draco reaches up to brush a stray curl off of Harry’s forehead, revealing the beginning of the lightning bolt scar that continues through his left eye and disperses over his cheekbone. “Harry, you are so good, and brilliant, and beautiful. You can still be what you want to be, whatever that is and whoever that is, whenever you want. Or not. You could escape to Reykjavik. You could start a circus for all I care, as long as you’re happy, the context is irrelevant.”

“What would I do in Reykjavik?”

“Soak in the hot springs til you shrivel up like a prune. Fuck if I know, but that wasn’t really the point. Harry, you don’t owe anyone anything. Do what makes you happy and fuck the rest.”

Harry moves to nuzzle his nose into Draco’s neck. His exhalations are hot against Draco’s skin. He traces his nose to follow the line of muscle up behind Draco’s ear, tugs at the lobe with his teeth and whispers, “You make me happy.”

“Well thank fuck for that. We’re not done here, not even close.”

Harry’s breath tickles Draco’s neck, sends a shiver down his spine. “Can we be done for now?” he whispers into Draco’s ear.

Counting the short conversation as a win, Draco lets out an exasperated sigh and says, “For now.” Harry celebrates his victory by licking a stripe up the side of Draco’s neck, making Draco cringe. The shape of Harry’s smile is obvious as his lips trail gently back down Draco’s skin and his hand settles under Draco’s sweater to rest firmly against his ribs.

Also on AO3.

[dreams-got-dimmer]

NEW GIRL (BolinxReader)

PART 1

Summary: multiple part fic?? + AU kind of (The reader is 18, Bolin is 18 and mako is 20) Reader desperately needs a place to live and finds an advertisement for two brothers who need a roommate. Maybe more than just living arrangements may come out of this deal... (reader x Bolin) (slow burn)

Warnings: abandonment??

Word count: 1600~

—————

Time was running out and I still didn’t have a place to stay. I can still hear my fathers voice telling me that no bender belongs in their family. I never asked to be born a bender, but it was a part of me. Something I couldn’t deny and my parents didn’t want to accept that. I had tried to keep my practicing a secret but my little sister let it slip that I was working on fire bending. I thought I would resent her for the slip up, but nothing in me could hate her for it, she meant no harm. Even still that slip up cost me my relationship with my family. There was no hesitation in throwing me out. We fought and screamed and eventually I lost my temper and my emotions boiled over. As tears spilled down my face I burned down our whole dining room area. That right there is what solidified me never being able to return to my family.

“You monster! Look at what you did! Get your things and leave, you’re not our daughter anymore,” my mother spat at me in disgust. I ran as fast as I could to gather my things and slipped out in the dead of night.

Since then I haven’t seen or heard from my family and it hurt so bad. Even if they didn’t accept who I was I just wanted to be loved and cherished by them and I would never get that. It was hard to go a day without a lump forming in my throat and my eyes welling up, but I had to be strong and determined for myself. Three weeks at the shelter had already been wasted and they only allotted a month for you to get back on your feet.

Most days were spent trying to find some sort of income, most jobs were just quick money, but I was closer and closer to finding steady income soon. If I wasn’t looking for a job I was trying to find a place to stay. Most, of not all were out of my price range. I ended up back at the shelter day after day discouraged and frustrated by my lack of luck. The staff at the shelter were getting increasingly annoyed by my outbursts of anger and flame and I’m sure they were happy that I was almost out of there. Granted I felt bad about being destructive but they always gave me a tight smile and assured me that things will get better.

And today was the day things got better. I almost squealed out of happiness seeing the paper plastered on a bulletin board at the pro-bending arena. I thought I wasn’t reading it right, but after a few moments I knew it was true.

The poster read,

“2 BROTHER IN NEED OF A ROOMMATE

•Three bedroom loft just above the pro-bending arena

•Great view of Air temple Island

•100 Yuans a month

If interested just knock on our door

- Mako and Bolin”

That’s all I needed. I ripped off the poster and made my way to the loft. I didn’t care who they were, just the fact that 100 yuans was totally doable. I had about 500 yuans saved up from the little jobs I had done here and there and the little bit I had saved from birthdays. I nearly sprinted my way to the loft and left myself breathless in front of the door. I was too excited to even feel nervous as I started knocking. Practically banging until the door swung up.

“Is it that necessary to bang?” Before me stood a very attractive. Like very attractive man. Tall and even a bit lanky. He towered over me. And while he seemed serious he didn’t seem too intimidating. Maybe it he was and I just couldn’t realize it because I was so determined at this opportunity.

“Yes. Definitely,” I rushed out quickly as I pushed past him. I took a look around and while it was simple, it was perfect. Roomy and open and a great view through big windows. The light flooring made the place seem so much bigger too. “Are you going to tell me who you are since you just barged in like you own the place?” I turned back towards the tall man and saw him narrow his eyes and his hands twitch. His eyes were like fire.

“Oh yeah sorry, I’m y/n and I’m most definitely going to own this place,” I nodded my head assuringly, more for myself then for him, “well not own, but at least pay rent,” I waved the poster a bit.

“Okay okay before you introduce yourself let me guess which brother you are,” I surveyed him and then looked at the poster with the names. Bolin didn’t really seem to fit so I went with the latter. “I’m gonna guess your Mako. I feel that it fits with your whole persona you got going on,” I smiled, but he just stood there wordlessly, “Oh wow I’m so sorry I know I must sound crazy and very upfront right now. I’ve just been desperately trying to find a place to stay. My parents kicked me out and I have no where else to go. I’ve been stuck at the shelter and my time is almost up and I saw this poster and I thought this was my lucky break. Now I’m just rambling...” I trailed off and was surprised at how honest I was.

“Mako! Who are you talking to down there?” My head whipped towards where the sound came from and saw a form jump down the stairs and landed loudly on our level. And once he straightened out I was faced with ANOTHER gorgeous man. What the hell have I gotten myself in to!? My breathing stopped as I got a good look at him. He was stocky and you could tell he had thick arms and legs without him even taking his clothes off. His broad build and wide stance lead me to believe he was an earth bender and his emerald green eyes were something to get lost in. I shook my head waving these thoughts away. These are potential roommates, not people to drool over.

“I’m y/n I’m trying to find a place to stay and I luckily found your poster. I hope no one has taken you guys up on the offer,” I smiled sheepishly. I fiddled with the poster looking down, “I promise I’ll be a great roommate, I can cook and clean and I’ll stay out of your way-“ I was trying to plead my case and ultimately got cut off

“You’re perfect!” Emerald eyes broke out into the cutest grin there could be “let’s get you moved in right away! Are you a bender? I’m an earth bender,” he flexed his arms subtly, “My brother and I are pro-benders and that’s how we get to live up here in the loft. Oh by the way I’m Bolin. We’ve had people try to be our roommate, but they’ve all been a bit... how do you say serial killer-esque,” he grimaced at the last sentence. He was so much more talkative and charismatic than Mako who I guess was the older brother. Had to be serious to contain this ball of energy.

“BOLIN! you can’t just let her move in we need to discuss this together. We barely know her!” Mako clenched his jaw.

“Well, what do you want to know?” I asked quietly looking back and forth between the two.

They both started firing questions at me. Bolin a bit more enthusiastically than Mako. His questions were also a bit more light hearted. Favorite color, food, what my hobbies were and easy things like that. Mako on the other hand was digging real deep asking questions that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to answer, but I knew they had to be said.

“What did you do to get kicked out?” Mako looked at me with an accusatory glare.

“I didn’t do anything!” My eyes welled up, “I got kicked out for being who I am! I’m a fire bender and no one else in my family has there bending ability. They are so against it. My whole life was a battle. I wished so bad they would love and cherish me even, but all they wanted to do was suppress who I am,” I started crying without shame and I knew the boys didn’t know what to do, “My sister let it slip that is have been practicing bending. I’ve gotten away with it for 10 years and it just now became known,” Bolin handed me a tissue with the utmost concern in his eyes. Even Mako looked a little sad, “Well, my family disowned me immediately and in the midst of our fight I lost control and burn our dining room to bits and that made them hate me even more. So, here I am a month later trying really desperately for two brothers to let me become their roommate,” I smiled weakly my face sticky with drying tears.

“Alright you can stay but I need the first two months rent right now. Please don’t make us regret this. I feel for you and your hardships, but if you do anything to fuck over what we have I won’t hesitate to throw you out,” Mako looked at me sternly and Bolin was almost jumping with excitement.

“REALLY!??” I practically screeched. I rummaged through my bag and threw the money at Mako all while pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. I moved to Bolin and did the same thing.

“You guys won’t regret this I promise!”

[gimmesumsuga]

Beneath the Boughs (M)

Fantastical Tales for Curious Souls - Chapter 3

Pairing: Dryad!Namjoon x Reader 

Word Count: 20K

Warnings: Very mild peril and angst, tooth-rotting fluff, smut - fingering, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, virgin!Namjoon.  

For almost as long as you can remember, the tree stood opposite your apartment has been a part of your life. Countless memories have been made under the shade of its supple branches, but when its existence comes under threat, you soon discover that your favourite tree is more special to you than you ever could’ve known.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** 

“Hey!  Stop!”  

As fast as your little feet had been able to carry you, you'd run, furious; hurtling across the grass towards the group of young boys congregated around the base of your apple tree, their figures cast in shade under its far-reaching branches. 

Of course, you didn’t know it was your tree back then - a tree just like any other, no dissimilar to the many others you'd ever seen - but that hadn’t kept you from watching them from your spot from way over by the swings; narrowed eyes, scowling and suspicious.  Huddled together, it was obvious even to you that the curl of their shoulders meant that they must be up to no good.  

Their unfamiliar presence in your park had been worrisome enough, but when one of them had drawn out a switchblade from his back pocket, waving it around in front of his friends only to then turn and gouge its sharp blade straight into the bark of the tree, you were left with no choice but to leap into action. 

At six tender years old you’d marched over to that group of boys, unafraid.  Being several years your senior, they were far less than intimidated by the sight of a young girl in long socks and overalls, copying a pose she’d seen her mother wear before.  They hadn’t even really noticed you were there until you’d cleared your throat to demand their attention, small hands fisted on your then non-existent hips, and even then, the ring-leader had refused to acknowledge you.  He was far too busy carving out a word your innocent mind did not yet recognise at such an age, tongue poking out of the corner of his lips in concentration. 

“You shouldn’t be doing that,” you’d informed them without a hint of fear, so sure were you of your convictions.  The closest boy to you (you’d seen him at school before, you’d thought.  The older brother of one of the girls in your class?) had scowled hard at you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.  

“Why not?” he’d snorted.  

"Because," you'd replied, matter of fact, "You're hurting it." 

"It's just a tree," another boy had said with a shrug of his shoulders, his tone as entirely apathetic as his stance had been.  

"But they have feelings," you’d said emphatically, your bottom lip jutting out when the boys around you began to laugh at your expense.  Their mocking was finally loud enough to pull the attention of the black-haired boy with the knife and he’d turned, blade in hand. 

"Oh yeah? Who told you that?" he'd asked, cocking his head, and you were too young at the time to realise his interest was merely feigned.  False.  

"My mom." You didn't miss the sniggers that followed, nor the unkind looks the boys exchanged, but still, you spoke on, encouraged by the faux-smile of their leader.  "She said all of them ha-" 

"Your mom, huh?" he interrupted, and as he stepped forward the blade he'd been holding was suddenly pointed toward you.  Looking back, you're sure it'd been an empty threat - the boy stood a good few feet away and made no further attempts to come closer - but it was enough to have tears springing into your eyes on the spot, your small body frozen up with fear.  

"Why don't you go running back to mommy, then," he'd jeered, his smile turned into a sneer, "And mind your own damn business."  You'd never forget the way the boy’s eyes had strayed around his friends, then, looking for their approval.  Their laughs and the impressed faces they'd pulled in response to the mild curse word he'd dropped had had him puffing up his skinny little chest; a young boy looking for attention in all the wrong places.

"B-but," you'd stammered out, chin quivering as you'd tried to hold back tears, tugging on your sleeves.  "I-I'll tell on you." Some of the boys had looked concerned, then, shuffling their sneaker-clad feet, but not the one in charge.  

Most children would have let it go by that point, you're sure - run away ages ago to seek safety and comfort in the arms of a trusted adult - but not you.  You always were a stubborn one. The only child of a single mom, she'd taught you to be independent. Brave. Fierce like her.  

"You're not s-supposed to have kn-knife."  You'd quickly wiped away a stray tear with your sleeve, clenching your fist again once it fell back to your side.  "You'll get in big trouble, you know," you'd warned, looking pointedly to the others who'd been starting to waver, casting nervous glances to one another.  

