#i did this drawing a few weeks ago but i love how mr plant came out

[robby-bobby-tommy]

They do be looking👁👁

[mrs-gucci]

Casting Couch {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I was driving home from work the other day and this idea just suddenly took over my entire thought process. so, naturally, I went ahead and wrote it up :)

warnings (what you see here is what you’ll get!): smut. the enemy of my enemy is my ally (with benefits). p in v sex. protected sex. rough oral sex. cum- swallowing.

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex.

word count: 3.2k

charlie’s taglist peeps! {charlie currently doesn’t have any taglist peeps} my general taglist peeps! @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​  @gildedstarlight​ @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy​ @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1​ @babbushka​ @safarigirlsp​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

Two Years Ago.

“Y/N...she fucking did it again.” Nicole says as she barges through the door of hers and Charlie’s shared brownstone. “She got the fucking TV gig.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow a bit before looking up at his wife with an empathetic expression, setting the notebook and pen he’d been using down on the coffee table.

“Bummer. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He says, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a bit, folding his hands. “There will be other roles; I wouldn’t worry too much. You win some, you lose some; that’s how it goes in this industry. You’ve taken plenty of roles from her.”

She sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I know, but this one I was excited about. And I really thought I had it, too. It just stung a little extra, you know?”

Her husband nods, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “C’mere, sit with me. We’ll have a glass of wine.”

Nicole gives somewhat of a dreadful grimace, a clear sign she really wasn’t interested. Charlie’s been noticing this for the past few months, her disinterest in being with him as much as she usually was, but he figured it was just her being tired. She’s been doing a lot of odd jobs to make some ends meet lately, so it’s probably a result of that.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a twang of longing sadness in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Charlie just nods, picking back up his notebook and pen, continuing to review and add to his notes from the day. 

“Let me know if you need anything.” He calls after her. “I love you.”

She only offers him a small smile over her shoulder in return before emerging into their bedroom, closing the door immediately behind her. 

Present Day.

It feels strange, holding auditions for a female lead. He hasn’t had to do so in almost a decade;  just yet another reminder of how much of his life has changed just in the past year.

The divorce had been painful, stressful, and he was honestly more relieved than anything when it finally came to a close, despite it not really turning out the way he’d hoped for in terms of custody over Henry. 

Luckily, he’s dove deeper into his one true love, directing, as a way to cope with the loss of everything he’d worked so hard to build for himself; the marriage, the 'American dream’ family and home he wished he’d had growing up.

Now, after six months of weekly therapy appointments and keeping himself busy with work, he’s feeling more like the old Charlie he was back before everything went to shit. Actually, he’s feeling like an even better version of that Charlie, the best version of himself there’s been in a while, perhaps even before he met and married Nicole.

The first audition comes onstage and Charlie can’t decide what’s worse, her off-pitch singing or her monotonous speaking voice. 

God, this was going to be a long fucking day.

-

You’d heard through the grapevine that the famed Broadway director had moved here to LA, and that he’d divorced his witch of a wife, Nicole. 

Nicole Barber had been your biggest rival ever since you swiped that first movie role away from her. She hates you, and you don’t particularly like her, either, thus your rivalry began. And it was pretty heated, too; the two of you were always trying to one-up each other.

It really was a back-and-forth battle, her swiping roles from you, you returning the favor; it was a game, to put it simply. Although lately, you’ve been getting more roles than she has, not that you’re complaining, and there’s a part of you that hopes she quits the business for good.

Word got around that Charlie is heading his first LA Broadway production and what better way to hit Nicole close to home than to show up at her ex-husband’s auditions? Even better, what if you got the female lead in her ex-husband’s production? Oh god, that would be fantastic, not only for the rivalry but also for your career.

You’ve been looking to branch out into more theater roles, and this is as good an opportunity as to dip your toe in the theater world water. Plus, you’re not necessarily complaining about having the chance to look at and work with Charlie Barber every day...

So you prepared your piece of dialogue and a section of one of the choice songs, heading over to the theater fifteen minutes before your set audition time. Your knee bounces as you sit in the waiting area, eyes running over your script and lyrics sheet one final time, solidifying it all in your memory.

Your name is called a few minutes later and you head out onto the stage, handing over your headshot and qualifications resume. The agent hands over your profile to the handsome director, but he doesn’t even really look at it, already knowing exactly who you are. A small smirk grazes his lips as he flips to a new page of his notebook, clicking the top of his pen.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Y/N.”

After you’re finished, Charlie scribbles one final thing in his notebook before looking up at you. His eyes trail over your figure for a moment, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would you be comfortable coming back for a more intimate audition later this week? Maybe, Friday at four? I would like to get to know you better, see if you meet all of my... qualifications.”

The look in his eye tells you all you need to know about the true motivations behind his question. You nod, biting your lip.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Mr. Barber.” You purr.

He shifts in his seat suddenly and quickly crosses one leg over the other before opening up your folder, handing the top sheet to his assistant.

“Diane, go ahead and have Miss Y/N put down all of her contact information.” His gaze never leave you as he speaks to the timid-seeming young woman. “Make sure she gives her personal cell number.”

You pull a pen from your bag on the stage, clicking it open before Diane hands you the paper. As you write every means of contact you can think of, starting with your cell number, you playfully bite the end of the pen and tap it against your bottom lip, something that certainly keeps the already attentive director’s full attention.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Barber.” Your tone is innocent-sounding, but your gaze is anything but. It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” A small tug at one corner of his lip accompanies his response. “See you soon, Miss Y/N.”

You offer him a nod.

“Looking forward to it.”

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

In preparation for your upcoming...meeting with Charlie, you take a quick trip to the nearest intimates store, picking up a pretty little lace bra and panty set. Your lingerie wardrobe is long overdue for a bit of sprucing up, anyway.

When the time comes, you slip the fresh lace garments on before putting on your planned outfit, a cute-but-subtly-sexy low cut romper. You put on a light face of makeup, purely for professionalism’s sake, then head out with a small bag which contains various personal items as well as your script and composition page.

He’s not in his backstage office when you arrive, but he comes in a couple minutes later, a strong stench of cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he walks by your chair.

“I apologize for the delay. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

You shake your head as he takes a seat behind the ratty oak desk, shifting a few small stacks of papers around on the heavily scratched surface.

“No, no I wasn’t waiting long.”

He nods, then folds his hands atop the desk, eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, his eyes dart down to where your cleavage creeps out of your low-cut top.

“You’ve got the part.” Charlie says with a small smile. “You’re by far the best and most qualified audition we had yesterday, and I like the way you carry yourself. You’re exactly the type of person I like working with. Part’s yours if you want it.”

You’re overcome with joy, a wide smile spreading itself across your lips. “I’d love to be a part of this production, Mr. Barber. I’m really excited to get to work with you and the rest of the crew.”

“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it.” He nods, smile widening when as he processes your acceptance. His delighted expression falls after a few moments, replaced by one much more salacious.

“Now that we’ve gotten that part out of the way...I think you know why I called a meeting of such, uh, privacy.”

You smirk softly, shifting around in your seat slightly. “I believe I do.”

His feet plant on the ground as he pushes the rolling office chair out from under the desk, standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you. 

“Before anything happens, though, I want you to know that whether or not you do this with me will not affect my casting decision. Even if you decline, you still have the part.”

You nod before standing, quickly and swiftly, stepping forward to press yourself flush against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Your hands rest on his chest, neck craning slightly to look up at him. “Just kiss me, will you?”

He laughs, massive hand moving to cradle the back of your head before he bends down and connects your lips in a passionate kiss. There’s nothing tender or gentle about this embrace, it’s all tongue and teeth, raw lust coursing between your two bodies.

“Couch.” His voice is soft but husky.

“Unzip me first?” You ask, turning around so he can unzip you. He does, then his hands slide down to your hips and pushes you towards the leather couch tucked in the corner of his office.

The material squeaks when you’re laid down on top of it, head resting comfortably on the cushy fabric accent pillow as he climbs on top of you. He presses his hips forward while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses on the skin there.

Your eyes widen as his impressive bulge rubs up against your inner thigh and you quickly wonder how in the world you’ll be able to take him. His crooked teeth scrape over the taut muscles in your neck while his hands pull the backs of your romper down over your shoulders.

His hands grab and grope your breasts beneath where they rest in your nice bra, one you wore just for him, and your back arches slightly up off the cushions with a soft sigh. 

A small smile crosses his expression, teeth sinking gently into your neck. “I like the little noises you make for me, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, running your hands through his hair. “Then I bet you’ll like my moans, too. If you think you can draw them out of me, that is.”

He laughs softly, sucking and licking at at the place his teeth have just abused. “Is that a challenge?”

“Well, it’s more like an invitation to prove yourself, but ‘challenge’ is also a good word for it.”

Charlie pulls away with a smirk, shaking his head as he sits back on his haunches and begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Brat.”

Once he’s undone his pants and pulled them down enough to expose himself to you, he leans down once more and pulls your romper the rest of the way off, leaving you completely bare, minus your undergarments. His eyes roam your figure for a moment before he dips a hand beneath the patch of black fabric nestled between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as his fingertips swipe over your erect clit, giving it a few little circles before yanking the panties off your hips and down your ankles, tossing them down alongside your previously-discarded romper.

His eyes widen in realization, cheeks flushing pink.

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

You smirk, nodding as you sit up and pat his chest. “Indeed, I do.”

He crawls off of you and you walk over to your purse, grabbing a condom from the mini-stash you keep in your wallet, the one you replenished just minutes before you left the house this afternoon. He takes it from you and pinches the tip, rolling it down his shaft. For a moment, you’re worried that it isn’t going to fit, but he rolls it on with little issue.

His hips press forward, then, entering you slowly but steadily with a soft grunt. You whine as your insides stretch out around him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair.  “S-Shit.”

“You’re really fucking tight, jesus.” He growls between gritted teeth, jaw screwed shut as his hips begin to move. “I haven’t fffucked anyone in a while, Y/N, so I can’t guarantee that I’ll last very long.”

You nod, softly. “It’s alright, Charlie; it’s been a little while for muh--me, too.”

Your eyes flutter shut and your face begins to scrunch up with each time his fat cockhead brushes up against your cervix. His pace increases after a minute or so, a consistent slap-slap-slap noise now echoing off the drywall with each snap of his hips. 

“You’ve got a nice little pussy, you know that? Always knew you would be, too, knew you’d be a good little cccocksleeve.”

You moan shakily as he adjusts his position, towering over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. Your body begins to bounce, tits, thighs and tummy jiggling each time he thrusts in. 

He’s starting to sweat, a few dark hairs sticking to his dimly-glowing forehead, more and more accumulating there as his hair rocks back and forth in time with the rhythm of his hips.

“Touch yourself, now, rrrub your little clit.” His voice is getting shaky as he draws nearer to climax.

Nodding, your hand slides down between your joined bodies until your fingertips settle onto the small bundle of nerves. The hand that’s still weaved in Charlie’s locks clenches and he lets out a sudden deep growl, hips stuttering for a moment.

“Ooooh, Charlie.” You moan, hips lifting and gyrating against both his cock and your fingers.

“God, fffuck I love this cunt.” A vulgar squelching sound knits itself within the quilt of your salacious symphony. “Wrapped around my cock like a vice, gonna pull the fucking cum right out of it. Swear you get tighter each time I push back in...christ, I’m not gonna last.”

Your fingers circle your clit faster, setting a desperate pace, one that almost matches his quick and sloppy thrusts. You’re close now, too, and it doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to hit.

You cream around him with a long moan and a string of various other noises, with a few profanities thrown in as well. The product of your release coats his shaft in a pearlescent sheen, dripping down his ball-sack soon enough. 

The sensations your climax creates around Charlie forces him to pull away almost immediately after, quickly yanking the condom off and onto his office floor, squeezing the base of his flaming red length. 

His hand seizes your jaw tightly, thumb pressing down on your tongue, prying your mouth open. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth and shove my cum down your throat, and you’re gonna take it all, isn’t that right?”

You’re nodding instantly, slacking your jaw to open even further in preparation for his upcoming intrusion. He smirks.

“Good. Now, on your knees.”

He sits down where you once laid, lazily pumping his throbbing length as you get into position between his spread legs. He pulls your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, then lines you up with his cock and eases your mouth down onto him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it, oh, gooooood girl.”

You start gagging about three quarters of the way down his shaft, but he still keeps pushing until you’ve got the whole thing in your mouth. Your jaw’s already getting sore as he begins thrusting upwards, fucking your mouth. 

Tears swell in your eyes and begin to spill down your cheeks the more he goes, mascara surely ruined and running down your face. The sight only arouses him further, a low groan rumbling through his puffed chest.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to stave off his orgasm for as long as he can manage, but soon he finds it next to impossible to hold back. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as his length begins to twitch, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--”

You taste and feel the salty ropes shooting down your throat before he can even finish his warning.

“Ah, fffuuuuck.” His head falls back against the couch cushions, hips bucking gently as each bit of release is spilled into your mouth. His grip on your head relaxes after he’s finished, cock softening while he catches his breath and re-grounds himself in reality.

Your chest heaves as full airflow returns to your lungs, knees and jaw aching a bit sore from their exertion. You grab your underwear from where they lay discarded on top of your romper, putting them back on before standing up on somewhat shaky legs. 

Charlie also redresses, standing and straightening himself out as you do the same. 

“Mind zipping me back up?” You ask, turning around again. 

He pulls the zipper up your back until it’s at the end of its tracks, then steps up behind you, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

A soft smile grazes your lips. “No ‘thanks’ needed; the sweet taste of revenge and spite is payment enough.”

He laughs quietly.

“Well, I’ll certainly be available, should you ever need a little replenishing of those feelings.”

“Mr. Barber, you wouldn’t be saying that because you’d like to see me naked again, now would you?” Your eyebrows raise and you look over your shoulder, a playful smile on your face.

He laughs again, blushing a bit. “Uh, yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot. But I’d also like to see you, um...not naked, fully clothed, maybe at a restaurant in the city for dinner sometime? I totally get it if you’re not interested, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to...”

Holy shit, he’s asking you out on a date. Well, he’s trying to, at least.

You laugh, cheeks warming at his proposition.

“Sure thing. I just accepted this new job, though, so I’ll have to get back to you about my availability...”

Charlie smiles, shoving his hands down in his khaki pockets. “I’m sure your new boss would be more than willing to accommodate. He’s a pretty cool guy, or so I’ve heard. Handsome, too.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you have a reliable informant.” You turn around as you laugh softly, grabbing your bag off the chair before stepping up in front of him. Your lips plant a quick peck on his, hands resting on his broad chest. “See you soon.”

He nods, biting his lip to hold back his big, goofy smile.

“Can’t wait.”

[sunflowerstache]

Did You Order a Pizza?

Halloween 2020 is filled with lots of surprises for the Styles family

A/N: Hi lovelies! I hope you had. great Halloween and you're feeling alright these days! This is a one shot following the family from my pic Another World, which you can find here! I hope you enjoy it and I cannot wait to hear all your thoughts!! I love y'all!

Word Count: 7.6k

~~~

“And you’re sure he’s back?”

“You heard him on the phone. He’ll be waiting for Jeff so you’ve got plenty of time while he waits for the man to not show up.” Glenne smiled at you from her spot in the driver’s seat. “Although, I think he’ll like who does show up instead.”

Harry had left for Los Angeles so that he could begin filming a new Olivia Wilde film, leaving you and Bella in London. And as much as you’d have loved to join him on such a monumental step in his career from the start, you were unable to travel with him. Not only were you unable because your daughter was still in school at the time, but because of the pandemic that was still going on throughout the world. It prevented for most of the year’s plans to take place, which absolutely crushed Harry. He was looking forward to Love on Tour and showing his fans how much fun this new era was for him, more than you’d seen from him in a long time, but he would always put the safety of his fans before entertainment, so it was an easy choice to postpone. However, no tour meant that he could gladly accept a leading role in a film alongside some of the most well known actors in the industry.

But it only took you a few days after his departure to find out you couldn’t be so far from him. As fate would have it, Bella’s class was turning into online learning once the half term break ended, which meant one of the most important reasons you were still in London had vanished. So, after spending two weeks quarantining and making sure you took all the necessary precautions, both you and Bella got tested and flew to the states with your negative results. From the start, you had told Jeff of your plan and he and Glenne gladly welcomed you into their home once you arrived, wanting to spend time with Bella for a few days after going so long not seeing the toddler. And finally, once you got the negative results of yet another test, you and your daughter were off to stay with Harry.

Jeff had spoken with your boyfriend over FaceTime earlier that morning, feeding Harry some story about needing to solidify some merch designs, and making sure that Harry would be patiently waiting for his manager after he finished filming for the day. But the plan was to have Glenn drive Jeff’s car so he suspected nothing seeing it pull up, and surprise him when it was you and Bella getting out the car instead of the oldest Azoff son.

“I can’t wait.” you groaned out through the grin taking over your face. You bounced in your seat slightly, pressing both hands to your cheeks just thinking about seeing his shocked face when he opened the door expecting Jeff, but seeing you and Bella instead.

“What?” The question was brought up after a soft chuckle was heard from Glenne’s side of the car as soon as you were halted at a stoplight.

“Nothing. It’s just cute how excited you are to see him after being apart for what, a month?”

“27 days.” you whispered, urging yourself to force down a smile. “But who’s counting?”

“You guys have been together nearly a decade, and you still get all flustered when you talk about him.”

The way you and Harry acted around one another was something that was always commented on by people in your inner circle, for that exact reason. Without a doubt, your relationship had gone through some of the toughest times, but that was bound to happen when you’ve been with someone since you were sixteen… and even more likely when every moment of your life was documented to the public. But those tough times never seemed to last, because at the end of the day, Harry was everything you ever wanted and vise versa. He was what you daydreamed about in a partner while growing up. And being with him was like being with the sun. He made you feel loved and cared for, you had more fun with him than anyone else on the planet, and every single day with him felt like a new adventure. As a kid, you’d thought the way people described the love of their life was corny, nothing but a thing of fairy tales, yet that feeling that bloomed inside your chest and tummy every time you thought about Harry told you that it was very real.

“Dunno.” you shrugged, “He’s my person. Even seven and half years later, he still makes me feel like he did on our first date.”

“That what’s got you looking extra glowy or is that just another secret to staying in the honeymoon phase forever?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you replied quickly, finding it hard to keep the giddy feeling that was now bubbling in your lower stomach under control when you turned your head to meet her gaze. She was squinting at you with suspicious eyes, her lips pursed as she bit the inside of her cheek, which forced a laugh to fall from you. “What? I don’t! Just miss him, that’s all. Isn’t that right baby? We just missed daddy loads, huh?” making sure to quickly take the attention away from yourself, you turned as much as you could in your seat to look at Bella in the back.

“Yes! I miss daddy so much!” her little legs kicked against the carseat and her arms lifted high above her head, a huge smile plastered on her face. “I have so many drawings and stickers to show him and Mr. Jeff got new socks!”

“I know, we got them all tucked away nice and safe so you can show him. Do you remember what the plan is when we get there?” you asked her, your breath getting caught in your throat for a moment when the sun shined just right through the rear window. It was a perfect day in LA, sunny and warm and just as the car pulled onto the street you knew was where Harry was staying, the sunlight danced across Bella’s perfect complexion. She was a spitting image of her father, down to the freckles dotting her face, the deep set dimples that never seemed to disappear, and the curls constantly falling in front of her face no matter how hard you tried to keep them tamed. Every now and again you caught a glimpse, sometimes through the kitchen window while she was playing in the backyard and other times while her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she slept on your chest, of just how breathtaking Bella is. What angelic beauty the love between you and Harry had managed to create.

“Yeah mumma!” she smiled, giving you two thumbs up, very clearly excited about getting to see her dad again. “You ‘member my costume, right mumma?”

“Of course I did. Put it in the bag right next to mine.”

“Good. ‘Cause ‘m really ‘cited about it.”

“I know baby. It’s a good one, isn’t it?” you knew Harry would get a kick out of what Bella decided to be for Halloween. She had come to you months ago, actually sat you down in the kitchen and explained what she wanted to do like she was in a little business meeting. And of course as soon as she told you, you had to laugh because it was perfect.

“Yeah.”

Her whisper was the last thing said within the confines of the car before the three of you pulled up in front of a beautiful white house nestled deep in the Hollywood Hills. It was much smaller than the house the pair of you had just sold just blocks away, but everything about it was so much homier. A brick walkway sandwiched between a line of shrubbery and a white stone wall led up to the house, which itself was an odd shape. The very front of the house came up to an asymmetrical point instead of a typical flat roof, and the rest of the house was pushed back slightly, so that none of the face was level, and the house almost seemed cut in half horizontally from the distinct line between white stone bottom and black paneling on the upper level of the home. Finally, a brick downhill driveway, made of the same brick as the walkway, led to an all black garage that sat just below the rest of the home. The small details is what made the building give off such a cozy vibe; a vibrant green front door, plant boxes hanging off a few of the upper windows, a black wooden archway and lanterns surrounding the front door, a few potted plants on the side of the walkway, and the faint golden hues peaking through the closed blinds.

“Cute, huh?” Glenne laughed, putting the car in park and turning fully in her seat to look at you.

“Yeah, it actually really is. Reminds me a bit of our old place.”

“Place in London, right? That’s what I told Jeff.” she said at the same time, looking behind her at Bella while you got out of the car. “You ready to go, tulip?”

“Yes please!”

Her hands were already fumbling with the seat belt by the time you opened her door, the excitement itching at her in preparation for what was to come, but she graciously waited for you to sort her out.

“Thank you mumma.” she muttered casually once you had her unbuckled and lifted into your arms.

“You’re welcome, baby.” the way Bella was the most polite little girl you had ever known never failed to make your heart soar. You and Harry were so proud of the person she was becoming, whether she was that way because she saw how everyone in her life acted or because she was born with the kindest little soul, it didn’t matter. She always made sure the people around her were happy and having fun, constantly reminding people how much she loves them, and trying her hardest to make everyone laugh. It was yet another way she reminded you of Harry; they both could instantly light up a room without even trying. “Just gotta ring the bell, right? Say your line?”

“You got it, mumma!” she smiled brightly, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

Nearly the instant you put her down, she darted up the brick steps, taking a full pause at each step to be her funny self and jump, with both feet together, up to the next one. As she made her way towards the front door, you took your place leaning against the passenger door of Glenne’s car, nearly doubling over in laughter watching Bella look hysterical lifting up on her very tiptoes in order to reach the unusually high doorbell.

Your breath caught in your throat as you waited for Harry to open the front door. For a minute, you were sure that he had ignored Jeff’s instructions to stay home, but to your relief, the green door finally opened, revealing a very comfortable looking Harry. He was very obviously post shower, his hair visibly wet and sparkling when the porch lights lit up his form, clad in a pair of black basketball shorts and one of his grey Treat People With Kindness hoodies, and nothing else but a tall pair of Nike socks. It was like a scene from a movie, because when he didn’t immediately see Jeff in front of him, Harry looked over towards the driveway quickly like he was being pranked. But within a second, his attention was brought down to Bella, who tugged on the hem of his shorts, her sweet voice barely audible from the distance.

“Did you get a pizza?”

It was comical to watch him just stare at her like she had three heads. You couldn’t blame him, last he knew, both you and Bella were five thousand miles away, so it made sense that his brain was not comprehending the scene in front of him.

“He’s so confused.” Glenne giggled behind you, but her voice seemed like it was muted with how fully your focus was on your boyfriend.

“Hmm.”

Not even a second after your hum of agreement, and as if it was in slow motion, you watched as realization glossed over his features, his green eyes widening and mouth hanging open, and he sank to his knees. It didn’t take him even a second to pull Bella into his chest, winding his arms completely around her tiny frame and cradling her head in his surprisingly ring free hands.

Seeing the two of them together was like looking at two halves of the same soul reconnect. The moment they were in one another’s arms, it was like everything got brighter. Their smiles widened, chuckles more audible - even from such a far distance, and the warmth that typically lived in your chest recently, burned even warmer. You always knew Harry was meant to be a dad, just from how much he talked about it. You knew that he would do his very best to go above and beyond for his child, to make sure they felt loved and secure and treasured. But hearing about it and seeing it are completely different. Seeing nothing but total adoration on his face whenever he looked at your daughter made you fall in love with him all over again.

“Mumma!” Bella’s shouted, snapping you out of the daze you had slipped into while watching the moment before you. Both Harry and Bella were now looking at you from the doorway, her head resting on her father’s shoulder as he held her in one arm, their faces totally engulfed with smiles. “C’mere Mumma!”

“Yeah mumma.” Harry finally spoke up, his voice carrying down the pathway right to where you were standing.”C’mere.” Just seeing him standing there, smiling so brightly and holding his free arm out telling you he was waiting for a hug, was enough to make you break out in a smile and push off the car, dashing up the steps.

His chest was firm when you crashed into it, much firmer than when you hugged him goodbye in the airport a few weeks ago, and you felt as if you head placement on his chest was different - like he’d grown since you last saw him. Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all but your mind was finally coming out of a month long fog that it slipped in without him, getting readjusted to being in his arms.

“Hi sweetheart.” he whispered in your ear, peppering kisses all along your hairline and temple like he physically couldn’t leave an inch of the side of your face untouched.  

“Hi baby.”

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, pure wonder in his tone as he nudged the side of your face with his chin, making you lift your head from his chest and look at him. “I just talked to you this morning, said you were going to see your parents before everything got locked down again.”

“Yeah, well. I lied.” you smiled, leaning in to press kiss after kiss to his lips, trying your best to control the insane happiness rushing through your veins. Your response seemed to be enough for him, because he didn’t ask another question wondering why you were in LA. Which was good for you because your plan wasn’t to explain everything on the front porch.

The three of you stayed frozen in that same position, Harry’s arm so tight around you that your face was completely buried in his hoodie, and the other arm holding Bella, forming a makeshift group hug, not bothering to worry about anyone seeing you or anything going on past the wooden archway. Because nothing else mattered. Not when you were with the two people who made your world spin.

“Daddy.” Bella’s timid voice finally broke you apart, both you and Harry leaning back a bit so that you could put your full attention on the little girl in his arms.

“Yes lovie?”

“I lied too.”

“What did you lie about?”

She lifted her head from his shoulder in order to look at him with a very concerned expression, like she felt deeply sorry for whatever she was about to say to him. “I don’t have a pizza. ‘M sorry. Mumma told me it was funny.”

“Oh did she now?” Harry mocked in offence, looking back at you and raising his eyebrows.

“Mhm. But it wasn’t, ‘cause we don’t have any.”

“That’s right. But sometimes it’s okay to say something silly like that and not feel bad as long as it’s not something to hurt anyone, right? And daddy isn’t mad. How about you mumma?” Harry looked to you, trying not to smile at how adorable Bella was about the little fib. You shook your head.

“Not at all.”

“And what about you, B.B? Are you sad you told daddy there was pizza?”

She contemplated it for a bit, scrunching her nose up - again, just like her father - and looking around like the answer would be hanging in the air somewhere. “Yeah.” she said matter of factly. “But ‘cause I want pizza. And we don’t have any.”

Both you and Harry couldn’t help the laughs that fell from your lips, wasting no time before leaning forward to press a kiss to Bella’s forehead. “How about we get some then?” he asked against her skin, glancing at you when saying his next bit. “We’ll get your bags from the car and order one?”

“Oh god!” you yelled, turning around to face the car from which you’d just ran from. “Completely forgot Glenne was sitting in there! She’s probably been texting Jeff about how annoying we are.”

“Annoyingly adorable, yeah.”

“Think she’d fight you on that one. Nearly made her sick on the drive here with how excited I was to see you.” your laugh was muffled as Harry wrapped his arm back around your neck, dragging you in a headlock down the first step towards the car. Bella, knowing that it was time to bring in the bags, wiggled out of Harry’s grasp and sprinted down the steps ahead of you, right into the arms of a now out and about Glenne.

“Everything’s alright?” Harry’s voice was laced with concern now that your little one was out of ear shot. You both tried your hardest to never have any sort of talk about negative things around her, whether that be an argument or things going on in life, because she should never have to be put through the stress of that. Most of the time you just waited until she was asleep to talk about those things, but sometimes it meant going into different rooms and closing the doors.

“Hmm?”

“Everything’s alright, right? You didn’t come all the way out here because something’s wrong, did you?” quickly forgotten was your position in a headlock, and instead, Harry kept his arm around your neck, your body fitting perfectly tucked into his side. You walked step by step to meet your friend and daughter, who already started pulling suitcases out of the boot.

You took a peek up to him, noticing he was already glancing down at you, his eyes roaming all over your face to look for any sign of distress that he may have missed when he first saw you. But you had none to offer him. “Yeah baby, everything’s okay. Just needed to be with you.”

“Swear? You’d tell me if there was something?”

“Of course I would. Always.”

“Alright, professor. But if I find out you were hiding something, I’ll have to write a diss track.”

“Oh will you now?”

“Mhm. Thems the rules.”

Glenne spent a bit of time with the three of you before heading off, telling you to enjoy your time together and even throwing in a little joke about maybe even making a new baby since she missed how little Bella used to be. The comment made your ears warm and a weird feeling flutter through your stomach, but she gave you no time to respond before she shuffled out the door.

Since arriving at Harry’s, Bella practically refused to leave his arms, wanting to be as close to him as possible until she really realized that no one was going anywhere for quite a bit. And her thoughts must have quieted enough because not even twenty minutes after Glenne walked out the front door, Bella was running through the house towards one of the extra rooms she’d be sleeping in.

“Mumma! Come help me! We gotta show daddy!” her already soft voice was even soft as she yelled from the second floor, her request forcing you to get up from the sofa.

“What are we showing me?”

“She’s really proud of her Halloween costume this year. Spent weeks planning it out, you know?”

“I know. She wouldn’t budge anytime I asked her. Very secretive that one.”

“Hmm, wonder where she gets that from?” you sang while walking up the stairs, letting out a snort when you saw him lift a middle finger to you from his position still on the sofa, not even bothering to turn around to look at you as you continued towards your daughter.

“Alright baby, I’m here! Where do you want me?” you clapped, entering Bella’s room in a way that mimicked that of Harry Lambert, something that you knew she’d recognize right away from the amount of times she’s seen her parents being helped by the stylist.

“Over here, mumma. Gotta help me button!” she had already rid herself of the clothes she’d been wearing on the drive to Harry’s, the green long sleeve shirt and jeans laid in a crumpled mess at the foot of the bed while she stood in just her knickers, searching through the small suitcase on her bed for all the pieces to her costume.

You took a seat on the floor next to where she was standing, watching her every move as she finally found everything she was looking for. Her tongue stuck out while she took the fabric between her fingers and gently held it in her hands - taking a moment to look at it in awe - before turning and holding it out to you, expectantly.

“Gotta be careful with it, mumma.”

“Oh I know. They’re really delicate, aren’t they?”

“Mhm. Reedy told me to be gentle with ‘em ‘cause they were made with extra love so they’re extra soft.”

“Oh that’s perfect! They’ll be on for quite a while so it’s good that it’s all comfortable.”

“Yep.”

You look notice of how long her hair had grown while zipping up the back of her shirt, the curls continuously falling against your fingers despite being held over her shoulder by Bella. You knew well enough even before she was born that she was going to have gorgeous hair, all it took was one look at the locks cascading from her father to tell you that, but it seemed to grow even more mesmerizing by the day. It fell loose past her shoulders every day, always managing to fall in front of her eyes while she was sprawled out on the floor playing. Even though you did enjoy how cute she looked pushing the crazy curls out of her face while her little tongue stuck out, you knew it was time for a trim soon.

“Are you wanting a haircut soon?” you asked while zipping her pants as well.

“Hmm, I don’t think so. I like it long.”

“How about we see if we can get rid of some of these dry bits at least?”

Bella thought about it for a bit, picking at her nails while mulling over the idea of going back to the salon. “Yeah, I think that’s fine.”

“Alright, we’ll see about making an appointment when we get back home. Gives you some time to think it over.”

“Okay! Y’almost done mumma? ‘M excited.” she bounced in place, trying her best not to move so that you could finish getting her ready as fast as possible.

“All set!” you checked, reaching up to grab her hair out of her grasp and let it fall down her back. “Just put the jacket on and you’re all set to show daddy.”

“He’s gonna be so happy I know it!” she squealed, carefully picking up and putting on the final part to her costume and turning to look in the floor length mirror. Bella didn’t say anything for a minute, taking the time to examine herself in the mirror. She smoothed the fabric covering her torso, lifted her feet in order to see the little pair of boots, and had one of the largest smiles you’d ever seen on her. “I look so good!”

“You do, lovie! Award winning I’d say.”

“Thank you for helping! Lets go!!” she yelled, darting towards the door and only stopping at the top of the stairs when you called for her, reminding her to be careful by the steps. The two of you quickly discussed your plan before departing ways, leaving Bella a bouncing mess just above you as you walked down to the light switch at the bottom of the steps.

Flicking all the lights off, you cleared your throat and waited for Harry, who had gotten up off the sofa upon hearing your descending footsteps and was now leaning against the back of the furniture, his bum resting just on top of the back, to give you his full attention. Although the lights were off, it was still early enough in the evening that light showed through the windows, allowing you to see his face and make sure Bella got down the stairs safely.

“You all know him as 2013’s Teen Choice Male Hottie -”

“Also 2016.” Harry cut in, trying and failing to stifle his chuckle

“Also 2016’s” you added, “and lead roles in Award Winning pictures such as This Is Us and iCarly.” at this point, it was obvious what was happening and you could tell Harry was fully on board with what was about to walk down the stairs. But he was also so excited. He no longer was leaning against the sofa, but now standing upright and his hands were pressed together in a praying position in front of his mouth. “Introducing, the incredibly talented, musically gifted, style icon of the decade, Mr. Harry Edward Styles!”

The second you saw that Bella made it safely to the ground next to you, you flicked on the dim lights that just illuminated the staircase, showering your daughter in the closest thing you could get to a spotlight. She was standing in Harry’s signature position; bent forward slightly with one hand held in a peace sign while the other dangled loosely by her side and mouth open wide. Harris Reed had taken the time to make Bella a nearly exact replica of the white and black floral suit Harry had worn to the 2015 AMA’s - the suit that really started it all when it came to Styles’ fashion. Her curls were hanging past her shoulders just like Harry’s were at the time, and for good measure, she even lifted her hand to push some out of her face exactly like he used to.

She was a spitting image of Harry. And he loved it.

“Oh my god! You’re kidding! You look fantastic! Gonna put me out of a job! I won’t even need to go on stage anymore. This is amazing!” he screeched, rushing forwards and couching down in front of his daughter. He took in every last detail of the outfit; how the under shirt had buttons but did not open from the front (something Harris thought would be easier for Bella to get in and out of), how the floral detail was exactly the same as the one he had hanging in his closet back home (Reed had asked Alessandro for the fabric), and how even the shoes were a near replica.

“Mhm. I can sing next time. I’ll go up and sing to your friends and you can sit and watch and talk to Mitchy.” she nodded, taking a step back and belting out ‘You’re so Golden!’ “See? Like that!”

Harry beamed. “Absolutely! Give me a nice break every now and again, very thoughtful. We’ll just have to change your bedtime and it’s all set!”

“You like it, daddy?” she asked, her eyes wide as she moved right in front of Harry, her hands grasping the hood of his hoodie and she looked directly into his eyes.

“I love it - and you - more than there are stars in the sky!” Harry responded without hesitation, grabbing her and lifting her into his arms, swinging Bella around quickly enough to let a few giggles. “Thank you very much, beautiful, it makes me very happy.”

“Can’t believe you wanted to be your smelly old dad.” he joked when she pushed against his chest to look at him, “See me everyday, why’d you wanna dress up like me too?

“‘Cause you dress the best, daddy!”

“Ohhhh hear that, love?” he turned to look directly at you, Bella now hiding her face in her hands in embarrassment on saying her dad dressed better than her mum. “I’m the best dressed.” Harry stuck his tongue out at you.

The reaction from Harry was everything Bella was expecting and more. So much so that she could no longer fight the exhaustion of the hectic day any longer. She barely made it five minutes in Harry’s arms before finally passing out. In the coming December, she’d be turning five and you were trying to start and wean her off of taking long naps, but after such an energetic day you welcomed the time for her to rest. She put up a fight getting out of Harry’s arms, the arm she had shoved into Harry’s hood in order to thread her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, tightened each time he tried to pull her away to lay her in bed. Like even in her unconscious state she wanted to know that seeing Harry again wasn’t a figment of her imagination.

It was heavenly to be back with Harry. Even though you had only been apart for such a short amount of time, there was so much to catch up on, and you would never get tired of hearing about everything going on in his life.

“And they used this stuff called Dermacol, and I swear, she swiped over it once and the anchor was gone. Bloody insane seeing it all bare. Hasn’t been that year in years.” Harry laughed, finishing his story of how his first few days on set had gone, the two of you laying in his bed while you waited for the pizza you ordered while he put Bella down for a nap.

“Don’t wash it off tomorrow. I want to see.” you tilted your head back so that it was resting on Harry’s shoulder, in order to look at him. He was sitting behind you, his back pressed against the headboard while you were nestled between his legs, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him again. “Forget what you look like without any ink.”

“Like them though, right?”

“Of course I do. Think they’re very hot.”

He didn’t say anything for a bit, just let his fingers dance up and down your arms, clearly lost in thought. “I wish you could come to set. See everything and everyone.” he finally spoke.

“I know. I just don’t want to chance anything you know? We just traveled and I know we got tested, but I don’t want to unknowingly bring anything to anyone. Maybe soon, once we’ve been here for a bit. But for now, I’d rather just hear all your stories and FaceTime than anything happen to anyone.”

“What time is your call time tomorrow?” you added when he only hummed in response.

“6:45. Car will probably come by around 6 and I should be back near 2. Have a bit of a short day tomorrow.”

“No rush.”

“Yes rush. I wanna be with you both. Missed you loads, ya know? Only gone for a few weeks but I was going mad. Don’t think we should separate for a while.” his voice was soft as his neck strained forward in order to press loving kisses to the soft skin where your neck met your shoulder.

Since the moment you met Harry a decade ago, it was obvious he always knew what to say. He had a knack for spewing out the words you most needed to hear exactly when you needed to hear them. Whether it was comforting your stage fright, in an argument about tv or film characters, helping you pick out outfits, discussing your relationship, or talking about the future, you both seemed to be on the same wavelength. It made life with him so much easier, because you knew that he understood you. You knew that no matter what happened, he would support you and love you. And that’s all you needed.

So you decided finally, after the pit of anxiety in your stomach grew and grew all day, that it was finally time.

“Pretty good you feel that way. ‘Cause I wasn’t exactly sure how to tell you that you’re kind of stuck with me. At least for another fourteen years.”

“Hmm. Want more than that.”

Taking a deep breath, hands shaking and mind running a mile a minute, you asked; “How about another eighteen after that?”

But your nerves were all for nothing because the comment flew right over Harry’s head. Completely missed the point of why you used that specific amount of time and was more focused on giving your middle a tight squeeze - his arms moving from their place at your side to around your stomach.

“Mhm. Even longer than that.”

The words brought an image to mind, one you found yourself thinking about a lot the last couple weeks. One of you and Harry sitting in the living room in your home, talking to your grown children while your grandchildren ran around you happily, doing their best to animatedly explain ways of the world you just couldn’t comprehend. And the pure glee you felt being surrounded by such a beautiful family, one that you created with Harry. But you knew it wasn’t just some fantasy you would dream about. It was something that you would one day get to experience, and that excitement pushed you over the edge.

“You’re stuck with me forever, baby.” you hummed, sinking further into his hold. “But for five seconds, I need you to leave me so you can grab me a Tums.” the anxiety nerves reared their head yet again, knowing there was no missing the punchline this time.

Concern instantly flooded his voice, taking you by the shoulders and moving you away from his chest and to the right so he could look at your face. “Why? You feeling alright? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t help but simple sweetly at his concern, lifting a hand to rest it on his smoothly clean shaven cheek. “Yeah. You know how I get after flying. Do you mind just grabbing the Tums from my bag?” you asked again, hoping he couldn’t hear or feel the uptick in your breathing.

“You mean one of the nine hundred bags you brought?” Harry joked but still carefully slid out from behind you in order to get whatever you needed.

“Hey, we’re gonna be here a while. I need options.” Because of Covid, the UK was heading into yet another lockdown at the start of November, lasting until the first week of December so for now, so for now, you knew you and Bella would be spending at least a month with Harry in Los Angeles.

“Can take any of my clothes.” he grinned, turning around to face the bed again and bent down to kiss the tip of your nose. “Y’know I love when you wear my clothes.”

“Oi! Say that again but let me record it! If that’s the case, I never want to hear you complain about missing clothes ever again!”

“I said I like you wearing them, not keeping them hidden away for me to find three years later.” he laughed at the memory of his favorite blue hawaiian shirt going missing after getting back from Jamaica, only for it to be found in the back of your closet when moving a few months ago. His voice got quieter the farther he walked from the bed, the confines of the walk in closet filled with his clothes muffling the words towards the end of his sentence.

“Alright, but remember how excited you were to find it after so long? Like Christmas in the summer!”

“‘S’that what’s gonna start happening? You just stealing things I haven’t looked at in years and regifting them?”

“Lord knows you don’t need any more things laying around. Probably wouldn’t even notice anything being gone.” it was true. Over the years, Harry had gathered a very large collection of… things. Everything from clothes to lockets to key cards from hotels, and being in the career he is, he can afford to have it all. But even you had to say he had more than he knew what to do with most of the time, to which he always had some sort of rebuttal for.

But this time, it never came.

This time, you were met with silence from inside the closet, and you had no control over the way your hands began shaking. There were so many different kinds of silence; one of anger, of shock, nervousness, confusion, but any of those were a rarity when it came to Harry. He was someone who always had something to say, despite the emotions running through him. Silence was never really his thing, hell he even said so in a song, so the ideas of what could be running through his head started to eat you alive.

After waiting a few minutes and still receiving no sound of life from the smaller room, you began to get worried. Obviously nothing had happened to him while you were sitting feet away, but what was happening in there? Did he have a heart attack as soon as saw what you had laid out on top of your suitcase when he was ordering food? Did he fall and hit his head? Was he trying to find a good way to break up with you? No, he wouldn’t do that, you knew he wouldn’t do that. But before you could fully get off of the bed to check on him, he slowly sauntered out of the room, staring down at the piece of black fabric gripped tightly in his hands, and you halted in your spot - sitting up right on the side of his bed with your feet dangling off the side.

“Wha - what is this?” his whisper was so unbelievably low, you were surprised you could make out any of the words.

“What do you think it is?” you replied, your voice equally as loud so not to spook him while he was in such a clear state of shock.

“I - I don’t know.”

He still had taken his eyes off of the material in his hands, looking at it like it held every secret unknown to man somewhere within its seams.

“I think you do know.”

Finally, Harry lifted his head in order to look at you. And you felt your eyes water as soon as he did. The rims of his eyes and nose were a deep red, the kind of red you get when trying desperately to hold in sobs. His eyes were a brighter shade of green as more and more tears obstructed his vision, and now that you looked at him properly, his entire body seemed to be shaking.

“If this is a joke, it’s really fucking mean.” he choked out, putting all of his effort into holding back his cries. “Please don’t joke about this.”

As hard as he was trying not to let his tears flow, you were beyond the point of no return. Your cheeks were stained with tears, old dried ones leaving tracks for the new ones to flow freely down, and the lump in your throat prevented you from speaking as loud and confidently as you would have liked.

“It’s not a joke, Harry.” you shook your head, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands.

“No?”

“No.”

Harry went back to not saying anything, glancing between you and the black in his hand, not knowing which held more important information. You could see the inner struggle he was having trying to comprehend what was happening, and you wanted to get up and yell it to him. But he needed to go through whatever emotions he needed to, at his own pace.

So you waited for him to do just that.

“So you - you’re pregnant?” he finally sighed, the question making the corners of his lips lift ever so slightly that you would have missed it if you weren’t watching every inch of his face like a hawk. Holding back his tears was long gone as they now flowed down his cleanly shaven cheeks.

“I’m pregnant.” you smiled, the words coming out in one whoosh of air.

So fast that you didn’t understand how he did it, the black shirt - that at first glance was a replica of the logo for the film The Godfather, but when taking a double take, could be found to read The Twinfather instead - was laying in a pile on the floor in front of the closet door and Harry was laying on top of you. Now on your back with Harry hovering above you, both of his forearms on either side of your head, you could fully see the overwhelming joy swimming in his eyes. The last time you had seen this exact look was the day Bella was born. Like within his mind, he was watching the entire world unfold with endless possibilities and unfathomable love.

Harry didn’t let you say anything before he was pressing kisses to your lips, both of your tears making the experience feel a bit slippery as they blended together on your skin. But nothing could make the moment anything less than perfect. Harry’s warmth covered you like a blanket, completely consuming you within the personal bubble that had formed around you on the bed. His lips moved against your with determination, but also care and gratitude, the vaguely strawberry flavored lip balm he was wearing smeared against your own lips, letting the memory of this moment linger for hours to come.

“You’re really pregnant?” Harry asked, his excitement taking over once he pulled back from the kiss.

“Yeah baby,’m pregnant.”

“And is it? It’s - it’s twins? Are you sure? How do you know?” although you knew he would always be there with and for you during all of this, it was reassuring to see him be so ecstatic about the new addition to your family.

“When B and I went to get our Covid tests, the lady asked me if there was a chance I could be pregnant, and - and I couldn’t give her a confident no. So I called Dr. Kelter to see if I could get an appointment before we left and she took me the same day.” your smile grew as you watched him hold on to your every word, wanting to know every single detail you had to give him.

“And she told you it was twins?”

“Yeah. Said she could see them both right away since they can see twins so early. Said ‘m about eleven weeks.” the tears returned to your eyes when you thought about being pregnant again, how much your life was going to change and the excitement that was about to be brought into your lives.

Obviously Harry was feeling the same before he let out another sob, this time his upper half falling onto your chest and burying his face in your neck, his lower body seeming to unconsciously stay away from crushing your belly.

“I love you so fucking much.” he whispered, and you could feel the ever so gentle peck of his lips against your skin. “So fucking much.”

“I love you, Harry.” you whispered back.

“Who knows?” he asked, undoubtedly thinking back to when you were pregnant with Bella and everyone in your lives seemed to know before he did. Something you regretted, but was necessary at the time.

“No one. Just you and me. Want to do everything with you this time.” not wanting to ruin the moment, but also wanting to be realistic for a moment in your clouded minds, you took a second to figure out how to say the concerns that were rushing through your mind at a mile a minute. “I know things are crazy right now and the world is scary and we’re both so busy, but we said if it happened, it happened.”

Harry was pushed up on his forearm in an instant, his other hand cupping your cheek in order to drag your attention to him. He was positively glowing. How only a second ago he was standing pale faced in the closet doorway was beyond you, because now, it was like the sun shined behind his irises.

“I have never been happier in my entire life. We’ll figure it all out together. Like we always do.”

[crazyclownthanos]

Silence

Helloo my sunshine’s!!! so it’s either yamichar, or black clover week 2021 and i couldn’t really make up my mind so why not label this story as contribution to both :p

• • •

Something undeniable, something extraordinary, something that always managed her calm down.

People say that the blue sky would calm them down. This wasn’t in Charlotte’s case at all. It was the rain that calmed her down. Hearing raindrops fall from the sky before coming into touch with the ground always amused her in a way nobody could understand, well not nobody, Yami Sukihero was that somebody who would understand why the rain would always calm Charlotte down.

A few months after Hikari’s birth Charlotte hadn’t been sleeping for days, it was all an emotional rollercoaster for her, nonetheless she was grateful towards her squad, and Yami’s for being so considerate and offering their help.

the memories came all flushing back. The elf invasion. The Spade war. Traveling to his home country felt like it all happened not so long ago.

“Charlotte?”

She hadn’t notice her husband tapping her on the shoulder for the past few minutes. Holding her leg up as she sit comfortably in her short night dress and, he only suited a robe while a cigarette continued to sit in his mouth.

“Dear what did I say smoking about in the house?”

“Y’know haven’t been smoking since you pushed Hikari out, you have to give me kudos for that.”

He placed the tea tray on the coffee table prior to him stretching his arms out in the meantime wrapping an arm around his wife and pulling her in for kiss, to which she gladly replied with a press of her own.

“Your lucky that I love you.”

“And you should be lucky that our daughter has my lovely genes.” Yami let out a chuckle while she merely sighed. Picking her saucer up she was going to blow the steam away ante to Yami taking the saucer out of her hands and blowing the steam away himself then giving it back to her.

“Yami I really appreciate this, but you don’t always have to gestures as such as these.” She replied more softly.

“I know. But you held pride and joy in for nine months, it’s only best I treat my prickly princess, like a prickly queen.”

Hearing the nickname he once used back when they were in their late 20s made the entirety of her face become a crimson mess.

Blowing the steam away from his tea cup he took a sip, to what he hummed very positive

“Gotta give it to you Charlotte, you mom buys some heck of a tea.”

“She’s been the same tea since she’s had me, so after I had Hikari I thought why not carry the tradition?”

“Very thoughtful of you dear.” He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Y-Your tense, aren’t you.”

Yami replied by raising his eyebrow.

“How so?”

Ever since the new emerged nine months that she was pregnant she immediately demanded Yami to teach her to read Ki in case of someone harming her baby. Wasn’t as fast as how Asta learned it, more or less.

“Well…” He sighed as he pushed his hair back.

“I’m worried about those dumb idiots.”

She shrugged before opening her mouth. “Dear I’m sure Hikari is fine with them.”

“Not my point. It’s about who will be the captain after the kid.”

Facing him now she looked kinda star-stuck…?!

“How so? Shouldn’t that be Asta’s choice.”

“You’ve seen the kid before Charlotte, he’s a complete nuisance…and I felt responsible as the founder to have some say.”

Yami?! Responsible?! Those two words aren’t synonyms that for sure.

“Well.”

Slipping her slender through his arm to firmly place her hand into his.

“That’s not my call to make at all, you need to step up as a captain and make that call, who will have guts, to have self-determination, and have the ability to bring your squad to their full potential.”

“Tsk. The only person you draw to with those qualities isn’t even a member of my squad.”

“Who is it then?”

“That happy-go-lucky clover elite with the dragon magic, I’m giving myself a headache.”

Listening to Yami complaining about a headache made her laugh.

“Push past your limits Mr Roselei I’m sure you’ll remember eventually.” It was her turnt to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Hey no Mrs Sukehiro are you trying to use my own saying on me?”

“As a matter of fact yes I am.”

Hands suddenly on the waist he pulled her in and began to tickle her all over, it was often they would have tickle fight, she tried to fight back but he had such a grip on her it felt nearly impossible too.

This went on for a couple of minutes, when all of a sudden she heard the rain becoming more and more louder.

Sitting up Yami made a remark.

“Great how are we suppose to get Hikari home?” Sitting up herself she placed a finger on his lips.

“We’ll worry about that later. For now let’s enjoy this silence.”

And so they did.

[15-dogs]

arrangements |n.l.|

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader

summary: you run into a rather handsome man who seems to share your interest in plants...although, he has odd taste

warnings: light swearing

guide: (Y/N) = your name, (Y/L/N) = your last name

word count: 1884

You were late. So late. You had an interview with prospective clients which you were supposed to be at 5 minutes ago. The couple was getting married and they wanted to see what flowers you had arranged for their centerpieces. So there you were, running down the busy streets of London, carrying vase upon vase of flowers.

Because you were in such a rush, you didn’t see the tall man step into your view, crashing straight into him and dropping a vase. Your jaw dropped at the sight of your arrangement all over the pavement before your eyes snapped up towards the clearly embarrassed man.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled.

“I told them I would bring four options. Not three, four!”

You tugged the bag of flowers closer to your chest, making sure they were all okay. The man in front of you cleared his throat to gain your attention. When you looked up, he pushed a strange but beautiful plant into your arms.

“What’s this?” you asked.

“Your fourth option. If possible, could you return the vase to me?” The man patted down his tweed coat, finally pulling a card out and handing it to you. “There you go, that’s my number and address.”

“Neville?” you read. He nodded. “I can do that. Thank you so much, Neville.”

You began to dart off towards your destination when he called after you, “I didn’t catch your name!”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)! Pleasure!”

You arrived at the doorstep of a small cottage a few minutes later, panting from your run. You knocked on the door once but no one came. You tried it again and it happened once more. Then you became suspicious. You circled the house, seeing that all the lights were off. You pulled your phone out to check your calendar and, lo and behold, you screwed up the dates. The consultation was tomorrow.

Perfect.

You arrived on time to the consultation the next day and that time with all of your own arrangements. It went surprisingly well. The brides-to-be agreed to come to your shop in a month to collect the arrangements as their wedding was fast approaching.

You sat in the back room after you had closed and the sun began to set, ordering the materials you needed for the centerpieces when you came across Neville’s business card. Your eyes drifted up towards the odd plant he had left and you decided it would be best to give it back to him, seeing as how he wanted the vase regardless.

So that’s exactly why you stood outside of Neville’s apartment, knocking at the door with a little plant in hand.

“Just a minute!” Neville’s voice was muffled from inside the apartment but you could hear his footsteps fast approaching. For some reason, your heart began to beat a little faster in your chest.

Neville opened the door, faltering at the sight of you. You didn’t notice this in your hurry yesterday, but Neville was actually quite handsome. He had a strong jaw and lean body which was accentuated by his professional workwear. He wore a white button down and rolled up his sleeves, doing wonders to his toned arms.

“(Y/N)?” he questioned as if it weren’t painfully obvious.

“Yeah. Reckon this a bad time…”

“No, no! Not at all! Please, er, come in.” Neville stepped away from the door to let you by. Your stomach erupted into butterflies at his musky scent while you passed by.

“Your place is lovely.”

And it was. It was on the smaller side, but it was certainly well used. Everything had a place, that was evident. He had gorgeous plants decorating the room― the likes of which you had never seen before.

“Glad you think so. What brings you here?”

“Oh, right. I wanted to return your plant. I didn’t need it after all.” You chuckled nervously as you handed it over to Neville, hoping that he didn’t notice the way your eyes lingered on his body.

“I appreciate the efficiency,” he teased, evoking a smirk from you. “Would you like a drink? I was just about to settle down, actually.”

“I’m so sorry, did I interrupt you?”

“I’m alone,” he blurted out. You furrowed your brow at his implication. “I mean, um, there was nothing really to interrupt.”

“Ah, I see.” 

You weighed your options: have a drink with an incredibly handsome man or sit in your shop waiting to get a call back from some asshole named Steve who was your new distributor? That wasn’t too hard of a choice.

You and Neville spent the night chatting, telling each other about your lives. He told you all about his job as a professor at a boarding school in Scotland. He explained how he went there as a kid and dreamt of becoming a teacher there.

“So, professor,” you began, “what do you teach?”

Neville’s smooth facade dropped for a moment before he said, “Environmental science.”

“Impressive.”

“And you? I’m assuming you’re a florist?”

“Right you are, professor. When you ran into me yesterday I was actually going to a consultation for a wedding.”

Neville moved a little closer to you, his arm wrapping around the back of the couch. Your breath caught in your throat at the way he stared down at you.

“Is that so?”

“That is so.”

“You must be quite busy with weddings as it is the season for it, Mrs. (Y/L/N).”

Neville was incredibly close now. His arm had moved from the couch to your back, pulling you towards him and you didn’t mind at all. His eyes flickered down to your lips, drawing an inaudible squeak from you.

“It’s Miss, actually.”

“Perfect.”

Neville leaned in, placing gentle yet sloppy kisses against you. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck as he pulled you onto his lap. As he peppered kisses down your neck, you knew where you would end up that night. 

That was, until, your phone began to ring. Groaning, you pulled your cell out of your back pocket, Neville chuckling against you.

“Yes?...Steve, yes, hello...I can’t get it next weekend, Steve!...What form?...For Christ’s sake, Steve, email me the damn form! I can do it tonight!”

You angrily hung up on Steve the distributor and rolled off of Neville, suddenly feeling very embarrassed. A smirk tugged at his lips as you stood up, clearly finding the situation terribly humorous.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Neville. I have to fill out this paperwork and whatnot to get my flowers in time― my damn distributor doesn’t know how to do his job.”

Neville shook his head with laughter while walking you to the door. “Don’t worry about it. Maybe we can finish this up another night, quite possibly over dinner?”

“That sounds lovely.” You popped up on your toes to press a kiss to Neville’s cheek. “Goodnight!”

“Night, love.”

Somewhere along the way, you and Neville became a couple. After a few dates, he had admitted that he needed a wedding date next month and that’s when you decided to make it official.

It was hard to find you two apart because both of you had fallen for each other― hard. Neville would write you letters when he was away and ship strange floral arrangements which you would put in your store because it reminded you of him.

You were tending to one of the plants Neville had sent when your two brides came in to pick up their flowers.

“Hello Lavender! Oh, and Parvati is here too! I’ll go get the flowers in just a moment.” You finished spritzing water onto the tall white flower and made your way to the back room.

“Brilliant,” Lavender said.

“Say, (Y/N)?” Parvati walked over to the plant you were just tending to as you stepped out from the back room, a sample vase in hand. “Where did you get this?”

“That?” You walked up to the plant, tilting your head. “My boyfriend gave it to me. He’s really sweet, adores plants quite a bit. Sometimes I think he might like them more than I do!”

“Lavender, come take a look at this. This is Moly, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” you asked, joining the two women.

Lavender turned to face you, a wide grin on her face as she said, “You never told us you were a witch!”

“I’m sorry?” Your eyes were wide with horror.

“Oh, no need to pretend. We’re witches too! Although, I don’t quite remember seeing you at Hogwarts. Did you go to a different school? Beauxbatons, perhaps?”

You clenched your eyes shut and rubbed your temples; those girls had truly lost it. Parvati seemed to sense your confusion and placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Your boyfriend,” she started, “what’s his name?”

“Neville. Neville Longbottom. Why does that matter?”

The brides shared a knowing glance that had your stomach sinking. Lavender nodded at Parvati and then both drew their wands. It took hours of explanation just to wrap your head around the fact that magic was real and that your boyfriend was one of them, delivering you magical plants from his Herbology greenhouse every now and then.

Once you had finally comprehended the situation, it was dark. Lavender and Parvati were long gone, having left you to your own devices to process. At some point you had carried yourself to Neville’s apartment, knocking on the door.

“Darling, what are you doing here?” he questioned as he opened the door.

“You’re a wizard,” you deadpanned.

“I…”

You pushed past him to enter his place, taking a seat on his couch. “I don’t mind, I just wish you would’ve told me.”

Neville blinked in shock. “You don’t mind?”

“No.”

“And it all makes sense?”

“Enough.”

“I couldn’t...I’m not allowed…” Neville floundered as he paced in front of you, finally kneeling to look you in the eyes. “How did you find out?”

“My clients, the ones I’m arranging the centerpieces for their weddings, they...recognized the plants you sent me. Moly, I believe it was?”

“Yeah, Moly. How did they recognize it? Were they magic?”

“Yes. They claimed to know you, too.” You shifted in your seat. “Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil.”

Neville froze. Then he dipped his head with laughter. Your brows knit together as Neville joined you on the couch.

“What’s so funny?” Irritation seeped through your tone as much as you tried to hide it.

“We’re going to their wedding next week. Well, they just spared me from a terribly awkward conversation about the party guests’ peculiar habits.”

You huffed, crossing your arms at his explanation. Neville tugged you closer so that you snuggled into his side but you pulled away.

“What’s wrong?” The concern was evident in his voice.

“Nothing,” you lied.

“Darling, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Why couldn’t you just tell me the truth about studying Herbology?”

“That’s seriously what you’re upset about?” he chuckled, pulling you close. Neville placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head and the tension feld from your body. “Fine, you know what? I’ll tell you all about my teachings― even show you a few of my findings― if you promise to stay the night.”

Was that even a question?

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s A Love Not in Vain Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Contains detailed spoilers for a date yet to be released in EN! 🍒

Conversation between Lucien and Dr Sun before the date: here

NOTE: @redqueenschoice​ did the translation for this. All I did was proofread and format :> It’s on my blog because:

Candlelit Night Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

Trivia regarding the name of the date:

This date is called 不负相思意, which is the final line of a poem called “Bu Suan Zi” by Li Zhiyi, a Song Dynasty poet

A loose translation of the stanza: When will the river run dry? / When will my sorrow come to an end? / I wish your heart may be like mine / My love for you will not be in vain.

-

Note: The italicised portions are a mix of both translations and summaries!

-

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

Within the university building, the clear sound of the dismissal bell rings.

Lucien: ...then, we shall end today’s lesson here.

I stand at the door of the classroom, watching as Lucien packs his teaching materials in an orderly manner at the lectern. I subconsciously smile at this sight, since it’s been a long time since I’ve seen this side of him.

MC: Lu-

Female student: Mr Lucien, please wait for a moment!

Just as I’m about to call his name, a female student suddenly runs up to the speaker’s podium. The female student looks like she’s gathering up her courage, then says something to Lucien. Her face is slightly red, and there is a hopeful expression on her face.

Lucien’s expression is as gentle and mild as ever. Without speaking, he simply listens quietly, occasionally nodding politely, the look in his eyes a little distant.

Without realising it, I stand on my tiptoes, trying to hear what they have to say. I catch sight of a pale pink perfume sachet clutched tightly in the student’s hand.

MC: I feel like I’ve seen that somewhere before...

I suddenly remember where I’ve seen it: while researching and preparing materials for the episode on the Matchmaker’s Temple.

MC: Could it be... 

I look at Lucien and the female student, before slowly retracting the hand on the door handle. A subtle emotion blooms in my heart. Before it has time to grow, it dissipates the second Lucien turns his head to look at me.

He walks towards me, eyes brimming with affection.

Lucien: Why didn’t you come in? Have you been waiting long?

MC: ...no, no I haven’t. I just got here. Besides, you seem busy. 

Lucien gives me a blank stare for a moment before smiling, reaching out to run his fingers through some strands of my hair. When I lower my head, I catch sight of the female student, who is no longer smiling while she stands on the speaker’s podium. The student leaves the room in a hurry. 

Lucien follows my line of sight and appears to guess what's in my mind. A smile tugs at his lips before he reaches out to tap my forehead lightly.

Lucien: What wild thoughts are you having now?

MC: I wasn’t having any wild thoughts! I came here to ask for your help with something...

I frantically shake my head, grabbing Lucien’s arm and pulling him along without a second thought, as if that would help steer the conversation away. Lucien laughs lightly, smoothly steering me towards the exit.

~

[ On the university grounds ] 

Lucien: Hmm, I think I’ve guessed it. You specially came all the way to the university... just for a work matter, am I right? 

Lucien lets out a soft sigh as he speaks, but the gaze he gives me is filled with a familiar tenderness and doting.

MC: That’s not entirely true...

Lucien: Hmm? Then, what else is there?

MC: There’s somewhere I want to go with you. Although part of the reason is because of the episode we’re doing next week, but...

As I speak, my footsteps stop. I pinch my ears awkwardly before raising my head to meet his eyes.

MC: That place is very special. I only want to go there with you.

-

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

Lucien and I head to the old matchmaker’s temple in the countryside, which holds a lot of history.

In recent years, a legend regarding a mysterious love story that happened decades ago has been getting attention in the media.

Along the way to the temple, I see many young men and women dressed in traditional clothes. There is a festive atmosphere in the air.

MC: Lucien, look at them. They should be participating in the matchmaker’s temple activities.

Lucien: Mm. Seems like this place is very special indeed. Is that why you only wanted to come here with me?

MC: [blushing] I only said that they're dressed in a very formal manner!

Lucien laughs a little.

Lucien: From what I see, it seems we are a little whimsical. Why don’t we dress up as well?

MC: You... you’re teasing me again!

Lucien: What if I am being serious about it?

I feel embarrassed.

Lucien: What are you thinking about?

MC: Nothing! Let’s hurry up and go!

~

As we walk along a dirt path, I realise that this place looks familiar.

MC: Lucien, have we been here before?

I turn my head to look at Lucien, and see that his lips are pulled into a line, emotions swirling in his eyes.

Lucien: Mm.

??: Meow...

Lucien’s words are interrupted by a mewing sound. A fat cat slinks out of nowhere, rubbing its head against his leg. Its eyes are half-closed, its gaze drifting towards me. 

Vaguely, I feel like I've seen this black and white cat before somewhere. When it looks at me, memories surface like a bolt of lightning, and I call out its name excitedly.

MC: Precious!?

After walking a little further along the mountain road, we finally reach Precious’ home. It’s a house of traditional make, with a courtyard just as refined and tranquil as in my memories. Dyed fabrics, threads of all colours, and interesting embroidery are placed in various corners, just as they were before. 

It’s as if nothing has changed at all.

Old grandmother: It seems we really have fate with you! When Precious escaped from the house today, he brought the two of you back with him!

MC: It really is such a coincidence. This explains why the road earlier looked so familiar. The previous time I came, I didn’t realise you stayed at the foot of the mountain of the matchmaking temple.

Old grandmother: This temple suddenly became so lively, and the festival is also drawing near. Ah, are the two of you perhaps here to visit the matchmaking temple?

I nod at first, but when I think of the implications, I become flustered and start to shake my head.

MC: Actually, we...

Lucien: Yes. We are here to visit the matchmaking temple. 

Lucien holds my hand tightly in his, before smiling politely at the old grandmother. The old grandmother smiles brightly, and I can feel my cheeks heat up. Feeling two pairs of eyes on me, I quickly change the topic.

MC: That’s right! Granny, did you know about the ‘legend’ of the matchmaking temple? It’s said that a few decades ago, a pair of lovers whose relationship was rejected by their families ran to the matchmaking temple. But after the man contracted leukaemia and died, the woman also vanished mysteriously... After that, the peach tree planted in the backyard blossomed and attracted many butterflies which surrounded it. That’s why the media has dubbed it the “Legend of the Butterfly Lovers”.

[Trivia from Red: “Legend of the Butterfly Lovers” - a pair of devoted lovers cannot be together when the woman, Zhu, has already been promised to another man by her family. The man, Liang, dies from grief and illness. On the day of Zhu’s marriage, she leaves the procession to pay her respects at Liang’s grave, and begs for the grave to open up. With a crack of thunder, it does, and Zhu throws herself into the grave to join Liang. Their spirits emerge as a pair of butterflies, flying away together, never to be separated ever again.]

Old grandmother: [laughs] Where did such a mystifying story come from! Most of it would have been made up by others. Those legends are all fake! Normal people have to part ways in the end, whether they choose to leave each other life, or are separated by death.

Hearing such grim words, I feel slightly depressed. Lucien opens his mouth to speak.

Lucien: I think this legend came about because people believe in something beautiful. “Out of a million people, only a pair of Butterfly Lovers will become butterflies.”

[Trivia from Red: Lucien is quoting a book called “被结婚” (”Getting Married”) by Yibei. The full paragraph is 大概一千万人之中，才有一双梁祝，可以化蝶。其他化为蛾、蟑螂、蚊蚋、苍蝇、金龟子... 就是化不成蝶, which translate to: “Out of a million people, only one pair of Butterfly Lovers will become butterflies. Others become moths, cockroaches, insects, flies and scarabs... just not butterflies.”]

Lucien: Love that transcends death is, of course, precious. But it is already difficult for people to be deeply in love up to the moment of death. Besides, these two feelings cannot be separated or differentiated. 

Lucien pats my hand gently.

Lucien: So, there’s no need to be upset about it.

Lucien’s voice is soft and gentle, but it settles my heart and puts it at ease.

Old grandmother: Ah, it’s this old woman’s fault for speaking too much! The two of you are still young, and have a long time ahead. As for what we were talking about earlier, the matchmaker you’re about to visit is very efficient! If the two of you are genuine, you will definitely receive blessings!

Old grandmother: But... dressing like this won’t do. I have a change of clothes with me. If the both of you don’t mind, perhaps you could make use of them.

~

Old grandmother: Do the clothes fit?

Lucien: Mm, they fit very well. Thank you for the hard work you put into these.

Old grandmother: Just now, MC asked if she could learn how to do embroidery from me, but I told her there would be some difficulties. Instead, she asked if I could teach her how to tie a “True Lover’s Knot”. When I asked if she wanted to tie one for you, she turned red and refused to let me tell you!

[Trivia from Red: True Lover’s Knot (同心结 - “same heart knot”) symbolises love, friendship and affection]

The old grandmother gets flustered and covers her mouth with her hands.

Old grandmother: Oh no! I just told you all of it!

Lucien: Don’t worry, I won’t mention it to her.

At this moment, I step out of the house dressed in a bridal costume. Lucien’s eyes are fixated on me, unable to look away. The old grandmother comments on how beautiful I look, and I fidget nervously with the costume, blushing shyly.

Lucien: Mm. Very pretty.

I suck in a deep breath and begin walking towards the two of them. Even though I still feel shy, I continue walking to Lucien determinedly. He holds out his hand and thinks -

What’s before him right now is what his heart desires. 

-

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

After bidding the old grandmother goodbye, the two of us continue our way up the mountain path towards the matchmaking temple. Along the way, there are many ormosia hosiei trees. 

I admire the scenery, but can’t help getting distracted by the thought of wearing matching outfits with Lucien.

MC: Why did the old grandmother lend us a wedding set...

Lucien: Do you mind it?

MC: Not really. It’s just think everyone has misunderstood the reason why we’re here. 

This is because people who walk past us on the path keep smiling warmly. Some even come up to us, offering their blessings and congratulations. The thought of being a newlywed couple with Lucien in the eyes of others makes me shy.

Lucien: I don’t find it a bother to be misunderstood like this. If you mind, however...

MC: I... I don’t mind! Let’s hurry. If we aren’t fast enough, there will be many people queuing up as well!

When we reach the temple, I start gathering all the things we need, such as incense and joss paper. Lucien asks me to wait for a moment, and walks over to the lady boss to speak with her quietly.

While waiting for him, I notice a palmistry booth set up not too far away ,and ask for a reading for my affinity and marriage. The practitioner studies my hand carefully. But the more he looks, the more his smile seems to face. I start to grow nervous.

MC: Is there a problem?

Practitioner: Little Miss, your ‘marriage affinity’ line is too faint and I can’t see it clearly.

[Note from Red: time to boost your affinity stats MC UPGRADE THE COMPANY]

MC: [panicking] How can that be? Look again a little more carefully, please...

Practitioner: This matchmaking temple ties the red thread on your ankle. Anyway, your marriage affinity is invisible and cannot be seen or felt. So, Little Miss, there’s no need to be worried. 

He pours me a cup of tea to calm me down, and I ask what the tea is. He tells me that it’s a ‘linking affinity’ tea, and that I should give a cup to my newlywed husband when he comes over.

MC: He still isn’t... the tea is quite bitter...

[Note from Red: I SEE WHAT YOU’RE DOING THERE MC]

Lucien reappears with a pair of flat soled women’s shoes, bends down in front of me and begins to take off my current shoes. The shoes are traditional in appearance to match the outfit, but they don’t fit me well, and it would become a struggle to climb the mountain path. The back of my feet hurt. 

Lucien: Even though this silly girl tried so hard to hide it from me, I still found out in the end. 

Embarrassed, I try to pull my feet away to do it on my own, but Lucien insists and helps me put on the shoes with tender carefulness. When he finishes, I reach for the cup of tea on the table and hold it out to him. 

MC: Lucien, are you thirsty?

Lucien: No, why do you ask?

MC: But the tea here is really delicious! Do you want to try some?

Lucien: Is that so? Then I wonder why a certain someone had a frown on her face and commented that the tea was bitter earlier.

I flush, holding out the tea cup awkwardly with a hand as I try to think of what to say. Lucien seems to enjoy looking at my face and watching my expressions.

Practitioner: The tea tastes bitter, but it has a sweet aftertaste!

I latch on to the excuse like, word for word, ‘a drowning man clinging to a tree branch’.

MC: That’s right, that’s right, that’s right! Now my mouth feels like I’ve just eaten a piece of candy!

Lucien laughs a little.

Lucien: When you put it like that, it’s hard not to be moved. Since that’s the case, I will definitely have to drink it well.

At first, Lucien reaches out for the tea cup on the table. But his hand suddenly pauses in mid-air, changes direction, and grasps my hand instead. While I panic, Lucien brings the teacup in my hand to his lips and takes a sip.

Lucien: Yes, very sweet. 

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

It takes an hour for us to leave the matchmaking temple. Holding a red perfumed sachet in my hand and two red strings, I pull Lucien along with me under the peach tree in the backyard.

I recall my experience in the matchmaking temple earlier, where we got a red perfumed sachet instead of a light pink one like how previous people did. The staff explained that single people get a pink sachet while lovers get a red one. They also wished us a happy relationship that will last a hundred years.

While I stare dazedly at the red sachet in my hand, Lucien thanks the staff.

Remembering the way he had smiled at the sight of the red sachet, I am a little embarrassed and my cheeks turn red. Following the other visitors, I tie the first red string we obtained from the temple onto one of the tree branches and am about to reach for the second one when Lucien stops me. 

Lucien: Here I was, wondering why you were trying to take my red string away. So this is the reason...

MC: ...the staff told me that if I tie the strings together, the gods will see it more easily! Besides...

Before I can continue, I shut my mouth. When two people tie their strings together, it signifies 以树为媒，天地作证“ (i.e. take the trees as your matchmaker, heaven and earth will bear witness to your union).

Lucien: Besides...?

MC: It’s just a better guarantee that the gods will notice it!

Lucien: But you seem to be missing something.

Lucien places his red string into my palm.

Lucien: This red string of mine - would you be willing to help me keep it?

I panic at his words and Lucien laughs, pulling away.

Lucien: All right, I won’t tease you. 

There’s a commotion from a group nearby, and I wonder if it’s the famous “affinity stone” they’re looking at. 

The affinity stone is the other attraction of the mountain aside from the matchmaking temple, and it is said to bless people with good marriage affinity. 

Lucien nudges me lightly towards the group. 

Lucien: Let’s go over and see.

We queue up for a while and finally reach the affinity stone. After a moment, Lucien takes my hand. 

Lucien: Aren’t you going forward to pray?

I think for a moment, then shake my head.

MC: Better not. Too many of my wishes have already come true today. The gods might think that I’m too greedy.

MC: Actually, before we came here, I visited the palm reader. He said my marriage affinity line is too faint to be seen, but he also said afterwards that the red string of fate tying people together is invisible too.

MC: But now, I feel like I understand. Fate has always been something mystical and cannot be changed - only treasured. Am I right?

After saying these words, I try to dispel my negative thoughts. But Lucien makes a thoughtful expression.

MC: Lucien, do you want to offer a prayer? Ah, what nonsense am I saying? You’re a scientist, so you probably don’t believe in any of this....

Lucien: It’s not because of the reason you’ve mentioned. It’s just that in my opinion, there’s no need to do such a thing.

The wind blows. At this moment, many butterflies suddenly flutter over to the peach tree we are standing under. I reach out to touch a butterfly, and Lucien imitates me. A butterfly lands where our fingertips touch.

MC: Lucien, look! So pretty.

Lucien: Who says affinity is invisible? Before me right now, isn’t affinity made visible? 

He looks at me with calm certainty and sincerity in his eyes. 

-

After visiting the affinity stone, I begin to tie a decorative chinese knot.

Lucien: What are you tying?

MC: I’m making something that can be worn on the wrist, although I don’t know if it’d turn out well. 

Lucien: I'm looking forward to it. However, do you not have enough strings? Why have you taken mine as well? 

MC: ...I wanted to make one for you too!

Lucien: But as far as I’m aware, a red string with a knot to be worn around the wrist has a special meaning.

MC: I-is... is that so?

Lucien: If lovers wear them, it symbolises “lifelong love”. But if a single person wears it, it means “peace and safety”. This time, which should I believe?

MC: Err...

Upon seeing my stunned face, Lucien simply laughs and reaches out to poke me gently on the nose.

Lucien: It’s alright. I just couldn’t resist teasing you. You don’t need to...

Before he can complete his sentence, I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek lightly. 

Lucien’s eyes go wide, and his smile deepens. Heart racing, I say in a voice just loud enough for the both of us to hear:

MC: The first meaning!

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE ]

Since it’s getting late, Lucien and I head back down the mountain path. I take out the “Lover’s Knot” that I made earlier using the strings from the temple, and place it in Lucien’s hand.

MC: This one is done! Here, see if it fits.

The knot isn’t very fancy or elaborate, but it contains all my sincerity. The other half-completed knot is clutched tightly in my own hand.

Lucien: This knot...

Has he seen through me?

[Note from Red: no shit mc you’re as subtle as a wrecking ball in a china shop]

Smiling, Lucien slips the knot onto his left wrist very carefully.

Lucien: It fits very well. You did a good job. Compared to the peace knot you made the last time, you’ve improved a lot.

MC: That was my first time!

Lucien: Did you have a lot of practice?

MC: Instead of practicing, I discovered the secret to making a good knot! The secret is... when you make the knot, you have to think about the person who’s going to be wearing it! That way, your thoughts and feelings will be woven into the knot!

Lucien: Did someone tell you this secret?

MC: I really can’t hide anything from you! Actually, I asked the old grandmother to teach me a little earlier. She said that “two strings tied together are called a ‘knot’. The fate of two people tied together is also called a ‘knot’. The ‘Lover’s Knot’ is not just a decoration, but symbolises love and longing between two people.

Lucien: So, it holds much meaning. Thank you for telling me.

When our gazes meet, it’s as if the world has fallen silent, leaving nothing but the echo of our heartbeats. The scenery around me seems to lose all colour, except for Lucien and the red fruit of the ormosia hosiei trees.

[Trivia from Red: They are also called love seeds, symbolising love and fidelity. In countries such as China and Taiwan, men often give these red beans to their lovers as an expression of commitment. It’s also a cultural belief that if married couples put six red beans underneath each of their pillows, their love will remain throughout eternity.]

MC: “Love seeds embedded in ivory dice, my yearning for you engraved into my bones...”

Even though I say this softly, it reaches Lucien’s ears. His eyes are wavering, and he seems to have been caught off guard by my words. I realise what I just said aloud and hurry to clear up the misunderstanding.

MC: It’s just a quote I really liked when I was a student! I even wrote it down on a bookmark! I just said it aloud when I saw the scenery...

Lucien doesn’t say a word, and only smiles at me. After a few moments, he speaks.

Lucien: Do you have any inspiration for the next episode yet? 

I nod at first, but shake my head afterwards.

MC: About the legend of the matchmaking temple, I’m not sure which is the best angle to approach it... There are people who love each other till they die, and there are also people who carry the love of another person as they walk alone. Doing either requires courage, but as you said, both cannot be differentiated...

Lucien: If you don’t know how to approach it, how about thinking about it from a different perspective, or finding new inspiration? Would you be willing to listen to my suggestion?

MC: Of course!

Lucien: As you were saying earlier, when two strings are tied together, they form a knot. When tied on the wrists, they hold two people together.

MC: What you’re saying is that love is what ties people together? That it’s something like the red string of fate?

Lucien: Even if two people aren’t together, their mutual longing for each other can be felt through the string of fate that connects them.

Lucien picks up one end of the knot tied around his wrist. With the other hand, he takes the end of the string in my hand.

Lucien: When tied together by fate, even if separated at the ends of the world, it will never break. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

what if i can’t ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1804

request?: yes!

“Hey! I love your writing could you do one with MGK where you’re trying for a baby with him but struggling to get pregnant and he’s super supportive?”

description: after struggling to get pregnant for some time, you start to worry that you may not be able to have kids and what that will mean for the future of your relationship, but your boyfriend is there to assure you

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: swearing, mentions of infertility

masterlist

Colson and I sat on the bathroom floor as I watched the seconds tick away on the timer on my phone. Colson put a hand on my leg, drawing my attention to him.

“Watching the clock won’t make it go any faster,” he told me as he laced his fingers through mine. “You just have to have faith.”

“I’m starting to lose faith,” I sighed as I rested my head on his shoulder. “Babe, we’ve been trying for months and every time I take a test it comes out negative.”

Colson squeezed my hand tightly. “Well, they say when you give up is when it happens, so maybe this time is the time.”

I didn’t respond. I had very little faith in me being pregnant. There was just no signs of it happening; I wasn’t having morning sickness or strange cravings, I wasn’t feeling bloated (which many of my mommy friends have cited as their main tell for being pregnant), and my period wasn’t irregular, and hadn’t been irregular at all in the past few months.

I was starting to believe that I wasn’t meant to have kids, which was starting to worry me. Colson and I had decided months ago that we wanted to start a family of our own and had been trying ever since to no avail. If I couldn't have a kid, how would Colson react? I know he already had a daughter, but he was so excited for another baby, would he be upset if I couldn’t give him one?

My phone beeped, alerting us that the five minutes were up. I grabbed for the test so quickly that I fumbled and nearly dropped it. It took me a second to look at the results before throwing the test across the room in anger, hot tears forming in my eyes.

“Negative?” Colson asked.

“What the fuck do you think?” I snapped as I got up from the floor and stormed out of the bathroom.

I tried to combat my tears before they fell but it wasn’t easy. I was so frustrated. It felt like there was no use in trying anymore if the result was always going to be the same. It was becoming more and more evident that having a child of my own was not in my future.

Colson followed me into our bedroom as I threw myself onto our bed and buried my head in the pillows. We had tried so many times, there were so many nights where we declined the offer to go out with friends because I was supposed to be at my most fertile. I cut out all the foods and drinks that were supposed to be harmful to babies. I started working out and eating healthier, just to make sure my body was strong and healthy enough to hold a child.

Why did all of our efforts have to fail like this?

I felt the bed dip next to me as Colson sat down. He gently placed a hand on my back, rubbing it soothingly, as more tears fell from my eyes.

“It’s okay,” he said. I peaked up from the pillow to see he was laying next to me now. “We can go back to the doctor and see if there’s any treatments we can do, or any other options that might work. It’ll happen eventually.”

“But what if it doesn't?” I asked as I sat up. “What if the next visit to the doctor, we’re told that none of the treatments or options are viable because I can’t have kids? What if there’s something wrong with me that means I can’t get pregnant?”

“What if it’s me?” Colson responded. “It’s possible that it could go either way, but we can’t assume that’s the problem until we know for sure.”

I shook my head, more tears welling in my eyes. I wanted to stop crying, but I was so upset and frustrated, it was hard to stop.

“It can’t be you, you’ve already had a child,” I pointed out. “And we’ve tried everything, we’ve followed the advice from doctors and specialists and other professionals on the internet, we’ve been doing everything we’ve been told, following it all to a T. If I’m not pregnant, it’s probably because I can’t get pregnant. I can’t give us a baby.”

Colson wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. I buried my head in his shoulder and started to cry, letting out all the frustration I had been holding in recently. I had been fearing for a while that the reality of our situation was that I couldn’t get pregnant.

At first, I thought we had just been having a hard time. I had plenty of friends, and had read plenty of stories, about couples trying to get pregnant and it taking some time. Some couples had even been trying for years and were on the verge of giving up when they finally learned they were pregnant. I knew it wasn’t impossible for it to just take some time until one of my eggs was fertilized.

But, as time went on, I began to grow more and more worried. We went to see doctors that confirmed that we were perfectly healthy and capable of having babies, and were given many options and talked to many times about ways to get pregnant. At this rate, I was sure I could go to school to become a pregnancy doctor and pass with flying colours with all that I knew. But still, despite everything we were doing, there was no pregnancy. Not even a sign that I could be pregnant.

Colson rubbed my back, soothingly, as he tried to reassure me, “It’ll all be okay. You’ll be okay, baby. People try for years for children, you can’t put yourself down after a few months.”

“What if it’s genetic?” I asked. “I have aunts that can’t have kids, what if it skipped mom and went to me instead? What if I can’t have a baby?”

“We’ll deal with that when and if the doctor tells us that it’s not possible. For now, we can’t just blame ourselves.”

He was so calm. I knew I should be grateful that he was, and that he wasn’t also taking part in blaming me, but part of me felt angry. I pushed him away from me, a little more violent than I meant, and got up off the bed.

“You don’t understand!” I snapped. “If I physically cannot have a baby, it means that I can’t give you another child! Do you really want to be with me if I can’t do that? Do you want to be with someone who can’t give you another baby?”

Colson stood and put his hands on my arms, forcing me to face him. “Is that what this is about? Do you think I’m going to leave you if you can’t get pregnant?”

I felt another lump in my throat, but I swallowed it and nodded instead of talking. Colson pulled me to him again and held me tightly.

“Baby, I’m not going to let something like not having a baby be the end of this relationship. I don’t care if we can’t have a baby that’s ours, I’ll gladly adopt a baby. Or we don’t have to have one at all. But I’m not going to break up with you if you can’t get pregnant. There are other options we can try.”

I looked up at Colson, my face drenched in tears yet again. “Really?”

He smiled and wiped my face with his thumbs. “I promise baby. If it’ll make you feel better, we can book you for a doctor’s appointment and see if there’s anything else that can be done.”

I nodded. “I’d like that, I just want to know for sure if there’s anything wrong with me.”