"Maybe she's right, Jimin," the bespectacled boy stood closest to you had said, tentatively.  He hadn't looked like he'd belonged there from the start, really; quiet whilst all the others had laughed.  "Your brother will go mad if he finds out we took it." 

The black-haired boy, Jimin, had paused, then, uncertainty showing on his face for the first time as he'd looked to his friend.  

"Fine," he'd eventually relented.  Glaring at you, he'd flipped the blade away and rammed it back into his pocket. "Stupid park's boring, anyway."  

Unfortunately, the happiness that had swelled inside you at your victory had been short-lived - cut short by Jimin smacking his shoulder into yours as he'd stomped past, hard enough to send you sprawling backwards onto the floor.  

And it'd been there, with a bruised bottom and grass-stained hands, that you'd finally allowed yourself to cry once all the boys had gone.  It'd seemed so unfair that they'd been so mean when you were only trying to do the right thing. They were the ones in the wrong, after all, not you, and yet you'd been the one left crying on your own.  

It was your first taste of injustice - unfortunately, the first of many - and had stayed with you for a very long time after that. 

But then, so had what happened next.   

Through your tears, you'd seen a blossom as it fell; clusters of delicate white petals listing lazily towards the ground.  You'd reached out, sniffling away your sadness, and just as your fingertips had met its silken petals, another sweet blossom had fallen to the ground.  

Another, and then another, until all around you appeared as though covered in snow. and you were laughing instead of crying, brushing the petals from your hair.  It was then that you realised it was a special tree - your tree - and every year thereafter you made sure to visit whenever it was in full bloom and remember the childish, innocent promise you'd made that day: a promise to always keep that special tree safe, just as you'd done all those many years ago.  

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Nearly twenty years have passed since then, but you never forgot that solemn vow.  It's what's led you to be sat in the very seat you are now, across the meticulously tidy desk of a man who's far too cute to be cast as such a pencil pusher. 

"There's got to be something you can do."  The man - Mr Min, his badge reads - pushes his glasses up the slope of his nose with one long, slender finger.  "Can't we get it registered as like, listed, or something?" He sighs wearily at your question, and honestly, you can't say you blame him.  This has to be the fourth time - scrap that, it's gotta be the fifth - that you've graced his desk in under the space of a month, and even you can't deny what a nuisance you've been.  

"That's not really how it works," he explains in the low, slow drawl you've quickly become accustomed to.  "If it were on conservation land, perhaps, or if there was a tree preservation order in place." 

"Well then let's just get one of those!" you exclaim, nearly leaping out of your seat with so much enthusiasm that the man opposite you leans back out of harm’s way. "That sounds great!" 

"It would be," he agrees, and for just a split second your hopes reach heights the likes they've never seen before. "If you'd have applied for it six months ago, maybe.  Or if the tree had any kind of historical or cultural significance to the local area that would warrant it being granted."  

And just like that, your heart sinks just as your bottom does back into the leather of your chair, hopes dashed.  

More than anything, you wish you were able to argue against his point, because whilst the tree you're so desperately trying to save isn't particularly unusual or special in any conventional way, that doesn't mean it's not significant to somebody.  

That somebody, of course, being you.  

It'd take more than just two hands if you were to try to count out just how many memories you've made beneath the boughs of that tree over the years.  Some are happy, some are sad, but the former outweighs the latter; memories of secrets shared whilst sat astride its branches and picnics in the shade. Your first kiss with a boy who chose to dump you in the very same spot not three weeks later.   

There are so many, many memories that you cherish, and whilst deep down you know that nothing can erase them, part of you still feels like maybe they might be lost if that tree is no longer there - no longer just in sight from the windows of the flat you'd rented right opposite the park in which so much of your youth was spent.  

The same park that is due to be levelled, repurposed and 'urbanised' in accordance with the plans laid out in the papers neatly stacked atop of Mr Min's desk.  Soon enough, your pleasant view will be replaced with that of the same red brick walls from which your building is made; the same roof tiling.  

It's enough to make you want to cry, and Mr Min must notice the way your eyes have begun to shine by the way own his gaze softens behind his glasses, his posture relaxing into a conspirative slouch as he leans across the desk towards you.  

"Look," he begins softly, "I admire how… tenacious… you've been about this."  Oh, he's definitely trying to soften the blow if he's choosing 'tenacity' over 'obstinance'.  You've been like a dog with a bone over these last few weeks, nipping at his heels every step of the way.  

It's a miracle he hasn't kicked you yet, really.  

"But the plans were approved months ago.  Unless you can work some kind of miracle between now and tomorrow morning, I don't really see any other way of stopping this." 

And, sadly enough, you know that he's right.  You'd found out about the local authority's intentions too late to ever really have a chance of challenging them, and when the shortage of affordable housing is the way it is… well… what right do you have to disagree all for the sake of some overblown emotional attachment to a tree?  As doggedly determined as you may be, even you know you'd never really stood a chance.  

"I'm sorry," he apologises, looking at you over the rims of his glasses in sympathy, and as he very gently hands you back the poor attempt at a petition you'd thrust at him some few days before, you get the feeling he really does mean it.  "I wish there was more I could do." 

"It's ok," you reply reflexively, though it's anything but. "It's not like the world needs any more of that pesky photosynthesis anyway, right?"  The joke is lame, you know that, and yet the little twitch you observe to the corners of Mr Min's mouth just before you take your leave almost manages to lift your spirits for a second or two.  

Almost, but not quite.  

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  Your sleep is restless and fitful that night; full of dreams the events of which you can't quite remember, but leave you with a lingering feeling of anxiety even after you wake, groaning curses into your pillow at the sound of your alarm.  

As you begrudgingly ready yourself for work, you try your best not to look outside.  It'll only upset you all the more if you do. Your curtains remain resolutely closed as you slump about the place, picking at your breakfast with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, your muesli tasting even drier than it usually does.  

You don't finish it; appetite spoiled by the sounds of heavy machinery rumbling above the usual purr of morning traffic.  Out of sight does not mean out of mind, apparently, and as you wash out your cereal bowl and swig down the last dregs of your coffee, you still can't help but keep glancing towards your windows, wondering whether or not your precious tree might already be gone. 

Perhaps if it wasn't so obvious how glorious a day it is, you might do better at resisting the temptation to take a peek, hoping that the view you've so cherished over the years will still be there.  Through the small gap between the fabrics shielding your windows the sunshine sneaks in - a thin slip of light that sparkles across the kitchen tile - and when you finally push them back, the room is flooded with a golden glow so warm and bright you feel it all the way down to your bones.  

Blinking rapidly as the light hits your face, an airy sigh of relief fills the air.  The tree is still there, for now - just as tall and as beautiful as it always has been - but it’s a bittersweet sight.  This might be the last time you’ll ever see its branches full of blossom in the month of May, never again to taste the sweet apples September brings, or feel the crunch of its autumn leaves beneath your feet.  It feels so unjust - so unfair - that a tree so giving and consistent should be cut down in its prime. 

A group of men in bright yellow construction hats come along after a little while, and watching them stand there congregated around its trunk, laughing and joking with one another, puts a lump in your throat that you can’t displace no matter how much you may try to swallow it away.  You turn your back to the window, unable to bear watching them discuss the best way to bring it down, gesturing up to the branches you’d spent so much of your childhood climbing. You’re already late for work, anyway, and it's not as though standing around sulking is going to change anything.  All you can hope is that it might still be there by the time you get home - safe for at least one more day. 

It’s not, though.  Of course it’s not.  Aside from the playground equipment, the tree is - was - the biggest obstacle in the developer’s way.  Logically, you knew that, and yet the pain that pierces your chest when you see your tree is gone so sharp that for a second, it steals your breath away.  You cling to the iron bars of the park fence that you pass every day on your way home, tears gathering in your eyes, frustrated that in the fading daylight you can’t even make out the remaining stump from where you’re standing.  

You’re not even sure it’s a conscious decision that you make that leads you to suddenly climb up and over the bars to enter the park, but somehow you end up doing it anyway, throwing your handbag over first so as not to risk getting tangled.  The last time you did this was as a teenager with a group of friends, back when the prospect of illegal trespass filled you with a sense of thrill rather than the anxiety it does now, your heart bounding as the grass muffles your somewhat inelegant landing.  

“And this is why heels are never a good choice,” you mutter to yourself as they sink into the mud with every step you take across the small field.  Even though it’s getting dark you know exactly which direction to take, and in no time at all you start to see the remnants of today’s slaughter scattered across the ground, kicking up blossom with your feet.  

You’re glad there’s no one around to hear the small squeak of distress that you make when your eyes finally land on the stubby, splintered stump the construction workers have left behind.  You imagine they’ll probably dig that up too, eventually - rip its remains right up out of the soil and dump it in the same place as they did the rest - but for now, it’s still here. A reminder of all the future memories you’ve lost the chance to make.  Perhaps it’s all just stupid sentimentality, but you’d always imagined that your children would one day enjoy this tree - this park, this playground - as much as you did growing up.  

And now it’s all gone, all lost, and before you know it you’re squatted amongst the blossoms and there’s a tear dripping down your cheek as your fingertips trace the many age rings that run through the wood, round and round.  

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, throat tight.  You know you’re being ridiculous, sat here in the dark apologising to a tree - to no-one - but you do it anyway.   Stupid or not, it feels like the right thing to do.  Breath shuddering as you exhale, you close your eyes, palm pressed against what little bark remains, rough to the touch.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you.”  

“I’m sure you did all you could.”  

It’s amazing, really, how quickly tears can suddenly dry up when someone is caught off their guard.  Startled, you lose your balance at the sudden voice that comes from behind you and end up falling straight back onto your butt with an ungraceful ‘oompf’ and much flailing of arms.  Luckily, you’re too alarmed to feel much embarrassment, (although you’re sure that’ll come later), and it’s with wide eyes that you look up past all of the hair that’s fallen out of place to stare at whoever it was that just so unexpectedly spoke.  

There’s too little daylight left to make them out clearly, though their tall silhouette is decidedly male, just as their voice had been.  He - whoever he is - makes no move to help you as you gape up at him, open-mouthed. 

He does say your name, though, and that's enough to have you scrambling to your feet in a panic as he continues in a tone that sounds almost as panic-stricken as you feel.  

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't mean to startle you." 

“Do I know you?” you ask sharply, frantically pushing your hair back into place as your heart races away - though you try not to let it show.  There aren’t exactly many men in your life - none as tall as this one, anyway - so you’re sure it can’t be someone you know, even if you’ve yet to see his face.  

He seems to falter with his reply, shifting his weight. 

“In a manner of speaking.”  Suspicious, your eyes narrow, arms folding across your chest as you wait for him to explain further.  

He doesn’t.  

“Ok…”  Uneasy, your hand reaches down to rest on the clasp of your handbag so that you’re ready to fling it open at a moment’s notice.   It’s not as though you’ve got anything in the way of protection in there, mind you, but you’re fairly certain that if you lobbed your phone hard enough at his head it’d give you at least a few good seconds to make your getaway.  “How do you know me, then? Who are you?” 

“My name is Namjoon,” the stranger answers, ignoring your first question. “And this is…” He hesitates, exhaling heavily as he continues, “... was… my tree.”  Your head turns to allow your gaze to follow his gesture, your confusion only growing when you realise he means the very same stump to which you were just apologising so sincerely.  

“Your tree?” you ask in a deadpan tone as you turn back to him, one eyebrow raised in scepticism.  

Sure, some people might have called your attachment to the tree in question a little… overenthusiastic, shall we say… but this guy is just weird.  

“Yes,” he states plainly as if his answer should be obvious.  “All dryad has a tree to which they are assigned, and this one was mine.  For over a hundred years, this was my home.” 

“Oh…. Kay,” you repeat slowly, your fingers curling around the edges of your phone having already reached into your bag while he was still speaking.  “Well, that’s… good for you.”  

This guy is clearly nuts.  Either that, or he’s high on something.  There have been stories going around on the news lately detailing a spate of attacks on women in public spaces in a neighbourhood not too far from this one, and it’s with that in mind that you slowly start to back away, making sure not to turn your back.  As you make your way around him he turns on the spot to watch, eerily silent and still.  

“It’s getting late, I better get back,” you explain, taking each step faster and faster until you’re finally a good enough distance away to turn around and half walk/half run the rest of the way across the field, back towards the gate.  

It’s only now, as you hurry your way to safety, that your body begins to exhibit the fright that you’ve been feeling inside; panting hard and fast, fingers trembling.  You can’t hear him following but that does nothing to slow you down, eager to get back to your flat and firmly lock the door behind you.  