~~~~~~

A few days later, Colson and I sat in the doctor’s office, waiting for him to return with the results of the tests I had just taken. My legs were bouncing with anxiousness as we waited for the doctor to return. Unlike a few days before, Colson didn’t try to calm me down this time, as he was just as anxious as I was.

My heart began to beat a little faster as the doctor walked in with a clipboard in his hands. He pulled up a chair and sat across from us, scanning the clipboard. His prolonged silence made me even more anxious.

“Miss. (Y/L/N), if you don’t mind me asking, when was your last menstruation cycle?”

The question took me by surprise and I wasn’t sure if it should worry me or not that he asked. “Uh...like a little over a month ago I think.”

The doctor nodded. “And you said that the test you took a few days ago came back negative?”

My heart slowly began to sank as I solemnly nodded. Colson squeezed my hand to try and reassure me, but I knew whatever the doctor said next was not about to be good.

“Congratulations, Mr. Baker and Miss. (Y/L/N), you’re pregnant.”

I covered my mouth to stifle the scream of shock that came out. Colson was to his feet in seconds, lifting me up and hugging me tightly. He planted a deep kiss on my lips and for a second, both of us forgot that we were in a doctor’s office. It wasn’t until he laughed that we pulled away.

“But wait,” I said once Colson set me down. “The test came back as negative, and I haven’t had any other signs. How can that be right?”

“You’re in the very early stages,” the doctor explained. “Only a few weeks along. At this early on in the pregnancy, a false positive on a test is possible. If you test too soon after a missed menstruation cycle, there’s a high chance the test will come back negative. It’s why so many people might not think they’re pregnant after getting a negative on a test a day or two after they missed their period, only to find out a week later that they were actually pregnant.”

It was at that moment that I realized my period had been late, for the first time ever. I was so focused on hoping that I was pregnant that I didn’t even question how long it had been since my last period.

I turned to Colson, who’s smile mirrored mine. The doctor gave us some advice and booked us an appointment in a few months time to see how the baby was developing. Once we left the office, Colson took me in his arms again and kissed me deeply.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” he murmured against my lips.

“We’re gonna have a baby!” I repeated before kissing him again.

[drakeandkatherine]

Reunion- Ch 1: daffodil (Drake x MC TRRAU FanFic)

Hello! I am so excited to show you guys a new short series I’m working on! I think it will be about 8 chapters long. This first chapter is a little short, but only because it’s the first chapter. Future chapters will definitely be longer! 

(Drake, Liam, Hana, Maxwell and any other The Royal Romance characters belong to Pixelberry! Katherine Delacroix belongs to me!)

Series Overview: Reunion is a short series about Drake Walker and Katherine Delacroix, along with their friends, Maxwell, Hana and Liam. In this series, we see the gang at a high school reunion, five years after they’ve graduated. There will be flash backs, taking place nine years ago (the start of high school) up to when they graduate. You’ll get to see how the gang came together, and how they fell apart, only to come back together.

All chapters of this series are named after flowers, with certain meanings. This chapter, the very first, is named “daffodil”. It means new beginnings, and this is where we get to see how Hana and Katherine met!

Word count: 1121 (future chapters WILL be longer!!) 

Warnings: adult language

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

“Are you seriously thinking about going to this?” Katherine stared in shock, mouth agape. “In what world would we go back to Cordonia to see the people we hated in highschool, just five years older?” Hana, Katherine’s roommate and best friend, shifted uncomfortably on her feet.

“A world where people can change, and also where I might actually want to catch up with some of them?” she said. When Katherine didn’t answer, she sighed and continued. “I don’t think it would be that horrible to go back. Besides, the reunion is just for one night. We could go, and then make the rest of the trip a vacation at the beach!” Hana said, a hint of desperation in her voice. Katherine looked at her friend's face for a moment, before sighing.

“We really do need the vacation…” She looked around their small two bedroom apartment, which hadn’t been cleaned in a couple days due to both of the girls schedules. Between their messy apartment, putting in overtime at work, and studying for midterms, Katherine was stressed out of her mind. Hana was about to lose it too, she could feel it. “But I don’t know, Hana. What if he’s there?” A memory that should be distant flashed through her mind, making her cringe.

“Katherine, I love you, but it’s been five years. I know the way he bro-” Katherine held up a hand, cutting Hana off.

“Okay, okay. I know.” she frowned. “I just can’t help thinking that it’s a bad idea. The way we left things was bad, Hana.”

“I know.” Hana frowned, moving to sit next to Katherine, putting an arm around her shoulders. “Think about it this way, Kat. If, and that’s a very strong if, because you know how he felt about big parties and gatherings, he comes, you can apologize for what you did. Who knows? Maybe he wants to apologize too for how he handled things. At least at the end of the day, you’ll feel lighter.” Katherine loved Hana, she always knew what to say to make her see how something good could happen, regardless of the situation. If there was any chance of this going well, Katherine had to take it. It had been too long, and the weight on her shoulders grew heavier with each passing day.

“Okay. Okay, okay, we’ll go to this dumb high school reunion.”

-

A week later, Katherine and Hana’s plane landed at the Cordonia Airport. Stepping outside the airport's doors, Katherine shielded her eyes.

“Fuck, I forgot how bright the sun is here.” she huffed before reaching into her purse and pulling out her sunglasses. “Man, does walking out of this airport bring back memories though.”

“And to think, if your grandma hadn’t taken the job over here, we would have never met.” Hana smiled at her best friend, earning a smile in return.

9 Years Ago

Katherine Delacroix had just moved to Cordonia from the United States, due to her grandmother accepting a job in the country. Unhappy with the move across the world, Katherine spent most of her freshman year of highschool sulking and keeping to herself. Her only outlets for expression were drawing, writing, and singing, though she would never show anyone her writing. Since Katherine ignored most of the student body, they decided to ignore her too, which was just as fine to her.

Hana Lee had been attending school in Cordonia most of her life. Unlike Katherine, when Hana started high school, she already had a foot in the door. She was decently popular among the other teens, though secretly Hana despised inner high school politics and hierarchy.

She met Katherine freshman year, when they ended up in the same art class with Mrs. Theron as their teacher. They sat at the same table, though for the first few weeks Katherine ignored Hana and her attempts to make small talk. Finally, after Mrs.Theron finished telling the class their assignment one afternoon, Katherine spoke.

‘“Why do you keep making an effort to talk to me?” Katherine snapped, keeping her voice low enough so she wouldn’t attract attention from the other students. Hana seemed shocked, from Katherine’s attitude or that Katherine finally spoke to her, she wasn’t sure.

“I always try to make friends with who I sit with in class. Also, I know you’re new. Or well, were new. I hope you’ve settled in okay!” Hana smiled softly. “I just thought you could use a friend.”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Katherine stared.

“Um, very?” Hana said.

“Fine. I’ll entertain you for this class, but if I don’t think you’re being sincere I’m never talking to you again.” Katherine huffed.

“Yay!” Hana clapped.

After that day, Katherine and Hana became inseparable. Where one went, the other followed. As they went through highschool, they grew to be quite popular among the others, much to the dismay of the friends. At school they put on fake, happy, friendly personas to try and maintain their reputation, but once they left the building, however, they’d take off running to Katherine’s house, laughing and screaming along the way. They would spend their nights gossiping about the other girls in their grade and talking about what boys they thought were cute. They also talked about their plan to take over the world one day, how they would never let anyone break them down or apart. Conversations about if aliens were real, what they would do if they could control the elements, and if they could spend one day with someone, dead or alive, who would it be.

Katherine and Hana made a plan in their first year of friendship; they would graduate together and move to the states for school. They would share a New York City apartment, and work jobs as waitresses in a nice bar while they went to school. Hana would be studying plants, to hopefully find more medicinal properties that could help others, while Katherine would study English, to get closer to her dream of being a writer.

And that’s exactly what they did.

-Present-

“Meeting you is the one thing I will ever love this country for.” Katherine joked as they stepped into the cab that would take them to their hotel. “The reunion is tomorrow night, right?” She asked as they rode along the highways.

“Yeah, they’re holding it at one of the nicer taverns downtown.” Hana said, looking at the email on her phone. “It isn’t that far from our hotel.” Katherine nodded before turning to look out the window at the scenery passing them by. She couldn’t ignore the pit gnawing at her stomach, that something big was going to happen tomorrow night. This was going to be a hell of a trip.

[e-king-court]

It’s that time of year again...

...and by that I mean it's my birthday.

 I don't generally celebrate my birthday. It became A Thing after my parents divorce, and since then, it is definitely a cursed day (last year I got a whole pandemic, so...)

This year, however, I decided I wanted to write me a story. Some months back, while scrolling through Facebook (I know, I know) I came across a post of a post that was a plot bunny. It was a tweet from user @JohannesEvans that read:

Hot goth in the woods that keeps answering the door and sighing and going "no, I'm not the witch, he lives over there" and points across the street to a dazzling pretty boy wearing a gold waistcoat who's waving excitedly at them

I immediately wanted to write it. So I did.

 Now, to no one's surprise, I didn't start this story until roughly a week ago, so... well, it's almost done. So, for now, just to say I've properly celebrated my birthday, please allow me to share with you the first half or so of this silly story. It's rough, really rough, and doesn't have a title. I'm not thrilled with it, but... guilty pleasures, etc. Enjoy!

Quiet. That’s what the little alternative community in the woods had offered. Peace, acceptance, solitude. Quiet.

So Locke bit back a curse when someone knocked on his door for the hundredth time that day. Poppy seeds scattered across his work bench when he jumped because of course he hadn’t used a measuring spoon. Why would he use a measuring spoon for the smallest ingredient? Obviously, pouring straight from the bottle is the best way to measure poppy seeds.

The knocking persisted. Locke sighed and set the bottle down with a thud and rattle of chains. He stomped his way up front and tugged the door open, startling the pair of young women standing on his doorstep. Their eyes widened and the three of them stared at each other for longer than Locke thought was polite.

“Can I help you?” He didn’t growl. This was good communication skills.

The two seemed to shake themselves. “Are you Mr. Devereux?”

Locke sighed. “Which Mr. Devereux?”

They blinked and exchanged a confused glance. “We, um… we’re looking for a spell.”

“Then you want the witch.” He pointed a long arm over their heads toward the obnoxious display across the street. “That Mr. Devereux.” As one, they turned and Locke followed their gaze.

Sebastian was lounging in a pool chair, a cheap thing with neon yellow piping and no pool in sight. He was surrounded by colorful plants, flowers, and enough suncatchers to make any light fairy jealous. Locke was dismayed to see that he was sunning. Long legs, waxed and bronzed, stretched up to the hem of a pair of nautical striped boyshorts. A too small gold waistcoat revealed a pierced belly button and parted with sequined lapels and a collection of charms and pendants against his chest and the hollow of his throat. Golden blond hair was classically cut, cropped close to the sides and left almost strategically messy on top. Locke was not surprised to see the flash of glitter, either put there intentionally, or polluted from the obnoxious, glittery, sun-shaped sunglasses taking over most of his heart-shaped face.

His smile was almost blinding as he waved. “Hey, gorgeous!”

Locke frowned as his face went hot and wished for the hundredth time since moving in that he was the kind of goth that wore full face makeup. “That’s the witch.”

The women gawked at Sebastian, turned and gawked at Locke glowering in the doorway, and then looked at each other.

“Umm… sorry,” the apparent speaker of the duo said, and they turned and fled across the street, whispering to each other as they went. Sebastian stood and stretched, that waistcoat riding higher and those boyshorts hugging… well, everything. Locke sighed and shut the door with a snap.

Newlight Falls was advertised as a quiet town with a village-like atmosphere, tucked away in the old growth forest and home to those who didn’t fit in elsewhere. It was home to all sorts of paranormals, which included an uncommon amount of witches, plenty of fairies, and the obligatory pack of werewolves. Being that it was only an hour away from three major cities, it had become a bit of a tourist attraction, replete with warm-weather festivals that the fairies almost exclusively coordinated. Locke wasn’t a fan, but they were good for the town and good for business.

Even with all that, Locke fell in love with the place almost as soon as he saw it. He’d found the listing on Will’o, trying to find something close to the doctors he needed, but not directly in the city. Not only was his dark little cabin perfectly suited to him, but being back in the woods meant plenty of shade and long trails that he could disappear into if the festivities got to be too much.

It was also supposed to be haunted, which, perfect, but so far he hadn’t experienced much more than a few things being moved and a book or two knocked to the floor. No great shakes, really.

With the image of Sebastian’s sparkling navel piercing embedded in his mind, Locke sulked back to his work room to clean up the poppy seeds and see if the tea could be saved.

“Locke!” Benji’s happy voice boomed, big arms open and face nearly split by his smile.

Locke returned his smile but stayed sequestered on the front stoop out of the sunlight. Benji came to him without question, wrapping him up in the kind of bear hug only large goblins could give. He grunted and gave Benji’s back a pat as the air was squeezed out of him. “Hey, Benj.”

“Good to see you, you look good. This place looks great,” he said, stepping back to appraise the front of the house. To most, it needed some work, but Locke was partial to the busted exterior shutters and chipping grey paint.

“Thanks, the web is real, orb weaver, real beauty,” he said, motioning to the port window overhead.

Benji’s smile went tight and strained. “Love it,” he grunted like it hurt. He cautiously turned his attention away from the spider. “Thanks for letting me come.”

“Of course! Make my favorite sibling miss Fairy Fest after listening to him whine about it for ten years? Fat chance. C’mon, I’ll show you your room,” he said, motioning Benji in.

Benji grabbed his suitcase and thundered up the steps. “This place has a guest bedroom?”

“Eh….” Locke whined and didn’t answer further. It did, but the guest bedroom was where he’d put his workroom and it would have been too small for his hulking brother anyway. Instead, Locke had cleaned up his own bedroom and got a cot for his workroom. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable, but he could deal with it for the week that Benji was visiting. It wasn’t often they got to spend time together one on one.

They wandered in. Locke waved over the small living room, through the doorway to the small kitchen and dining nook, the water closet under the stairs, and then brought him up to the attic that made his bedroom and the full bathroom for his use during his stay. Benji caught on quick, but didn’t say anything, no doubt having considered how small the house was.

“We’ll have to share the shower, but otherwise, this room is yours for the week. I, uh… can’t say I’d be real thrilled if you picked someone up at the Fest, but, I’ll be the best wingman I can be,” Locke said, drawing the curtains back from the port window to let some light into the room.

Benji chuckled. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Thanks, man, this place is great. Mostly,” he said, eyeing the spider visible through the window.

Locke smirked. “Ghost isn’t too rowdy, either.”

“Ahha, of course you’d have a ghost,” Benji said with a self-deprecating laugh. Locke’s grin went cocky and he thumped his way back down the stairs.

“I gotta make a product run when dusk rolls around if you want to see the town proper tonight. There’s not a lot except some kitschy shops, but you might like one of the little restaurants for dinner,” he said, wandering into the kitchen.

Benji hummed and sniffed the air, eyes landing unerringly on the box that took up most of the little dining table. It was full of Locke’s teas, creative little blends in labeled linen baggies waiting to be delivered to the shops in town he was contracted with. “Sure, I’d love to see the place.”

“Cool, you can carry the box,” Locke said, wandering back to his workshop. Benji’s laugh made the windows rattle.

A few hours later, with the sun set enough that it didn’t irritate Locke’s eyes and skin overly much, he was leading an easily distracted Benji through town. The whole town was decked out for Fairy Fest, covered in lights and flowers and full to bursting with fairies. They flitted about in showers of sparkling color, some already celebrating by tossing petals or handful of pixie dust over the myriad of tourists also steadily filling the streets. Locke would have felt out of place in all his black and chains, but there were plenty of darker fae around, too. If anyone stood out, it was his rather large foster brother, his impressive figure causing people to practically dive out of the way, even as poor Benji apologized.

“Stop apologizing, Benj, you’re only walking,” Locke said with a smirk.

Benji was all tight frowns. “I feel bad, though.”

“Don’t, you’re fine. This is us, though,” he said, veering for a shop door. Benji followed, uttering a few more unnecessary apologies as they went.

The dark little mystic shop was one of Locke’s favorites. It was an evening shop and sold pretty much the same stuff that the rest of the kitschy shops sold, but it was themed dark. Spangled black and purple curtains and tapestries kept most of the natural light out, the shelves all made of cast iron and mahogany. The goods skewed toward occultish, but nothing available to the general public could cause any trouble. Even the obsidian athames were blunter than a letter opener. There were more exotic wares in the back, but the owner, Ms. Gloushire, was highly selective when it came to those sales. Even Locke, who was a resident, didn’t have her convinced, but he was getting there. Not that there was anything fancy he needed for his teas.

Benji, of course, veered right for the collection of polished stones and crystals. Locke grinned and teasingly hissed for him not to touch all of them. Benji glared at him but didn’t put down the peacock ore he’d already snatched from the display.

“Ms. Gloushire?” he called when he saw the front end empty.

“Is that you, Locke!?” a muffled shout echoed from the back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head.

A moment later Ms. Gloushire was whacking her beaded curtain out of the way and she smiled warmly at Locke before her eyes settled on Benji. “Oh, you have a friend today.”

“Yep. My brother, Benji,” he said. “I have the tea for you for the Fest. The Starry Night, Full Moon, and Crossroads.” He set his box down on her counter beside the register and pulled back the flaps.

Her face lit up and she rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, excellent. Everything work out all right with your last check?”

“Yes, ma’am, not problems at all,” he said, smiling softly.

“Good. All this newfangled equipment. I know it’s more convenient for the Norms, but electronics and magic don’t always mix well. But if everything’s fine, then it’s fine,” she said, casting her new POS system a distrustful glare as she dug into the box of teas. Locke just chuckled and waited patiently for her to finish her counting and inventorying. Satisfied, she marked it all down and set the box aside.

“All right, dear, everything looks to be in order. If I need anything else, I’ll call you,” she said.

“Yep, you know where to find me. I gotta stop at Coriander’s. You have a good night,” he said, flicking down his sunglasses.

“You too, Locke. Pleasure to meet you, Benji,” she said with a suspiciously sharp smile. Benji tittered nervously, thanked her, and they were off.

The stop at Coriander’s was brief and uneventful. Locke handed over the second box of teas, things packaged in lighter bags with more spritely names, while Benji was one again glued to the shiniest objects the shop had to offer. Even with Coriander chatting at top speed about a new topic every few seconds, they were done relatively quickly. He said his farewells to the bubbly sprite, flicked his sunglasses down, and turned toward the door, only to be blinded anyway.

Sebastian was in the doorway, pushing his outrageous sunglasses onto the top of his head as he meandered into the shop. As soon as he saw Locke he smiled and Locke frowned at the butterflies in his stomach.

“Hey beautiful,” Sebastian said, smooth and a little high. His eyes instantly flicked to Benji and his expression went briefly blank, before he smiled again and got a little swagger. “Well, well, who is this delightful new face?”

Locke glanced over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to see Benji’s face dark with blush. His greenish skin and purplish blood made him look a little brown, but it was definitely a blush. Locke didn’t blame him.

“Sebastian,” he said. “My brother, Benji. Here for the Fest.” He cleared his throat before his voice broke and ignored the look Benji gave him.

Another expression briefly flickered across Sebastian’s face, this time more surprised than blank, and quickly settled into a coy grin. “Brother? Well, welcome to Newlight Falls, Mr. Benji. I’m Sebastian Devereux, Locke’s neighbor,” he said, sauntering forward and offering his hand. He was a head shorter than Locke, which had Benji nearly towering, but as usual Sebastian’s confidence was unwavering. Locke figured it would have to be with a neon pink sequin sarong over those...shorts.

“Good to meet you, Mr. Devereux,” Benji said. “Which neighbor would you be?”

“The one across the street, handsome. Incase you ever need to borrow a cup of sugar,” he said with a wink. Benji grinned stupidly and Locke nervously fussed with his lip ring. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have some tea to stock up on.” He winked at Locke, who barely resisted watching as Sebastian sauntered past. He huffed, tugging his hood closer to his face, and hurried out of the shop, leaving Benji to scurry after him. Maybe the hood and sunglasses disguised his blush enough? He certainly hoped so.

--

“So how are the infusions going?”

Locke looked up from pushing around his caprese. “Hmm? Oh, they’re fine. They’re infusions.” He cut a bite of cheese and tomato. “I had one last week and I think I’m scheduled for the week after next. Mostly vitamin D right now.”

Benji nodded, obliterating a half-pound cheeseburger and fries. “I remember summers are harder.”

Locke shrugged. “Yeah, but being here has been really great. The woods are so dense that I don’t always get a rash, so I can be outside more during the day.”

Benji’s face lit up. “Oh! That’s really cool! Mom and dad will be happy to hear it. See? I told them this was a good move for you.”

Locke huffed. “What, me telling them how great it is wasn’t enough?”

Benji waved him off. “You know how they are, they always worry about you.”

It wasn’t unwarranted. Locke had been a sick kid with all kinds of health issues and sensitivities, not the least of which was chronic anemia. At the time, being in and out of foster homes like he was, it had been difficult to narrow down his symptoms. Until Dan and Lori snagged him, the pale, scrawny, constantly exhausted thing that he was, and gave him a solid foster home to grow up in. Within the first year they’d discovered he had vampire heritage, which explained the majority of his weird symptoms. It wasn’t enough that he had to have transfusions, but it still meant he was anemic and allergic to too much direct sunlight. After that, with the support of his new foster family, Locke improved enough that he was able to finish school, and even got a degree.

Now, with a healthy lifestyle, he could live pretty normally, even if he still needed to be monitored monthly. Newlight, on top of being paranormally inclusive, also happened to be an hour away from the office that handled his case, which was still better than the two and a half hours he’d been traveling while still living near Dan and Lori. They might not have adopted him, but they still considered themselves his parents, and made quite the fuss when he moved so far away from them.

“Well, I really am doing great. You can tell them that I'm happy and healthy and even the ghost doesn’t bother me too much,” he said.

Benji snorted. “Lori would flip her lid if she knew you had a ghost.”

Locke grinned and didn’t think Lori would honestly be too surprised.

Other than the caprese salad, the choice of restaurant had been deliberate. It sat across from a stretch of woods with a marked path, and that path just so happened to let out a few yards from Locke’s house. The dark fae of Newlight loved to fill it with all sorts of mischief, some of which was quite pretty depending on the mood. With it being tourist season, and the endless woodland trails a huge attraction, Newlight had strict ordinances for what was and wasn’t allowed on the public paths. Benji was hesitant to take the woods home, but Locke assured him it was quite safe so long as they stayed on the path.

True to form, the woods were full of eerie giggles and mysterious lights, shrubs shaking and twigs snapping in the shadows along the lit path. The usual lamps that ran along the ground had been replaced with overhead string lights, zigzagging back and forth  like a trail of will-o-the-wisps. Since the sun had finally set, Locke was able to shuck his hoodie and take off his sunglasses. Extreme temperatures had never really bothered him, but the summers could be pretty oppressive. It was nice to feel cool night air on his skin.

Half way home, a fairy appeared, a curvy woman in a diaphanous lavender dress and long, curling black hair. She hovered her way across the path, watching them with a wicked grin and shining black eyes.

“Evening, Iris,” Locke said casually. Benji made some choking noises behind him and Locke suppressed a grin, imagining his brother was blushing so hard he was almost purple.

“Hello, Locke. Who’s your friend?” she asked, moving a little closer.

“This is my brother, Ben.”

Her grin got even more mischievous. “Nice to meet you, Ben,” and she was off again, disappearing into the trees on the opposite side of the path. A symphony of chittering laughs hit them and Locke snorted.

“Wow,” Benji huffed as they kept moving, eyes nearly glued to the spot.

“She works in Mrs. Gloushire’s sometimes,” Locke said with a shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Benji mumbled absently, still searching through the darkness. Locke wanted to tease him, but it was his turn to blush when another fairy appeared.

“Hello, Galena,” he nearly deadpanned, glad it was so dark.

Galena was tall and willowy, built lean like a swimmer and burnished like bronze. He was dressed in what Locke could only call a poison green loincloth with a braided rope of poison ivy draped across him like a sash and pinning back half of his long, curling brown hair.

“Hello, Locke.” He did a little spin, purple wings beating wildly. “What do you think of my Absinthe costume?”

Locke blinked. “Isn’t that the same costume from last year?”

Galena scoffed. “You’re no fun!” he snarked, but blew Locke a kiss anyway and darted off again. Locke sighed and picked up the pace.

“Are the woods always like this here?” Benji nearly whispered to a chorus of laughter.

Locke shrugged. “No, they’re just excited for the Fest. It’s pretty quiet outside of tourist season.” Benji just hummed softly and got a little closer when something shrieked nearby.

[abzzz3]

No Soul To Love - Part Three

gif credit to @sharingloki​

Part of a multipart fic requested by @leniram1890​

Summary: The soul is a powerful thing. It has the ability to heal people when harnessed, but also has a will of it’s own when you find a soulmate. Your soul has been ripped from you for the very purpose of healing others, and now you’re just trying to have as normal of a life as possible. That’s when tall, dark and handsome showed up, flipping everything onto it’s head and forcing you to hope for more than this life you’ve been damned to.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Tags: @leniram1890​ @kcd15​ @deathkat657​

Warnings: vague eluding to potential drowning

Word Count: 1,735

Notes: This chapter definitely didn’t go how I originally planned it to, but it’ll probably make the rest of the fic better so I’m not mad. If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know, constructive criticism is welcome.

_______________________________________________________________

“So what happened back there? Your friend said it was a migraine” Loki asked, as you both walked along the street together, in the vague direction of your apartment

“Yeah, I get them randomly sometimes, never know when they’re about to happen” ‘Because I never get warning’ you added in your own head

“When did they start? Do you know what caused them to begin?” Loki continued to ask

“They started 6 months ago, and I know why they started but there’s nothing I can do to stop them. Believe me, I’ve tried” You answered, your tone defeated

Loki’s brows furrowed and he looked as though he was deep in thought, silent for a few minutes as you both continued to walk. You lead the whole way, although Loki was so in tune with your every movement that to any onlookers it looked as though you both knew exactly where you were going. You supposed it was just because you knew that he didn’t in fact know where it was going, that you could see the tiny delay in his movements when responding to you.

“This is me” You said, stopping outside a red brick apartment building that looked a little run down but still nice enough to be a proper home, if a little outdated

Loki looked upwards, as if inspecting the building, and then back down at you

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” He asked once again

You chuckled, a small smile creeping across your lips

“Yes, I’ll be fine. I just need to shower and get an early night’s sleep and I’ll be good as new in the morning”

“Very well”

You smiled and made your way up the stair to the main entrance, keys in hand, when Loki called after you 

“y/n!” you turned around to face him “perhaps it’s better if I don’t come back to the store again, I saw the fuss I made for you all today . . . you, especially”

“Oh . . .” you heard the disappointment in your voice and was surprised by it “if you want, but Loki, you didn’t cause my-”

“Is there any chance I could have books brought to me, instead?” He asked, watching you intently

“You mean like delivery? Sure, I’ll give you the store number”

You reached into your handbag as you came back down the stairs and handed him a business card for the store “Just call it when you want to order anything new, there will be a delivery fee to pay as well, but it won’t be much-”

“That won’t be a problem” He assured, taking the card from your hand, fingers brushing slightly as he continued to look at you “Thank you, y/n, until next time”

Loki gave a slight bow and walked off without another word, leaving you slightly speechless as you watched him walk off, before heading inside and into your apartment.

The space wasn’t fancy by any means, but it was home. The linoleum in the kitchen/dining area was coming up in one of the corners and it was scuffed in some places through years of use, but you had craftily hidden most of it with furniture and plants, and the living room had an old brown carpet that you hated and could only hide to a certain extent underneath a couple of rugs. It was cosy though, with each wall filled with bookcases, overflowing with books that had been either read or were on the to-be-read list, or even some favourites that had been read so often that they had anything from coffee spills dried into the pages to broken spines, held together by superglue because until pages fell out and were lost you refused to replace them. This small space was your kingdom since you moved in four months ago, when you could no longer bare to live in your old house and also couldn’t afford the bills by yourself anymore. 

Most nights, you would come home and make dinner before sitting down with a book and read until your eyes started to droop, or you could no longer put off doing the adulty things life required of you when you lived on your own and had to look after your own space. Tonight though, you ate some leftovers, had a hot shower and went straight to bed, still thinking about the day’s events and Loki’s reactions to it all. 

-

“You know you could have warned me a bit sooner, I nearly passed out in the bath last night, Adam.” You scolded over the phone as you got ready

Some weeks had passed by now and Adam had continued to draw on you without effective warning beforehand, and you were furious after last night. 

“I don’t always get a chance to warn you y/n, he just showed up at my door and had the money there, I couldn’t just turn him away. Besides, you survived and still have your job. You’re fine” Adam sounded as though he didn’t have a care in the world right now, and it boiled your blood.

“No, I’m not fine.” you snapped “I’m anything but fine.”

“Calm down, there are people out there a lot worse off than you. Remember that next time you try to berate me” He responded, his voice starting to turn to a warning tone

“Just warn me next time”

“Fine, I have a client coming in today, and I was going to give you a break with this one but now I’ve decided otherwise. This one will probably hurt” He snapped and hung up the phone

You wanted to scream in frustration and throw something but you knew it would make no difference, so you just took a deep breath and grabbed your bag before heading out the door and to work. The walk was uneventful and the only things you were going into work for today was a team meeting before the store opened. You walked inside and saw Mr. and Mrs. Bates already there, along with Tessa who was just putting her bag down so must have only arrived a couple minutes before you.

“Good morning ladies, we’re just waiting on Sean now and then we’ll get started” Mr. Bates greeted, and as though he was summoned by the sound of his name Sean, the new employee, walked through the front door and greeted everyone which meant Mr. Bates could get straight into the meeting.

“Now, as we’re all aware by now the store has become much more popular over the last month, to the point where we’re making more than double our usual revenue. This has solidified Mrs. Bates’ and my thoughts on something we’ve been discussing and putting into the works for about a year now.”

You all waited in suspense for what was to come next

“We’ve come across the opportunity to open a store upstate. There is an old storefront that has been vacant for sometime now in the town where we live, and if we’re being honest” Mr. Bates gave his wife a cheeky smile “We’re both a bit bored at home and having gotten a taste for work again over the last month we don’t particularly want to stop working in the store any time soon. We won’t be able to run the upstate store by ourselves though, and this is where you guys come in.” He looked around at all three of us

“If any of you would like, we will be needing one staff member upstate, otherwise we are also able to hire someone from the area. No one has to answer today, but we will be opening the store two weeks from now” Mr. Bates nodded in the way he usually did to say that the conversation had finished and we were each free to go.

You sat there thinking about it for a moment and before you even realized it your body was already standing and moving towards Mr. Bates

“I’d like to move to the new store, Mr. Bates” The words tumbled out of your mouth

He looked shocked that you had given your answer so soon

“You don’t have to make up your mind yet child, this is a big decision” He cautioned

“I understand that, but I have no one here in the city and we all know city life isn’t really for me anyway. It would probably be better for my health anyway, being somewhere quieter” You explained to him, watching him nod thoughtfully

There was also that fact that now that the opportunity was in front of you, the thought of being further away from Adam was also a massive driver in your decision. You would give anything to be as far away from that man as possible.

“The town is small, there isn’t any nightlife or many people your age y/n” He continued to try, to make you take your time thinking about it

You just gave him a knowing look, as if to say ‘you know I don’t care for nightlife anyway’ which made him chuckle at his own comment

“Very well, if you truly want to. There is an apartment upstairs that was also part of the sale, which you can rent from us as well, unless you would rather stay where you currently are and travel back and forth” His brows furrowed with a disapproving look as he mentioned the long drives it would take to get to and from work

“I’d love the apartment, thank you. You’ve both been very generous to me” You thanked, looking at the husband and wife duo with grateful eyes.

You finalized some details, leaving the conversation with Mr. Bates advising he would email through all the details and contract to do with the apartment, and all the necessary info about the new store and how/when it will be opened and run. 

The walk home was a thoughtful one as well as an intense one, making lists in your head of everything that had to be done and when it had to be done for you to move upstate in time for the opening of the new store. As scary and spur of the moment the decision was, you were also very excited. The only thing you would really be leaving in the city was Tessa and the both of you agreed you would catch up every second weekend. 

[that-there-is-a-wierd0]

‘I’m sorry Erie’ (AEwVS one-shot)

[Alice, Erie, Tiara] Major spoilers for the game/ angst/ hurt and no comfort/ mild depictions of violence/ depictions of panic attacks

Hiii. Guess who made another advanced education one shot :). Not that I haven’t got to the history level yet, and this post may be edited for grammar mistakes and inserting additional trigger warnings if need be. Nonetheless, hopefully you enjoy :P

Somewhere in the History level, a water fountain sloshes lazily. The ambient noise of water splashing can be heard from all over the level, creating a soothing and natural lullaby, enjoyed by both staff and students. The sound of papers shifting can also be heard. Smooth thin surfaces lightly scratching against rugged, cold tile. A body shifts, desperate for warmth, barely mumbling about the chill they’ve grown accustomed to.

Sometime around 2:00 AM, Alice Freudenmacher continues to shift uncomfortably on the pathetic pile of papers she calls a bed. She opens her phone, and peers at the time with silent despair. Once in a fetal position, she rolls on her back and opts to stare at the ceiling. She’s already tried playing Tetris for some hours, but she’s grown bored of doing so nearly every night of the week. Turning the screen off, she huffs out of frustration before deciding what she wanted to do with her time. Too mentally exhausted to revise history questions and too frustrated to simply lie on her back, Alice thinks that going for a walk will do her good. Maybe if she spends some energy walking, then she would get tired and finally get some sleep.

Alice hesitantly lifts one leg at about 45 degrees, and let it hang in the air for a minute.

Nothing.

Alice smiled. This must mean that Tiara left a while ago, and she was left alone in the level. Tiara would have forced Alice to stay still, as she is disturbed by major movements. She puts her leg down and uses both to get up from her paper pile, stretching in the process. She’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, so she does not need to do anything else before pocketing her phone and beginning to roam. Alice begins to walk around her level, no longer concerned with the time. Her bare feet make soft taps on the tile, lost to the echo of the empty level. She walks towards a wall and gently places her hand on it, feeling the light and aged wallpaper beneath her palm. Keeping her pace, she continues with her mind on automatic, until the gentle ambience of splashing water can be distantly heard.

With her ears perked, Alice makes her way to the marble water fountain. Alice does not know where it came from, nor how the school would collect the funding for that type of thing, but nonetheless, it’s here. She walks over to the edge of the fountain, barely gazing her reflection in the dark. She briefly captured the neutral frown on her face, her eyes naïve yet darkened with fear. Without much further observation, Alice knows she has changed.

Much has changed since the curse started.

First, it was everyone around her. Since Mr. Cleany was a friendly person, he and she both got along pretty well. But suddenly, he became more involved with cleaning trash than anything else, leaving Alice with few others to talk to. In the math level, she was disgusted with the state of the cafeteria and preferred to stay away. Laura and Viktor won’t talk to her much either, citing that they had ‘more important things to do than talk to a measly human’. In the language level, Marzia would make snide remarks about how Alice was ‘undeserving’, given her small affinity for Erie. Phonty held the same attitude. She chose to ignore their comments, but they did not hurt any less.

She was so grateful to have Erie as a partner.

Erie was strong and was able to defend her from the verbal abuse of the other staff with rebuttals of her own. She had a confident attitude, and rarely backed down from challenges the staff or students presented her with. But she was also sweet and gentle, telling Alice that she is her favorite human, telling Alice that she loves her, that she will do anything for her, living for her.

That Erie would be there for Alice no matter what.

Alice breath lightly caught in her throat. Unwelcome memories start flooding into her mind, and no matter what Alice tries to do, she knows that she will have to relive what happened between her and Erie.

One day, as the curse was re-activated by Angell getting a notebook answer wrong, Tiara took over Alice’s body. Large black tendrils shot out of her body, tearing some new skin and breaking through where scabs had once formed. Alice could do nothing but cry out in distress as Tiara dominated over her once again, her mind fuzzy and numb.

“TIARA!”

Startled, Tiara quickly looks up. Stomping towards her was that robot girlfriend of hers, Erie. Just by the looked of unfettered rage of her screen, Tiara readied to defend herself.

“LET GO OF ALICE! YOU DO NOTHING BUT HURT HER!”

Not as fluent in English as Viktor, Tiara only hisses and growls at Erie, sending the same message. Tiara forced Alice to crouch as she brings up all four of her arms to the air, ready to fight.

If she could, Alice would be shaking from the emotional conflict. She knows that Erie is only trying to protect her, and she knew that what constantly happens to her body was not at all healthy. She’s always miserable cycling between sleep schedules, allergic reactions to spores, eating habits, and having no control over her body. She hates having to feel her wounds constantly reopen over and over again, the blood soaking her back and making her clothes stick. She hated all of it.

But by extension, she knows Tiara was no better fighting off the curse than Viktor. Alice can feel her personal isolation, her persistent longing for Viktor’s company, her lost desperation to save Tarwill World, her misplaced anger. Alice was aware that Tiara had come to a completely new dimension, with nothing to her name, and no one to talk to.

Fear was the emotion that bonded Tiara and Alice.

Without any control, Alice takes a front seat to Tiara lashing out at Erie. She jumps forward with her arms bared. Anticipating the attack, Erie lurches back, making sure not to get slashed by her foe. As Tiara focuses on slashing, Erie continues to sidestep her, noting the pattern of which her arms were being used. Luckily, Tiara’s tendrils were long and not scythe-like, so Erie easily grabs two arms, and seamlessly transitions them into one hand. That leaves the other two. Holding on to a pair, Erie utilizes her height and sweeps Tiara under her feet. Being unable to account for the imbalance due to the body she was in, she falls flat on her back and is pinned down by Erie, her other hands pinned by Erie’s knees.

“I WON’T LEAVE!! NO WANT!!” Tiara cries angrily.

Erie is blank faced. She slowly draws a small red plant from a back pocket and gently brings it to Tiara’s face.

“And I don’t think I gave you an option.”

Alice felt the rising anxiousness that rose within Tiara’s chest, uncomfortable and suffocating. She never felt Tiara being scared before, just angry most of the time. Now, waves of nausea were making their way through Alice’s torso. She had also never seen the crueler side of her girlfriend either. Maybe moody, but never so calm like the brewing clouds of a catastrophic storm.

Erie finally brought the plant in contact with Tiara’s face. All hell broke loose inside of Alice.

Tiara begins to scream at pitches that Alice never previously imagined, one that bring a dull ring to Alice’s ears. Tiara begins to howl from pain and thrashes against Erie’s weight, desperate to be free. Alice feels the panic, fear, sadness, and regret amalgamating in her chest, running through the polymorph’s body. Her vocal cords were suddenly ragged and choked as Tiara continues to struggle. Her skin felt like it was a flaming inferno that slowly melted her flesh.

Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop! Please stop!

Finally, Tiara’s control seems to be weakening as she surrendered, and Alice seizes the opportunity to regain control of her body, the nuances of physical senses fully returning to her. Alice began coughing due screaming. As she recuperates, she can somewhat process what Erie was saying.

“Alice! Are you ok?” Erie gently asks as she gets off of Alice, tendrils now returning within her body.

“I’m...mostly fine.” She responds as she softly lays a hand on her side, nervously eyeing the wound where Tiara once was. She clears her throat.

“W-What was that plant you produced Erie, if I may ask?”

Erie grinned, a smile that Alice was strangely wary of.

“So, one of the students made it to Viktor’s home. And there are poisonous plants that can deter Tarwills! I told the student to bring one for me, so we can get rid of Tiara!” Erie said with enthusiasm as she looked down at the ivy in her hands. Alice also gazes at the plant, but with horror. Being a history teacher, she was somewhat interested in the history of the Tarwill’s existence. At her pestering, Viktor vaguely stated that their home was invaded by a plant, and said that he wished to speak of it no further.

That plant…it must be the one Viktor mentioned!

Alice spoke without forethought.

“Erie…no…please don’t tell me you hurt Tiara.”

She was met with confusion.

“What do you mean? Do you think it’s fair that she hurts you, but you don’t want to hurt her?” Something was coming, and Alice was scared of what may happen if she pushed this conversation. But, strangely enough, she still wanted to fight on Tiara’s behalf.

“But I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I think…I think I understand how she feels!”

Erie, dumbfounded, retorts with anger.

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT SHE FEELS. What matters to me is that you are ok. I could care less about Tiara! I’m tired of seeing you miserable all the time because of her.”

Alice felt an inkling of repulsion. Surely Erie was not so…inconsiderate?

“You have a point my love, but I think that does matter! You need to realize that Tiara is hurting too, and she can’t control her actions during the curse!”

“Then why can’t she just leave your body and go find someone else to pester, huh? I should not be arguing with you about this, it’s ridiculous that you offer yourself to someone that always hurts you.”

Both of them knew they were past the point of return.

“That’s not what I’m doing! I’m just trying to help and understand her! She doesn’t have anyone to talk to! She can’t go to Viktor; he only sees her as a threat!”

With Erie’s emotions fully derailed, she screams.

“I NEED SOMEBODY! I NEED YOU, ALICE!”

Both of the jolted from the sudden action. Alice’s passive nature made her and Erie’s relationship practically fight-free. And yet, here they were screaming at each other, casually misunderstanding each other.

Erie is the first to get up. With tears, she refuses to say anything more to Alice. The old conversation topic that always goes in circles was nothing new to either of them. What was new was the fight. Erie simply walks away, not bothering to heal Alice’s wounds. Alice so badly wanted to scream for Erie, to run back and embrace Erie with her arms. She wanted to be forgiven, to forget what happened between them. To tell Erie that she loves her forever and she’s sorry and that she’ll never act that way again. But she can’t, because that would mean ceding her point. And Alice did not want to give up on Tiara.

And just like on that day, Alice can only double over and sob into her palms.

Somewhere, as a hidden spectator watches Alice, they turn with silent and heavy footfalls to one of the level’s many walls. Making sure they are quiet and far away enough from Alice, they carve a message into the wall, big enough to be highly noticeable. They linger at their work for a moment, before gently sinking to the ground as a mask.

“I’M SORRY ERIE”

[irwinkitten]

matching tattoos | poly!kayshton

notes: thanks to the wonderful @aquarius-hood1996​ for creating this moodboard, i got inspired and ran away with the idea. this is honestly some soft shit lmao. don’t like it, don’t read it. simple. warnings: none word count: 3.6k (will i ever learn to not write so much for them??? apparently not)

donate to my ko-fi here 

-

It was rare when you got to spend your days off that coincided with both Ashton’s and Kaykay’s. Sometimes it was one of them, but never both of them. Yet here the three of you were, lounging together in the living room. 

The last few weeks had been full on, so being able to spend a bit of down time with them eased the tension from your body as you sat nestled between them. 

You’d been doodling small drawings for the better part of the last hour, and whilst they never directly asked you what you were drawing, you’d feel their lips touch your temple every so often when they recognised that you’d been drawing them.

It wasn’t ever anything fancy, but small fun doodles that you liked to create. You knew they loved seeing them scattered around the house, small notes that you’d write for them, with a small doodle accompanying the words. 

But this time you ditched the paper, an idea striking as you took Ashton’s hand pulling it further into your lap. He gave you a questioning look, which you ignored in favour of tracing the lines of a small sun on his wrist.

He returned his attention to the TV as you did this, occasionally glancing up at the TV before returning to your idea, adding in a small star and then a moon, the small drawings connected by small dashes. Almost absent-mindedly you filled the sun in, pausing before you did the other two and left it, moving his hand from your lap once you were done.

“Are we your drawing board now, angel?” Kaykay’s amused voice broke your concentration after you’d reached for her hand. You glanced up, the amusement clear on her features, your own lips pulling into a shy smile.

“We’ve been together for so long now, you should be used to this.” You murmured and she giggled, shifting so that you had easier access to her arm, her head resting on your shoulder.

Silence fell between the three of you again as you started the same drawing on her, but instead of filling the sun, you filled in the moon. You tried to make it look as absent-minded as possible, however, you didn’t take into account that Ashton was watching you so carefully, his eyes flickering from your face to the drawing. 

When you’d done Kaykay’s, you hesitated.

“You need to match us, little one.” You nearly jumped at Ashton’s voice, his lips quirking up at the corner at the short inhale of air you took. You glanced down to your skin and hesitated before putting the pen onto your skin. 

You felt silly, but you coloured in the star on yours, a small smile overtaking your lips as you completed it. Whilst they didn’t quite match, it felt appropriate for the three of you. 

Once your pen was down, Ashton’s hands took your arm that you’d drawn on, his lips pressing soft kisses around the tattoo. You could feel your heart begin to race and your gaze broke from him, the flustered feeling of butterflies filling your tummy as he chuckled.

“C’mere.” You didn’t hesitate to shift into his open arms, allowing them to wrap around you, a content hum escaping as he pressed a kiss to the column of your neck, lingering only for a moment before pulling away. Kaykay took the opportunity to slide closer, tapping your legs for you to move them momentarily before bringing them back to rest on her lap.

You never got tired of these moments. It was peace away from chaos.

“Why that design specifically, little one?” Ashton’s voice broke the monotony of the TV, his hand tracing small patterns across your stomach as you gave of a small noise of confusion. “The drawings, little one. Why that design?” 

Ashton had timed the question perfectly, your body was getting heavier with sleep and he knew that you’d be less embarrassed to admit the reason to the two of them in your sleepy state.

“You’re my sun, my sunshine. The golden rays of the morning that break across so perfectly and create beauty where some might not see it. You’re the warmth of the midday sun, comfortable and consistent. And the evening sunsets, where the skies burst into colour, a different kind of beauty to behold. You’re the ray of joy on the days that I can’t quite get there.” Kaykay’s eyes were watching you, suspiciously bright. 

“You’re my moon, my moonlight.” Your fingers curved around her hand gently. “Something so beautiful and ethereal. You bring a kind of peace that I find in the moonlight, the comfort knowing that I’ve got light in my life, no matter how stormy the days get, you’re there. You’re beautiful and sometimes I feel like it’s kind of untouchable. But it isn’t. You shine with him.” You reached up to wipe the lone tear that had fallen, her lips curved into the biggest smile that set your heart on fire.

“And the star, angel?” She prompted you after a moment. This made you pause, your tired mind trying not to be self deprecating.

“At first, it was because I feel like I don’t compare to the two of you.” You admitted softly. “But as time went on, I realised that I hold my own beauty, my own worth. I’ve pushed myself to shine in a place that would otherwise make me feel dull and unappreciated. You two noticed me and told the world how you loved me. I feel like I’m home with you two, no matter where we are in the world.” Your words were growing heavier and Ashton pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Get some rest, little one.” You needed no further encouragement as you snuggled into him, your breathing falling heavy and slow within moments of your eyes closing.

—

The next few days you were back at work, the ink drawing faded on your skin, but every time you glanced at it, it brought a smile to your face. 

You’d heard Kaykay complain loudly when Ashton went to clean it when they were showering together two nights ago. 

It made you soft that she didn’t want it rubbed off and she had a very smug look on her lips when she crawled into bed. Ashton had lain on her other side, rolling his eyes playfully at her antics. You’d just giggled and kissed her. 

You sent a photo of your rotas to the two of them when you got back to work, so they knew when you’d be off and planned days accordingly. 

When your next day off rolled around, you were woken up by an excited girlfriend who was practically vibrating in her excitement. 

“C’mon, we’ve got a busy day!” Her whines were enough to pull you from the bedsheets. Ashton had long since gotten up for his morning run. 

“I’m moving.” You groaned in return, pulling yourself so you were sat up. She offered a beaming smile in return, her lips finding yours before slowly pulling away, a frustrated noise escaping as you chased her lips with your own.  

“Up and out, Angel.” Her tone was firm and you pouted before pulling yourself out of bed, lips capturing hers, your arms pulling her against you. You could feel her practically melt into the kiss, her arms wrapping around your neck before you pulled away. 

“See, I’m up Peachy.” You breathed, a grin on your lips as she snorted before kissing you once more. 

“Get dressed. We’ve got a full cooked breakfast this morning and then we’re heading out.” She finally peeled herself away from your grasp, laughing at your pout as she kissed your lips once more before heading downstairs. 

Grumbling about mean girlfriends and pushy boyfriends, you headed into the shower and allowed yourself five minutes to relax, the heat of the shower and the pressure of the water doing wonders for your mood. 

When you were dried and dressed, you knew that your partners would be getting impatient, so you took a little longer as you came down the stairs, laughing at the frustrated noise from Kaykay as you slowly sauntered into the dining room.

“Please Angel, I’m begging you here, I wanna be out on time.” Her pleading puppy dog eyes had you caving in seconds, kissing her pouted lips softly.

“Fine Peachy. But this better be a good trip.” You hummed as you dug in, pausing once to get a kiss from Ashton as he took his plate into the kitchen. 

“You’re gonna love it.” He murmured reassuringly and so you tried not to over think it as you finished breakfast before your dishes got swept away by an excited Kaykay. 

Your exasperated gaze met Ashton’s amused one as he laughed and held his hand out to you. You took it and allowed him to pull you up, his lips planting a firm kiss to your temple before letting you pull away. 

“If this has been a secret, how the hell has she made it this far?” You grumbled to him as you put on your shoes and jacket. Ashton snorted. 

“She’s been driving me up the wall when you’re at work. She’s had to get it out of her system before you go back so the surprise wouldn’t be ruined.” He explained as she came bouncing down the stairs. 

“At least I can keep a secret Mr ‘I’ve-got-a-secret-but-I-can’t-tell-you-oh-we’re-going-to-Bali.’ Irwin.” Kaykay fired back as she collected the car keys. You laughed. 

“You two are never going to let me live that down are you?” The pout that he wore made you grin wider. 

“Nope. Right. Any clues to where we’re going?” You were hoping for some clue during breakfast but nothing had screamed at you for an idea of what was going on. 

“If you tell angel, no sex for a month.” The threat was casual and Ashton stared at her, slack jawed. You pouted but she held firm. “I’m warning you, it is a surprise.”

He finally rolled his eyes before nodding. 

“C'mon. Let’s go.” And you were hustled from the house and into the car before you could even protest. 

—

You didn’t recognise any of the area Kaykay was driving. You’d been thoroughly confused when she drove towards the city and the confusion didn’t let up when she pulled up in a parking lot. 

“Okay, this is where you’re telling me you’re axe murderers but coming to kill me in the middle of the day?” Ashton snorted as Kaykay rolled her eyes before turning in her seat to face you. 

“You trust us right?” You felt confused by her question yet answered anyway. 

“Of course.” 

“Then just trust this, please?” Her eyes were wide and pleading and you caved immediately, ignoring Ashton’s smirk. 

“Fine.” The grumble made her grin before she got out of the car. You and Ashton both followed. 

Her hand slipped into yours and automatically your other arm looped through Ashton’s, allowing her to guide the two of you. Although from Ashton’s smug look, he clearly knew what was happening. 

“If this is all for coffee, I’m going home.” You warned as you finally recognised the area and Ashton laughed, turning his head to press a kiss to your temple. Kaykay huffed. 

“Would we really do such a thing?” She glanced back, giving you the most innocent look she could muster. 

“Yes and you’d do it again no hesitation.” You returned deadpan, eyebrow raised slightly. Ashton laughed as she stuck her tongue out at you, but you squeezed her hand reassuringly. 

“Well it’s not coffee.” You grinned at her theatrics, the way she stuck her nose in the air, dramatically ignoring the coffee shop as you went past it. 

It was a few shops away that she stopped and you took in the tattoo parlour with confusion. 

“Are you getting another tattoo?” Was the first thing you asked Ashton and he grinned. 

“We’re getting a tattoo, little one.” The confusion must’ve been clear as daylight on your face because he laughed and gave you a gentle kiss. “Inside now, c’mon.” 

With Kaykay pulling you inside and Ashton helping, you were hard pressed to back out of the shop. And you watched as Kaykay greeted one of the tattooists with a familiar ease. 

“Tay’s doing our tattoos today. Tay, these are my partners that you’re probably bored of hearing about by now.” You found yourself staring as she introduced herself and it took Ashton pinching your side to realise and you found your words getting lost. 

“You’re certainly right about one thing,” Tay commented as she shook your hand, “they’re adorable when flustered.” 

You groaned into Ashton’s shoulder as the three of them laughed.

Once your brain was back in gear and you introduced yourself to her properly, she pulled out a very familiar drawing and you stared at it in shock. 

“But, it was just a doodle?” Kaykay shook her head at that. 

“But it wasn’t. Your meanings behind why each one was coloured in, it made it so much more important to you and when you shared that, to us. We’re gonna be that couple, but we’ve been together long enough. And it’s a tattoo for us to look upon and share.” 

And you felt a rush of affection for the two of them. 

“Okay.” You finally whispered and Ashton went first. You watched in fascination as Tay set up the station and the spot was the exact spot more or less where you’d drawn it so many weeks ago. 

“You, wow.” Was all you could manage as the needle began to pierce the skin and it came to life. Ashton grinned in return. 

Kaykay videoed a couple of seconds and you missed her snapping a photo of the look of awe on your face when Tay has finished Ashton’s tattoo with the sun coloured in. 

Kaykay went next and once again it was the same spot. Your fingers kept tracing over Ashton’s wrapped one, the plastic wrap around his wrist feeling weird under your touch, making you giggle to yourself as he pressed a kiss to the back of your neck. 

Excitement finally bubbled as it got to your turn and the first sting of the tattoo needle piercing you. It was a small tattoo but to see it on your skin for good felt slightly overwhelming, especially knowing you shared it with both Ashton and Kaykay. 

Kaykay had wandered to the jewellery case and you could see her eyeing up the variety of gems before she glanced over to you. 

“Another piercing?” You quietly asked and she shrugged as she wandered back over to where you were sitting. 

“Maybe. Not today.” She murmured in return before retaking her seat. Your hand reached out, fingers running through her hair before your palm curved against her face, and she nestled into your touch, a smile appearing on her lips. 

You had a soft look on your face, studying the way she seemed to melt against you. 

You hadn’t realised that Ashton had taken a photo or that the tattoo was done, until Tay finished and began to clean it, drawing your attention from your girlfriend to the artist. 

Kaykay was quick to take a hold of your hand in hers as your attention refocused.

“So, same as the other two. Unwrap when you get home, clean it in warm soapy water and put tattoo cream on it. If you need any help or touch ups, give me a call, otherwise you’re all good to go.” You grinned at this information. 