“Please wait!” you hear him call out, and now you’re flat out running, stumbling and very nearly twisting your ankle when you glance over your shoulder and see his tall silhouette coming after you.  He calls your name again, “Please!” and against all your better judgement you find yourself slowing down, unable to just ignore the desperation you’d heard in his voice. At least you’re nearer the road, now; nearer the houses where surely someone would hear you shout or scream for help, should it come to that.  

Lord, you hope it doesn’t come to that.  You always thought it was curiosity that was meant to get you killed, not kindness.   Maybe you can be the first.  

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is-” you begin as you slowly turn around, straightening your shoulders to try and look as confident as possible, “-bu-”  

What… the hell?  

It’s not often that you find yourself at a total loss for words, but this is most definitely one of those times; rendered speechless by the alien appearance of the man before you.   Now that you can see him properly - illuminated in the golden glow of the nearby streetlights - you realise that this ‘Namjoon’ is even stranger than you originally thought. Not only is he almost completely naked, wearing nothing but some sort of loincloth wrapped tightly around his waist, but interwoven amongst his hair is an immeasurable number of flower blossoms - almost more petal than there is hair.  

And now you step closer, that isn’t the only oddity you see.  The tips of his ears are long and pointed, like the elves in fantasy novels, and his fingers are strange, too.  They’re longer than normal; wispy at the ends, almost.   

And his skin… his skin is tinged… green?  

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself, uncaring of the way your mouth remains open and gaping as you finish your long up and down look and then hesitantly look him in the eyes; the deepest of emerald green.

Now that you can finally make out his expression, you're caught off guard by just how sheepish and awkward this creature looks.  In fact, he seems to be having almost as much trouble looking you in the eyes as you do his - his long fingers moving restlessly where they hang at his sides.   

“I wouldn’t ask for your help, but there’s no one else...” Namjoon explains quietly, almost as though he’s embarrassed. “My kind are so few, now, and so widely spread.”  He looks helplessly around himself, glancing up at the sky, and as the light catches on his high cheekbones you suddenly realise just how handsome this man - this dryad - is.  Full lips, and a straight nose.  A long, limber body… “I… don’t know where I should go… what I should do.  Yours is the only voice I’ve known in so long," he admits sadly, your heartstrings tugging in reply.  

"So you're… a dryad?" you repeat, the word foreign on your tongue.  

He nods, "I am," and all you can do is nod dumbly right back, at a total loss for what to say.  

Outwardly, you look surprisingly calm (all things considered), but inwardly, your frazzled brain is working overtime as it desperately tries to make sense of all this new, strange information. The only trouble is, though, is that none of this makes any sense.  Not even a little bit; not the words he's said, nor the ways he looks.

But what other explanation could there be for his sudden appearance and his appearance, other than the one you've been given?  You've seen some pretty impressive Halloween costumes in your time, but nothing like this.  And how else would he know your name unless he really does know you 'in a manner of speaking', just like he said?   

It doesn't make any of less unnerving, of course, even if it is the truth, but if it is, then you can't help but feel at least a little bit responsible for this creature stood waiting so anxiously in front of you.  If Namjoon really was inhabiting your tree for all this time - god, that sounds so insane even just to think it inside your head - then it's him that you failed tonight, not just some inanimate objects. It's him you let down when his tree had come crashing to the ground, and suddenly filled with even more guilt than you were before for being so powerless to stop it.   

Yes, you lost a tree that you loved, but Namjoon lost his home.  And now he's all alone and all he doesn't even have -

"Ok," you blurt out before you give yourself a chance to second guess the split-second decision you've just made. "You can stay." Namjoon blinks, his head tilting to the side. "With me," you explain further. "It's the least I can do. At least until you find your feet."  

You can feel yourself blushing as you come to the end of your sentence, but the rosiness of your cheeks is nothing compared to the way they flare up when your invitation finally soaks in and Namjoon's face breaks into a smile more breathtaking than any other you've ever seen.  It lights up his whole face; screwing up his eyes, lifting his cheeks and dimpling them deeply.  

God, those dimples.  No one should be blessed with dimples the likes of his when they're already so handsome.  They make your heart flutter wildly, your breath catching as he takes a step closer with his hands clasped together in front of his bare chest in a show of gratitude.  

"I can?" he asks, eyes wide, "You're sure?" 

"Not really," you laugh, not quite believing it even yourself.  Namjoon's smile falters and you find yourself rushing to reassure him, eyes widening. "But I can't just leave you out here with nowhere to go." 

And then it's back - that happy twinkle that has you bashfully returning his smile, adjusting the strap of your handbag as he whispers his warmest of thanks.  

Luckily, there aren’t many people about to witness both you and Namjoon clamber your way back over the park railings; clamber being the appropriate word.  For someone which some long, graceful limbs, Namjoon proves himself to be even more of a clutz than you are, very nearly leaving what little clothing he has behind when he almost gets stuck halfway over, and as the two of you quickly make your way back, you make a note that first order of business has to be to find him something more appropriate to wear.  

He’ll be far too distracting, otherwise. 

“Here we are.”  You stand back from your front door and gesture for Namjoon to head on inside the flat ahead of you, which he does so with a small nod.  He doesn’t think to turn on the lights, though, so you do it for him, smiling when the sudden brightness brings him to a halt and has him blinking up at the lampshade, a furrow in his brows.  

How much understanding does he have of the world in which he now finds himself?  Electricity had probably only been recently discovered the last time Namjoon walked freely, but it certainly wouldn’t have been used commonly or in homes - if dryads even have homes aside from the trees in which they dwell.  If he was able to hear your voice all this time, then surely Namjoon must’ve had some consciousness with which to observe and learn as the times changed around him? 

You watch as he turns on the spot, quietly surveying his surroundings, and have to stifle a laugh when you notice the way his toes are wriggling into the faux fur rug that sits in the centre of your living room.  Cute. Bizarre, yes, but cute.  

His eyes meet yours as he finishes his 360 and you feel flustered at having been caught staring so unashamedly.  Not that Namjoon seems to realise this; smiling innocently as you cough and turn away to lock the door firmly behind you.  

“I know it’s not the biggest place, but it’s comfy enough,” you say, hanging up your handbag on the hooks by the door.  “And there’s only one bed, but the sofa’s not bad.” You pause, thoughtful. “Do… dryads need to sleep?” you ask, hoping he won’t think you ignorant or rude for asking.  Namjoon nods.  

“In our natural form, we have all the same needs and bodily functions as you humans do.”  

“Oh.  Well, I guess I better show you where the bathroom is, then,” you grin, your lame attempt at humour falling flat when all Namjoon does is nod solemnly in response and follow after you down the hall.  

You’re very aware of his presence as you lead the way, and just how tall he really is.  He doesn’t seem to have much of a concept of personal space - so much so that when you come to a stop outside of the bathroom he almost crashes right into your back, not even thinking to take a step back when you quickly turn and do so yourself, cheeks flushed with heat.  

“You’ll find everything you need in there.  Shampoo and…” You glance up at the blossoms in his hair.  Will that even need washing? “Stuff.” Again he nods, taking in everything you say with the utmost sincerity.  “And this one here is my room,” you explain, going just a little further.  

You wish you’d left the door to your bedroom closed this morning.  It’s messier than you’d usually keep it, last nights clothes crumpled in a heap at the foot of the bed thanks to your former foul mood, but Namjoon’s expression shows no hint of judgement as he enters your room uninvited and begins to look around.  He doesn’t touch anything - even he seems to realise that’d be a step too far - but that doesn’t stop him from wandering right over to your bedside table and taking a good long look at the photograph that sits there; you and your best friend at her wedding flashing matching thigh garters to the camera.  

You hide your embarrassment by busying yourself in your chest of drawers, searching for something might just fit.  Everything of yours will be far too short for limbs as long as his, but thankfully memory serves you well and leads you to some old jogging bottoms belonging to your ex-boyfriend that you’d kept stashed away out of sentimentality.  

“Here,” you say, straightening up and then almost dropping the joggers you’d held out to show him when you see what Namjoon’s been looking at whilst you were otherwise distracted; the black lace bra hanging from the post of your bed.   He tilts his head to see it better and once again you feel your cheeks begin to burn, rushing forward and flapping the clothes you’ve found at him to pull his attention away from your unmentionables. “You can wear these tonight!” Your voice sounds near-hysterical when you speak, and you have to make a considered effort to lower your tone from the screech you just made when you next open your mouth, thrusting the joggers into his hands.  “Tomorrow I’ll have to see about buying you some proper clothes but…. these will have to do for now.”  

You hope he’s not picky.  Your waitressing job doesn’t exactly pay well, so it’ll have to be Primark’s finest or else nothing at all.  

“These are perfect, thank you.”  Perfect? Hardly. There are bits of frayed thread hanging from the waistband, and you’re pretty sure the crotch was starting to get a bit threadbare the last time you wore them.  At least now you know he’s not picky - cheap and cheerful should do just fine. “This isn’t how I imagined your room to be,” he says, his eyes leaving yours to glance at the walls.  

“You imagined my room?” you ask, eyes widening.  Clearly, Namjoon has no idea of the connotations attached to what he just said and continues as if you hadn’t just spoken at all.  

“I remember there were some pictures you wanted to buy…” he murmurs, frowning as he recalls the memory. “A boy named Justin?”  Namjoon turns back to you, oblivious to how his reminder of your teenage crush makes you feel as though you want to disappear into a hole in the ground.  “But I see no men on your walls.” You laugh self-consciously, rubbing your arm.  

“Well, maybe you might’ve done ten years ago.”  Namjoon looks vaguely confused for a moment, furrowing his brows.  “Mr Timberlake hasn’t shown his face around here in quite some time.”  

“That’s good,” Namjoon blurts out, and for a split-second afterwards you swear you see his cheeks redden - his eyes darting away before he quickly adds, “I-I like your room as it is.  When I said it was different, I meant… good different.”  

“Oh.  Well, thanks.”  You know you’re not imagining how awkward the silence is that follows.  Namjoon doesn’t seem to know where to put himself now, hovering silently by the side of your bed.  

It’s amazing how human his mannerisms are, really, given how he’s not really human at all.  It’s a little endearing, truth be told.  

“Are you hungry?” you ask, though you’re not very much yourself.  You ate at the restaurant before you left, and it’s getting too late to want to eat a full meal now.  

“No, but thank you,” he says, following after you when you leave the room and pausing when you stop to retrieve a spare blanket and pillow from the small cupboard along the hall.  

“I guess we’ll just get you set up for bed, then.”  Like a puppy, he follows at your heels until you stop again, turning.  “You can go get changed in the bathroom while I make up the sofa if you want.”  Namjoon looks down at the joggers he’s folded over his arm, seemingly having forgotten they were even there.  

“Oh.”  He nods.  “Yes, I’ll do that.”  And then he heads back the way you both came, leaving you on your own, and it’s only when the bathroom door clicks shut that you feel as though you’re able to breathe properly for the first time since coming home.  

Closing your eyes for a second, you greedily inhale; eyes opening again when an exhale escapes as an anxious sigh, shaking a little.  Are you doing the right thing here? Sure, Namjoon seems harmless enough, some might even say a little nieve, but that doesn’t mean he really is.  He could be lying - he could be dangerous - and whilst your gut tells you otherwise, your gut has been known to be wrong before.  

It all feels like too much to think about right now, so you focus instead on arranging the sofa cushions and blankets for his makeshift bed as comfortably as you can.  Whatever Namjoon may turn out to be, he’s certainly going to be too tall for this sofa to be any kind of permanent solution, that’s for sure.  

How long is he even going to end up staying?  It’s not as though he can go out into the world looking like- 

“Can I be of any help?”  You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of Namjoon’s voice, mouth popping open as you abruptly straighten up to see him standing by the arm of the sofa, watching you.  

“No, no it’s ok.  All done,” you say, distracting yourself from the sight of your ex’s joggers hanging so low across Namjoon’s hips by patting a pillow into place.  

You really, really should’ve given him one of your t-shirts to wear.  Even if it didn’t quite fit, a crop top would still be better than Namjoon completely topless - too innocent to even think of attempting to cover himself up.   

Perhaps dryads are asexual?  You’ll have to list that to the long list of questions you already have but for now, your head still feels too muzzy from everything that’s happened today for you to want to add to it even more.  

Namjoon softly says your name, drawing your attention.  

“Thank you.  I’ve always known you were kind, even as a child, but I still worried-” 

“No, no, don’t be silly,” you interrupt, too flustered by what he’s already said to allow him to continue with such generous praise.  “If you change your mind about being hungry, please just help yourself.” 

“Thank you,” he nods.  You have a sneaking suspicion he’s holding himself back from starting to gush again from the way he licks his lips when they close, smiling when you do.  

“Goodnight then,” you say, stepping away from the sofa to allow him to sit.  He bounces once or twice to test it out.  