Ashton paid whilst you were getting your jacket back on and once you were out in the bright sunshine, you shared a look with the two of them before sighing. 

“Fine.” Was all you muttered and Ashton laughed as he led the two of you to the cafe you’d spotted when you first arrived. 

“You love my coffee addiction.” He teased as he stepped in and you rolled your eyes. 

“I love you. Not your ridiculous addiction to cold bean juice.” You fired back making Kaykay giggle as he placed his order. Kaykay placed hers but you declined making him roll his eyes. 

You maturely stuck your tongue out in return. 

By the time the three of you returned home, you were ready to get the wrap off from your wrist and you couldn’t help but feel amazed that one small drawing that you’d done on almost a whim was now not only inked on your skin for good but on theirs too.

“Is this your way of saying that you really want to make this work? Otherwise you two got inked for no reason.” You couldn’t have hidden your hesitancy, your fear, if you’d tried.

Kaykay rolled her eyes as she took your hand once more and pulled you through to the kitchen. She hoisted herself up onto the counter next to the sink and  you found yourself nestled between her legs as she washed the tattoo in the sink. Ashton stood to the other side, letting her do the honours.

“We made us work. Despite what everyone said to start with, we worked and we made it work. And at this point, the only thing really is a ring, but I know you’re not there yet. And we’re not going to push you to be there so soon. But I want you to know that this is it for us. We love you and we love how you fit so well.” 

You could feel your heart beating rapidly as you finally took Kaykay’s hand and began to wash hers, your mind mulling over his words.

It was a lot to take in, a lot to consider. But it brought a warmth to your chest that you hadn’t expected and certainly welcomed.

“I wouldn’t say no.” You finally murmured and glanced up. Both of them froze. 

“What?” Her voice was soft, confused. You smiled as you patted the tattoo dry.

“I wouldn’t say no. If you asked. But I’m not ready to wear the piece that will tell everyone else. I want to just be us. But I want you to know that if you asked, I wouldn’t say no. Just, no jewellery for now.”  Her arms wound around you once you let go of her hand and you smiled, holding her tightly.

“Always catching us off guard.” She finally murmured and you giggled, breaking Ashton from his trance.

“Gotta keep you both on your toes somehow.” Ashton could only grin in response as he leaned over, his lips meeting yours briefly.

“Never with us, sweetheart. Always gonna love you, whether you catch us off guard or not.” 

Once your wrists were dried and the cream was applied, you glanced between the two of them before hopping off the counter, your fingers taking ahold of their untattooed wrists and tugging them through the house.

“Something you want, angel?” Kaykay’s tone was amused, making you glance back to see the smile on her lips. You stuck your tongue out at her in return.

“My sleep got disturbed this morning. It’s naptime. No arguments.” Ashton laughed at the almost petulant tone of your voice.

“Bedroom or living room?” 

“Bedroom.” The ‘duh’ was left unsaid, but Ashton’s snort told you he’d heard it without you having to say it.

“It’s a good job we don’t have any visitors today then.” His tone was amused and you grinned as you pushed him onto the bed first, his raised eyebrow making you tilt your head to the side in an almost curious like manner, a pout on your lips.

“Ooo, we’ve got the pout. How can you resist those lips? And that face?” Kaykay teased as she slipped from your grip, only to let her arms wrap around your waist from the side. She planted a kiss to the corner of your lips and you found them curving up involuntarily.

Ashton laughed before shuffling back, opening his arms to you and you turned your head, giving Kaykay a swift kiss before pulling from her grip and crawling into Ashton’s arms, letting your head rest on his shoulder as the two of you settled back.

Once you were comfortable, Kaykay slipped in behind you, her face nuzzling into your hair, her arms wrapping around you and her fingers slipped into yours.

“It’s nice when we get to do things like this. No meetings, no shifts, no shoots. I enjoy our days out, but this is much nicer to do when we don’t get matching days off for a while.” Kaykay murmured and you hummed softly.

“You just like being the big spoon, Peachy.” You teased and Ashton huffed a laugh as Kaykay let off a petulant huff at your words, shifting her head so that her lips were by your ear, the ticklish sensation making you giggle.

“I get to hold you, of course I do. It’s not often our man lets me be the big spoon.” Her words were taunting, making you giggle as Ashton groaned.

“You two are going to be the death of me.” He muttered as you clung to him a little bit tighter, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw.

“Absolutely. And you love us for it.” You murmured in return and Kaykay laughed as the three of you settled a little more and you felt content enough to just lay there between the two of them.

Even if you weren’t going to nap, you were in your favourite place with your favourite people. And as your mind replayed over their earlier words, you felt the fluttering of hope that they meant what they said, because it certainly gave you a future to look forward to.

-

if you want to be tagged for poly!kayshton specific fics, just hit me up! 

taglist: @sexgodashton​​, @calumsmermaid​​, @loveroflrh​​, @cashtonasfuck​​, @converse-luke​​, @queer-5sos​​, @cal-puddies​​, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​​, @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles​​, @iovehemmings​​, @itjustkindahappenedreally​​, @wokeupinjapanisabop​​, @tobefalling​​, @hemmingsmendess​​, @alloutofcashton​​, @cherrycolaclifford​

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Mr. Robot”

Summary: Once Mr. Robot realizes Elliot is not going to give his relationship up, he warily turns to someone else for help. Meanwhile, Y/N’s faith in Elliot holds strong, especially now that she believes he is seeing a psychiatrist. 

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 4700

--Narrator--

Mr. Robot’s hair ruffled in the breeze, the silvery strands near his ears fluttering as he squinted into the sun.

“This is the life, isn’t it, kiddo? The perfect excuse not to think about Evil Corp. About what they did to your dad. To Angela’s mom.”

Elliot tried not to stare too obviously at what he knew to be an empty space beside his girlfriend.

“Yes … it is a real sweet escape,” Mr. Robot said in a chipper voice, a grin spreading across his face as he stretched his arms out across the rail of the sailboat.

Elliot closed his eyes, squeezing them shut as he willed his mind to reset, to stop with the visual aid that sometimes accompanied the voice he had always known, a voice he had come to love and to fear.

When Elliot first met Y/N, it was just Mr. Robot inside of his head, chattering out cautions about getting too close when he sensed that Elliot actually liked her.

But something had happened during the incident in the server room that had scared him. It was like someone else destroyed those towers; it was an out-of-body experience that seemed to be fueled by an inexplicable rage. Yeah, what those assholes did was shitty, but Elliot had been dealing with shitty people his entire life and had never flown off the handle like that, at least from what he could remember.

What bothered him even more was that several aspects of his life now felt less grounded in reality and more like a vivid daydream. Going to therapy, talking to Darlene about DDoS attacks, reading over the Washington County court transcript and thinking about what Evil Corp did to his father—all of it felt like it was filtered through a foggy lens, one that he couldn’t get to come clean, no matter how hard he scrubbed.

Elliot’s psychiatrist assured him everything he felt was normal; she said a feeling of “fogginess” was often a side effect of the medication she had prescribed for his anxiety. It was important to stick to his medication, especially if he wanted to protect the good things in his life.

Like his relationship.

When he was with his girlfriend, Elliot knew everything was real. For the first time in his adult life, he let himself be loved, so why Mr. Robot was being so cruel was something he couldn’t figure out. The deeper Elliot became enmeshed in Y/N’s world, the more his old friend spoke up, even taking over at times to leave him diatribes on his computer, like writings in a journal. Mr. Robot ranted about the unequal distribution of wealth, about people like his girlfriend and her family, about Evil Corp, and he would fill pages of a document that Elliot would read with unease before deleting.

“She is a looker though,” Mr. Robot praised, drawing Elliot’s attention outward.

“Not in your wildest dreams did you imagine landing a fox like her. Well, maybe in your wildest dreams,” he said with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

“Hey!” Mr. Robot said, turning his sharp eyes to Elliot. “It all came true. You get to crawl between those thighs any—"

“I said shut up,” Elliot growled, leaning forward. “You don’t get to talk about her.”

“Everything okay, El?” Y/N asked, smiling softly at him in a way that always made him feel safe.

“Just a little warmer out than I thought it would be,” Elliot lied. He hated lying, but it was the only way to protect her from him.  

“I figured. I brought a t-shirt for you—it’s in my blue and white bag below deck.”

“Thanks,” Elliot said, standing and offering her a slight smile as Mr. Robot stood and stretched, clearly intending to follow him.

Elliot heard his footsteps thud down the short stairs, and he wasted no time whirling around and stabbing at Mr. Robot’s chest.

“Why do you want to ruin this for me? Why?” Elliot asked, a desperate ache in his voice.

“Ruin what? Playtime with the rich and famous?”

“She,” Elliot said pointing above deck, “loves me,” he finished by pointing at his own chest.

Mr. Robot laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his glasses winking as they reflected the light streaming out from the short stairwell.

“Please just go away,” Elliot begged, meaning far more than just go away now; why wouldn’t he just go away?

Elliot had thought he finally lost his mind when Mr. Robot reappeared a few weeks ago. Sure, he had always been there--in. his. mind—but Mr. Robot, in the metaphorical flesh, hadn’t been around since he’d turned 15. Elliot always figured he’d just gotten too old for an imaginary friend, so Mr. Robot retreated into the recesses of his mind.

When Elliot went home from his girlfriend’s one night a few weeks ago with a headache and several lost hours and saw Mr. Robot sitting outside on his apartment’s cement stairs, he thought maybe he really was schizophrenic.

Mr. Robot laughed at him, assuring Elliot that he had way too much control over his life to be an unmedicated schizophrenic. This issue, though, was that Mr. Robot had an itch to scratch.

Revenge on Evil Corp was always Mr. Robot’s gig, always his go-to way to refocus Elliot when he needed it, but Elliot always believed it was a fantasy—a very vivid daydream in which he and Mr. Robot teamed up to take down the company that had stolen the life of his best friend and father, Edward Alderson.

Elliot and Mr. Robot stood face to face, two sets of eyes, one pleading, the other dismissing.  

“I’ve been here for just about your whole life, kiddo. What makes you think I’m gonna just fade to black now?”

“Because I don’t need you anymore,” Elliot said softly as he tried to appeal to that kind side of Mr. Robot he remembered from his childhood, the side who made him laugh, thought up silly games with him, the one who never let him feel too lonely.

As Elliot got older, he realized memories of an imaginary friend weren’t enough to quiet that ache of loneliness. He needed to connect with people, new and old. Because of his girlfriend, Elliot reconnected with Darlene, and she was once again a constant in his life. Spending time with a real family, one who welcomed both of them into their lives, one who made Elliot feel like he was finally getting the family he had always wanted.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You’ve got me,” Mr. Robot said, his voice quiet as he put his hands on the sides of Elliot’s face.

Elliot almost fell for it; he almost fell into that safe space Mr. Robot had created for him, but he was only recently realizing that it was actually a trap. It was like being stuck in quicksand—the harder Elliot fought for full control, the deeper he sank into the sand and the harder Mr. Robot squeezed to protect him.

Elliot was 27 years old; he didn’t want to be protected anymore.

“You’re not enough!” he said through gritted teeth as he pushed Mr. Robot away and watched him stumble into the decorative life preserver. “I want to let her in … all the way in.”

Mr. Robot rubbed at the spot on his chest where Elliot’s hand had pushed. It felt like acid, like if he looked down, he’d see his flesh sizzling away.

Mr. Robot was wounded, and Elliot had no idea that with those words, he sealed his fate. In that moment, Mr. Robot knew Elliot would go through with his declaration. He would let his girlfriend in. She would pull all of those hidden things out of Elliot, and he would remember. There was no way Mr. Robot could let Elliot remember; he wasn’t ready…neither of them were ready.

Even though he was not a fan of the one who mostly slept in Elliot’s mind, the one who only woke up for moments of time to lash out, full of rage, Mr. Robot was going to need his help. After all of this time keeping Elliot safe, Mr. Robot wasn’t about to fail because of some rich bitch from the Upper West Side.

“Playtime is over. You’ve gotten your practice with these other hacks, but now it’s time to go after Evil Corp … after one more hack, that is.”

Elliot’s mouth dropped open, fear prickling across his skin with alarming speed.

He shook his head back and forth as he said, “No. NO.”

“Y/N’s dad lied to his own fucking daughter—all of Wall Street knew about the Washington Township plant and they all did their part to cover it up. His connection is the one we need to finally infiltrate Evil Corp’s servers.”

This again.

Elliot and Mr. Robot had been at odds since the first time Mr. Robot had this conversation with him. Elliot’s face was twisted into a panic now, his chest closing in on itself as he warred within, wanting nothing more than just a single chance at normal. He couldn’t figure out why Mr. Robot couldn’t give him this one chance.

“I won’t do it,” Elliot mumbled.

“Won’t do what? Change your shirt?” Elliot’s girlfriend asked with a slight tilt of her head, her lips curled into a teasing smile.

Elliot’s mouth went a little dry as he balked, horrified he’d just been caught talking to Mr. Robot, who was now nowhere to be seen.

Y/N walked slowly toward Elliot, her palms up in a gesture of openness as if she were approaching a trapped cat who knew it needed help but would rather scratch and run than stay still on the chance it would become a victim.

“You don’t have to change if you don’t want to. It’s no big,” she finished, sounding too much like his sister.

Everything in my life is a fucking big, Elliot scoffed internally.

“I—I forgot which bag was yours.”

Sighing in mock exasperation, Y/N crossed the room and picked up the blue and white striped bag that had been sitting in plain sight on the bench.

“Grey or black? You’ve sort of gone back to dressing in a neutral palette, so no wild colors,” his girlfriend offered with that same smile she had given him above deck, the one that made Elliot feel safe.

“Guess I’ll get a little wild and go with the grey.”

“Mmm—grey makes your eyes even more discernable in their color,” she said, pulling the t-shirt out of her bag and tossing it to Elliot.

“Hey,” Elliot said softly, catching her wrist before she could climb back up the steps, “I love you.”

“Don’t I know it,” she answered with a wink.

I really hope you do, Elliot thought as he watched her go topside, determined to chase his happiness and even more determined to protect the person he loved from whatever it was inside of him that wanted to push her away.

--Y/N--

Sailing with Charlie and my parents seemed to put Elliot at a mild ease, though I did find myself longing for the days when I could clearly read him. As least now I could begin to understand what happened when he became closed off; something within was fighting him for control.

I wondered how much he understood.

I wondered why he never looked up the symptoms.

I wondered what would happen when he finally found out why he lost time.

When Elliot emerged from below deck, I patted the seat next to me. He sat down and seemed to decide for a moment if he wanted to be affectionate. He hesitantly laid his arm out behind me on the railing, and I leaned into him, encouraging the gesture.

I admired the profile of his face and the way his skin seemed to drink up the sun. A few hours on the boat, and he looked healthier than he had for the last month. I leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw, which made him blush and look at my parents as if they were going to scold us.

They were paying no attention, so Elliot leaned close to my ear and whispered a quiet thank you.

“For what?”

“This,” he said as he glanced around the boat. “Them,” he added as he looked at my parents and at Charlie.

And after a moment’s pause, he said, “Us.”

“Can I tell you something I really want to tell you but am afraid might totally freak you out?”

Elliot pulled his lower lip in, his jaw clenching.

“You can say no,” I added hastily.

He released his lip and muttered, “Say it.”

“If, if we consider Memorial Day weekend the start of our relationship, in exactly 4 weeks and 6 days, we will have been together for an entire year.

Please don’t freak out,” I added as I watched him.

“Isn’t … that a good thing?”

“Yes!” I grinned, “I think so at least. I mean—did you ever imagine we’d get to this point?”

“No.”

“You never imagined it? I thought that was kind of a rhetorical question, but alright.”

“What I imagined is how badly I’d screw it all up before it could ever get to that point,” Elliot clarified in a quiet voice.

“Well, you can be less than a picnic,” I stated with a smile, “but so can I.”

“You’re perf—”

“Oh no. No. No. You don’t get to say that. Don’t you remember our argument about subjectivity and words like ‘normal’ and ‘perfect’?” I teased.

“Fine,” Elliot said, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re my version of perfect.”

I laughed as I replied, “Thank you.”

“Did--did you actually just take a compliment without deflecting?” Elliot asked, his face twisted up in mock scrutiny.

“Mayyybe.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“I love it when you call me yours,” I murmured, moving my face close to his, wanting nothing more than to kiss him for hours while the sun blazed and the boat rocked through the water.

Elliot closed the gap and pressed his lips to mine, and despite the simplicity of the kiss, the intimacy made my breath catch.

“Charles,” I heard my mom croon. “Look.”

“Motheeer,” I groaned as I turned to scowl at her, catching both of my parents looking at Elliot and I like we were more precious than gold.

Elliot snickered, and I shot him a look of surprise, expecting him to be mortified. Instead, he gave my shoulder a squeeze and said, “She actually just took a compliment for once. Didn’t even try to counter it.”

“Nice to know she’s finally becoming civil! She’s always been shamefully ill-mannered,” Mom said with an airy laugh. “Elliot, dear, did I ever tell you about the summer she was banned from every party from Tribeca to Midtown?”

My dad laughed as my mouth fell open.

“Mom—that’s really not a story Elliot wants to hear.”

“Oh, I think Elliot wants to hear the story,” Elliot grinned wickedly.  

“Let’s see,” my mom began. “She had just gotten her driver’s license—"

“Sis!” Charlie shouted at me, “Haul in the jib sheet!”

“Oh, thank god,” I mumbled as I gave Elliot’s thigh a pat before I jumped up to help, hoping to avoid being a bystander to my own humiliation.  

After I set the sail, I settled in beside my brother at the helm.

“Feel free to jerk the wheel. Maybe our mother will fall into the bay.”

Char did jerk the wheel, but it resulted in me nearly falling on my ass as he laughed and grabbed my arm to keep me upright.  

Elliot and my parents looked back at us, picture-perfect wide smiles on all three of their faces as the sun warmed us, reminding us of the promised sweetness of summer. But what really filled me with happiness was the fact that Elliot looked like he belonged to us, like he belonged in our family.

* * * * *

At least twice a week Elliot saw his psychiatrist, but after the first session, Elliot told me he needed space—not break up space, just a day or two kind of space after his sessions.  

I readily accepted the distance and reminded him, probably an annoying amount, that he could tell me anything and I wouldn’t judge him. He said his psychiatrist told him it was important to take time to process and to only share what he was discovering about himself slowly. I, of course, agreed and backed off, keeping my questions to a minimum and not prying if he only gave short answers.

His doctor had also prescribed an anti-anxiety medication, which did open up a partial conversation because Elliot knew I took something for anxiety, too. We compared brands and dosages, but he seemed more interested in learning about my anxieties than talking about his own.

I actually felt a lot more at ease since one of the biggest sources of my anxiety, the hacks, had seemed to stop. CIStech was currently in the process of upgrading Precision Machining’s servers, so everyone was busy with data backups, image backups, replacing memory, installing new cards, and closely monitoring the log files to quickly catch any errors.

I was determined to ensure it went flawlessly, mostly to heal my pride after the cyberattacks.  

Even though Elliot and I were both busy at work and didn’t see each other much during the week, we still spent every Friday night through Monday morning together, usually at my place.

Since we had gone sailing last weekend, I figured it would be nice to do something lowkey—just the two of us.

It was around 5:00 pm when I locked up my office and headed down to CIStech’s wing. I said hello to a few employees on their way out, and as I made my way to Elliot’s desk, my smile faltered.

He was deep in conversation with Angela.

My first instinct was to stop and turn around, like I was an intruder. Then, I realized that she was the one at my company, talking to my boyfriend.

Employee, I corrected, attempting to convince myself that jealousy was not at all what I felt.  

Angela’s employer, All Safe, was a young company, but they were still competition. Their CEO, Gideon Goddard, was an impressive businessman who finally achieved recognition when he took on cybersecurity for E Corp. Surely Elliot found that repugnant, so surely Angela wasn’t sent here to try to steal him away.

“It’s an impressive setup, El,” I heard Angela say and a little pull of unease settled in my stomach at hearing someone other than myself or Darlene call him that.

Her back was to me, but Elliot noticed my approach and stiffened. At the change in his body language, Angela turned and didn’t bother to hide her surprise at seeing me.

“Hey, Y/N. Coming to make sure your staff isn’t working overtime?”

“That would be Tim’s job, not mine. I’m just here for this guy,” I said as I gently slid my hand over Elliot’s shoulder.    

Surprising me, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side; I smiled at him before returning my focus to Angela.

“What brings you here? Surely not trying to steal away our best white hat?”

Angela chuckled, “Wouldn’t dream of it. I had a late lunch with Sarah, one of your account execs--we went to law school together. So I figured I’d just pop in and say hi to Elliot.”

“You went to Fordham, too?”

“No—Hofstra.”

“Hmm. I must be getting my execs mixed up. I’ve always preferred the tech aspect of this business rather than the sales.”

“I’m more of a people person. Computers … intimidate me,” Angela said.

“Quite the opposite of El, huh?”

Angela looked at me for a minute, clearly considering her next response; she and I both knew it would tell me all I needed to know about whether she accepted me as good for Elliot.

“You know what they say about opposites,” Angela said with a smirk. “He needed someone to draw him out of his shell when we were growing up.”  

No, she did not approve of me, but despite what my mother believed, I was well-mannered.

I gave her my most charming smile and replied, “I’m glad Elliot had such a good friend growing up. Genuine friendship is a rare and powerful thing.”

Angela’s large blue eyes slid over my face.

“It is. Listen, Elliot. I’m gonna run. It was great seeing you,” she said as she stepped forward and gave him a hug, hanging on until he slowly returned her embrace.

As soon as his hands settled on her back, she pulled away, gave me a wave, and left the office as Elliot and I both watched her walk away.

“Did I … just witness a white-collar catfight?”

I slowly turned my attention to Elliot, only to find him smirking at me. It was the most arrogant expression I had ever seen on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You are … aren’t you?”

“Darlene says it’s good for you if you aren’t always right,” I said walking toward the exit as Elliot hurriedly shuffled into his backpack and doubled his strides to catch me before the elevator.

“So jealous,” he mumbled, and without looking over, I knew he was still smirking.

Slowly, I turned to him with narrowed eyes.

“You think you’re such a genius.”

“Did I or did I not have to hear all about the ‘gorgeousness’ of some pretentious dick named Alexander Strömberg as you and my sister discussed whether he was worth fucking around with or not?”

“You pay attention to that kind of stuff?”

“Of course I do,” Elliot said as the elevator opened up.

We tabled our discussion as we navigated the busy lobby, but as soon as we were on the sidewalk in front of Precision Machining, I asked, “Did you hack him?”

“Of course I did.”

“Elliot!”

“Well …” he trailed off, probably wondering how he lost the upperhand on this conversation.

“I knew Angela didn’t go to Fordham. I was just being a bitch.”

Elliot stopped in the middle of the street, stunned, but I kept walking, a smile hidden on my face.

“You hacked her!” he exclaimed, jogging to catch me yet again.

“Just a little.”

Elliot laughed and leaned into me, pushing me off of the crowded sidewalk and into a little nook that led to a small patch of green the city only called a park so it could honor the very wealthy person it was named after.  

His hands moved to my face as he pulled me in to kiss me, his teeth nipping at my lips.

“You are fucking jealous,” he said, grinning into my mouth.

“Shut up,” I said as I slid my hands from his chest to around the back of his head. I brushed my fingers across his short hair as he kissed me again.

--Narrator--

“What are you doing now?”

“Finishing up the track on the 23 IP addresses. None of them used a VPN except two, so once we get them to install the keylogger, we own them.”

“All 23 gonna be dumb enough?”

Master Mind rolled his eyes, “They’re people, aren’t they?”

“You’ve got to hurry—you’re not strong enough to keep Elliot locked up in his therapy session for long.”

“He’s safe there. He thinks he’s getting treated for his social anxiety. He’ll never know any different.”

“We haven’t done anything this extreme before,” Mr. Robot said, his normally controlled speech punctuated with concern.

Master Mind turned his head to aim his comment in Mr. Robot’s direction, “Maybe we should have. He clearly doesn’t understand what’s at stake. Maybe he’s the one who isn’t strong enough to pull off the job?”

“Is that why you fucked his girlfriend?”

Master Mind turned back to Elliot’s computer, “You saw that?”

Mr. Robot moved beside Master Mind and leaned forward, staring at him like he was an idiot.

“I see everything. It’s my job to see everything. And I don’t like that you took advantage of him when he was weak.”

“IP address list is done. When Elliot gets back, all he has to do is embed the malware link in an iframe.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of Little Miss Fairytale.”

Master Mind’s fingers flexed over the keyboard.

“Do you … like her?”

“Elliot loves her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Don’t tell me you think you have feelings for her,” Mr. Robot said with a laugh that sounded more like a snarl of warning. “That’s not your domain, pal.”

“She’s … one of them,” Master Mind said slowly, testing out his newfound independence to share his thoughts. Normally, Mr. Robot kept him so quiet that he often wasn’t aware of what Elliot was doing.

Months could go by and life hardly changed for Master Mind, which was probably why he felt more alone than the others; he was really only good at constructing the worlds Mr. Robot sometimes needed to occupy Elliot. And no, Master Mind never refused to help protect Elliot; in fact, he wished he could do more to help him, to make the world a safer place for all of them.

And thanks to Mr. Robot’s overreliance on Master Mind’s hacking skills, he had more time to think now, and he was beginning to realize just what needed to be done to create the kind of world that would be good enough for Elliot.

“After we hack her dad, she’s gonna know. She’ll leave him,” Master Mind decided.

“She hasn’t left him yet.”

“He hasn’t crossed a line he can’t come back from yet.”

“Once we hack the 23 jurors, we should have enough information to get Angela to restart the lawsuit. If we’ve got her working toward our goal, too, all we’ll need is Darlene to start the ring. She’s the one who has the connections.”

“She has the people skills.”

“Something Elliot still can’t quite master.”

Master Mind looked Mr. Robot full in the face, his eyes scanning him for any hint of deception.

“Is all of this necessary? He’s going to hate you if you succeed.”

“He’s not going to remember.”

“How many times are you going to reset him?”

“As many times as I need to protect him from the truth.”

“The truth of what?”

“That’s not your domain either, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said in the voice he normally used to say nice things to Elliot. Master Mind liked that voice and a part of him longed to stay, to keep talking to someone, even if it was Mr. Robot.

“Elliot is gonna fight you.”

“I think he’s gonna put up a hell of a fight, but if we can get Angela back in his life and get rid of his girlfriend, we can get him to focus on what matters—revenge.”

“Revenge,” Master Mind repeated slowly, tasting the way the word moved through his mouth, heavy and important.

Master Mind shook his head, his eyes blinking slowly.

When Elliot realized he was sitting in front of his computer, his brow furrowed. He knew he’d just left the therapist’s office not more than a few minutes ago.

“It’s just me, kiddo,” Mr. Robot said. “I needed to finish what I was working on.”

“I don’t even want to see it,” Elliot said exiting out of every window.

“Suit yourself. But you’ve got work to do.”

“You promised,” Elliot said. “You promised that if I helped you hack the jurors, we could give what we found to Angela and then you’d be done. You said you’d go away and let me live my life.”

“If that’s what you still want when I’m done, yes. I’ll go away and you can try out the whole domestic bliss thing. No contingencies.”

Elliot looked hard at Mr. Robot and a part of him knew he was lying, but it didn’t matter. Elliot was stuck. He had no choice but to take the risk.

At least Mr. Robot was letting him go to therapy, and he was starting to feel a better.

All he had to do was let him scratch a few more itches.

Tags: @sherlollydramoine @rami-malek-trash @teamwolf2411 @limabein @txmel​ @alottanothing​ @ouatlovr @backoftheroomandnotbelonging​ @moon-stars-soul​ @free-rami​ @ramimedley​ @hopplessdreamer​ @sweet-charmie @polarcrystall​ @hah0106​ @clumsybookworm18​ @diasimar​ @ramisgirl512​ @aboutthatmelancholystorm​

[let-me-love-you-loki]

An Ending Within-Ch. 11

Chapter 11

           I walked into the restaurant, my brace making my movements clunky and uneven. Ever since the match against Jon and Kris, I’d been forced to wear it. Dr. Sampson, the AEW medical director, had gotten in touch with Dr. Thurman, my main doctor, and they decided together that the brace and a week out of action were required.

           I hated it.

           My first official AEW match and I fucked up.

           I heard my name from a booth near the back of the dining room. Roman stood by the table and smiled. The radiant warmth of beach sunshine spilled over me. I could scent the salt spray of the ocean as he pulled me into a heavy, warm hug. He kissed me on the hair, his voice rumbling in his chest.

           “Lelei le vaʻai ia te oe, tuafafine laitiiti.”

           Safety. Home. Unconditional love and support. It all settled into my bones when I heard him speak.

           “It’s good to see you, too, uso matua,” I replied, hugging him hard around the middle.

           He pressed a kiss to my forehead and turned toward the table, gesturing to the other people who were there. “I brought friends.”

           Hunter and Stephanie sat at the table, both bearing slightly worried but still welcome smiles. They stood and gave me their hugs in turn before the four of us settled around the table.

           “How’s your leg, Llane?” Stephanie asked, leaning forward over the table.

           I looked down at my leg and shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve not been numb for days now. But the docs are being extra careful.”

           Hunter nodded and draped his arm along the back of his wife’s chair. “They should be. You’re still doing your PT?”

           He watched me with those knowing dark brown eyes of his. It reminded me of how my father would look at my brothers and I when he was grilling us.

           “Yes, Dad,” I replied, grinning at him. “I go all the time. And Dr. Sampson makes me go through medical approval before I go anywhere near the ring.”

           “Michael Sampson?” Roman asked as the waitress appeared with drinks.

           We put in our order before I had a chance to respond.

           “Yeah.”

           “Good,” Hunter said firmly. “He knows what he’s doing. He used to work for us at the PC.”

           It was the first mention of the fact that we were at rival companies. That they were the daughter and son-in-law of a man who hated the people who ran my promotion. I had thought, that last day in his office, that I’d never see Hunter or Stephanie again. Not until The Shield got into the Hall of Fame—if it ever happened.

           After all, Vince could be petty and both Jon and I had jumped ship to AEW.

           Stephanie smiled softly and reached across the table to take my hand. “We miss you, Llane. And it makes us happy to see you happy.”

           “Trust me, itiiti,” Roman said, curling his arm around my shoulders. “That locker room isn’t the same without you. The ladies miss you.”

           “And whatever else I think about that pissant company,” Hunter said, chuckling until his eyes crinkled, “I know you are going to be running that division soon.”

           “I’m going to tell Billy you said that.”

           Hunter leaned back in his chair and practically roared with laughter. “Oh, he knows. And he’s perfectly happy there, which is all that matters.”

***

           Thuds. The sound of flesh in violent contact. The rumble of the boards beneath the canvas.

           Black and Brave was busy as Marek and the other trainers put the students through their paces. Sefina slept in her stroller nearby, Seth’s hat turned sideways on her head, long ago used to the sound of a wrestling school.

           It was her lullaby.

           Seth was in the ring with a few of the students. They sat on the turnbuckles while he talked them through a sequence. I watched him mime the movements, walking the ring to block out the spacing of them.

           I remembered the first time I saw him in this building. He was brilliant then. He was brilliant now.

           “Maggie, give it a try,” he said, gesturing to a girl who was only a smidge taller than Alexa Bliss. Seth glanced over his shoulder at me, grinning softly. “Remember, use your strengths. Don’t wrestle like me… wrestle like you.”

           After all this time, it was finally sinking in.

***

           “Are you sure you’re good?” Kenny Omega asked as I walked down the hallway backstage. He was dressed in his gear, ready for a match against Sammy Guevara for the AAA championship.

           I adjusted the strap of my brace around my upper thigh. “Sampson says so. I’m ready to get out of this thing.”

           He nodded. “Let’s talk about what’s up for you next after the match.” We stopped in gorilla, and I leaned against the wall to take some pressure off my leg. One of the producers jerked his chin in our direction, and a camera pointed in our direction.

           Kenny planted his palm on the wall near my head. His two-toned curls whipped as he shook his head. “Here’s the truth, Leighton,” he said faux seriously. “The faster we get you out of the Inner Circle the better.”

           “What makes you think I want out?” I retorted, putting a lot of snark into my voice. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t work alone.”

           “C’mon, you’re a badass,” Kenny said dramatically. “The Elite could use someone like you.”

           “Stop poaching, you pumpkin-headed dipshit,” Jericho said, appearing around the corner with Sammy in tow. They crowded in, trying to push Kenny away. “Black is Inner Circle. I brought her into AEW. She’s not going anywhere.”

           I thumped Sammy in the chest, trying to draw his attention to wher I saw the Bucks coming up behind them. They stopped a few steps behind him, their arms crossed over their chests. Nick smirked. “You think she really wants to be part of your Inner Circle jerk?”

           “You watch your mouth, Nick Jackson,” Jericho shot back. Sammy tried to slip his arm around my shoulder. I shoved him off.

           Matt bucked up, getting into Sammy and Jericho’s faces. “Watch it.”

           Kenny tried to wedge in between them. I rolled my eyes and sighed before dropping to the floor and crawling out of the pile on my hands and knees. When I was clear, I let out a whistle.

           “Hey! How about all of you shut the hell up?” I crossed my arms and tossed back my hair. “C’mon, Sammy, it’s time to win that title off Ramen Noodles over there.”

           Sammy shoved his way out of the pile and threw an arm around my shoulder. I didn’t flinch. “See you in a few, Omega.”

           We walked toward the entrance tunnel and out of the shot. As soon as we were out of camera range, he dropped his arm. “When did this angle start up?” Sammy queried as he stretched.

           “Which one?”

           He gave me one of his goofy grins and gestured between us. I laughed and swept my hair up into a ponytail. “This isn’t an angle, Guevara. Point is that I’m a hot commodity—everybody wants me on their team. If the Nightmare Collective was still a thing, they’d be recruiting me too.”

           “Dark Order on your doorstep?”

           I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Brodie only takes the guys. Good for him.” I glanced at the schedule on the wall by the tunnel. Jon had a pre-taped promo. He wasn’t even in the building.

           Before he could respond, a producer pointed at him and his music thundered through the speakers. Sammy Guevara. He bounced on his toes and pushed through the curtain. I followed right behind, serving as a second for the night.

           “This match is a Triple A championship title match,” said Dasha from the ring. “Introducing first, your challenger, accompanied by the Inner Circle’s Leighton Black, from Houston, Texas, weighing one hundred eighty-five pounds… Sammy Guevara!”

           As soon as Sammy was in the ring, Kenny’s techno-rock theme filled the building. He came stalking out of the tunnel, pausing at the top of the ramp. Pyro shot into the air.

           “Your Triple A Heavyweight Champion, from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-nine pounds… Kenny Omega!” Kenny didn’t move as Dasha finished his introduction. There was a split second of quiet, and then a heavy guitar riff spilled out of the sound system. Matt came running out of the tunnel still in jeans and a t-shirt. Dasha looked to the ringside producer, who shrugged.

           “He is accompanied by one half of the Young Bucks…Matt Jackson.”

           I looked up the ramp and grinned at Sammy. Oh, this is going to be fun.

Tag List

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[thelegendofclarke]

still got scars on my back (from your knife)

A Bellarke Knives Out Au in which Kane is probably Benoit Blanc, Clarke might be Ransom Drysdale, Bellamy is definitely Marta Cabrara, Dante was Harlan Thrombey, and like Detective Elliot, Miller is just along for the ride.

Written for @bellarkejanuaryjoy Day 29 and dedicated to @marauders-groupie and @woodswit who were the best sounding boards and cheerleaders and are the reasons this fic exists in any way, shape, or form.

When Bellamy walks into the Mt. Weather police station again, where he has been far too many times in far too few days, he is tired. The kind of tired that starts in your bones and slowly leeches into your soul. He has a migraine that feels like it originated in his prefrontal cortex, and he genuinely can’t remember the last time he felt like he could breathe normally or wasn’t on the verge of puking.   He’s led into an interview room in the back and when he enters he stops short. Marcus Kane, the self-proclaimed “last of the gentleman sleuths,” is perched on the corner of the table, posing dramatically as always. And sitting in a chair next to him is Clarke. Despite being arrested over 48 hours ago, she isn’t wearing handcuffs or an orange jumpsuit. Damn it must be nice to be a rich white girl. She’s just wearing a regular button-down shirt and jeans, and that small smirk that always made him want to kiss her. There’s something softer about it now though, and he hates how much that just makes him want to kiss it off her even more. Detective Miller motions for Bellamy to sit down in the chair across from Clarke. He does so without looking at Clarke or saying anything, just glaring down at the table so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry.

“You’re probably wondering why we’ve called you back here…” Miller starts.

“Oh, I’m wondering about a lot of things.” Bellamy shoots back at him.

Miller just snorts and looks over at Kane, “I’ll let you take it from here.”

Kane pulls out the pipe he carries around with him and starts to pack it. Bellamy can feel his scowl deepening, who the fuck even carries a pipe anymore?

Continue reading below or on Ao3...

“First of all, Mr. Blake,” he starts without looking up, “we must begin by giving you our most profuse and sincere apologies.” Kane lights the pipe and brings it to his mouth, then he looks at Bellamy and grins. That dramatic asshole actually smiles, far wider than Clarkes’ smirk, but equally as infuriating. “But you are just far too honest and decent a man to have been let in on all our plans.” He turns to Clarke and nods.

Clarke takes a deep breath and starts talking, but Bellamy can’t bring himself to look at her. He knows if he does all he’ll see is her grabbing his hands when he started having a panic attack, all he’ll feel is her fingers running through his hair, all he’ll hear is her soft but strong voice telling him to look at her, to focus on his breathing, reassuring him “It’ll be okay I promise… We’ll figure this out… Together.”

“You know, I used to be one of the only people that could ever beat my Grandpa Dante at Go. I used to pride myself on that,” she chuckles. “And then you came along and he told me you beat him twice as often as I did.” Bellamy looks up at that and finds Clarke looking right at him, her eyes focused on his. “He said you beat him almost every time. That you had never even played before you met him, but that somehow you would always win. And god that used to drive me fucking crazy,” she laughs again. “I couldn’t figure out how the hell you were beating him. I knew he wasn’t letting you win, he wasn’t that nice. And I knew he wouldn’t lie about it, he was far too arrogant. It was one of the mysteries he could never solve” she shakes her head ruefully at the memory. “How you beat him at that goddamn game night after night.”

“He never figured out that answer to that mystery,” she continues. “But I did. I finally solved it… You win because you don’t just play from the head, you play from the heart.”

“And you won again Bellamy… You won this game not by playing my way or my grandpa’s way, but by playing your way. You won because you are a genuine and honorable and fundamentally good person. You played it honest, you didn’t lie or mislead anyone or try to throw them off your trail. That’s why all the pieces fell perfectly into place: because you made all the right moves. You won by figuring out your strategy and making your decisions the same way you always have: from the heart.”

Bellamy just stares at her for another minute and then looks at Kane. “Look I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s been a really long couple of days and I’m pretty worn out so I’m just going to be really straight with you here and ask: what the actual fuck is going on?”

Miller snorts again, “I asked the same damn question.” He turns to Kane and Clarke and pulls out his little yellow notepad. “Actually, would you mind starting from the top again? Because I’m still not sure I really understand what in the damn hell happened.”

Kane and Clarke look at each other again doing that annoying nonverbal communication thing they seem to be so good at. Bellamy thinks he probably can’t complain about that too much though, since he and Clarke had gotten pretty damn good at it themselves after years of knowing each other, pretending to hate each other, and refusing to admit that they secretly adored each other.… Or so he thought… How the hell did he get her so wrong?

Before this week, Bellamy would have told anyone who asked, with a higher degree of confidence than he possesses about most things, that he could tell you almost everything there is to know about Clarke Griffin…

Namesake: Science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke, who her father had been a massive fanboy of and managed to convince her mother to let him name their newborn daughter after while Abby was still high as a kite on epidural anesthesia. Evidently, he had persuaded her by arguing that it was probably better than Arthurette or Arthurina; when Abby tells the story she always magnanimously says that at the time it seemed to be “the least of the evils.”

Middle Name: Matilda, after Empress Matilda, a member of the British monarchy who was some distant relative of the Wallaces, but that she pretended was after Matilda Wormwood because that Matilda was “infinitely cooler in all ways.”

Notable Likes: Inclusive, intersectional feminism. All forms of alcohol; with the notable exception of tequila which she will not look at, smell, touch, or tolerate in her presence in any way, shape, or form (he’d tried to ask her why once but she’d promptly turned green and puked into the nearest potted plant so he decided not to push the issue). Shark Week. Jane Austen novels. True crime documentaries. The Jonas Brothers (“They’re making a comeback Bell, whether you like it or not! Just save yourself the trouble later and lean into it now!”) Any and all things Harry Potter related (he’s pretty sure she’s on multiple bar trivia teams, including his own, just to answer the Harry Potter questions… And get the free booze.) Netflix. Adult coloring books. Anytime someone climbs a building to tear down a Confederate flag. Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Antique tea sets. Movies that have women wearing armor and/or holding swords. Wearing high heels because they make her feel tall (her diminutive frame is something she endlessly despairs over, but Bellamy maintains she makes up for through presence, spitefulness, and sheer force of will.) Her cousin Roan.

Notable Dislikes: Donald Trump. Tinder, which she has an active profile on (a fact that definitely did not bother him. Much.) Twitter, which she hates even more, and has an even more active profile on. Blavy (“I don’t care what Tom Ford or Marc Jacobs said Bell, it’s a disgrace!”) Humidity. The NRA. The Twilight series (because it was “pushing the suspension of disbelief” that anyone would pick Edward over Jacob, and “downright offensively unrealistic” that Bella wouldn’t just dump them both and run off with “the hot Cullen sister… Either one of them.”) Most forms of organized sports. All forms of organized religion. Camping. When people talk during movies. Having to wear “real pants” for more than a couple of hours on a given day. The American Healthcare System. Toxic masculinity, men yelling, manbuns, manspreading, mansplaining and men having to put the word "man" before everything because their egos were so fragile. Wearing high heels because they are “torture devices of the patriarchy” (Clarke speak for “they make her feet hurt and she’s a wimp.”) Her cousin Ontari.

Favorite Foods: Sushi. Guacamole Doritos (which she had cried genuine tears over being discontinued). Her grandfather’s disgustingly greasy fried egg sandwiches that taste like heartburn. Her mother’s blueberry cheesecake. Avocados (Bellamy never understood what the deal was with white people and avocado; like yeah avocados are great and all, but damn do white people really love avocado.) Movie theater popcorn. Bellamy’s adobo. Octavia’s empanadas. All kinds of Indian food, the spicier the better. Watermelon, especially when it’s filled with vodka. Almost anything that has chocolate in or on it. Potatoes in all their forms, especially the ones that have cheese on them. Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Cheese Blintzes. Cheese fondue. Cheese in general, honestly. “That one thing we got at that one place that one time, Bell!” which he always knew exactly what she was referring to (Dante had always said that Bellamy, like him, was “fluent in Clarke: a skill coveted by the many, but possessed by the few.”)

Hobbies: Smashing the patriarchy. Art; painting, drawing, sculpting, anything that struck her fancy really (she even went through a sand art phase at one point, which ended up being short lived because while she loves art, she hates sand.) Making fun of Bellamy. Conspiring with Octavia to make fun of Bellamy. Making fun of her grandpa Dante. Conspiring with Bellamy to make fun of her grandpa Dante. Equestrian activities, the only kind of formal, organized “sport” she was actually good at (“All I have to do is sit there and tell the horse what to do, Bell. I’m so good at sitting around and telling people what to do!”). Fighting Twitter trolls. Reading, especially her grandfather’s mystery novels. Krav Maga, which Bellamy will admit surprised him a little (and then surprised him more than a little when he’d asked where she’d learned it and she shrugged and said “Israel” like it was as obvious as the inevitability of death and taxes.) Online shopping. Pretending to hate it when Bellamy calls her Princess. Buying and playing video games she doesn’t really understand with her little sister, Madi (“ I can’t trick her into thinking I’m cool anymore so it’s the only way I can get her to hangout with me. I’m just embracing bribery as a form of bonding!”) Over, and incorrectly, using the word “literally.” Telling Bellamy he is literally a pedantic killjoy.

He knew that she was deathly afraid of heights and irrationally paranoid about catching scurvy and getting cat-fished. He knew that she liked real bananas and blueberries but hated banana and blueberry artificial flavoring. He knew that her first kiss was with her best friend Wells in a closet during a game of 7 minutes in heaven at a classmate’s birthday party in 6th grade, and that her first kiss with a girl was in the exact same closet playing the exact same game at the exact same classmate’s birthday party two years later with a girl named Glass. He knew she lasted exactly one and a half years in med school before telling her mother that she needed to choose between Clarke being a doctor and Clarke being alive, because it was it was killing her slowly and driving her insane. He knew that she always ordered some kind of strange, obscure plant or flower to place on her father’s grave every year on the anniversary of his death because “he was weirdo who liked weird shit” (this past year it was a Venus Fly Trap, the year before that it was a Ghost Orchid because she was “feeling ironic.”)

He knew that she once met the Clinton’s at a charity fundraiser when she was little where she told then President Bill Clinton that he looked better with brown hair and threw up on Hillary Clinton’s shoes. He knew that she’d actually thrown up on several member of the rich and powerful elite; notable examples including Condoleezza Rice’s Hermès Birkin bag, Paul Ryan’s Armani sports coat, and Eric Trmups whole entire arm (which she admitted was definitely not an accident.) He knew that she loved school and learning and once got her English Lit teacher fired for failing her on a paper where she argued that Humbert Humbert was an obsessive, delusional, predatory pedophile who deserved to be medically castrated and the teacher had tried to tell her that Lolita was a “tragic love story” and that she was “simply too narrow minded to appreciate Nabokov’s true message.” He knew that she had unsuccessfully tried to pierce her own belly button in high school and managed to successfully pierce her own nose in college. He knew that she has four tattoos: a small crown on the back of her neck (which only made Bellamy double down on the Princess nickname after he found out about it), a lion on her left foot for her father, a lotus flower on her on her right wrist for her ex-girlfriend Lexa, and the Latin translation of “do no harm, take no shit” running down the left side of her rib cage.

He knew that she pretended to hate Valentine's Day when really, every single year, she handmade super elaborate and incredibly awesome cards for all her friends and family members (well, the ones she liked anyway). He knew that she was planning on naming her first daughter Gertrude after her grandmother, Dante’s deceased wife, even though the kid would probably hate her for it because her grandma was a badass and “metal as fuck.” He knew that otters were her favorite animal and that he favorite type of otters were those terrifying Amazonian river otters that could fight crocodiles (which was typical Clarke, honestly.) He knew that she loved her adopted little sister Madi more than anything or anyone in this world and was as fiercely protective of her as he was of his own little sister. He knew that she loved horror movies and hated Claymation because it freaked her out that that she has seen every single episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. at least three times and could sing all the lines of every single song Lana del Ray has ever recorded from memory.

He knew that she started drawing when she was really young and would sit on the floor in her dad’s office and draw on his grid paper while he worked on his designs; he knew that art had helped her through some really hard times like when she started questioning her sexuality and when her father had died and when he girlfriend had been killed and that she hoping to go back to school to become an art therapist. He knew she was stubborn and loyal and empathetic and unafraid to speak her mind. He knew she could be cunning and calculating and ambitious and ruthless and even downright vicious when it came to things going her way or getting what she wanted. Bellamy had just never thought there would come a day where he would be on the receiving end of all that Clarke Griffin Intensity. At least, not like this.

In all the years he’d known her, Clarke had never treated him like one her family’s employees or made him feel like “the help.” She got along (scarily, in Bellamy’s personal opinion) well with his little sister, and took (or sometimes dragged) him out places with her. She asked his opinion on things, and incorporated him into her friend group (while gleefully teasing him about how hot they all thought he was). She went to him for advice, and liked all his friends. She actually read the books and watched the movies and listened to the music he would recommend to her, and made him feel included at Wallace family events and dinners. She always laughed at his dumb jokes (sometimes so hard she would snort, which was his favorite), and would go to his apartment to feed the cat and water the plants when he was out of town. She would text him while she was on a bad date or at a boring event, and listened to all his rants about mythology and colonialism and the Star Wars universe and representation in media and all the historical inaccuracies in every single period drama they ever watched together. She would show him the art pieces she was working on, and remembered shit like his birthday and that he was allergic to tomatoes and the anniversary of his mom’s death and that Nerds were his favorite candy. She treated him like he was someone important to her, someone she cared about even. She made him feel valued and respected. She’d never treated him or made him feel like anything but her equal.

But now, finally looking up at the girl across from him, knowing just how much time and planning and work and effort she’d put into trying to fuck him over and ruin his life, it feels like being in the room with a complete stranger. And it might be one of the worst feelings in the world. Bellamy thought he knew her. Thought he could trust her, that he understood her, that they understood and trusted each other. He had considered her a good friend and, after so many years of knowing her, possibly even a best friend.

He had introduced her to his friends and his sister, and texted her links to stuff she would find funny and when someone said something absurdly ignorant or hilariously dumb on TV. He started keeping those alcoholic ciders she liked better than beer in his fridge, and thought way too hard about what to buy her every year for her birthday. He told her stories about his mom, and his childhood, and his first kiss, and his first girlfriend, and the first time he got punched and the first time he punched someone which were, to Clarke’s endless amusement, two completely different situations.

He told her about how terrified he’d been that he would never see his sister again when they were separated after their mom died, and how for years the only time he felt truly happy was during their weekly visit with their social worker when he got to see her, and how it took the longest time after he was officially able to get custody of her for him to finally relax and not worry that she wasn’t coming back every time she left the apartment, and how fucking proud he was of her for getting into a good college, and all kinds of personal shit he would never just tell to just anyone.

She’d become a fixture in his daily life, a staple in his routine, the first person after O that he wanted to share good news with, and the last person he wanted to say goodbye to before he left the Wallace estate to head home for the day. He let her in.

After years of his mom’s revolving door of terrible boyfriends, and moving around different towns to where ever Aurora could find a job, and constantly having to switch schools, and never really having time to hang out with kids his age because he had a little sister to take care of, and being passed around from foster home to foster home once he was put in the system, Bellamy didn’t just let people in and make friends with them. He has a screening process, a thorough one, what he had thought was an effective one; but somehow, Clarke Griffin had managed to make it through with flying colors in record time.

Bellamy is well aware that, in all likelihood, he should be more concerned about the fact that finding out he didn’t really know Clarke as well as he thought he did feels like his whole world has turned on its head and he doesn’t know which way is up. But between Dante dying and being framed for his murder and having paparazzi actually camped out on his front lawn and being put in charge of an entire estate he has no idea what to do with and bequeathed an amount of money so high he wouldn’t have believed it existed, there’s a lot to be concerned about. He can prioritize. Or at least multitask. Probably.

“Well why don’t we start with who it was that hired me,” Kane begins as he puffs on his pipe.

“We know who hired you,” Bellamy interrupts. “Clarke did. As part of her plan to frame me for Dante’s murder… I really don’t need to hear about it again.” If he has to listen to the whole story in terribly thorough detail again he is definitely going to do something stupid like cry. His voice breaks a little on the last words and out of the corner of his eye her sees Clarke bite her lip and look down at the table. Good, he thinks, she should feel like shit.

“Yes, Clarke did secure my employ,” Kane confirms.

Bellamy almost rolls his eyes. ‘Secure my employ?’ who the actual fuck even talks like that anymore?? While smoking a pipe??? Jesus tap dancing Christ.

“But she did so by proxy,” Kane continues, “under the instruction of her grandfather.”

That stops Bellamy and his internal running commentary on Kane’s outfit (Who the hell wears actual suspenders? And a goddamn deerstalker hat?? Where the hell do you even buy a deerstalker hat anymore?!?) right in their tracks. “Wait… What?”

“Dante Wallace hired me not only to solve his own murder, but to help his granddaughter frame herself while she also pretended to frame you at the same time.”

Bellamy blinks at him.

“You see Dante Wallace knew he was going to be murdered before he committed suicide,” Kane begins what Bellamy suspects is going to be one of the most confusing and ridiculous stories he has ever heard in his life. “And yes, Dante Wallace most definitely did commit suicide.”

This time Bellamy turns to blink at Miller. “Yeah,” he says dryly, “this is about where I started screaming internally too.”

Instead of continuing, Kane uses the pause to pull out that stupid coin he’s always tossing around and flips it in the air, catching it again without even looking but with uncanny precision. Bellamy is sorely tempted to tell him exactly how far he should shove the damn thing up his ass, but he physically restrains himself and waits for Kane to go on.

“Mr. Wallace knew not only that he was dying, but that he was being murdered. Slowly and painfully at that. He knew he was going to die and how, but he didn’t know when it was going to happen or who was doing it. He had a murder and a murder weapon, but no body and no actual death.”

Kane pauses and runs his fingers over his beard. Bellamy is like 99.9% sure this dude grew a beard just so he could stroke it dramatically. “He did have one other thing though,” Kane goes on, “and that was an obvious suspect.” He nods in Bellamy’s direction, “you.”

All three of the room’s other occupants are looking at him in silence. Bellamy’s breath catches and he starts to panic, “But you already cleared me. You said you know it wasn’t me. It wasn’t… I didn’t… I couldn’t… That’s…”

Clarke reaches out and grabs one of his hands. Bellamy can’t help but think that her tiny hand on his huge one shouldn’t be as reassuring as it is. “We know you didn’t do it Bell,” she tells him softly but firmly. She squeezes his hand, “we know you could never.”

He wants to smack her hand away and tell her not to call him that. He wants to tell all three of them to fuck off, he wants to get the hell out of here, he wants to get some weed from Monty the groundskeepers’ stash in the garage, or go down to Polis Pub and have O mix him up of those “kitchen sink” drink thingies she makes that he is pretty sure have what must be an illegal, non FDA approved amount of alcohol in them. He wants to go home and sleep forever, he wants to wake up tomorrow and have this all just be a terrible dream, he wants to travel back in time and never take this fucking job in the first place. He wants to do a lot of things, but he doesn’t. He just stays quiet and waits.

Clarke withdraws her hand and he sees her clench it into a fist on the table in front of her. “Grandpa Dante was being poisoned,” she says matter-of-factly. To anyone else it would seem like she was emotionless; but Bellamy sees the tension in her shoulders, the clench in her jaw, the rapid blinking of her eyes. He has been around the Wallace family long enough to know that they know how to put on masks. The can tamp down their anger, and swallow their sadness, and choke back their tears, and fake out their fear, and affect apathy along with the best of them. But Clarke has her tells, and he knows them. Dante always told him he was observant for his own good; that he was a good judge of character, that he pays attention to detail, that he notices the little things others wouldn’t even know to be looking for. And that one of these days it was going to get him into trouble.

He saw Abby disguise her sorrow and depression and grief after the tragic death of her husband Jake. And a few short years later, saw Clarke as the ice-cold, emotionless mirror image of her mother after her girlfriend Lexa was shot in a drive by. He saw Maya mask her terror the day she got her diagnoses, when she’d found out that she had developed a rare, life threatening blood disorder before she was even able to drive a car, that she would have to go through painful blood transfusions for the foreseeable future just to stay alive, and sees her to the same every time she leaves to go get her treatment. He saw Roan force back his fury every time he sees his mother treat people like dirt and watches his little sister show up to yet another family event high out of her mind. And he constantly saw Dante hide his sense of regret, his feelings of helplessness and hopelessness, when he reflected on what his family had become.

None of them managed to mask their feelings the day Dante’s will was read though, their emotions were written all over their faces: Nia’s fury at being passed over for “the help.” Abby’s shock and confusion at her father’s decision and clear feeling of betrayal and heartbreak that her father trusted Bellamy with his legacy more than he trusted her. Emerson’s horror over not being able to continue to maintain his lifestyle or pay for the treatment his sick stepdaughter needs to survive. Ontari’s hysterics at the easy funding for her pill and powder fixes being cut off. Roan’s indignation when he finally snapped ad yelled at his family members to “chill the fuck out and back the hell off! Bellamy clearly doesn’t know what the fuck is happening even more than we do!” And finally, Cage’s rage over Bellamy daring to take what Cage saw as rightfully his.

Not Clarke though. Clarke remained seated in the arm chair she had unceremoniously plopped down on when she arrived, throwing her legs over one of the arms and pulling up Candy Crush on her phone. Her attention wasn’t focused on her phone anymore though. Unlike the rest of her family, she stayed silent. Also, unlike the rest of her family, her ice blue, all seeing eyes were focused not on him, but on the people gathered around him, yelling and screaming, all hellfire and fury, threats and accusations flying. At first glance she appeared stone faced and detached. But while she studied her family Bellamy looked closer at her and for a brief moment, no more than a second, he saw it: the slight smirk curving at the side of her mouth.

Bellamy couldn’t tell exactly what was running through her mind that day, but he knows what she’s feeling now: grief over Dante’s death, sorrow over losing a family member (one of the only family members) she was close to, anger over her grandpa being murdered, and primarily: pissed as fuck that someone would do this to him. Bellamy still isn’t sure what’s happening or been able to process all the information he’s been given, but he’s starting to strongly suspect that hell hath no fury like Clarke Griffin scorned.

Kane rests a reassuring hand on her shoulder, wordlessly encouraging her to continue. Clarke takes another deep breath seemingly trying to calm herself, like it’s been ages since she felt like she was able to catch it. He knows the feeling. “I figured out he was being poisoned a while back,” she says. “He was just… He was getting sick way too fast.”

“I might not have been in med school for long but I was there long enough to know that his condition shouldn’t have been deteriorating so quickly,” her voice is getting steadier now. “He shouldn’t have been in so much pain, he shouldn’t have been so tired all the time. And nothing was working; some of the treatment should have been working, something should have been working.”

“You must have noticed it,” she half states, half asks. “I mean… He was just so… And nothing was… You had to have noticed it too?”

Yeah, she’s right; he had noticed it. Dante shouldn’t have been so sick so quickly. No matter how much he slept, he always felt tired. He started to lose drastic amounts of weight and his skin started to yellow at a disturbingly rapid pace. His heart rate and blood pressure were all over the place. His bones appeared to have become brittle overnight and he seemed to be in almost perpetual pain, his body shrugging in on itself while he sat, or contorting itself while he slept, just trying to get comfortable. He started getting spells where he was confused, he would have no idea where he was or not remember why he walked into a room or forget something Bellamy had told time only minutes prior. The spells wouldn’t have normally been too alarming in an elderly patient except that this wasn’t any other elderly patient, this was Dante Wallace. He had never been anything but sharp as a tact, quick on his feet, alert and awake and of perfectly sound mind.

She was also right about the treatment. Lung cancer is obviously nothing to scoff about, but the kind Dante was diagnosed with should have at least been manageable, if not treatable or even curable, with the right medication. Medication Bellamy knew he was on because he was the one that administered the drug to Dante every day, which subsequently brought him to the shit storm he was currently caught in without rain boots or an umbrella. Not only did the medication not seem to be doing anything to improve Dante’s condition in any way, they seemed to be making him worse. It was almost like they were causing new symptoms in addition to exacerbating the ones that were already there.

So yeah, he had noticed. Bellamy was no medical professional or trained expert; he was just a caregiver, a companion, he was just “the help,” but even he could tell that something was wrong. Whenever he had tried to express his concerns to members of Dante’s family as well. But whenever he tried to speak with Dante’s children about his health, he was either told off-handedly that it would be checked into, or told in no uncertain terms to mind his own goddamn business or his ass was fired.

“I mean, I’m well aware that me making the illogically, dramatically huge jump straight from ‘my grandpa is super sick’ to ‘MY GRANDPA IS BEING POISONED!’ is a little odd,” Clarke shrugs. “But it turns out that when you’re majoring in pre-med and spend your summers researching insane, off the wall ways to kill someone for your grandfather who writes murder mystery novels, you pick up some things,” she says grimly.

God, he thinks, her whole entire life must just be so weird.

“I remember taking a random medicinal chem class in undergrad,” Clarke starts rambling. “That’s how I think I first figured out what was happening. It took me a while to figure out the specifics, but once the details starting becoming clear it was obvious: Grandpa had anthracycline induced cardiac and pulmonary toxicity that was incorrectly diagnosed as potentially malignant, early stage lung cancer.” She’s talking even more animatedly now and gesturing wildly with her hands like she’s really getting into what she’s saying. Bellamy hates how cute he finds it.

“He was then treated with unnecessary, prolonged, and continuous exposure to radon which not only served to exacerbate his current vascular symptoms, but also caused additional idiopathic neurological, respiratory, skeletal, cardiovascular, and immunological afflictions that caused his condition to deteriorate to the point of inviability,” Clarke explains. Kane is nodding along like this all makes perfect sense to him and that she was explaining something as simple as how two and two makes four.

Bellamy and Miller just stare at her with blank expression of incomprehension on their faces. Miller previously had his pen poised over his notepad like he would have written down every word she said if he knew how to spell half of them. Now he just sighs and tucks his pen behind his ear and shoves the notepad back into his back pocket.

“Uh huh, right, exactly,” he says dryly. “How about you repeat that one more time in Normal Person.”

“He was poisoned with something that made it look like he had lung cancer,” she states matter-of-factly.

Miller shots Bellamy a look that he knows is asking “the fuck couldn’t she have just said that the first time?!” There’s a similar expression on his own face right now, he’s sure.

“Then he started getting chemo and radiation for the Not Lung Cancer which probably ended up giving him the Actual Lung Cancer and definitely gave him a whole bunch of other bad shit. He was slowly but surely dying,” she swallows and looks down at her hands, picking at one of her fingernails. “And the stuff that was supposed to be helping him was really just causing radon poisoning and killing him more quickly and painfully,” the crack in her voice makes him want to fold her up in his arms and tell her everything is going to be okay, the way she had for him so many times over the past week. Until he reminds himself that we don’t comfort people who try to frame us for murder. People who try to frame us for murder are assholes, no matter how pretty they are.

“My first guess was obviously Cage,” she goes on, “mostly because he sucks and I hate him. But still, it's not like I was wrong. It took a while for me to convince grandpa though, he was actually really pissed at me for even suggesting it in the first place.”

Bellamy remembers those few weeks severalmonths back when Clarke had stopped coming around and Dante had gone from his usual “exasperating old man shouts at cloud” to “insufferably cranky asshole.” When Bellamy suggested that maybe they invite Clarke over to cheer him up since she hadn’t been around in a while, Dante had just glared even harder and huffed that he and Clarke had “parted ways” due to “irrevocable creative differences” before flouncing from the room like an egregiously offended prima donna and locking himself in his study for the remainder of the day.

“I finally managed to convince him by figuring out where Cage would have been getting whatever he was poisoning grandpa with: his wife.”

Bellamy didn’t really know Cage’s wife, Dr. Lorelai Tsing Wallace, very well. Nor had he made any effort too. Primarily because she gave him the fucking creeps. She wasn’t the same brand of downright terrifying like Nia, or intimidatingly poised like Abby. She was scary in her very own, unique “don’t stand so close to me,” “makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up,” Stranger Danger kind of way. He would catch her eyeing him with interest sometimes, and he could never quite tell if it was in an “I want to jump you” kind of way or an “I want to kidnap you and harvest your organs” kind of way.

“It seems that the pharmaceutical development company Dr. Tsing works for had been doing a great deal of experimentation with alternative forms of radiation and chemotherapy treatment.” Kane says from where he’s returned to his perch on the table. “Namely, orally administrated, pill forms of radon.”

“We haven’t been able to establish any conclusive evidence that Lorelai Tsing-Wallace was knowingly or willfully involved in her husband’s plot to kill his father,” Miller interrupts, all procedure and formality. All three of them look at him with thoroughly unimpressed faces. “But yeah,” he concedes. “I honestly have no idea how the hell Cage would have gotten his hands on so much radon for so long without her help.”

“So yeah,” Clarke continues. “Once I was able to sit grandpa down and calmly and rationally explain to him what was happening to him and how, he was persuaded to see reason.

It’s another part of the story that Bellamy can’t help but snort at, because looking back, he’s pretty sure he remembers the exact incident she’s talking about. After going weeks without seeing her, Clarke had stormed into the house like a category 5 hurricane (as opposed to her typical level 2 tornado) and stomped up the stairs to Dante’s study. She’d pounded incessantly on the door, demanding he let her in and talk to her. And when he’d continuously and steadfastly refused she’d threatened to “kick in his antique, handcrafted, mahogany door with her heavy-duty riding boots that he knew would fuck that door right up because he bought them for her and knew exactly how expensive they were and exactly how much she was not screwing around.”

Eventually Dante had relented and after that there was a lot of muffled yelling and what definitely sounded like things being thrown and furniture being knocked over, all of which was typical for a Wallace family argument. “You can never say we lack passion,” Dante had always told him. But it was the eerie silence that came after that was concerning. After they were quiet for so long that Bellamy genuinely began to worry that they had somehow managed to kill each other, he relented and made his way up the stairs.

His soft knock was met with an even softer “come in.”

Bellamy had popped his head in and teased “just wanted to make sure everyone was still alive up here.”

God in hindsight that was such a terrible joke, pun absolutely not intended he swears.

“Yes, yes, everything is just fine Bellamy, fine.” Dante had said quietly. Both he and Clarke had been sitting at his desk, red eyed, red faced, and looking horribly sad and defeated.

“Uh ok,” Bellamy had cleared his throat. “Well can I get either of you anything?”

Dante didn’t answer, still staring at his desk, so Clarke said “No I think we’re fine… Everything is… Fine.”

Dante had looked up at that point. “Yes,” he’d said, still sounding odd. “Just fine… You may go for the day.”

Bellamy should have known at that moment that something was up; it was only 11 am and Dante rarely ever even dismissed him an hour early, much less before noon. But he’d just shrugged it off as “family stuff” he didn’t want or need to get involved in, and made his way home, honestly happy to have a day off.

“All that evidence combined with the fact that, starting several months earlier, Cage had apparently started coming around more often wanting to do “guys night” with grandpa and bringing over whatever absurdly exotic, stupidly expensive liquor he could find that week for them to try, was what finally did it.” Clarke continues her story.

Bellamy remembers that, too. Cage had started coming around in the evenings to visit with Dante and they would drink and smoke cigars out on the screened in porch or in the den. Bellamy had been wary of why Cage started coming over so often when he had basically never made an effort to spend any time “getting to know” his father since Bellamy could remember. Dante had, of course, decided to humor him saying “perhaps there’s still time.” Bellamy had never really figured out what there was possibly still “time” for, given that there was no amount of time in the world that could reform Cage into a halfway decent excuse for a human being. But he guessed that was really none of his business.

When he’d asked about it off-handedly, Cage had thrown him some kind of excuse about “who even knew how much longer the old quack was going to survive, so he needed to get in quality time while he could.” Bellamy had just glared and scoffed quietly when Cage turned his back, chalking it up to Cage being an insensitive asshole and generally awful person who was just trying to make sure he would get his cut after his father died. Bellamy just hadn’t realized exactly how far Cage was willing to go to make that happen. At that moment, Bellamy also remembers that after the Hurricane Clarke situation was apparently resolved, that Dante stopped seeing Cage as often. He would make up well and truly absurd excuses like “he volunteered to referee a charity tennis game… at 7 at night… in the middle of January” for Bellamy to give Cage about why he couldn’t come over in the evenings or why Dante wouldn’t be making it to Cage’s house for their usual Thursday night dinners. Eventually Cage got the message and just gave up; not that Bellamy had minded getting to blow Cage off. It had become one of the highlights of his day.

“It was also me who figured out that the person he was probably trying to pin the poisoning on was you,” Clarke says.

“Okay this is one of the parts I’m still a little fuzzy on,” Miller interjects.

“Same,” Bellamy agrees, with feeling.

“I mean it was basically just simple process of elimination,” Clarke says, like figuring this out had been nothing more than a leisurely stroll in the park. And for her it might have been honestly. She’s terrifying.

“Cage was going to have to pin it on someone, he might be a slimy little shit weasel but he’s not completely stupid. And the fact that you gave grandpa his meds, including his radon shots, every day and night, made you the most obvious and ideal candidate.” She’s right of course. “They were going to need some way to explain the inexplicably high levels of radon in Dante’s system. So the most straight forward strategy would be to make it look like you were either knowingly, willfully, and purposefully trying to kill him, or at least make a solid case for elder abuse and negligent homicide.”

“That’s also why we felt we couldn’t go to the police at that point,” she says sadly. “We had no real idea how long Cage had been at this, except that it had been awhile. And we also had no idea just how much evidence he could have fabricated against you, how well he had covered his tracks. He wasn’t just a step ahead of us, he could have hiked the whole Appalachian trail for all we knew.”

“That’s probably also how he came up with the insulin and morphine ol’ switcheroo scheme,” Kane says.

Switcheroo? Bellamy can’t with this guy, he really just can’t.

“And this is where you lose me,” Miller interjects. “How do we jump from Long-term Radiation Poisoning to Lethal Morphine Overdoes to Slit Throat. Not that I don’t think it’s not possible,” he reassures them, "mostly because you are all insane,” he tacks on to the end. “It’s just that I’m gonna have to explain all this to a jury, and with those three potential causes of death, I can barely draw a Venn diagram… And juries love diagrams, so I’m gonna have to come up with something to show them.”

“Have you considered a histogram?” Kane asks, completely unhelpfully. “I know they have developed a somewhat questionable reputation in the chart and graph community, but there is really something to be said for…”

Miller just levels him with a glare that Bellamy is pretty sure could cut through bullet proof glass and Kane raises his hands in apparent surrender. “Just something to consider.”