“Goodnight.  Dream sweetly,” he bids you, calling out as you disappear down the hallway, and, just as he so wished, you do.   

You dream of warmth and sunshine dappled through branches; the smell of grass and eyes just as green.  You dream of the smell of blossoms and crisp red apples, juice so sweet. The images and sensations are so lovely - so very different from the ones that had plagued you the previous night - that you fight against the light that pours into your room past the curtains you’d forgotten to close, unwilling to wake and leave them behind any sooner than absolutely necessary.  Eventually, you stumble from your bedroom and out into the living room, rubbing sleepily at your eyes; nearly screaming when you open them and see an arm dangling over the edge of your sofa.  

But then it all comes flooding back; last night, your tree - Namjoon.  You’d half expected to wake up and discover that it was all just a dream, but no, here he is, still fast asleep in a position that can’t be anywhere near comfortable: one leg hooked over the back of the sofa and his neck cricked to the side.  His full lips are slightly parted with the weight of the breaths he takes, his bare chest rising and falling steadily having long since lost the blanket you’d given him onto the floor.  

You feel like a creep for staring, but honestly, you don’t feel like anyone could really blame you.  It’d be bad enough if Namjoon’s appearance was just intriguing (and he is, of course, no doubt) but to be so handsome as well?  What right-minded person wouldn’t want to look?  

Still, you tear yourself away in the end.  You have an earlier shift to get to today, and you haven’t forgotten what you said about finding Namjoon some clothes.  With a busy day ahead, you move about your flat getting ready as quietly as you can so as not to disturb your unusual guest, only allowing yourself another long look once you’re ready to go and leaving him a note to explain your absence and asking him to please stay put.  

You’re not sure what the neighbours would make of a topless man with green skin roaming the halls, given that Mrs Taylor downstairs already tried to call the landlord on you once for daring to venture out to fetch your post in just your dressing gown.  

Your shifts tend to drag most days, really, but today’s seems particularly stubborn.   You spend most of the time worrying what Namjoon is getting up to; if he’s woken up yet, if he’s eaten or if he’s listened to your advice.  You presume he must’ve, seeing as you haven’t heard any breaking news on the radio about aliens or demons or such like. You get through it, though - avoiding all the questions your colleagues throw at you about why you’re so distracted - and before you know it you’re already on your way home with paper bags stuffed full of clothes slung across each of your arms.  

You hope he likes the things you’ve chosen.  It’s kind of hard guessing the fashion sense of someone that likely doesn’t even have any concept of the word.   

It’s strangely quiet on the other side of the door when you come to unlock it - so much so that you find yourself bracing yourself for trouble as you push it open with your hip, lacking the free hands with which to do it.  

“Namjoon?” you call out as you push it closed again in the same way, leaning against it till it clicks.  

“Welcome home.”  You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear his voice, all the tension fading from your shoulders when you see him sat there on the sofa with that sweet, dimpled smile on his face.  He rises when he sees all bags you’re carrying; chivalrously taking them and placing them down on the glass top of your coffee table at your instruction. “Did you have a nice day?” he asks, sinking back down into the sofa cushions as you do the same, letting your handbag slip from your shoulder and onto the floor.  

It’s a little disconcerting to come home and have someone ask you about your day, and sound so genuine in doing so.  It’s sad, too, that it even strikes you as so unusual, and not for the first time you find yourself thinking that you really should get out more and meet some other adults worth talking to.  

“Good.  Kinda busy, but good,” you reply, reaching for the nearest bag and pulling it onto your lap in eagerness to show him what you’ve bought.  “I got you some things.” Namjoon tilts his head in curiosity, the gesture so cute you can’t help but smile as you pull out the first thing your hands land on - a soft brown hoodie that you place into his waiting lap.  “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” you explain as he holds it up to look at it properly, feeling the texture of the material between his fingers.  

Wait…. 

Fingers?  

It’s a good job Namjoon is otherwise preoccupied or else he might notice your dumbfounded expression as you stare at his delicate fingers; no longer thin and willow wispy but fully-formed digits just like yours.  Surely you hadn’t imagined them as they’d appeared last night? But if you hadn’t, when had this sudden change come about?  

Your eyes scan the rest of him, searching for anything else that might be different, but as far as you can tell everything else remains unchanged; the colour of his skin, the point of his ears, the flowers in his hair.  You mean to ask him about it but before you can Namjoon is looking eagerly to the bag on your lap, leaning into your personal space to try and peer inside.  

How is it that he smells so good?  It’s not as though there’s any aftershave lying about that he could’ve used, which must mean this sweet, floral scent is all his own.  It’s addictive, even if not the kind of masculine aroma you would expect.  

“There’s more?” he prompts, giving you a quizzical look when you startle for apparently no reason.  

“Lots more!” you enthuse with a nervous titter, pulling open the bag to better let him see.  

One item at a time, you show him everything you purchased, smiling with pleasure at how enthused he seems with each and every piece.  “Why don’t you go try some on?” you suggest once both his lap and the coffee table are piled high with clothes, helpfully picking out a few pieces that will go together nicely when you notice how overwhelmed he looks.  He takes the clothing you give him with a grateful smile and then heads off into the bathroom to change while you clear up, folding everything else away.   

It’s only once you’re finished and have a moment to stop and look around that you suddenly come to realise just how untouched your living room looks.  The TV stands silent and your books undisturbed; there’s not even any trace of Namjoon having fed himself throughout the day, even when you head into the kitchen just to doubly make sure.  There’s no trace of him - no way of guessing that someone else has been here at all.  

You hear him tentatively call your name and find him standing anxiously by the entrance to the hall, rubbing at an arm now covered by the sleeve of a long, grey cardigan that fits him just right.  

“Don’t you like it?” you ask, mistaking his self-doubt for dislike of the clothing you’ve chosen.  Namjoon is quick to shake his head, his hand dropping back down to his side so you’re able to see just how long the sleeves are - so long that they reach almost to the tips of his fingers.  It doesn’t look silly, though. Quite the opposite. It looks… cute to see someone as big as Namjoon look kind of small.  

“No, I like it all very much,” he assures you, looking down at his torso as he grabs the hem of the white t-shirt underneath and stretches it out.  “It just….” He hesitates, pressing his lips together for a moment. “... Is this your kind of style?”  

“Of course it is!”  Namjoon smiles when you do, his posture relaxing almost immediately at your words of reassurance.  “I wouldn’t have chosen it otherwise. You look really great,” you say, the last bit slipping out without you intending it to. 

Not that it seems to do any harm, mind.  Despite your embarrassment at having so openly admired him, Namjoon seems to grow both in height and pride at your praise, the appearance of his dimples only adding to how flustered you feel.   

You swear you’ve never been this much of a blushing mess around any other man in your life.  What you said wasn’t even that bad, for Christ’s sake - just one friend complimenting another - but everything to do with Namjoon just feels…. more somehow.  

“What did you do all day, anyway?” Eager to change the subject, you turn around and head back towards the kitchen, patting the heat out of your cheeks as you go.  “Have you eaten?”  

“I woke up, and then I waited for you to come home,” he explains simply as he enters the room behind you, tugging on the ends of his sleeves.  It must feel weird for him to wear clothes, you suppose, after so long of not having any.  

Opening your fridge, you expect him to elaborate more but when nothing comes you retract your head from inside and fix him with a questioning look, one eyebrow raised.  

“That’s all?  You didn’t do anything?”  

“I don’t mind,” Namjoon is quick to assure, “I’m used to just watching and waiting… listening.”  

“So you’ve just been staring at four walls the whole time I was gone?!” you exclaim, shutting the fridge door so hard Namjoon flinches, his eyes widening.  “If you’re gonna stay here, Namjoon, you can’t just sit around all day waiting for me.”  

Although, you’ll admit the thought of him doing so is more than just a little flattering.    

“Here, look.  You can watch TV,” you say, leading him back into the living room and making a grab for the remote, turning it on.  The familiar characters of a soap opera appear on the screen, arguing loudly with one another, and up until you turn around and see Namjoon’s wide-eyed stare, you’d completely forgotten how absolutely alien all of this is to him.   “I mean, there are loads of stations,” you hasten to add, quickly flicking through the channels faster than Namjoon can probably even keep up until you finally land on what looks very much like a nature documentary - David Attenborough’s soothing voice playing through your speakers.   

Namjoon still doesn’t look too sure, though, flinching back in alarm as the pride of lions on the screen suddenly roar in tandem.  

You turn it off, abandoning that idea for now. 

“Or you can read,” you offer, grabbing a hold of the sleeve of his cardigan and using it to pull him over to your well-stocked bookcase.  You completely miss the wide-eyed way he looks down to where you’re touching him, and the blush that turns the apple green of his cheeks a sweeter shade of pink.  “You can read, right?”  

“Y-yes,” Namjoon is quick to answer, head bobbing rapidly up and down,  

“Then just help yourself, ok?  I don’t want you to be bored.” You smile as Namjoon shuffles closer to the bookcase and begins to inspect the different titles, his neck tilting at a 90-degree angle to read their spines.  “I can even show you how to use my laptop tonight, if you want,” you offer, though it seems you’ve lost Namjoon to the literary world already, judging by his lack of response.  

Perhaps another night, then - though you imagine he’ll become interested sooner or later.  If he’s hoping to find others of his kind then you can’t think of any better way to do that than via the internet.  It’s not as though you’ve got any books on dryads lying about the place.  

You’re still smiling to yourself, watching with affection as Namjoon gingerly pulls out a book from the shelf to hold it reverently in his hands when the sound of bird song finds your ears.  From somewhere outside your window, the bird stretches its lungs, and despite already having his nose deep in the book he chose Namjoon is quick to look up, his head turning swiftly in the direction of the sound.  

“Parus major,” he murmurs distractedly, abandoning his book back onto the shelf and then walking past you to the narrow french doors that lead onto the small balcony that lies beyond.  His nose nearly presses up against the glass as he peers out through the rectangular panes.  

“Say what now?” you ask, joining him there and craning your neck to try and see whatever it is that he’s looking at.  A bird, you presume, but who the hell knows with a name like that.  

“Great tit,” he clarifies, and for a second you could’ve sworn you seriously misheard what he just said, blinking rapidly in surprise until you see what it is he’s now pointing at past the glass.  Just a few feet away a little bird is hopping across your balcony rail, chirping in the afternoon sun, and your heart swells when you look back to Namjoon and see the absolute affection with which he watches its every move, a contented smile on his face.   

Would it be safe to allow him just a few moments outside?  It might risk him being seen, but then it’s only the communal backyard that your balcony overlooks, and it’s not as though you’ve ever noticed anyone out there whenever you’re ventured out before…  

“Here,” you say, gently nudging him aside so you’re able to unlock the doors and swing them open wide.  A breeze enters the room, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass, and you inhale deeply as both you and Namjoon step out onto the little balcony.   Unfortunately, your arrival frightens off the bird, but your companion doesn’t seem to mind. He just looks happy to be outdoors again - a blissful smile on his face as the wind ruffles the petals amongst his hair that somehow never scatter.   

“You have a garden!” he enthuses, having soon spotted the little planting box hooked over the far side of the railing.  He leans over to get a better look at it, and you try your best not to feel too embarrassed by the sorry state of what flowers remain inside, half-dead and holey with insect bites.  Now that summer is on its way you’ve been meaning to dig them up and re-plant it, but somehow you’ve never quite found the time.  

“It’s nothing special,” you dismiss, “But you can come out here more often if you want.  Just make sure no one sees you.” Namjoon smiles warmly, pleased by the idea.  

“I’d like that,” he says softly, gazing down at you from his far greater height.  The colour of his eyes may be somewhat unnatural - too bright and startling a green for any human - but that certainly doesn’t make them unpleasant to look at.  You’re certain you feel your stomach lurch with girlish glee as his smile grows all the wider when you bashfully smile back, fiddling with the buttons of your work blouse.  

It’s strange, the way Namjoon looks at you.  You’ve known him all of a day and yet he regards you with the same easy affection you imagine one would a life-long friend, and you suppose, on some level, you are as far as he’s concerned.  It’s both a little unnerving and yet wonderful all at once, and you find yourself hoping, as you gaze back up at the serene expression on his face, that over time you might get to know him in the same way he seems to know you.  

“Namjoon,” you begin, meaning to make a start on all your questions until his stomach loudly rumbling derails your train of thought.  Frowning, you remember how obvious it was that Namjoon hadn’t eaten whilst you were gone and quickly decide that this needs to be put right. “You have to promise me you’ll still look after yourself when I’m not here,” you tell him in a mildly scolding tone, trying to ignore how utterly adorable he looks whilst so utterly bewildered by the sound his stomach just made.  “You’ll make me feel like a bad host, otherwise.” And, just as you’d predicted, Namjoon’s sense of politeness kicks in, his expression turning sheepish as you lead him back inside.  