“Anyway,” Clarke says, bringing them all back to the task at hand. “Like most heartless psychopaths, Cage is nothing if not a determined little creep. It’s why he has several restraining orders again him. I don’t even know how many it is at this point to be honest.” She glances over at Miller, “Could you look that up for me actually? I’ve always wondered and whenever I try to ask him about it he gets all testy.” Miller just looks at her disapprovingly, but when she turns away Bellamy sees Miller write a quick note on his pad and yeah, he’s totally looking that up. They’re all curious about how many it could possibly even be now.

“Since his quality poisoning time with grandpa had been severely limited once we figured out what he was doing, we knew he was going to come up with another plan. He once called 73 ‘Kate Johnstons’ trying to find a girl who had already changed her phone number once because he wouldn’t stop harassing her. His brand of Relentless Creeper Bravado knows no bounds,” she says with a disgusted, despairing look on her face.

“We could never tell exactly when it was going to happen or how it was going to go down,” Clarke said. “But we knew it would be coming eventually. Grandpa knew he would have to help you when the time came, and he also knew that I would need to be there to have your back and cover anything that might look like your tracks in the aftermath. I mean, I had to make it look like I was throwing you under the bus and then hanging you out to dry. But I really was trying to cover your ass. It’s a great ass, I would have hated for anything to happen to it,” Clarke grins a little like the cat that ate the canary and Bellamy can’t catch himself before he starts to grin back. It’s been a long day alright, there’s no way he’s going to be able to keep track of everything that’s happening and control his facial expressions at the same time, sue him.

God he would be a terrible murderer. There is just way too much going on, he would never have been able to keep all this straight.

“We knew we needed to make the plan, including the final cause of death, airtight so that no average cop would ever even consider you as a suspect. No offense,” she says, glancing over at Miller who just shrugs like he wouldn’t have even considered taking offense in the first place.

“So that’s when it was decided that Clarke would be the Moriarty to our Holmes and Watson,” Kane says with a flourish of his pipe.

“I want you to be the Watson to my Holmes on this Mr. Blake,” Kane had said a few days into the investigation. “As one of the last people to see Dante Wallace alive, you have a unique insight into his state of mind and what happened that frightful night… Whaddya say?”

“Sounds like a dream come true, sir.” Bellamy had deadpanned, biting his cheeks to keep from smiling when he heard Clarke inelegantly, and completely ineffectively, attempt to cover her snort of laughter from somewhere in the background.

Kane had just grinned at him. “The game is afoot, eh Watson?” he’d joked in his comically slow, exaggerated southern drawl. That time he was pretty sure Clarke didn’t even try to choke back her snickering.

“Wait…” Clarke says glancing up at Kane. “Would I technically be Moriarty or Irene?”

“Well,” Kane ponders, stroking that goddamn beard again. “You were technically good even thought you were pretending to be bad, so wouldn’t that make you Irene?”

“Yeah… But I was still pretending to be something I wasn’t, so wouldn’t that just make me Moriarty either way?”

“Guys,” Miller interrupts their exchange.

“Right. Sorry,” Clarke says, like she’s just remembering where she is and what’s happening. Kane, on the other hand, looks like he’s still deeply considering the question and will continue to do so for the time being.

“It was actually the slit throat that tipped me off in the first place,” Clarke says with a little shake of her head and a half smile, half grimace. “If grandpa was really going to commit suicide he would never do it by slitting his throat,” she explains.

“He refused to use it as the cause of death in any of his novels because he considered them ‘offensively unimaginative’ and ‘inelegantly pedestrian’,” Clarke says, doing her best Dante impression which, Bellamy must admit, is pretty good. “But it was an effective way to blatantly show that his death was definitely self-induced. So that’s how I knew that something had gone wrong,” Clarke explains. “And when you told me about the accidental morphine overdose I knew it had to be the King of Try Hard’s plan put in motion and that it was Go Time…. No pun intended,” she adds quickly.

Bellamy runs his hand over his face thinking about the Go board, which is probably locked up in evidence right now, covered in Dante’s blood.

“Apparently,” she continues with a look in her eyes that could only be described as ‘murder mode’, “grandpa Dante was taking too long to die for Cage, so he decided to expedite the process. He knew that grandpa would never be able to say no to his birthday cake at the party.”

It was his favorite, German chocolate. Cage special ordered a huge one from Dante’s favorite bakery just for his birthday Bellamy remembers sourly. “I can’t believe you lived through World War II just to keel over and die from a German induced sugar high,” Bellamy had teased him while Dante dug into his second piece.

“Maybe so,” Dante had grinned at him. “But what a way to go eh?” Bellamy had just chuckled and walked away. He remembers reminding himself to make sure Dante got his insulin that night, and to make sure he got the higher dosage.

He can’t smile or laugh about that memory now though. All he can do is remember the horror and heartbreak that came just a few short hours later. He can feel himself starting to panic as he remembered looking down at the tiny glass bottles that held Dante’s insulin and morphine prescriptions. The terror that almost made his heart stop when he realized he’d given Dante more than 200 milligrams of morphine instead of insulin — more than enough to be a fatal dose.

“Hey, hey, Bellamy you gotta breathe,” he hadn’t even registered her moving, but somehow Clarke was kneeling right in front of him. Bellamy sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, but somehow the oxygen still doesn’t reach his lungs and he starts gasping for air.

He remembers the horror that washed over him as he realized: he’d switched the medication vials; the way it grew and started squeezing his lungs and clawing at his throat as he discovered that the emergency Naloxone was missing from his med kit. He remembers the feeling of urgency washing over him while he quickly told Dante what he did and picked up the phone to dial 911. The confusion when Dante pulled the phone cord out of the wall telling Bellamy they needed to “not be too hasty” and “to think this through” all the while Bellamy desperately trying to tell him that he only had ten minutes.

“Ten minutes until what?” he’d asked blandly.

“Ten minutes until you’re dead Dante! Like, stone cold dead. No do overs, no take backs.” Bellamy remembers trying to yell, but what came out was high pitched, hysterical panic. “We need to get you an ambulance NOW!” He’d lunged for the phone again, but Dante stopped him.

“Bellamy, son, listen to me right now,” Dante had said in his most serious I Am Dante Wallace and I Am Not Fucking Around voice. “If it’s only ten minutes, I’m already as good as gone. There is no way an ambulance could ever get here in ten minutes. We are too far from a main road, too far back on the property.”

“Dante, listen… There is no time, you have to listen! We have to get you help!” Bellamy had begged him, not even trying to maintain any of his composure at that point.

“Stop it! Stop this, Bellamy!” Dante had said, his voice even more serious and harsh. “Don’t you understand? If what you said is true, there is no saving me. If you call for help, the authorities will find you and a dead body and you will be in serious trouble for this. Trouble that you may never recover from.”

“I don’t care!” Bellamy had yelled. “I’ll deserve it!” I killed you, he’d wanted to scream. You’ll be dead and it will be all my fault.

“Think Bellamy, think about this. What about your sister? If you are tied up in, or even bankrupted by, lawsuits and legal proceedings and very possibly end up having to serve jail time, who will take care of Octavia? Who will be there for her? Who will protect her?”

Bellamy had glared over at Dante, he knew O is Bellamy’s kryptonite. He’s right though, Bellamy can’t just leave his baby sister alone in the world, not when he’s the only family she has left. Not when she’s relying on him, when he’s putting a roof over her head and making sure she eats and sleeps and does all those things young adults seem to constantly forget to do. Not when he’s paying for her health insurance and car insurance and putting her through college and planning on helping her with grad school. All with the money he made from this job. Fuck. He can’t just abandon her, can’t bring her whole life crashing down around her. He can’t do to her what was done to him when their mother died.

Dante must have noticed the change in Bellamy’s demeanor because he’d placed his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders and said, “We have to get you out of this. If you go down for this, your family will be broken again, but we aren’t going to let that happen are we? You need to listen to me very carefully and do exactly as I tell you… Will you do this Bellamy? This last thing. For me. For your family.”

He remembers trying to calm himself down and snap himself out of the overwhelming, panic-stricken haze that had overtaken his brain as he tried to pay attention to all of Dante’s instructions. He remembers the frenzied anxiety that he felt trying to remember what Dante had told him to do. Was it the drain pipe on the left or the right side of the house? Was he supposed to turn off the road before or after the tiered fountain?? What was the back-gate lock combination again??? Bellamy had known every single lock combination on the estate for years, but in that moment it had taken him at least six guesses. He remembers the frantic need to get as far away from the estate as quickly as he possibly could as he was driving home.

He remembers walking into his apartment and all the adrenaline that must have been keeping him upright completely disappearing. He remembers dragging himself into his room and lying in his bed all night, not sleeping a wink, just staring at his god awful beige colored bedroom ceiling, sobbing silent tears, a nifty little life hack he had picked up during childhood so as not to wake O who was usually sleeping in the room right next to his, if not in the actual bed right next to him. He remembers the freight train of emotions steamrolling over him as he realized that one of his best friends was dead. That he had killed one of the only true friends he’d ever had in this world.

The thing that he remembers most vividly of all though, was turning around to open the door to Dante’s study right after he’d stepped out to say “Fuck it. I’m calling you a goddamn ambulance, I don’t give a shit,” just in time to see Dante slitting his own throat.

“No, no, in through your nose and out through your mouth Bell,” Clarke says a little more urgently, jerking him back into the present moment. She grabs his hands and pushes her thumbs hard into the middle of his palms, trying to ground him. “Close your mouth and breathe through your nose and think about something else, like Kane’s stupid pipe. I know how much you hate that thing.”

Kane’s expression momentarily turns from concerned to offended. When he opens his mouth Bellamy just knows he’s about to launch into a diatribe about how pipes are traditional and sophisticated and all that shit. The thought makes Bellamy snort out a laugh which interrupts his breathing efforts and he starts gasping again.

Then Kane comes to kneel next to Clarke and looks at Bellamy with the first serious, sincere expression he thinks he’s seen from the man since he met him. “Bellamy, son,” he starts in that ridiculous drawl that Bellamy is sure must be greatly exaggerated, if not totally fake, but doesn’t really know enough about Southern dialect to call him out on it.

“Bellamy listen to me,” Kane goes on, making Bellamy meet his eyes and squeezing his shoulder. “You didn’t kill him, son. You did not kill Dante or do anything that led to or resulted in his death. You are an innocent man, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy tries to listen to what they are saying to him, but it sounds like they are talking under water and he feels like he’s drowning.

Miller rushes back into the room with a styrofoam cup that he gives to Clarke who then thrusts it into one of his hands while keeping hold of the other. “Here,” she says decisively, like somehow this cup is going to single handedly subdue the sheer panic tsunami that’s still building up inside him. Maybe they just think he needs something to throw up in. When Bellamy looks down at the cup though, he sees that it's full of ice cubes. “Now start crunching and breathe through your goddamn nose.” He does what he’s told and can’t believe she remembers such a small, insignificant detail like that this is his mental breakdown self-medication of choice.

They had been at the Dropship Diner for about an hour or two, and it was during one of the lulls in their anxiety inducing and more than a little depressing conversation about What the Actual Fuck Happened to Dante that he'd noticed her staring at him.

“What?” he’d asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

Clarke had blinked like someone just woken her up from a coma and then shaken her head a little ruefully. “No,” then she’d smiled slyly at him. “Well… At least not anything you can fix.”

He’d snorted. “So just thinking about who you’re going to hire to slowly and painfully kill me to avenge your grandfather’s death then?” He’d only been about half teasing, give or take. Clarke was very much her grandfather’s granddaughter in that she could be downright terrifyingly intimidating when she wanted to be.

She’d cackled at that. “Definitely not,” she’d laughed. “I mean, why outsource a job I could easily do myself?” Bellamy wouldn’t put it past her to be honest, but her grin while she said it had made the would be threat completely ineffective, and he could feel some of his nerves finally begin to settle a bit.

“I’m honestly just wondering how in the world you still have any teeth,” she'd said, shaking her head. “Did you make some kind of dental deal with the devil? Can he do something about my molars? I mean, I know I clench my jaw all the time, but them chipping so often feels a little dramatic.”

He’d barked out a laugh. “What?”

“Well I’ve watched you chew your way through cup after cup of ice water with the hyper focus of some kind of robot beaver on meth, but I don’t think you’ve actually drank a single drop of actual water.”

Bellamy looks around him and sees that yep, there are about eleven half empty water glasses in front of him that he had sucked the ice out of with the tenacity of a Roomba.

He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Just a weird coping mechanism,” he’d told her. “I started doing it as a kid. We were too poor to get me on any actual anxiety medication or pay for me to do something constructive with all my nervous energy, like ice dance kickboxing or therapeutic underwater basket weaving or whatever it is you rich kids do.” She’d snorted at that but still nodded her head as if to say fair enough. “But between all my mom’s shitty, drug addict boyfriends and being my little sister’s primary caregiver while still trying to get good enough grades to not get kicked out of the charter school I was in, I had a lot of nervous energy. So yeah, ice chomping it was.”

“Wow,” she’d said. “That took a real hard left from cute childhood anecdote to tragic backstory really quickly. Never even saw the plot twist coming.”

“Yeah, I’ve got a few of those,” he'd told her, trying for a joking tone but completely missing it, if the way her expression had softened was any indication.

"I know you do.” She'd said quietly.

“You know you’d make a perfect broody detective with a tragic childhood in one of my grandpa’s books,” she’d said lightly, obviously trying to bring the levity back to the conversation. “You know, the dramatic ho, asshole with a heart of gold type who says shit like ‘they work outside of the law, but on the side of justice’ .”

He’d just shaken his head and smiled ruefully at her before putting his head in his heads, thinking about how much he was going to fucking miss Dante and willing himself not to start crying again. He’d cried more in those past few days than he had in a long time.

“SO!” she’d said loudly all perk and pep, clapping her hands like an annoyingly upbeat cheerleader and jolting him out of his reverie. “What are we gonna do about the whole ‘you potentially being caught propelling down a drain pipe with the stealth of a cat thrown into a swimming pool a few minutes after grandpa’s overdose’ thing? Because even I gotta say… That one is gonna be a toughie.”

Of course she remembers, he muses, she’s Clarke. And even though he’d never admit it, he’s pretty sure he remembers every single small, insignificant detail he’d ever learned about her too. She’s Clarke after all, his Clarke. The thought comes with such startling clarity and certainty that it’s what finally manages to snap him all the way out of the deep, dark panic hole he had been digging.

He opens his eyes and sees that Kane has moved away giving him some space. But Clarke is still there, holding his hand tightly in hers and stroking her thumb gently over his knuckles. She’s looking up at him from her place on the floor; all soft, concerned blue eyes and earnest, encouraging heartbreaker smile and yeah, he thinks, definitely His Clarke.

“Did you hear what Kane said, Bell?” she asks gently. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do it.”

Bellamy opens his mouth to contradict her, but Miller interrupts him before he can say anything, “It’s true Mr. Blake. Dante Wallace’s official cause of death is in fact blood loss from a self-inflicted stab wound.”

Bellamy opens his mouth again to point out that Dante never would have cut his own throat if Bellamy hadn’t fucked up and given him a huge overdose of morphine, but Miller also interrupts him again. “The toxicology screens and blood tests conducted as part of Mr. Wallace's autopsy also showed that there was no morphine in his system at all, just his normal dosage of insulin. In fact, the only abnormality found on Mr. Wallace's tox screens was an irregularly high level of radon in his system. Inexplicably high, even for someone who had been undergoing regular treatments of radiation or chemotherapy for some time. You didn’t give Dante Wallace an overdose of morphine or any other drug.”

Bellamy just sits there, totally speechless and completely dumbfounded.

“Now that Wallace’s deathly has been unequivocally ruled a suicide, neither you, nor anybody else, is under investigation for his murder,” Miller says firmly.

“But,” he goes on and Bellamy feels his gut clench again. There’s always a but. “In anticipation of the potential event that Dante Wallace’s death was not a suicide, we started considering potential motives. With a man like Dante and his considerable fortune and assets, as I’m sure you could imagine, money was obviously the first thing we came up with.”

“Dante’s oldest child, Abigail Caroline Griffin had no financial motive to want him dead that we could find.” Miller said nodding at Clarke. “Nor could we find any financial motive for his other daughter Antonia Elizabeth Kingcade. Like, none. Absolutely. Whatsoever.” And damn, Bellamy knew that was the god’s honest truth.

Not only was Nia still getting alimony and child support for Ontari from her ex-husband, who somehow managed to make more money than she did, he knew that Nia regularly made a killing in her own career. Figuratively that is; although it’s totally possible Nia actually kills people as part of her job, he wouldn’t be that surprised. Bellamy never knew what exactly it was that Nia did honestly; every time he’d try to ask someone, including her own son, they would open their mouths and start to answer him only to say something like “huh” and scratch their heads trying to figure out if they just couldn’t remember or ever even knew in the first place. Eventually they would start to look like they were thinking so hard they might hurt themselves, so Bellamy would just say “never mind” and eventually gave up trying to find out. All he really knew about what Nia did for a living was that she did a lot of it and that she did it very well. Well enough to land herself a spot on the high ends of all those “Fortune 500,” “50 Most Influential Under 50,” “Lifestyles of the Super Rich and Powerful,” "Have Never Paid Their Federal Income Taxes," "We Could Probably End First World Poverty But Just Choose Not To," lists that magazines like Forbes and Time made year after year.

“His oldest son Cage Bradford Wallace however,” Miller says with a pained look on his face like the name is so douchey it offends him to have to say it. Bellamy will hand it to him that it is an offensively douchey name. It's almost like his parents knew he was going to be an offensive douche bag and named him accordingly, “had more motivation than a Richard Simmons workout video. Turns out that Wallace Jr. has been running his ‘investment firm’ less as a business and more as a personal piggy bank. We think he figured out a long time ago that it was going to catch up with him and that he was going to have to somehow magically replace all the money he’d stolen from his investors. But apparently the scheme he came up with the get that money was less magical and more... attempted homicidal.”

“We have a forensics team sweeping his home, his car, and his office right now as well as digging through all his trash,” Miller says. “And I’m not a betting man… At least not during the week anyway… But I am more than willing to bet we are going to find radon residue all over Cage’s entire life from the past year or so.”

The door swings open, interrupting Miller’s monologue, which he looks vaguely put out by. “Not probably, definitely.” It’s Detective Reyes, Miller’s partner and head of the forensics team on the case, and who is the same brand of disconcertingly intelligent and unnervingly observant that Clarke is.

The first time he’d met her, she’d been taking his fingerprints and DNA sample and collecting fingernail scrapings and whatever else it is forensic people collect. He was having a hard time focusing at that point, the panic fog still hanging thick over his brain.

“Okay, you’re all set!” She’d declared when she was finished with whatever it was she was doing. “I’ll let you get back to your cat.”

“My…?” he’d started, staring dumbly at her.

“Your… cat…,” she’d said slowly, like she was trying to explain the rules of Candy Land to a four year-old. “Orange Calico, I’m pretty sure… Might be a Tabby though.”

“How did you…?”

She’d reached over to pluck off a tiny orange hair Sphinx must have left on his jacket that his heavy-duty lint roller didn’t catch. Then she’d just grinned like a wolf and left him with a cheery “have a nice day!” and blown out of the room in a whirlwind as quickly as she came in.

“We also strongly suspect that Carl Emerson Wallace is a co-conspirator in his father’s death,” Kane adds flipping his little coin thingy again. Bellamy decides that he really doesn’t need to work both the pipe and the coin at the same time. One would be enough for him to maintain whatever vibe he’s going for. Bellamy still isn’t completely sure what that vibe is exactly, but at this point he’s a little too afraid, and mostly too tired, to ask. 

“Not only did he also have a financial motive,” Reyes says letting a stack of file folders drop loudly onto the table and making everyone in the room jump, “being that he too was broke. But a search of his car turned up a small vial of Naloxone, which he has no business or reasonable explanation for having in the first place. And it will likely prove to be the emergency Naloxone missing from your kit.”

The emergency Naloxone Bellamy needed that night. The Naloxone that would have saved Emerson’s own father’s life. Bellamy can’t help but clench his jaw and tighten his hold on Clarke’s hand. Fucking Emerson, this would be the one time he manages to do something vaguely useful or slightly right.

“Okay. Ow. Bell,” Clarke interrupts his mental tirade by poking his leg. “I know I’m not your favorite person right now, but maybe we can negotiate about which of my appendages you get to rip off? Because I like my fingers, and I just got this manicure.”

Bellamy looks down to see that Clarkes fingers are literally turning white in his grip. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly letting go of her hand. He can’t help but chuckle, both at himself and over the fact that Clarke doesn’t know she’s basically his favorite person in any given room at any given time. Even, evidently, when she’s fake framing him for murder.

She just smiles ruefully at him and gives his hand one more warm, reassuring squeeze before making her way back to where she had been sitting on the other side of the table. He wants to drag her back over to him; to take her hand back in his and fold her under his arm and know she’s on his side again. But he doesn’t, he can maintain some level of chill. He can.

“We knew Cage would fuck up at some point,” Clarke says once she’s settled. “He might be a clever little douche canoe, but he’s not that smart. And his first major fuck up was thinking you would fuck up.”

"He switched are the vials in your med kit," Miller says when Bellamy looks at him questioningly, "or had someone switch them around for him, as the case may be."

Fucking Emerson.

"It was as simple as using the syringes in your kit to switch the liquids in the insulin and morphine medication vials, and then taking the emergency Naloxone as a precaution," Reyes explains. "So simple even an idiot like Emerson could apparently do it."

Bellamy might just end up in jail for murder after all before this is over, because he is going to fucking kill Emerson.

“Apparently, the one thing Cage didn’t count on was that, unlike him, you are actually competent at your job,” Kane says pulling several small vials out of his bag on the floor next to him and setting them on the table in front of Bellamy. "Not just competent; dedicated, skilled, exceptional, unerringly so it turns out. And for that reason, you did not give Dante an overdose, you did not use the incorrect medication. You switcherooed the switcheroo."

Bellamy can't even be annoyed at Kane's word choice, because he is genuinely to stunned to think straight.

“That’s impossible,” he manages to choke out. “I was there… I know what I… I know I gave him an overdose.”

“No, you didn’t,” Kane counters. “Here, I’ll show you… Hand me that vial of morphine.”

Without thinking Bellamy grabs the bottle of morphine from the table and hands it to Kane, who takes it from him grinning. “If you look Mr. Blake, you’ll see that I have taped over the labels of all these medication vials, and the vials themselves are identical… So how did you know this was the morphine?”

“I just knew,” Bellamy says shocked as hell and honestly surprised he can talk.

“Yes, you just knew. You knew because there are the slightest, almost imperceptible difference of tincture and viscosity between all these liquids. You knew because you had administered these exact same medications to Dante Wallace steadfastly and without fail every night for years. You knew because you'd done it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. You gave him the correct medication because you are a good care giver.”

“Then Dante was…?”

“I’m sorry Mr. Blake, but yes,” Kane says sadly. “Mr. Wallace was perfectly fine. His blood was normal. The cause of death was truly, solely suicide, and you are guilty of nothing but some slight property damage in the form of a broken drainpipe and a few amateur, albeit impressive, theatrics. In fact, if he had listened to you and called the ambulance, he would be alive today.”

Bellamy swears his heart actually breaks in that moment. He can feel the sharp, relentless pain starting in his chest and radiating through his entire body as he puts a hand over his mouth and chokes out a strangled sob.

“Yeah,” Clarke says sounding and looking absolutely miserable. “You would think he would have learned at some point to just listen to you,” she tries to tease, but it doesn’t quite land.

“Anyway,” she says curtly, quickly wiping a tear off her cheek like it’s personally offending her. “Once we found out that grandpa had left you literally everything, Cage was even more likely to start getting sloppy and desperate. But what we couldn’t have happen was for us to wait for Cage to dig his own grave and have you go down in the meantime. And I just so happened to be the perfect scapegoat,” a little bit of her grin coming back. “The greedy, self-obsessed granddaughter whose more than willing to hang ‘the help’ out to dry so she can get her perfectly moisturized hands on her share of granddaddy dead and dearest’s dough.”

It’s in that moment that Bellamy actually understands just how immeasurably huge of a gamble Clarke took in risking her ass for this. Sure, it was a calculated risk, with several elaborate fail safes and back up plans, but still. As he begins to truly appreciate what Clarke had done, what she had been willing to do, all for him, to keep him out of trouble. The guilt settles over him like a dark, heavy cloud. He’s spent days hating her. He has said some truly heinous things about her in anger. He had no second thoughts about believing the absolute worst of her. She’s supposed to be his friend. He should have known she would never truly do something like try to frame him for murder she committed. Hell, he should have known that she wasn’t even capable of committing any type of murder at all, much less the one of a person she loved. Clarke could never in any time, dimension, or universe do anything like that. Not his Clarke.

She must notice the heaviness settle over him because when he opens his mouth to start apologizing to her, he’s not above begging really, she puts her hand up and says “I know what you’re gonna say, and don’t… I also know exactly what you’re thinking, and stop.” Honestly he’s sure she really does know, she always knows somehow.

“Yeah sure it was risky,” she says with a shrug, like possibly going down for first degree murder is about as potentially risky as buying a lottery ticket. “But, given the fact that I didn’t actually kill grandpa Dante, they never would have been able to come up with much more than a pretty weak, completely circumstantial case against me… Again, no offense,” she says to Miller who just nods as if to say ‘well, it’s not untrue.’

“And besides, it’s not like I couldn’t afford adequate legal representation who could have totally gotten me out of it. I mean, we might have had to sell one of the summer homes, but it’s like they always say: victory stands on the back of sacrifice,” she says with a completely straight face.

That does startle a bark of a laugh out of him, but the guilt is still there. It’s pinched between his eyebrows and clenched in his fists and sitting heavy in his gut. He knows he won’t be free of it until he really gets to talk to her. Just the two of them. Together. But this clearly isn’t the time or the place to do it. There’s already way too much going on.

“Here’s what I don’t get,” Miller interrupts, startling Bellamy. He had genuinely forgotten Miller was there, or that they were in a police station, and pretty much everything else that was happening. Clarke tends to have that effect on people. Well, mostly him, that he knows of; but he’s sure there are others somewhere. “Why not just tell Bellamy all of this?”

“Kane wasn’t just being figurative or facetious when he said Bellamy was ‘too honest’ to be in on it,” Clarke says. “He is literally incapable of being a convincing enough liar for us to have told him anything about it. He has an unfortunately obvious tell when he tries to lie.”

Ah, so Dante told her about the stutter. Bellamy knows he shouldn’t be surprised really, especially now that he knows Clarke was Dante’s ghost writer. And Clarke was observant as hell, it was totally possible that she just picked up on it herself. He tried not to make it a habit to lie to his employers, but when you are working for the impossibly rich and impossible to please, sometimes it’s necessary. He could usually make it through a quick fib without his voice shaking too much, but he knew it was still noticeable if you were paying attention or looking for it.

“Yeah,” he says with a grimace. “It’s a little nervous habit I picked up during childhood.” He knows that’s putting it very, very lightly. He’s not sure exactly how much Dante would have told Clarke about how Bellamy developed the “stammers when he tries to lie” thing. Probably not much, considering the fact that it’s not a particularly fun or entertaining story to tell.

It had started with one of his mom’s shitty boyfriends, who happened to be O’s dad, which came with the unfortunate side effects of him not just being around for a while, but actually living with them for an extended period of time. While all of Aurora Blake’s boyfriends had been shitty humans in general, this one’s particular brand of shiftiness was a drug induced one. The guy, whose name Bellamy refuses to remember on principle, was a crazy, paranoid tweaker who had decided that 10 year-old Bellamy was somehow the root cause of all his problems and the bane of his entire existence.

When Aurora was at work he would yell and scream and threaten Bellamy for hours on end, sometimes keeping him up until the early hours of the morning when his mom had to work the night shift. He would sit Bellamy down at the kitchen table and pace around the kitchen, using the “bad cop” style of interrogation that Bellamy recognized from those crime shows he definitely didn’t secretly watch while his mom was at work or he was at a friend’s house. He would accuse Bellamy of lying to him, of stealing from him, of spying on him, having him followed, trying to take over his mind, trying to body snatch him. Of being everything from a Ded to a demon haunting the apartment to a rare alien species trying to take over the world and make humans their slaves.

Eventually he started throwing in threats about hurting his Mom and O, who was still just an infant at the time, and Bellamy got so terrified of the dude’s escalating behavior that he just started making things up and telling him what he wanted to hear. Typically, this would appease him and he would calm down for a while until he shot up again and the process started all over. Bellamy would admit to anything, confess anything, say literally anything just to make it stop.

He got so used making things up that he almost couldn’t tell what was the truth and what was lies anymore, except for one thing that kept them apart for him. Bellamy would try to come up with stories so quickly and talk faster than he could think and get so terrified and nervous that whenever he came up with a lie, he would stutter, desperately making things up as he went, just trying to get it out before the yelling and screaming started all over again. It started happening with other people and in normal, everyday conversations too. And before he knew it, he couldn’t even tell a simple fib without breaking out into cold sweats and stammering uncontrollably.

That had gone on for what was probably way too long, until it eventually escalated into the shitty boyfriend demanding Aurora kick Bellamy out because he was actually some kind of government drone sent to spy on them. For what reason the government would give enough of a fuck about this deadbeat, drug head to send a drone to spy on him, Bellamy could never figure out. And it was honestly kind of a moot point anyway because Aurora had ultimately refused, obviously. While she had horrible taste in men and difficulties holding down a job, she made for damn sure that no one fucked with her kids.

It was after that incident that Aurora sat Bellamy down and explained to him that while she counted on him to look after his sister, he also needed to look out for himself. That she wanted to look out for the both of them, so she needed to know when someone treated either of them badly, or he thought someone was treating her badly. That if anyone ever hurt or scared him or his sister, or gave him a bad feeling, he could tell her and they would be gone, no questions asked. And to Bellamy’s surprise she actually kept that promise for the remainder of her life. But unfortunately, “the rest of her life” would only be a few more short years. He lost a lot of things when his mom passed: he lost her, he lost his sister for a while, he lost his home, and he lost any small sense of stability and security he’d had in his life. But the stammer stubbornly refused to take a hike. Now it’s just a part of his everyday life, a quirky personality trait. At best, it’s a fun, if not kind of bizarre, party trick. And at worst, it’s some stubbornly residual PTSD resulting from a depressingly tragic back story that Bellamy probably should have gotten years of therapy for. And hey, now that he’s loaded, he can actually afford it.

Dante had found it absolutely fascinating. He even used an adaptation of it in one of his books. One of the main characters in the novel was a young woman who had a “regurgitative reaction to mistruthing” or, in other words, she blew chunks every time she even thought about telling a lie. Bellamy hadn’t particularly cared for that rather unflattering iteration of his condition. But apparently Dante’s publisher’s thought it was inspired and his readers went absolutely nuts for it, so he just got over himself.

“But grandpa Dante didn’t need to know any of that to be sure that you were the right person to trust to leave in charge of his estate,” Clarke says. “I still can’t believe how genuinely shocked some of them were that he would leave you something… Leave you everything even… I saw it coming honestly.”

“See my grandpa knew you Bellamy Blake. Even when he found out he couldn’t trust his own family, his own children, even we he thought he could no longer trust his own judgment, he knew he could trust you. He knew you wouldn’t sell his stories or his company off to whoever was the highest bidder like Nia wanted to, that you would make sure it went into the hands of someone who would respect his vision. He knew you would never do something as cruel as leave Maya in the lurch with her blood transfusions, but would be able to keep Emerson from seeing ‘one red dime’.”

Bellamy can’t help but smile at Clarke’s use of one of her grandfather’s favorite dramatic epitaphs; but at the same time, he feels his gut clench at the memory of the phone call he got from Maya the other day while he and Clarke were sitting in the Dropship Diner, staring at what had to have been at least their fourth pot of coffee.

“Hey Bellamy,” she had sounded nervous, her voice strained.

“Maya? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

“No… I was just wondering if you had decided what you were going to do yet? With grandpa’s estate? Are going to keep it or…?” she trailed off at the end.

“I don’t know yet Maya,” he’d told her. “I’m still in shock my head is spinning, I can’t even…”

“I think you need to give it back,” she interrupted him in a harsh tone she’d never used with him before. “I mean, it’s the right thing to do Bellamy. This family… We were always good to you. We’ve always been really good to you and your sister… It wouldn’t be right just taking everything from us like that… It was shitty of grandpa to put you in this position and I think you really just need to…”

She’s rambling, her voice is getting even more high pitched, it sounds like she’s panicking. Somethings not right, he can tell. “Maya, slow down okay. Just… Tell me what’s going on.”

He hears her choke back something like a hysterical sob.

“Shitgoddamnitfuck,” she sounds even worse. “I can’t do this. God, I’m sorry Bell! I’m so fucking sorry I’m…”

“It’s fine,” he tries to keep his voice level, nonchalant, reassuring. “Just tell me what’s up.”

“My dad can’t afford my treatment on his own.” Bellamy swears he can feel his balls drop and a cold dread settles over him. “My dad is… He’s broke Bell… He can’t pay for them, grandpa was paying for everything and now he’s not and I don’t know what will happen if I stop being able to get my treatment Bellamy, I don’t even know if I’ll…”

Bellamy knows: she’ll die. Maybe not right away, but eventually, her condition will turn from manageablely life threatening to undoubtedly fatal. Without the ridiculously expensive medication she has to take and her bi-weekly dialysis and transfusions, her blood will start clotting, her immune system will stop being able to fight off infection, her bone marrow will break down, and her body will collapse in on itself. He’s not a doctor or nurse, but he’s been around enough sick people to know what all the big words and scary jargon add up to.

He was there a few years back when the Wallaces called one of their rare Official Family Meetings and were told that Maya’s aplastic anemia had progressed to full blown paroxysmal nocturnal hemoglobinuria. He was there when Dante called in doctor after doctor and flew in experts and specialists from around the world to get 2nd and 3rd and eventually 12th and 13th opinions. He was there when Maya would stay over at the estate for days at a time, not wanting to be home alone while her step-dad went off on one of his “business trips,” (aka his week-long benders in Vegas or Miami or where ever there wasn't currently a warrant out for his arrest for some kind of misdemeanor). He was there when Maya would break down and crack under the depression and the fear of dying. And he was there when Dante would cry on his shoulder over the helplessness he felt that, even with all his fame and fortune and infinite resources, he couldn’t fix this for her.

God, it was just like Emerson to blow through all their money without giving a second thought to his 16 year-old step daughter and her life threatening condition for which she needed continuous care for the foreseeable future. Bellamy never got the chance to know Ada Vie, Maya’s mom, very well; but at least he knew she loved and took care of her daughter. He could never figure out why the fuck Emerson got married in the first place, especially to a woman who already had a kid. He had no interest in being a husband and even less interest in being a dad. Bellamy had always slightly suspected he married Ada for her own family money, and now that he knows Emerson has blown through it all, it’s not even a suspicion anymore. Ada had died suddenly a few years after they got married, and after the dust settled Emerson was left with a step-daughter and dependent whose share of her mother’s estate he controlled and had apparently plowed over like a goddamn 18-wheeler on the interstate.