“I’ll make sure I do from now on,” he promises, his whole demeanour brightening when you smile, cocking your head to the side.  

“So, what do you fancy?”  

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  Turns out, Namjoon’s favourite thing to eat is… apples.  

You’re not sure how to feel about that at first, given how close to cannibalism it sounds that a man who was once a tree bearing the very same fruit seems to enjoy devouring them so much, but you figure there’s enough strangeness going on in your life right now for you to fixate on Namjoon’s eating habits as well.  

At least he’s made good on his promise to eat regular meals whilst you’re at work.  Granted, it’s never much more than a sandwich here or there, but he always eats well when it comes to the dinners you cook, wolfing them down with plenty of thanks. 

He’s started to make himself more comfortable in your home, too, over the past week; keeping himself occupied by slowly making his way through the entirety of your bookcase - book by book, cover to cover.  Every day it seems as though you come home to more and more of them piled up on your coffee table or your kitchen counter, but you can’t say you mind the mess. It’s nice that the place feels more lived-in now; all the more homely for having Namjoon in it.  

And when he’s done with all your books, having devoured every word with record speed, he finally accepts your offer to help him find his way onto the world wide web.  He seems intimidated by it, at first; even warier of your little laptop than he had been of the television in the beginning, prodding at the keys so gingerly you can barely even hear them tip-tap as he types.  His full lips press together in concentration as you explain to him how it all works, brows furrowed, but he takes to it all with surprising ease - his eyes filling with wonderment when you introduce him to Google and all the information suddenly right there at his fingertips.  

Every day when you come home he’ll have something new to tell you - some random factoid that you may or may not already know.  Not that you mind either way, of course. Coming home to the sight of Namjoon leaping off the sofa with excitement to come to greet you has become one of your most favourite parts of the day, his whole body positively vibrating from being so full to the brim of things he just has to share.  He’ll take your hands in his and drag you over to the sofa to come to look at all he’s found, and you’ll try your best to not let it show how much even that briefest of touches affects you, willing your face to cool as he shows you art, music - anything and everything.  

Never does he say anything of home, though.  He never gives any kind of indication that he’s been looking into his origins or his kin and… maybe it’s the wrong thing to do, but you’re happy to never go pushing the matter either.  You tell yourself that it’s because it’s not your place - that you’re just not mentioning it because you wouldn’t want to make him feel at all unwelcome, or under pressure to leave - but deep down you know it’s more than that. 

Even in this short space of time, you’ve grown alarmingly fond of Namjoon and the constant companionship he provides.  With him in your life, you haven’t felt the need to grieve the loss of your tree and all the memories that went with it, because Namjoon remembers every one of them too.  He knows all about your family, your childhood friends and all the mischief you got up to, recalling some memories so old that you’d forgotten yourself until he reminds you of them, his eyes sparkling with glee as yours do the same with happy tears on more than just one occasion as the days go by.    

You don’t want him to leave, and though you daren’t ask for his opinion, you only hope that he feels the same.  

Besides, it’s not just you that would mourn his loss about the place.  You’re sure your plants would, too, given how magnificently they’ve grown during the time he’s been here; foliage so thick and lush that it’s as though the winter never happened.  It’s not as if he spends every moment tending to them, mind It’s just a dryad thing, or so he says. His touch and voice invigorate them - breathe new life into stems once wilted - and you can’t help but find yourself drawing comparisons between both your life and that of your flowers.  With Namjoon around, you bloom.  

That’s not to say he’s without any flaws, though.  He’s a little messy, sometimes. A little forgetful.  He can’t cook for shit, either, which is a lesson you learn one afternoon when you come home to the smell of burnt pastry and a living room full of smoke.  You find him in the kitchen, coughing as he frantically turns knobs on the stove, and once you’ve thrown all the windows open and cleared the air enough for him to be able to speak, he confesses with much embarrassment what it is he’d been trying - and failing - to do.  

He’d found a recipe for a rustic apple pie online, he says, and he’d wanted so desperately to surprise you with it when you came home.  Namjoon looks so bereft at the charred lump of… something that you pull out of the oven, that you only wish there was a tiny crumb of it that wasn’t burnt to cinders so that you could at least pretend to enjoy it, if only to make him smile.  Instead, you end up promising to make another one in his stead just as soon as you’re able to, and that seems to cheer him up plenty, all woes forgotten as he smiles so sweetly that it has your heart fluttering wildly in your chest.  

Not that that’s something so unusual, these days.  It seems like every time you look at him your body has something to say about it, and the more time it goes on the harder that physical reaction becomes to ignore - especially as his appearance has continued to change.  First, it was the fingers, but not too long after that, you’d noticed that the points of his ears had started to round, too. It’d taken several days, but they look no dissimilar to yours, now, and not only that but his skin has completely lost the green tinge it once had.  

When you ask him about it, he tells you that it’s a natural thing that happens when dryads are away from their trees for too long; a defence mechanism, if you will, to allow them to blend in.  And if it weren’t for the flowers in his hair, Namjoon would blend in just fine, just as human-looking as any other person on the street.  

“You wanna go out for a bit?” you ask late the one night, turning your attention from the TV to Namjoon sat beside you, absorbed in his latest online purchase - a paperback copy of ‘Me Before You’.  

You’d warned him that that particular piece of fiction was very different from the others you’d seen him enjoy before, but Namjoon hadn’t been deterred.  It seems like he might have a little bit of a romantic side, it turns out, and that makes it all the harder for you not to swoon as you watch him slowly turn the pages, deep in concentration.  

You wonder if he’d hold you as tenderly as he does his books if you were in his arms?  Or if he’d treat you with such care as - 

You stop that dangerous line of thought right there, giving your head a little shake to clear it away before you burst into flame at the mental images that invade your head.    

“Joon,” you call again, realising he hadn’t heard you, and at the sound of his newly found nickname, Namjoon’s head finally rises from the page, blinking owlishly back at you. 

“Sorry?” he asks, his voice husky from having not said a word in almost over an hour.  

“Do you wanna go out?” you repeat patiently, smiling at the way his jaw slightly drops in response.  

“Out?” he echoes, turning to look at the windows despite it already being dark outside.  You suppose the notion of leaving the house might be a little daunting after having been stuck inside for all this time, but now that he no longer looks so different you think it’d be good to get him out a little - to introduce him to some more of the modern world through more than just a screen.  

“Yeah.  It’s a nice night, I thought maybe we could go for a walk.”  Without giving him a chance to reply, you turn off the TV and get up to start getting ready, leaving what you hope is very little room for argument on his part.  

“But… my hair.”  Despite his hesitation, Namjoon still closes his book and rises just the same, though not without first glancing at his page number.  He doesn’t need a bookmark; absentminded when it comes to almost everything other than such tiny little details.  

“You’ve got a hat, don’t you?” you say with a smile, pulling on your light jacket where it hangs by the door.  Without any further argument, Namjoon makes his way into your tiny spare room (which is more of a cupboard, really) to retrieve his beanie from the spare set of drawers you’d assigned as his own.  

He’s pulling it on as he walks back in, and without thinking, you reach up to adjust it as he comes to stand in front of you, within tippytoes reach.  He’s never worn it before, but all this time you’ve had a sneaking suspicion it would suit him. Looking up at him now, as you straighten it out, you see it most certainly does.  It draws attention to the sculpted lines of his face and accentuates his eyes - the eyes that are held wide at the familiarity with which you’re touching him; something that’s been happening more and more often just lately.  

“See?  You’d never know,” you say quickly, pulling away as you realise what it is you’re doing, looking away and then down at the floor.  Knowing how closely he’s watching, you pull yourself together and smile as you grab your keys, jingling them in your hand.  “C’mon, let’s go.”  

It doesn’t take you long for the two of you to walk to where it was you’d hand in mind when suggesting your outing.  Living in an inner-city area, there’s not exactly an abundance of nature to be found (especially now the park has been torn down), but there is a pretty decent river that cuts right through the centre not too far of a distance away. Lined by pavements each side, benches dot along its banks at regular intervals, and you’ve spent many a night before Namjoon’s arrival walking these concrete paths when sleep hasn’t come so easy.  

The two of you do the same, now, in companionable silence, but you don’t mind the quiet.  You can tell from the look on Namjoon’s face that he’s enjoying himself - taking every little bit of it in - and that’s enough for you, even if he doesn’t particularly say much.  You find a nice spot for you to sit, and as you watch the way the water ripples with the reflection of the moon up above, you realise that this is the first time you’ve ever had a relationship like this; one so comfortable and familiar that you needn’t say a word.  

All your life you’ve been told you were a chatterbox - too assertive, too loud, too bossy - but… not with Namjoon.  With him, there’s no need to be. Most of the time he already seems to know what you’re thinking before you’ve said it out loud anyway, so what need is there to shout?  

Dragging away your gaze from his moonlit face, it drifts down to focus on where your hand is resting on the bench, palm pressed flat to the wood.  Beside it lays Namjoon’s, his pinky barely an inch away from yours; so close that all it would take would be for you to stretch out your fingers for them to touch, and god, you so, so want to.  It’s an urge so strong you barely have the words to describe the way it feels; a physical ache in your chest; a pang of longing that comes in wave upon wave whenever the two of you are alone.  

Another glance at Namjoon shows him gazing up at the stars without a care in the world - with no clue of what you’re thinking.  It makes you sigh, frustrated with yourself for indulging these feelings and allowing them to grow, and though you’re sure it was only a quiet one Namjoon picks up on it nonetheless.  He rounds his attention on you, concerned.  

“Is something wrong?” he asks, and of course, your first response is to plaster a smile on your face and deflect rather than address what’s bothering you - what’s been on your mind for every waking moment over the last few days.   

“Nothing, I’m fine.”  The lie rolls easily off your tongue and Namjoon shows no sign of disbelieving you, smiling back and then lifting his chin to look back up at the sky.  Namjoon may be smart but he’s also very trusting - too trusting - and part of you worries that other people may take advantage of that if they get the chance.  It’s just another thing that makes you want to cling to him all the more; protect him in a way that might seem absurd considering his stature.  

This is no good, feeling this way.  Namjoon has never shown anything more toward you than a friendly interest, and you know it’s not right for you to want to covet him or keep him away from his kin.  You need to get over this. Push past it. Because above all else, you want Namjoon to be happy. Even if that means that it’s somewhere else, somewhere not with you.

“Have you managed to find out anything about any other dryads?” you ask, taking the plunge.  Namjoon seems mildly surprised by your question, his eyebrows rising as he looks at you and then very quickly looks away, focusing on something else across the water.  

“Not really,” he answers after a moment of silence.  “There’s a lot of stuff online but most of it is pure myth and speculation.  Nothing useful.” You feel both guilty and glad on hearing that; glad that it sounds as though he’s not about to leave any time soon, but guilty for even feeling that way at all.  “I can’t imagine many others like me would even know how to go about making contact through the internet.” Namjoon smiles ruefully, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his thighs to brace his chin in his hands.  

“What about your parents?  Don’t you know where they might be… planted?”  God, this sounds ridiculous.  

Namjoon shakes his head.

“Dryad’s don’t have families, in the traditional sense of the word.  We’re born as saplings rather than conceived.” The wind blows and Namjoon adjusts his beanie, pulling it down further over his ears against the cold.  “Back when this whole area was all woodland there would’ve been a community here where dryad would’ve been able to walk freely, but…” He trails off, shrugging his shoulders as he straightens up and sighs, leaning back against the bench.  

“Do you miss them?” It must be so lonely, you think, to exist for so long as Namjoon has with no family or friends to speak of.  

“You can’t really miss someone you’ve never met or something you’ve never had,” he answers, and though you expect him to sound sad you’re pleased that he doesn’t.  He sounds more thoughtful if anything. Philosophical. It suits him. “Those sort of communes were long before my time.”  

“No, I guess you’re right.”  Namjoon turns to look at you thoughtfully, a small smile playing on his lips.  

“Do you remember when we first met?”  You scoff a laugh and his smile grows as he tugs on the sleeves of his hoodie to pull them further down, waiting for your answer.  

“You mean back when I thought you were some crazy, naked homeless guy?” you tease and now it’s Namjoon’s turn to laugh, shaking his head.  

“I don’t mean then,” he says, “I mean right back at the beginning when you were still just a child.”  

“That was a pretty long time ago,” you chuckle awkwardly, rubbing at your arm.  It always makes you feel a little strange whenever you get reminded of just how long Namjoon and you have known each other.  Technically, Namjoon’s been around for almost a whole century longer than you have, and even though the two of you look more or less the same age, part of you wonders whether Namjoon still sees you as the little girl you once were.  

God, you hope not. 

“It was, but I still remember it just like it was yesterday,” he smiles, oblivious to the tumultuous thoughts inside your head. “You were so brave, marching over to defend me the way you did.”  You feel yourself blush at his praise, looking away as you dismissively shrug your shoulders.  

“Those boys should’ve never had a knife in the first place.”  

“I never got the chance to thank you, back then.”  You nearly jump when you suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand come to rest on top of your own, ever so tentatively, and when you quickly look up you see him gazing down at where his skin is touching yours, swallowing thickly. He looks nervous when he meets your eyes again, but when you make no move to pull away you feel him relax ever so slightly, the weight of his hand increasing.  “But I was - am - very thankful.”  

His hand feels so warm on top of yours that you can barely think straight, staring dumbly back at him as he continues, 

“You looked at my tree and it felt like you saw me, not just a bunch of branches.  I knew you were different from all the other humans, then.  You were special.” You feel a lump in your throat and try your best to swallow it rather than burst into tears as your body is willing you to do.  It’s overwhelming to find out that in that same moment that you had realised that that tree was so special, Namjoon had been deciding the very same thing about you.  

You shudder as his thumb passes over the back of your hand, body tingling at the lightest touch.  You’re just about to speak - about to confess just how special he is to you too - but unfortunately, Namjoon is all too quick to let go of your hand, assuming your quiver to be down to the cold rather than the anticipation coursing through you.  

The moment is lost, the courage you’d gathered up blown away by the next gust of wind.   

“We should get home,” he says with a frown of concern, rising from his seat.  

“O-ok,” you reply dumbly, still a little lost for words.  Even getting to your feet is slow, both your body and brain lagging behind as you try to process what just happened.  

You knew you’d been developing feelings for Namjoon but even you were caught off guard just now by how badly you wanted to kiss him.  

Oh, this is bad.  Bad, bad, bad, bad.  

Thankfully, Namjoon doesn’t seem to realise how distracted you are as you make your way home through the empty streets.  He prattles on happily about a documentary he watched recently, though if anyone asked you afterwards you wouldn’t be able to tell them what on earth it was about, so poorly are you listening.  You’re too busy trying to ignore the urge to reach and take back his hand as you walk beside him, your fingers twitching with the want to thread them between his.  

You’re reluctant to leave his side even once you get home, though you know that some space to clear your head would probably do you good.  It’s getting far too late now for there to be any legitimate reason for you to stay up any longer, yet you linger around the living room searching for an excuse anyway as Namjoon makes himself a cup of Chamomile tea to drink before bed, accepting when he offers you a cup to you, too.  

“Aren’t you going to sleep yet?” you ask as he sits down on the sofa with the beverage in hand, already having stripped off his thick hoodie and jeans to lounge in t-shirt and shorts instead.   

“I was just going to read a little more first,” he replies, picking up his book from the coffee table and nearly sloshing his tea all over himself in the process, narrowly avoiding disaster.  

“Oh, ok.”  Holding your mug in both hands, you linger by the side of the sofa, eyeing up the cushion next to him.  You take a deep breath. “Is it any good?” He looks up, blinking in befuddlement. “Your book,” you explain further, smiling shyly.  

“Oh. Um, yes, very.”  Namjoon turns it over in his hand, glancing at the cover.  “The main character is quite-” 

“Wouldyoureadtome?” you blurt out and once more Namjoon is left rapidly blinking, trying to work out what the hell you just said.  Taking another deep breath, you gingerly come to sit beside him. “Would you read to me?” you repeat, and this time you know you’re definitely not imagining the blush that fills Namjoon’s cheeks as you ever so carefully shift closer so that your shoulder is touching his arm.  

“O-of course,” he agrees, taking a rather large sip of tea before he re-opens the book and makes a start on the first passage.  

His words are a little clumsy at the first - nervous at having you listen so attentively, you think - but before long Namjoon settles into a steady, soothing rhythm.  If you’re honest, you’re not really listening to the words he’s saying as you slowly finish your tea. You’re just enjoying the deep timbre of his voice instead, relishing in the way you can feel it reverberate from his body into yours where your shoulders touch and luxuriating in this rare moment of closeness the two of you share.  

A few pages in you become vaguely aware of your eyelids beginning to droop, but you’re too drowsy, too warm and too comfortable to give it much care.  You allow yourself to be lulled by Namjoon’s voice till you’re breathing starts to slow and your grip on your mug loosens, only to be momentarily awoken by the feel of it being gently taken out of your hands and placed elsewhere.  Half-asleep, your body moves of its own accord in seek of comfort, not even really aware that it’s Namjoon’s arm that your head has chosen as its pillow or the fabric of his shirt your hand has chosen to fist.  

It’s not until the next morning when you wake that you realise any of it at all, your eyes slowly opening to find yourself curled up against his chest with your legs drawn up onto the sofa, a blanket wrapped over your shoulders despite Namjoon having none at all.  It’s a wonderful way to wake up but it still startles you none the less, and your body goes rigid for a second as you try to piece together the fragments of last night’s memory whilst trying your best not to wake him.   

The sight of your mugs on the table and Namjoon’s book rested between them brings it all back quickly enough, and your cheeks blaze with embarrassment as you realise what happened must’ve happened.  Poor Namjoon. You can only hope he wasn’t too mortified by you lolling yourself all over him, or that it wasn’t just out of politeness that he neglected to wake you up and cart you off to your bed for the night.  

You feel his body shift as he takes a deep inhale and then softly sighs, biting your lip as you wonder what on earth to say if he would wake up.  But then he fidgets again, hips shifting side to side, and you suddenly become aware that it’s not just a blanket wrapped around you but his arm, too, holding you in his sleep.  

The realisation makes you feel giddy - fills you to the brim with girlish glee - and you’re not biting your lip from nervousness anymore but rather to keep yourself from smiling too hard or squealing your excitement into his chest.  A chest that’s more solid than you had ever anticipated it to be, and a stomach so firm that the feel of it under your fingertips has your pulse quickening and your chest tightening with need.  

It’s been a long time for you, and being this close to Namjoon is doing nothing douse the flames of desire that have been gradually gaining heat as the days have gone by.  

Decisive action is what’s needed - right now, before you have the chance to do anything more stupid - so as much as you don’t want to, you pry yourself away from Namjoon’s warmth and comfort.  You do so slowly so as not to disturb him, and for the most part, you’re successful, only rousing him slightly when you bang your shin on the edge of the coffee table and have to muffle a squeal of pain as you hop and stumble your way out of the room and into your own.  

The clock on your bedside table tells you it’s only 5 am - not a time that any decent human being should be awake on a Saturday, in your opinion - so you gratefully climb back under your own covers to nurse your wound and try to get some more sleep.  Unfortunately, it doesn’t come quite so easily as it did when you were snuggled up with Namjoon, and you spend a good amount of time just lying there with your eyes closed, daydreaming what it’d be like to have him right there next to you; to be held tight in his big, strong arms.    

You do drift off again, eventually, only to wake a few hours later to the sound of Namjoon humming to himself in the next room.  It brings a smile to your face immediately, and it stays with you as you ready yourself for the day; showering, primping and preening.  You don’t try to fool yourself into thinking that it’s anything other than last night’s developments between you and Namjoon that have put you in such a good mood, even if you don’t quite know how to proceed from here on out.  You’re not even certain his actions were conscious ones - he could just be a cuddly sleeper, that’s all.  

As with most things, you figure you’ll just work things out as you go along.  Life never seems to go to plan whenever you make one, anyway.  

Dressed in one of your favourite outfits, you’re positively beaming by the time you emerge into the living room and announce that today is the day you’ll attempt Namjoon’s long-awaited apple pie.  He’s excited, of course - even more so when you invite to come into town with you to fetch all the ingredients you might need. It seems your little outing last night has ignited his curiosity for the outside world, and he showers and dresses in record speed as you help yourself to breakfast, eager for the day ahead.    

Having made sure his hair is sufficiently covered by the baseball cap of yours that he borrows, the two of you head out for what ends up being a far longer trip than you’d intended it to be.   You just hadn’t been able to help yourself when you’d seen the excitement written all over Namjoon’s face as you’d walked the crowded streets, and before you knew it the two of you had ended up foraging in bookstores and boutique, eating lunch together in the sun and touring around the local art gallery.  

It isn’t actually until late in the afternoon that you finally manage to drag him to the supermarket to fetch the supplies you need for the pie, and even then he gets waylaid in the gardening section, somehow talking you into buying a bird box for your balcony and what is surely a vastly overpriced bag of seed.  

Still, it makes him happy so you're happy too, your cheeks aching from all the incessant smiling you’ve been doing by the time you get home.  You start baking right away despite how exhausted you are from traipsing around the city for hours on end, knowing how much Namjoon has been looking forward to it to want to delay things any further.  It’ll be the perfect end to the perfect day - as long as you get the recipe right, of course.  

Namjoon is quick to offer his help but you gently turn him down, fearful that this pie will end up just as inedible as the last one should he get his hands on it.  He finds things to keep himself busy, though, using the last of the day’s remaining light to tend to his little garden and attach the new bird box onto the red-bricked wall of your building outside.  

It’s actually a fairly straightforward recipe, and aside from one near-miss where you’d almost added nutmeg to the mix rather than cinnamon, you don’t encounter any other issues.  You can hear the TV playing in the living room as you put the pie in the oven so you assume that Namjoon is watching the crime drama he seems to have developed a little bit of an obsession with just lately.  If it weren’t so good you might regret ever introducing him to Netflix, but you’re rather looking forward to settling down and passing the time it takes for the pie to bake watching it with him, even though you know you’ll spend the whole time wishing you were snuggled up against his side. 

It turns out, however, that Namjoon isn’t quite so fixated on the television as you’d thought he would be when you enter the room.  He’s looking down at something on his lap instead, and when you come to sit down next to him you realise it’s one of your photo albums he’s slowly making his way through, smiling with each page that he turns.  

“Where’d you find that?” you ask, your cheeks already flushing with embarrassment thanks to the childhood photographs that lie within, a lot of which you’d rather Namjoon not see. 

“Your bookcase,” Namjoon answers without taking his eyes off the page, and you could kick yourself for not thinking to stash it away before he inevitably came across it during his search for fresh material to read.  He points at a picture in the bottom left that shows a very sulky very of your childhood self pouting at the camera, arms folded. “I remember you hated that dress,” he grins, “But you still cried your eyes out when it ripped.”  

As clear as day the memory comes flooding back; all your frustration at the stupid Sunday dress your mother had dressed you in that morning and the dread that’d filled you when it’d caught on one the branches you’d been climbing and torn beyond repair.  

“Only because I knew I’d get in trouble!” you exclaim in indignance, confused as to why Namjoon’s started laughing until you look down and realise you’ve got your arms folded across your chest in the very same way as they are in the picture - the very same pout on your face.  You uncross them quickly, narrowing your eyes in a glare that Namjoon pointedly ignores as he turns the page again.  

“Who’re these people?” he asks curiously, pointing at a large family photo of your mother’s side.  It’s the perfect excuse to shuffle closer so you do just that as you begin to explain, pointing at each face in turn, and even once you’re done you don’t think to move away, enjoying each and every brush of your arms or knock of his thigh against yours.  

As Namjoon makes his way through the photo album you helpfully identify each person that he asks about, surprised and ever so slightly in awe of the fact he already knows and can name so many without any hints from you at all.  How is it he can seemingly remember every single person that’s ever been important to you, and yet never to remember to put the toilet seat down?  

“And that’s one of my ex-boyfriends, Brandon,” you explain, grimacing at the sight of him.  You should’ve removed that photo years ago, really, but until now you’d pretty much forgotten you even had this album, let alone thought about rearranging it. 

Oh well, no time like the present.  

You go to peel back the protective plastic covering to take it out, but much to your surprise Namjoon shifts the album out of reach before you can even touch the cover.  Eyes narrowed, he glares down at the page.  

“Yes, I remember that boy.”  You’ve never heard Namjoon’s voice sound so cold, confused by the venomous look he’s wearing.  “I didn’t like him,” he states, “At all. I was glad when he stopped coming to the park, even though it made you cry.”  

Namjoon…. didn’t like him?  Well, he can join the club. It hadn’t taken you long to realise what a douchebag Brandon was, despite the rest of the school acting as though the sun shone out of his arse.  

Namjoon’s about to speak when suddenly the timer goes off in the kitchen and you leap to your feet, telling him to ‘hold that thought’ as you run from the room.   Pulling open the oven you’re greeted by the delicious smell of perfectly golden pastry, and you beam with pride as you take out your masterpiece and dish up two equal slices for you and Namjoon.  It’ll be far too hot to eat yet, of course, but the pouring cream you fetch from the fridge should help with that, barely able to contain your excitement as you near run back into the living room with dishes in hand.  

“It looks so gooooood!” you enthuse as you plonk back down into the sofa and thrust Namjoon’s portion into his now empty hands, photo album discarded atop the coffee table.  Mouth already watering in anticipation, you pour a generous helping of cream onto your slice and then offer the same to Namjoon.  

“It really does.”  

And then suddenly another memory hits you mid-pour - the memory of a time when Brandon had stropped off in a huff because you’d dared laugh when an apple had fallen off the tree and hit him straight between the eyes.  It’d just seemed unlucky at the time, but now having heard what Namjoon just said… 

“Joon,” you begin, frowning slightly as you put the cream back down, pausing to lick the drip that’d spilt off of the end of your finger.  “Did you… were you the one that made that apple hit Brandon right in the face?”  

Namjoon’s body freezes, his pie-laden spoon hovering in mid-air as it stops halfway to his mouth, eyes widening.  

“U-uh…” he stammers, not quite meeting your gaze.  It’s not as though he needs to say anything.  His guilty expression already tells you everything you need to know.  “M-maybe….” It’s almost as though he’s frightened you’ll be mad, but when you start giggle Namjoon visibly relaxes, flashing a sheepish smile.  

“Why would you do that?” 

“I told you, I didn’t like him,” he says, elaborating further when your eyebrows rise questioningly.  “I saw how rough he was with you. How pushy he was, always trying to make you… do stuff.” Namjoon’s cheeks colour with a blush as he looks away, swallowing, and you’re thankful that he does, given how drastically your cheeks redden too.  The thought of Namjoon having been witness to all of the pressure Brandon placed on you to do things you weren’t yet ready for - intimate things - makes your whole body cringe with embarrassment.  

In fact, you’re sure that that time Brandon had gotten pelted with apples he’d been trying to put the moves on you, and by ‘the moves’ you mean slobbering all over your neck and trying to worm his hand down the front of your jeans.  You remember how upset you’d been back then, but now you look back on it Namjoon did you a favour by getting rid of Brandon sooner rather than later.  

“Well, thank you for defending me.”  You smile shyly as Namjoon does the same, your slices of pie long forgotten as they cool atop the coffee table.  “My hero,” you joke and Namjoon laughs self consciously, rubbing the palms of his hands together.  

“It’s the least I could do after everything you did for me.”  

The two of you fall silent for a second as you do nothing but look back at one another, sat close enough that you can feel it when Namjoon takes a deep breath and then abruptly looks away, breaking eye contact.  

“This really does look good,” he comments, reaching out to pick up his bowl only to fall deathly still the moment your hand touches his arm.  Stunned by the unexpected contact he turns to look at you, and as your eyes meet you’re forced to swallow with the swell of emotion that suddenly fills you.  

You’ve never felt like this before.  Never felt like your heart might burst unless you let all the affection and tenderness and… and love held inside of it pour out.  You have to tell him. Just you have to now that you realise just how deep your feelings go - how desperately you’re falling in love with his man.  

“You know last night, what you said about realising I was special?” you start, trying to ignore the way your voice is slightly wavering as you speak.  Your hand is still on his arm but you can’t seem to make yourself let go. If anything your grip only tightens as you force yourself to look up from the floor, hips twisting on the sofa to better face him. 

Namjoon nods, and when his hand comes to rest on top of yours your swear you feel your tummy flip a whole 360 degrees.  “Well, I just wanted you to know that it was the same for me. I care a lot about you…”   

A bright smile lights up Namjoon’s face, his dimples deeper than ever.  

“A-and,” you continue, knowing if you let yourself stop now then you’ll never say it right, “You’re important to me… even more now that I’ve met you.  Really important.” Tentatively, you turn your hand over and thread your fingers between Namjoon’s, laughing lightly at the dumbstruck way he looks down at your conjoined hands and then squeezes back, bringing them into his lap then placing his other hand over the top, too.  

“I am?” he asks, beaming, and with just as stupidly wide of a smile on your face you gleefully nod.  Namjoon lets out a little incredulous laugh, looking down at his lap, and before you know it you’re reaching out and touching his face, lifting his chin and letting your fingers wander up into his hair to gently touch the blossoms within.  

Who would’ve known, all those years ago, that sight of the very same blossoms that’d drifted to the floor all around you back then, would inspire such strong feelings in you now?  Who would’ve known that for all these years you’ve been searching for love it’s been waiting for you, right outside your window?  

Namjoon softly says your name, pulling you back to the present, and it’s only now that you realise he’s reached out and is touching you too, his long fingers running through your hair.  He shuffles even closer, your thighs pressing as he leans in, and you feel pulse begin to bound as he looks to your lips, licking his own.  

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, a little breathless and joyfully, you nod. 

Yours and Namjoon’s first kiss is nothing like the kind you see in the movies.  Neither of you surges forward in some passionate clashing of teeth and tongues, grabbing at each other’s clothes.  It’s a much gentler affair than that; a slow slide of Namjoon’s palm to cradle your cheek as he closes the space between you, neither one daring to breathe until after your lips have finally met - a tentative press, testing the waters.

His lips are softer you’d even imagined they would be, light-headed and giddy even after such chasteness.  

“Can I kiss you again?” He’s definitely breathless this time and, try as you may, you can’t contain the laugh that escapes you then, disarmed by how sweet he is to keep asking.  Overflowing with affection, you throw your arms around his broad shoulders, claiming back what space he’d put between you when you’d laughed and he’d pulled away.  

“You don’t have to ask me every time,” you giggle against his lips, thrilled by the feel of Namjoon’s arms curling around your waist to draw you closer.  

“Ok,” he grins, his lips still smiling when you kiss him again - a little harder this time, a little more bravely.  

He’s a better kisser than you expected he might be, given your assumption that this might be the first time he’s ever done it.  He follows your lead, never asking for more; each brush of your lips entirely innocent until you decide to take it further, leaning your body into his as you encourage him to let you in with a teasing swipe of your tongue.  And even when he does and your kiss deepens, not one moment of it is rushed. Every touch is gentle - the caress of his hands as they slip under the hem of your shirt nothing short of reverent.  

It’s been years since anyone has taken their time with you like this.  Usually, it’s all greedy, grabby hands and the bare essentials of foreplay, but with Namjoon it’s all too easy to lose track of time.  You kiss for what feels like hours - like teenagers who know don’t know any better - until you can no longer ignore just how greatly his touch has affected you; warm, wet and aching between your legs.  

Taking his hands you briefly pull away, smiling as you stand from the sofa only to climb back on but astride his lap this time.  

“Is this ok?” you check, placing his hands on your hips as you lower yourself onto his thighs.  Your knickers are sodden they press against you but it’s not an unpleasant sensation, your core throbbing in time with your pulse with the need to be touched.  

“Y-yes,” Namjoon utters softly just before your mouths meet again, a little more urgently now that you know your desires are reciprocated.  Beneath where you sit you can feel Namjoon growing stiff inside his trousers and when you grind yourself down against him, he lets out a guttural groan of pleasure against your mouth.  He grips your hips tighter as they circle, digging in his fingertips.  

Without breaking your kiss, you remove your blouse, button by button until it slips off your shoulders and onto the floor.  Namjoon’s hands don’t move, though, clutching at your denim-clad hips until you reach down and move them yourself, pressing warm palms to skin. 

“You can touch me,” you assure, feeling his hesitation in the way his kiss loses rhythm and his thighs tense up.  It’s only momentary, though. When your hands find their way back into his hair and you lean your chest against him, arching your back, Namjoon soon gets with the programme.  His hands glide up and down the length of your back, one coming to rest on the back of your neck to anchor you in place. It’s only a gentle grip but it makes you shudder none the less, moaning as his tongue rolls wet and hot into your mouth.  

Have you ever wanted someone as much as this?  You doubt it. Certainly not at this point, when all you’ve done is kiss and grind.  If he doesn’t touch you soon you feel as though you might lose your mind, but you don’t want to rush this.  It means too much for that - for you to wish even a single second of it away.  

You gasp as Namjoon’s mouth changes target and trails scorching hot kisses down the length of your neck, your head tipping to the side.  You reach behind you to unclasp your bra, muttering curses when your fumbling hands can’t get the god damn thing open. Namjoon too distracting - the gentle pressure of his lips and swipe of his tongue too heavenly for you to even think straight.  

Of course, you get it off eventually, throwing it the floor to join your blouse as you sit up straight and detach yourself from Namjoon’s torturous mouth.  His eyes immediately fall to your chest, his jaw clenching and then Adam’s apple bobbing when you take the hands that’d be hovering at your waist and place them onto your breasts.  With a salacious smile, you hold them there, groping yourself with his hands until Namjoon gets the hint and takes over, wetting his lips as the tips of his fingers find your nipples and he tweaks, sinfully sharp.  

“Oh god,” you groan as your eyes fall closed, your hips automatically beginning to roll as his large hands squeeze and knead; pluck and pinch.  And for the first time, you feel Namjoon start to push back, his pelvis rising off the sofa as he instinctively seeks your heat. “Do you wanna- hnng fuck-”  He’s putting that mouth to good use again, one arm wrapped tight around your waist as he dips his head and slicks up your nipple with a lave of his tongue.  

“Joon, let’s go to bed,” you say, running your fingers through his hair to get him to look up, far too doe-eyed for someone that still has his nipple caught between his teeth.  “Only if you want to,” you quickly blurt out, sensing the slight hesitation that shows in his face as he pulls away - that nervousness and naivety.  

In all your excitement, you’d almost forgotten how new all of this is to Namjoon.  His people don’t even procreate, for god’s sake, and here you are trying to grind yourself down onto his dick like he’ll even know what to do with it.  

You shift your weight out of self-consciousness and unintentionally brush against the bulge of his crotch as your move, biting your lip as Namjoon’s eyes flutter closed and his breathing becomes laboured.  

“I do.”  Namjoon’s voice is as tight as his grip on your thighs, and when he opens his eyes the rapid dilation of his pupils stirs your insides in excitement.  “I really want to.”  

“Ok,” you smile, climbing off his lap onto shaking legs and then taking his hands to pull bring him to his feet.  

You love how tall he is; love how large he feels around you when you don’t even make it a step before he’s wrapping you in his arms and kissing you again, impatient.  It’s you who finally has to pull away, pushing against his chest and then taking both his hands to lead him silent and smiling into your bedroom. Stood at the foot of the bed, you slowly lift his t-shirt till you can’t reach any further and Namjoon has to take over, laughing as he pulls it off the rest of the way and you grab it back, tossing it aside with a roguish grin.  

He looks just as good topless as you remember, and you can’t resist the urge to step forward and show your appreciation for all that gorgeous skin with your mouth.  Fingertips running his waist and down to his stomach, you smear wet kisses along his collarbones and then further south, loving the way his solid chest heaves up and down with the weight of his breaths.  Down and down you go till you’re dropping to your knees and his belt buckle is in your face - an obstacle you make short work of in your impatience to continue the adoration of his flesh - and Namjoon is more happy to let you do just whatever you like.  He runs his fingers through your hair with bated breath as you pull open his trousers and sigh at the sight of him so deliciously thick inside his boxers, pushing against the fabric.  

“So big…” you hum happily as you worship, planting lingering kisses through cotton from the base of his shaft to the very tip.  It twitches in response, already leaking pre-cum that stains light blue navy and tastes salty on your tongue. You push down his trousers as you work him over, feeling his buttocks clench as you hook the waistband of his boxers and then bring those down too, freeing his cock to bob tantalisingly in front of your face, begging to be touched and licked and sucked.  

As you wrap your fist around the girthy base Namjoon’s knees actually buckle - his grip tightening on your hair with the broken moan he lets out, head tipping back.  He’s not the biggest you’ve had but he’s sure as hell the thickest, swollen all the way from base to angry red tip, glossy with arousal. 

You can’t wait to get a taste. 

Pumping him slow, you squeeze out another drop and catch it with the tip your tongue, lapping it up and then dipping right into the slit in search for more - an action that has Namjoon near losing his mind, his eyes wide as he gazes down at you, panting hard.  Holding his gaze, your brace your weight on his thighs as you take him into your mouth, focusing all your attention on the sensitive head until Namjoon’s practically whining with pleasure before taking him deeper, letting his hips instinctively buck his cock further down your throat.  

You gag and Namjoon slurs out apologies, his knees shaking as he tries to pull back for of fear of hurting you, only to have you lunge forward and take it right back, sucking hard and fast and sloppy, gag reflex be damned.  

“S-stop, stop, s-stop,” Namjoon chokes out after no more than what can only have been a few seconds, and when you let him slip from between your lips and look up, concerned, you almost expect him to have changed his mind - to have gotten cold feet at the very last minute.  

Lucky, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  As he tries to catch his breath, Namjoon pulls you to your feet, wiping away the saliva from your chin before crashing his mouth against yours.  He picks you up, squeezing your ass in his palms for the few steps it takes for you to reach the bed that you’re then thrown onto, and you giggle when you realise he’d had his trousers around his ankles the whole way there, only kicking them off when he crawls onto the bed after you.  

Sitting back on his heels, his eager eyes never leave you as you shuffle back against the pillows and rid yourself of your jeans and panties along the way too, pulling them down in one fell swoop.  You beckon him into your arms, completely exposed yet somehow unshy, and Namjoon comes without any hesitation, mouths finding each other as he lies down by your side in a hurry to feel his skin on yours. 

It catches you off guard to suddenly feel Namjoon’s hand on your thigh, lingering for little more than a second before reaching between your legs in search of your heat.  His assertiveness isn’t unwelcome - anything but. As the tips of his fingers meet your wetness, slipping and sliding, you gasp and keen into his kiss, pelvis tilting. Wanting.  Needing.  

“I- I thought this wasn’t something you guys normally do,” you say as Namjoon begins to lavish love into the crook of your neck, nipping at your skin just as he zones in on your clit to make you moan again, grabbing at his bicep.  Whether on purpose or by accident, you can’t tell, but either way, you’re not complaining.  

“We don’t,” he replies the words blowing hot air across your wet skin to make you shiver, “But it’s amazing what you can learn online.”  Your eyes ping open at his words, laughter spilling out of you when you look down and see Namjoon wearing a smile that’s unlike any of the others you’ve seen on him before.  It’s devilish. Sinfull. And you love it.  

The thought of Namjoon having thought about this before - to have wanted to do it so much that he’s researched how - arouses you more than you thought was possible, so wet now that you can feel it sliding down onto the bedsheets, smeared all over the inside of your thighs.  

You’re about to say something more when a finger pressing into you robs you of the ability to speak in anything other than gasps and moans.  Gradually gaining in speed, he slips that long digit back and forth, bolder every time, and whilst Namjoon’s technique isn’t exactly precise, what he lacks in finesse he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he confesses as another of his fingers presses inside, stretching you open, “So beautiful,” but you can hardly hear him because the words are swallowed up by your desperate kiss and the moans that you’re making.  

“Want you.”  Those words are smushed too, barely heard, but Namjoon doesn’t fight you when you start to push on his chest to roll him onto his back and you climb on top.  He looks up at you with nothing but adoration instead, his breath hitching when you take the hand that was between your legs and stick those fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean.  

“Wow…” he murmurs, mouth gaping open but them firmly snapping shut when you lower yourself onto his stomach and begin to rub yourself up and down his cock where it lays leaking, coating it in your arousal.  

“That feel good?” you ask, keeping that hand and linking your fingers where it rests on your hip as you rock back and forth.  

“Mm,” he nods, lips pressed together tight and eyes screwed shut, “Warm.”  

“Yeah?” You’re getting breathless too, jolts of pleasure shocking through you every time your clit catches against his tip, and god, you want it, but you want him to want it just as badly as you do before you give in.  You want his first time to feel so good that he’ll never forget it, and everyone knows that anticipation is half the fun.  

He groans your name, his chest rising heavily, and when he next opens his eyes you notice a bead of sweat running down from his brow, chest glistening with perspiration.  Slipping his hand out of yours, Namjoon takes a hold of your hips and encourages you to rise, waiting until you’re supporting your weight to let go and grip the base of his cock to stand it up straight.  Biting his lip with the effort it takes to hold back, he rubs the head between the lips of your cunt, flexing his pelvis up just enough to make you feel the delicious stretch and burn.

“Can… Can I?”  You nod without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward and bracing yourself with palms planted flat on his chest as you take a breath and start to lower your weight, slowly inching him in.  Namjoon can’t take his eyes off where you’re joined, not until you’ve taken all of him in - moaning his name - and the pleasure gets so much that he’s forced to close them, breathing hard. 

It feels so incredible, being with him like this; so close and so intimate.  Even though you’re starting so slow, rocking your hips gently back and forth with your chest pressed to his, lips locked in an ending series of kisses, you can’t believe how good it feels just to have him inside.  

His hands come to rest on your hips, encouraging the rolling motion of your body, and when you start to pick up pace Namjoon groans his appreciation into your mouth.  The low, rumbling of his chest only spurs you on, and though you loathe leaving his mouth you sit up so you’ve more freedom to move - to ride him just as hard as you desire.  Pressing your hands down on his where they lay on your hips, you grind your pelvis down onto his in figures of eight, and Namjoon is transfixed by the motion, his eyes following every circle while he licks and bites at his lips, hair sticking to his forehead.  

“Can I… can I go faster?” you ask, already out of breath, and Namjoon nods just as quickly as you did earlier, eagerly tugging at your hips.  

You never expected the quiet, thoughtful beneath you to be a vocal lover, and whilst he’s not a dirty talker Namjoon certainly doesn’t hold back in other ways, moaning loudly when you start to bounce up and down on his cock.  Breasts bouncing, it feels so good that it’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you fight to make sure you do. You don’t want to miss a single expression of pleasure that crosses Namjoon’s face, trying to ingrain every second of this into your memory just in case you never get the chance again.  

“A-ah!” you shout when Namjoon’s pelvis unexpectedly bucks up and drives his cock even deeper inside, and for a second he’s worried, body going completely still until gasping, you beg him to do it again.  And again and again and again until you can feel yourself getting close and you can keep your eyes open no longer and you’re so close - so close - so cl-

Namjoon cries out your name, fingertips digging painfully into your hips from the force with which he drags you down onto his cock as he cums, incoherent with pleasure until the pulses die down and his body no longer twitches.  His eyes open wide as he struggles to catch his breath, looking up at you as though he can’t quite understand what it was that just happened, and though you’re obviously disappointed you didn’t get to finish too you can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss him ever so sweet.  

“Feels good, right?” you murmur against his lips, wishing you weren’t still throbbing so badly.  Your cunt is begging you to keep moving - to at least grind your clit down onto his pubic bone until you’re able to meet your end - but you know Namjoon won’t be able to take it.  Not so soon, at least.   

“Amazing,” he sighs softly as you pull away.  He looks entirely fucked out, his hair plastered to his forehead until you reach up to pull it back and plant a kiss there, too, overwhelmed with affection.  “Can you… do that too?” he asks, so adorably nieve, and smiling you nod, resting your chin on your palm.  

“Sometimes.”  Namjoon considers you for a moment, a small crease forming between his brows.  

“Not then?”  For a second, you consider lying to him.  It’s not as though Namjoon would know, but he’s not a prideful man that would take offence if you tell him the truth.  

“No,” you say, “But that’s ok.  No one lasts very long the first time.” 

“But I should make you feel good too,” Namjoon frowns, and before you realise quite what’s happening you’re suddenly rolled off of Namjoon and onto your back and he’s hovering above you with purpose in his eyes - determined.  

In the process of moving some of his cum has dripped out, coating your cunt, and for a moment Namjoon becomes distracted when he looks between your legs.  

“I did this?” he murmurs quietly, running a fingertip through the mess he’s made until it makes you shiver, so sensitive that all the hairs on your arms stand on end.  The sight of his cum oozing out of you seems to spark something in Namjoon - clenches his jaw tight - and with a newfound urgency he comes to hover above you, bracing his weight on one forearm whilst the other hand guides his cock inside your cunt.  

You grab onto his shoulders as the engorged head breaches you, the rest soon to follow, and whine, holding on tight as Namjoon begins to move, rutting into you hard and fast and deep.  

“Like this?” he pants out amongst the sound of skin slapping. “Tell me, show me how.” Blindly, you grab his hand and guide it between your legs, pressing his fingers to your clit in tight, quick circles that make everything feel ten times more intense, accelerating you to the brink of release faster than you ever thought was possible.  

“Like this,” you gasp, letting go to let Namjoon take over and threading your fingers into his hair instead.  He kisses you, hungrily, groaning when you pick your legs up from the bed and coil them around his waist so that he’s able to get even deeper - fuck you even harder.   

“You feel so good.” His mouth travels to your neck, sucking sloppy kisses into your skin. “I never want to stop.”  

“Me too - ahh-ah! - oh my god, Joon!”  You’re reaching your end, eyes screwed up tight as every cell in your body begins to sing, swelling and throbbing and there’s so much heat, so much pressure that you can barely think straight.  

“Show me,” Namjoon grunts, and you’re sure he’s getting close too if the way he’s gritting his teeth is any kind of sign.  “Let me feel you.” 

With Namjoon whispering praises into your ear, it only takes a few more seconds for you to get there.  Crying out, it’s so intense it might feel as though you’re falling if it weren’t for Namjoon holding onto your shaking body so tight, falling with you less than a minute later as he cums again, driven over the edge by the feel of your cunt clenching over and over around him.  

Panting, the two of you lie in an embrace as you recover.  His body is sweaty and he’s heavy but you wouldn’t have it any other way, smiling in content as you gently trail your fingertips up and down his back.  

Breaking the silence, Namjoon looks up with a tentative smile. 

“Did I do it?” he asks, sweet and hopeful; smile growing when you laugh and begin to nod, affectionately patting his butt.  

“You really did,” you confirm, and Namjoon continues smiling brightly even whilst the two of you set about cleaning up and getting comfortable again, side by side under the covers.  

You don’t talk much - too busy smiling and gazing at one another to do anything else - but he sighs happily when you start to run your hands through his hair, knowing it likely won’t be long until he falls asleep.  You’re almost getting there yourself when you suddenly feel something other than hair between your fingertips as you pull them away, opening your eyes in confusion.  

“Joon, your hair...” you say softly, rousing him. “I mean… not your hair but…”  Opening up your hand, you show Namjoon the petals that lie in your palm, small and soft.  This is the first time you’ve ever seen them come loose, and you frown with worry as Namjoon combs his hands through his hair only to come away with more, scattering them across the pillow.  

He sighs, a nervous look in his eyes when they next meet yours.  

“I kind of-” 

“Your eyes!” you exclaim, shifting closer and taking his face into our hands to look at each of them closer.  “They’re not green anymore!”  

And they’re not.  Not at all. Not even hazel; no hint of green in sight amongst the deep chocolate brown his irises.  They’re warm and soft - different and yet somehow familiar - and whilst you loved the startling green they were before, you love this colour all the more.  

“Then it’s done,” he whispers to himself, and your frown deepens even further, confused.  

“What’s done?”  Namjoon hesitates, taking a deep breath before he speaks.  

“When I told you that the changes that were happening to me were to help me… blend in more,” he says, sitting up and drawing his knees up, wrapping his arms long legs, “I wasn’t being completely honest.”  

“What do you mean?” You sit up as well, uncaring that you’re exposed when they duvet falls and pools at your waist - too concerned that Namjoon might be about to tell you something awful, something that might break your heart.  

“It’s not exactly… a temporary thing.  When dryads are away from their trees for too long, or from others of their kind, then, eventually, they lose their powers.  They become… human.”  

You blink, incredulous, trying to process what has just been said.  

“So you’re human now?” Namjoon nods, smiling sheepishly.  Can this really be true? In the time you and Namjoon have spent together he’s told most of the dryad basics; that they have an affinity with flowers and fauna, that they’re grown, rather than born.  That they’re... immortal.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” you near shout, almost hysterical when you realise everything he’s given up by staying here with you - everything he’s lost.  “How could you let me keep you here without saying anything?! If I’d have known I would’ve pushed you hard to find the others! If I’d have known I would’ve-” 

“Exactly,” he interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking deep in your eyes.  “That’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. Because I never wanted to leave.” Namjoon takes advantage of you being lost for words, cupping your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss so full of feeling it not only steals your words but takes your breath away, too.  

“But you-” Another kiss silences you, and when he pulls away Namjoon is smiling kindly.

“I don’t care.”  His thumb brushes against your cheek and you lean into his touch, so confused by the conflicting emotions raging inside you.  Happiness, regret. Love. “I would rather live one mortal life with you than be still stuck inside that tree, watching and wanting you from afar.”  Namjoon kisses you again, his breath shaking when it ends and your foreheads remain pressed.  

“I love you,” he confesses, and now it’s you that can’t stop kissing him, grabbing onto his face and smooshing your lips together with such force and fervour that it pushes him back down onto the bed.  

“I love you too,” you gush between kisses, “So much, Joon.  So much.”  

And the two of you don’t talk too much again after that, too busy losing yourselves in each other’s bodies over again to want to speak - a perfect way to say I love you.  You’re so happy it feels like a dream. Better than that, in fact, and as you start to drift off to sleep in Namjoon’s arms you can only hope what waits for you in your imagination is just as sweet.