“Hey listen to me Maya,” she’d been crying in earnest at that point, still apologizing for trying to guilt and manipulate him. “No matter what I decide, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I won’t let it, I would never do that,” he’d promised her. And he’d meant it. Dante was always more of a father figure to Maya than Emerson ever was, and Bellamy knew beyond all shadow of any possible doubt that Dante would have wanted Maya to be taken care of.

He hadn’t been able to figure out why Dante hadn’t left anything to Maya or any instructions about her care in his Will, but now it was clear. Maya was underage and would be for the next two years. Until she turned 18 her legal guardian would have control over the funds left to her as well as if and how they were used. And that legal guardian would have been Emerson. After finding out that Emerson had not only been scamming him, but also using Maya’s inheritance from her mother as his own personal piggy bank, there was no way Dante would have ever trusted his son with this.

“The only one of his kids Dante really worried about cutting out of the will was my mom. But in the end, he knew she would respect his decision like she always did, even when she didn’t understand it. Besides,” Clarke grins, “it’s not like she was left high and dry or anything. My dad left her with a pretty cushy set up when he died.”

Jacob Griffin, also known as Mr. Go-Green; the environmental engineer responsible for most of the prototypes used for the U.S.’s eco-friendly technology. The man who helped spearhead sustainable energy as the world knew it. Yeah, Bellamy could imagine his wife wouldn’t have much to worry about after he died, and his daughter too.

As if Clarke could tell what he’s thinking she adds, “I mean obviously he set me and Madi up nicely too. But honestly, I do pretty well for myself… Who knew that working as a research assistant and ghost writer for one of the most famous crime novelists in history would be so lucrative?!” There’s that smirk of hers again. This time he doesn’t even try to stop himself from smiling back as he feels the last bit of the knot that’s been in his stomach since Dante died finally begin to fade.

“We figured Roan wouldn’t be too much of a problem either since he hates this family’s money on principle and probably wouldn’t have even taken his part of Nia’s inheritance in the first place. Plus,” she goes on, “he would be on the opposite side of his mother and sister purely out of spite. Apparently he’s not hurting for cash either,” she adds. “Did you know that he owns the largest and most lucrative chain of non-medicinal marijuana dispensaries in the North Eastern U.S? Roan, an entrepreneur… Who knew right?!?”

Bellamy actually did know that; Roan told him once while they were commiserating over some of Dante’s good whiskey. What he didn’t know was that Roan was keeping it under wraps or not telling his family though, apparently the combination of top shelf liquor and good weed makes Roan chatty. Or maybe it was just Bellamy that made Roan chatty. Bellamy has that effect on people, as it turns out. Yet another one of his sparkling personality traits that seems to get him in predicaments like the one he is in now.

“I’m kinda jealous of how much he’s winning at life honestly,” Clarke groans. “God… How did the cousin who thought he could practice Santaria and unironically wore dreads and spent multiple summers following Black Sabbath around on their world tours end up being the one with a successful career and functional relationship?”

“According to E!News he’s dating that insanely hot, Icelandic supermodel with no last name. God what is her name?” Clarke starts tapping her head like she’s trying to poke her brain into submission. “Gecko…? Ghetto…? Techno…?”

“Echo.” Miller says in a patronizing tone implying that not only Clarke, but everyone on this planet, in this world should be aware of the information.

“Yes!” Clarke cries out, snapping her fingers at him and making Bellamy jump, “ECHO! Oh my god thank you, that was going to drive me nuts!”

Miller nods at her like he’s willing to let it go this time, but he won’t tolerate such an infraction again.

“Pft you would know that,” Reyes chimes in with a scoff. “I swear, for a dude who is strictly dickly, you are more knowledgeable about supermodels than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re like a walking Hot Chick Encyclopedia.”

“Don’t you have something to be analyzing with some super overpriced high techy-tech thing that we paid way too many hard working, taxpayer dollars for somewhere?” Miller asks her wryly.

“Roger that, chief.” She says with a mock salute.

“So nice to meet you by the way!” she says to Kane on her way out the door. “I’m a huge fan… You’re so much taller in person than I thought you’d be.”

Kane beams radiantly at her and places his hand over his heart like that was the most touchingly gratifying compliment he had ever received. And with that, Reyes breezes out of the room, flicking her perfect pony tail behind her.

“Anyway,” Clarke says, presumably finished with her lamenting and ready to get back to business. “Grandpa knew that those of us he actually wanted to leave money to didn’t actually need it or honestly didn’t give enough of a fuck to try to get our hands on it. My mom and I are set. We both have plenty of savings, we both work, and we’ll have no problem making sure Madi goes to good schools and can take up all the ridiculously expensive and completely useless hobbies she wants.” Bellamy snorts at that and Clarke grins again.

“Roan and his inhumanly hot girlfriend are off conquering the weed market, one pot lollipop at a time, and Maya’s medical care would be taken care of. You were the perfect choice.

“But unfortunately,” Kane says gravely, “that also made you even more of a target for Cage.”

“Idiot kept his cool for about a day and a half after you were released before he tried to hire a hitman,” Miller scoffs.

Bellamy startles at that, “He what?”

“Oh don’t worry,” Miller says waving him off, a scooch too nonchalant about Bellamy's life hanging in the balance for his liking. “We had his phone tapped and got a warrant for his arrest as soon as he made the call.”

“He also just so happened to call an undercover federal agency posing as some kind of hitman concierge service. It’s like he Googled ‘hitmen in my area’ and then just called the first number that showed up. Pleeb,” Miller scoffs again, like the murder for hire business should be easier to figure out than a single serve Kuerig.

“He was brought in about an hour after you were,” Miller says, looking down as gets a message on his phone. “And apparently Emerson is being brought in right now, so I need to go deal with that and you two,” he says pointing at Bellamy and Clarke, “are free to go.”

As Miller is walking out of the room he says over his shoulder, “if you have any questions or concerns, please don’t hesitate to call Detective Reyes... Or Lieutenant Pike… Or Sargeant Byrne… Or even Petty Officer Jordan if you’re feeling desperate... Basically anyone but me to be honest. After this amount of white people nonsense, I’m going on sabbatical.” And with that he’s gone, letting the door slam behind him.

Kane says something about needing to greet his “adoring public” and fixes his bowtie as he starts to strut, all pomp, circumstance, and perfectly coiffed hair, towards the doors at the front of the station, while Bellamy follows Clarke as she heads to more discreet back exit.

Standing in the back parking-lot, she puts on her big floppy hat and hilariously huge sunglasses and Bellamy can’t help but remember the first time he ever encountered Clarke Griffin. It was right after he’d started working for Dante; Clarke had pulled up to the house in her latest model Mercedes Benz looking like she’d traipsed straight out of a Lily Pulitzer catalog, all impeccably dressed, and flawlessly made up, and perfectly curled blonde beautifulness. She’d skipped up the front steps announcing that her spring break trip to Cabo was canceled so she was here to visit her grandfather.

“You’re new,” she’d said, looking at him over the lenses of her ridiculously, unnecessarily large sunglasses that she was still wearing inside.

“I usually go by Bellamy,” he’d responded flatly.

Clarke had grinned at him like she approved, even though he didn’t give a single shit about getting her approval. He swears, he did not.

Then she’d stuck out her hand and said “I’m Clarke Griffin, the prodigal, heathen granddaughter.”

“Heathen?” he’d asked her raising an inquisitive eyebrow and shaking her hand.

“Feminist, agnostic, bisexual, liberal Democrat takes way longer to say,” she’d said, still smiling widely. “Nice to meet you.”

He’d had to put an embarrassing amount of effort into keeping a straight face and not give into her grin. “Uh huh,” he’d said “your grandpa is in his study.”

After that he’d though she was just another dumb, ditzy, blonde, rich princess who had no idea how privileged she was and did things like blow wild amounts of money on fancy cars and trips to Cabo and whatever else it was that princesses spent their money on because she could.

While he’d figured out very quickly that he couldn’t have been more wrong about the dumb, ditzy, and ignorant parts (and about the spoiled princess thing too, admittedly. But he refused to give up the nickname on principle because it got such a rise out of her and riling her up was one of his favorite pastimes. He might have never gotten past the whole “pony tail pulling” stage of flirtation, but he’s working on it. Mostly), he was right about Clarke doing things just because she could.

She definitely did things like blow money on exorbitantly expensive shoes and even more expensive booze; and take last minute trips on jets and yachts to the Hamptons or the Virgin Islands or wherever it is rich people go when they need to “unwind” from their completely stress free lives; and eat caviar on crackers as an “afternoon snack;” and get the same kind diamond infused nail polish manicures that Beyoncé does; and always have the latest models of cars and computers and even a moped that one time. All because she could.

But she also did things like give thousands of dollars and hours of her time to countless charities; and maintain multiple scholarships for low income students interested in STEM and sustainable energy in her dad’s name; and spend her winter vacations working at places like a Sri Lankan elephant orphanage or a battered women’s shelter in El Salvador; and buy staggeringly over the top generous birthday and Christmas gifts for Bellamy and Octavia like all new stainless steel kitchen appliances for their apartment because the ones they had were “tragic,” and those stupidly expensive running shoes O had had her eye on along with a new iPod because “She can’t run without an iPod, Bell. She’s not an animal”, and the annotated first editions of The Iliad and The Odyssey that her book dealer managed to find (because of course she had a book dealer), all of which she apparently got “great deals on” and refused to return because they were all conveniently “final sale;” and pay for everyone’s meals and bar tabs and cover charges and Uber rides and movie tickets and concert seats and amusement park passes and, a few notable times, their hospital bills without even thinking twice or accepting a word of thanks or asking for a penny in return. Just because she could.

He’d asked her once, about the gifts. “Not that I don’t appreciate it,” he’d said quickly. “Obviously I do. A lot. Like, so much. I’m just kind of wondering… ya know… why?“

“Because you deserve them,” she’d answered immediately without looking up from whatever she was viciously typing on her phone in her latest Twitter fight with whichever woefully misguided, conservative, alt right, incel, neck-beard, dude bro had dared to take her on that week.

Then she’d tilted her head up at him with her little smirk he was a completely normal amount of obsessed with. “And because I can.”

Once he’d gotten to know the real Clarke, he still couldn’t help but laugh and heckle her about her over dramatic eye and head wear that made her look like a widow visiting her convict pen pal turned clandestine lover in prison where he was serving time for tax fraud. She is absolutely one of those ridiculously over the top rich people and she absolutely knows it. But her ridiculousness is far surpassed by her kind-hearted, earnest generosity. That was just Clarke.

His Clarke.

“Oh! Before I forget!” Clarke exclaims, reaching into her absurdly large purse, which he must say goes perfectly with her attire. She pulls out a thick manila envelope and hands it to him. “Grandpa Dante wanted me to make sure this got to you. I mean, it’s technically yours anyway since he quite literally left you everything,” she smirks at him again. “But he especially wanted to make sure this made it directly into your hands.”

Their fingers brush as she hands him the envelope and instead of pulling away she twists his fingers into his. “Look Bell,” she starts awkwardly. “I know this was all really fucked up, like beyond fucked up, Kardashian levels of fucked up even… But I just want you to know I am so sorry.”

“More sorry than words can say. For every thing... And I totally get it if you can’t trust me anymore or don’t want to be friends with me,” she starts rambling. “I mean I probably wouldn’t want to be friends with me either after this. Honestly if I could ghost myself right now…”

Bellamy just chuckles and tugs on her hand until she’s close enough for him to press his lips to hers. It’s a totally chaste, 8th grade style kiss. But still, she lets out this little sigh against his lips; and if they weren’t literally standing in the parking lot of a police station right at this moment, the situation definitely would have escalated from tolerable PDA to public indecency.

Instead he just pulls his lips away but keeps his forehead pressing against hers. He opens his eyes and finally feels relaxed for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He’d been wondering where his ability to breath normally had run off to. Figures it had been with her the whole time.

“I’m trying to come up with something really smooth to say right now,” he says, “but I’ve been dealing with a little stress lately so I’m kind of off my game.”

“It’s ok,” Clarke says, eyes still closed, more than a little breathless he thinks proudly. “You’ve never been smooth, I don’t know why you would start now.”

He starts to object that he is the smoothest, but she just pulls his mouth back down to hers and he figures there are much better things his lips can be doing at this current juncture. And when she throws both her arms around his neck to get him closer he finds himself yet again wishing the nearest building weren’t literally full of cops so that he could press her up against the side of it.

When they pull away for air he can’t help but think about how damn smug as shit Dante would be about being instrumental in pushing Bellamy and Clarke together. This probably wasn’t quite how he imagined it going down, but still.

Dante had never outright pressured them, or come out and said they should go on a date, or anything of the sort. No, Dante knew his granddaughter needed to go at her own pace, knew she need time and space to grieve and move on after girlfriends’ death, and, most importantly, knew she would vehemently resist being ordered or pushed into anything. Instead he would find small, yet absurdly unsubtle ways, to nudge them towards each other, to suggested how they would be good together.

Sometimes it was Dante all of the sudden “feeling a tired spell” or “losing his appetite” when he had arranged for his personal chef to make a nice lunch for the three of them, leaving Bellamy and Clarke alone out on the patio, rolling their eyes and chuckling awkwardly into their salmon club sandwiches and sweet iced teas. Other times he would request Bellamy go pick up Clarke when she would work for him during the summer do he wouldn’t have to “wait around for Lincoln or bother him with such a short trip when Bellamy could easily do it,” all while Lincoln, Dante’s own personal chauffeur, sat approximately 20 feet away on the patio where he had been all morning, snorting behind his newspaper. And then there were the times when Dante would have an oddly specific, and usually vaguely ridiculous and completely unnecessary, errand he needed Clarke to run at the exact same time Bellamy would be running his own errands for Dante, and “oh well wasn’t that convenient that they could just go together?!”

Typically, Dante’s antics were met with raised eyebrows, unimpressed expressions, and the occasional snort or sigh from both of them. They had only ever acknowledged it between them once while they were on their way to Saks one summer a few years ago. Dante had decided he needed Clarke to pick out some new swim trunks for him for the pool he literally never used because “she had the best taste in seasonal attire” and needed Bellamy to go with her to make sure the material of whatever she picked out “wasn’t too scratchy.”

“I can’t decide,” she’d said flatly, “if I’m more offended by him thinking he’s actually fooling us with this, or by his clear belief in my total and complete lack of game.”

Bellamy had snorted while desperately trying to come up with something to say about how he thought she had great game, the best game ever, like Shaq level game, without sounding like a total moron when Clarke’s phone had pinged with another text notification.

“He said he also needs flip flops,” she’d said raising an eyebrow. “But the ones without ‘the thingies that go between your toes’.”

“God, what does it say about me that I actually know exactly what he’s talking about?” Bellamy had groaned in response.

She’d looked over at him and they had both burst out laughing. The moment may have been ruined, but he had always been of the opinion that laughing with Clarke Griffin was a moment in and of itself. She didn’t really, truly, genuinely laugh all that often. She would usually cackle or snort, and there was the occasional chuckle, but the only person who seemed to have the innate talent for well and truly cracking Clarke up was her grandfather. Bellamy would hear them both losing it over something or other behind the closed doors of Dante’s study when she would come visit him or do whatever work it was she did for him over the summer. It seemed like someone had taught Clarke at some point in her life that she was only allowed a finite amount of happy and carefree moments, so he always felt a weird sense of accomplishment when he got to witness one; and being the cause of one was even better.

He opens his eyes and sees that right now she’s wearing the biggest, brightest, most beautiful, bonafide Clarke Griffin smile he’s ever witnessed, and he’s more than a little smug that he put it there. They stand there for a minute, just breathing each other in, until she pulls away slightly and beams up at him.

“Well,” she says giving him one last peck on the lips. “You’re about to have to answer an entire metric shit ton of questions from the media who will probably be here in about 3 minutes and 47 seconds, give or take. And while I usually love a good press conference, I haven’t showered in about 3 days and there is no amount of dry shampoo in the world that could tame the epic tragedy that is currently my hair.”

She steps out of his arms and starts digging around in her Mary Poppins bag for her keys. “Wait...” he says incredulously, “you’re leaving me? To face them all alone?! Clarke, how am I supposed to give a press conference?!? You know I can barely even talk on the phone!”

“Oh Bell,” she says patting his shoulder affectionately. “You’re rich now… Rich people can do anything!”

“You’re a dick!” Bellamy calls as she starts walking towards her car.

“You know you love me!” she yells back and yeah, he definitely does. He’s not gonna tell her right this second or anything, but he does.

She blows him an exaggeratedly loud kiss as she hops into the driver’s seat and revs her engine obnoxiously as she speeds away and God he’s totally gonna marry her, he thinks grinning like an idiot, he has no doubt. He’s going to be the shameless, boy toy, arm candy, trophy husband of one of the coolest chicks in the entire world and it’s going to be awesome.

It’s not until hours later when Bellamy gets home that night (gets to his new home holy fucking shit), after Cage and Emerson’s very public arrests, after the press conference clearing Bellamy and Clarke of all wrong doing, after posing with Kane for an endless number of photographs. and after answering what had to be a floppily trillion questions for the media, that Bellamy remembers the envelope. He pulls it out of his bag and slowly opens the seal. Inside is a thick stack of papers with a letter on top in Dante’s messy scrawl.

Dear Bellamy,

Thank you for being a kindred spirit, a loyal friend, a kind heart, and an excellent listener these past few years. And thank you, most recently, for being most inspiring muse yet.

It felt only fair and just for you to be the first to read the completed debut novel of my newest series. I think it has some real potential, but it’s up to you whether or not it will continue.

I trust that you will find someone with the perfect head for it and leave it in the right hands.
 


Best,
 Dante H. Wallace

Bellamy sets down the letter and looks at what he now realizes is the title page of a manuscript... The Casefiles of Odysseus Private Investigations & Detective Augustus B. Blake
                            Book 1: The Gold That Killed King Midas.


On the next page he finds a dedication: for C and B, the head and the heart. Bellamy settles back into his new arm chair in front of his new fireplace in his new study and gets comfortable.



Prologue: Augustus had a sister, her name was Octavia…

[afewmarvelousthoughts]

Only For A Moment Ch. 45

Master: @afewmarvelousthoughtsadmin

Pairing: Bucky X Reader

Summary: For most of your life you’d been able to keep your abilities a secret, that is until Hydra got wind of you. After years of being in their clutches, you break out when The Avengers expose SHIELD/Hydra. Since then, you’ve been on the run. Things are going as well as you could hope when you see a familiar face… Could the Winter Soldier really be in Bucharest too?

Warnings: Violence (combat), ALL THE EMOTIONS

A/N: WELL HERE WE ARE. Almost to the end of Part One of this journey. I always knew we’d end up here, I just didn’t know it would take 44 chapters and a little more than a year but I also can’t say I’m mad about it. 

I hope you all enjoy this Civil War throwback and everything that’s to come. 

THANK YOU FOR READING! 

Tags are open!

“How about Vienna?” Bucky pipes up.

“Huh?” You ask, looking up from your sketch. 

“Vienna. It’s a large city, not high on anyone’s radar.” His slight smile makes you long to kiss him. Walking over to his spot on the couch you lean down, pressing your lips to his. He tugs you into his lap, holding you close.  

Without Mr. Goldstein, the city felt somehow colder even as winter melted into spring. Leaving was no longer just the logical choice, it was the easiest one, and of course, Bucky had been thinking of your next step this whole time. 

“Vienna sounds lovely.” Honestly, you didn’t care where you both ended up, as long as you were together. 

“Perfect,” he purrs. 

Throughout the next two weeks, the two of you get ready yourselves to leave. Books that aren’t sentimental are donated, same with any home goods you can do without. Most other things are taken to the farmhouse, for safekeeping and future sorting. In no time the apartment feels barren--but somehow it’s good, a clean slate to leave from. Another new chapter… but this time you won’t be starting off alone. 

The sun rises, brightening the paper-covered windows but you both linger in bed, wanting to hold onto this little slice of peace for just a bit longer. Wanting to revel in the peace and comfort of familiarity before heading into the unknown. 

Tomorrow you’d head the farmhouse, staying there a few days before moving forward to Vienna. While you’re both ready, moving on was still bittersweet—this had been your home, after all, the place you found one another. 

“So,” Bucky leans on his elbow, staring down at you, “I’ll go to the market and you’ll take care of laundry?” You groan dramatically and roll over onto your stomach. 

“Come on,” he goads, “I did the laundry last time.” His lips press into the skin at the top of your spine and you shiver with pleasure. In response, he presses closer to you. 

“Hmm. I mean fair point but…” You encase him in your power and pin him to the mattress on his back, sitting up to straddle his hips. He stares, a little awestruck at his sudden position change. “I think the market will still be there later.”

“And the laundry?” He asks with a wink grasping your hips and settling himself within you. 

“Sure.” He moves inside you causing you to gasp. “Whatever, just keep doing that.” 

Eventually, you both manage to get dressed, however reluctantly. He slips into that red henley that made his eyes look somehow bluer and your mouth actually waters. 

“What?” He asks, catching your hungry stare. 

“Nothin’,” you say hopping up from the couch passing by him to wait by the door. 

“Liar,” he whispers into your ear as he grabs you, holding your back to his chest. You laugh, your head falling onto his shoulder. 

“Maybe,” you kiss the rough stubble of his jaw. “Come on, doing things was your idea old man, chop-chop.”

In the entryway to the apartment building, he goes over the list as you shoulder the laundry bag. 

“Anything else?” He tucks a loose curl behind your ear. 

“Plums,” you smile kissing his cheek, “if they have any good ones.”

“Got it.” He tilts your face up before planting a tender kiss on your lips, his blue eyes making your heart skip. “I love you, Y/N.”

“I love all of you.” You playfully push the bill of his blue baseball cap down covering his eyes. “Don’t forget the plums.” He laughs and smacks your ass playfully as you turn to go. 

As the laundry spins in the washer you crack open your now well-worn copy of Frankenstein. Though you hope on the familiar words will soothe the anxiety that change inevitably brings, you can’t seem to focus on them. Instead, you let your head fall back, focusing absently on the flickering muted screen of an old staticky TV in the corner. 

At first, you think you imagine it because… that couldn’t be Bucky’s image. Just a blurry photo and your mind, distracted as it is, is just filling in the blanks. But then you see the words flashing on the screen.

Blinking hard you shoot up from your chair, unwilling to believe what your eyes are clearly seeing. His name. His fucking name. Wanted. For…

“Fuck,” you breathe out. Too fast to be even remotely perceived as normal, you push past the people by the door to the laundromat and run home, laundry forgotten. 

Rounding the corner onto your block you barrel into a police officer trying to keep curious onlookers at a safe distance.

“Sorry, Miss. It’s not safe here. Please stay back.”

“You don’t understand,” you say, trying desperately to keep your voice even. “I live here. I live here.” 

He only shakes his head, “You will need to just wait. I’m sorry.”

Unwilling to waste any more time you walk away, telling yourself over and over, Do not run. Do not run. Running would be suspicious and you need to look like just anyone else right now. Throwing a cautious look over your shoulder you duck down a nearby alley. 

With trembling hands, you pull your phone out and stare at the word knew you’d see. The one word that brings everything crashing down around you:

Burned.

All those months ago the two of you had laid out plans, one for every conceivable horrible occurrence. Each one had it’s own code word and plan of action. Each one had been drilled over and over until the steps and stages of each came as easy to you as breathing. 

You know what you’re supposed to do. You know you’re supposed to trash your phone. Head to the apartment for supplies if possible. If not cut and run to the farmhouse. From there a 48 hour window for the other party to arrive. If they didn’t… you disappear and hope to find one another again, hope that fate was kind once more. Hope… 

There’s the sound of splintering glass and crunching metal parts as you crush your phone in your hands, both from duty and the rage that’s beginning to burn through you. Dropping it to the ground you bend down to pluck the sim card from the heap and crush it as well for good measure. 

Step one done. 

It’s the only step you intend to take. 

Reaching into your bag you fish out your scarf and tie it around your face—best to not be recognizable. Strapping your backpack on, you focus and propel yourself onto the roof above you, and then drop to the back of your building. 

A lone swat agent notices you and yells at you to stand back. You don’t hesitate to land a blow straight to his throat, rip off his helmet off, and slam his head into the wall rendering him unconscious. Every movement is fluid and measured. Not an ounce of energy wasted. Bucky would be proud. 

You’re almost to the side entrance to your building when you hear something on the opposite roof. Moments later the thundering sound of a chopper cuts the air before bullets begin to rain down. Fear clenches your chest. They have to be shooting at him. 

Without a thought for the chaos above you, you slide into the parking garage next-door where Bucky’s bike waits. You don’t have the key but it’s easy enough for you to use your ability to force the starter to turn. Wheels squealing you peal out just in time to see Bucky running, being pursued by a person in black and… Captain America himself. 

Ignoring them you pull up next to Bucky. 

“Buck!” You call out, hand extended. 

He throws you a sidelong glance, eyes winding in fear and maybe a flash of anger before he reaches for you. Your power just barely latches onto him while helping you control the bike one-handed. 

The person in black kicks the back wheel of the bike causing you to lose your hold on Bucky and sending you skidding into traffic. It takes all your concentration to not crash and keep a line of sight on Bucky as he drops down into the underpass. 

“Goddamnit,” you growl, throwing the bike around to find a way into the fray. 

Soon the noise of the bike echoes alongside the other cars as you swerve between them, desperately attempting to catch up. The squealing of tires up ahead pushing you forward. 

You’re sure you’re close when some fucker with wings is pulled down by the person in black. Hope blooms for a moment before a blast sends part of the roof plummeting down ahead of you. Barely avoiding it you bring your bike up just outside the rubble. A few curious citizens exit their cars and creep closer, phones out, to get a view of the scene before them. 

A small sound slips from you as you watch what could only be considered a firing squad draw on them all. No one else should have heard it but Bucky did. He turns, searching for you through the dust. Before you can call out to him you’re being driven back with the other civilians by the police. 

No, you silently say to yourself. No. 

Grabbing the bike you thunder out of the underpass and circle around, breaking every known traffic law, to get to the exit you know they’ll need to take in order to get out. You make it just in time to catch the end of the motorcade. 

Hanging back enough to not lose them but to remain suspicion free you follow.

You haven’t the slightest idea as to what you’re going to do—but you’ve never been able to save anyone else you loved, no one was going to take him from you. 

-

The containment unit they put him in was well insulated. The only sounds are his own ragged breath, hissing slightly when the electric current passes through his left arm sending pain reverberating through his body, and the gentle hum of the electricity itself. If it wasn’t for the movement of the truck Bucky wouldn’t be sure if they were transporting him still or if they’d arrived to whatever hell they deemed appropriate for him this time. 

Two categories of thought run over and over through his head, only interrupted when he feels the sway of the vehicle cease from time to time. 

There was Steve. Steve had come for him. Not to bring him in, not to take him to task for what he did, nothing like that. Steve had come to warn him, had come to help him even though there was no way for him to know for sure whether or not Bucky was innocent, he couldn’t help but grin a little at that. 

And then there was you. Love and anger and fear all pulsed through him in equal measure when he envisioned you on the bike, reaching for his hand. He should have known you wouldn’t run, should have known you wouldn’t listen to reason, follow the plan. 

Bucky supposes that he should be thankful you didn’t rush into the line of fire to stop his arrest, you had that much sense at least. It was little comfort because he knows without any doubt that you’re trying to find him now—he also knows the massive target that places on your back. 

He thinks he wants to be mad about this. Thinks he wants to tell you that you’re being needlessly reckless. He thinks these things because they’re easier to focus on than the stabbing sense of pain and longing that overcomes him when he wonders if he’ll ever even see you again—ever hold you in his arms, feel your lips, hear your laugh. 

His head thuds back into the seat he’s strapped in, gnawing at his bottom lip in an attempt to keep himself from screaming because… Because the fact is, before you he’d have accepted this, wouldn’t have fought back at all, just taken it and let whatever would happen come, now that isn’t an option. 

He hears Mr. Goldstein’s voice in the back of his head talking about the good moments… Bucky focuses on all the good ones with you, all the little things that brought him peace and happiness. 

There is a way out of anything. He will find it. Find you. 

All he can do for now is wait. To break out now could be a greater risk to both you and Steve. And, despite Steve’s warning, they were indeed taking him in alive so that meant something had already changed from the intel Steve was provided. They wanted him alive…

The realization makes his blood run cold. 

-

You’d been riding for almost 20 hours. It made the trek you’d undertaken after escaping from Hydra feel like a pleasant hike. 

The constant vibrations from the bike had left your lower body numb and maybe a little raw while the rest of you was exhausted from lack of sleep, food, and an overload of stress. Each time you had to stop to refuel or pull farther back to avoid notice your body buzzed with panic, afraid that you’d lose the motorcade entirely. 

You don’t though. Without fail you hone in on the backside of the motorcade, the flashing lights guiding you in the darkness.  

When your tired mind realizes that you’ve entered Berlin a familiar sense of dread settles over you. This was where you’d come after Hydra, before Bucharest. This was where you’d thought you’d be safe. And this is where you learned that being free did not mean that your fight was over. 

It seemed fitting that this road would lead you back here then. Back to this reminder. Because here you were—still fighting. A deeper sense of exhaustion washes through you as you wonder if the fight will actually ever stop. 

The motorcade slows as it approaches what appears to be a government facility of some kind. You pull the bike down a side street ditching it without a backward glance and casually make your way toward the buildings. 

There’s a flurry of activity, everyone scrambling now that the Winter Soldier was on the premises. Good. 

The chaos allows you to slip through the crowd like a shadow—unsuspecting, unnoticed, unimportant—and tail a group in swat gear. They begin to disperse, each to their own assignments until you’re only on the heels of one. 

He seems more nervous than the others, distracted, a telltale tick in his hands. He rounds a corner into a quiet corridor and you follow only a few steps behind, constantly checking for any signs of others.  

Hydra taught you how to do this, how to send out your power like an extension of yourself, feeling for things and people in your area. But this power was not theirs—it never was—this is yours and you will use it. All the little tendrils of power you send out touch nothing that seems organic. Just the person before you, unaware of your silent steps behind them. 

Using a key card the officer opens a door marked as ‘Exit.’ You send out a bolt of your power to hold the latch as the door closes behind him. 

Silently you crouch by the door, assessing, your senses honed in on this individual. There’s the sound of steps down one flight and then they stop, a sigh, the click of something like a lighter. Pushing the door open just a bit you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke. Perfect. 

You open the door casually. The man having a, no doubt, forbidden smoke frantically tries to hide his transgression rather than check if you’re someone who should be here. Too bad for him. 

It takes maybe a minute. He was a strong man, you can feel that in his struggle, but you were stronger. With his head locked in your arm, you use your power to cut off his air and blood flow just enough to render him unconscious quickly. You carry him down one more flight of stairs to be far from any quick lines of sight and quickly strip him. 

The clothes are slightly too big but it’s fine, you leave him his boots and don the helmet to better disguise your features. Curling him into a ball you cover him with your jacket and hide his face with your cap before heading out the door you’d entered—braking the lock to make his discovery, hopefully, take a little longer. 

Of course, you know fuck all about this building but if you had to hold a super soldier, underground would be best. You stand casually by an elevator and punch a button. A blonde woman huffs up next to you, looking down at a file folder seeming more distraught than happy at what’s happening around you both. Curious, you think but try to not pay her too much mind.

You focus your attention on the door instead, crossing your arms as if annoyed at the time the elevator is taking. Finally the doors open and you both step in. She’s by the keys and presses her number, scanning a security badge. 

You can feel shrewd eyes assess you before she speaks, “Are you assigned to Barnes?” Her German is perfect but clearly accented. Not a native. 

Forcing down the lump in your throat you nod and answer in German, “Yes.” You make a scoffing sound, “Last minute assignment. Needed a woman to meet the diversity requirements.” 

Her eyes roll and she shakes her head, “And let me guess the men left you to figure out where to go on your own?”

“Exactly.” You’ve never been more grateful for the patriarchy. 

“Assholes,” the woman grumbles in English and punches another button. 

“Thanks,” you point to what you assume is the floor you need. 

“Gotta lookout, right?” She smiles. Before stepping out she looks back at you, “I don’t think he’s what they say he is. For what that’s worth. Make sure they aren’t too harsh.” 

Words fail you and you only manage a nod. She gives you a sad smile and exits, leaving you alone. 

Did she… know somehow? Your mind races to try and locate where you may have seen her before but you’re certain that you have never met. How could she know? Maybe she didn’t. Maybe there really were just people who could look past the bullshit. 

You don’t have much more time to mull it over. Three floors away the power cuts sending the elevator to a shuddering halt. A cold foreboding settles across your shoulders but your heartbeat stays steady, thrumming in time with the red flashing light. 

Every instinct screams that this is wrong. It was too convenient. Too perfect. 

Your power confirms that the elevator has stalled between floors. Sliding it between the doors you use that and your strength to pry them open and shimmy out into a corridor filled with people scurrying like rats. 

At first, there’s nothing but noise but you narrow in, catching bits of the frantic chatter. 

“Breached containment.”

“Rampage.”

“The Winter Soldier is loose.” 

Your mouth feels desert dry. You’d been heading for him before, knew roughly where to find him. Now…

“What the fuck are you doing officer?!” An angry, official-looking, man grabs your shoulders. “He’s heading up, now’s no time to freeze. Go!” He pushes you against the flow of bodies and you start to run. 

They were running from him… Why…

You turn a few corners and head up a flight of stairs until the space opens up into a bright lobby. The beautiful day outside the windows is a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding before you. 

Desperately you try to assess what’s going on, try to grasp it. He’s fighting off every person who comes at him with a cold ferocity. 

Part of you screams to rush in but you know it’s best to read the room, the last thing you want is to get in his way. But as soon as you hear the gun go off, see him land a hard blow to who you suspect is Tony Stark--remembering seeing his face on magazine covers and gossip shows in the past--your feet move, unable to hold back any longer. 

The woman from the elevator rushes Bucky. You catch her in your power and drag her back. She gasps in surprise, righting herself quickly. Throwing yourself between him and her you catch her kick, grabbing her leg and spinning her around sending her to the floor. 

“What the hell!” She exclaims scrabbling to her feet. 

“Sorry,” you shrug countering her next blow with your power before landing a right hook to her jaw and a lung crunching blow to her sternum. She stumbles back into a heap. 

Bucky has Natasha Romanoff punned to a table, her throat in his metal grip. It only takes a second for you to realize that if he continues he will kill her. 

“Bucky stop!” You grip his shoulder trying to pry him off of her. 

He whirls on you. He just doesn’t realize, you tell yourself. Quickly you fling the helmet away before dodging a swing. 

“Buck-” Metal knuckles graze your cheek, flashes of your first encounter searing through your mind, as you sway back to avoid the full blow. 

Before you can recover he’s got you in his grip, lifting you from the ground. You use your power to keep your body weight from making the bad situation worse, trying to keep blood and air flowing from beneath his metal fingers when you understand with earth-shattering clarity… Bucky isn’t in control now. 

No.

You know this is why the two of you trained so hard. This specific worst-case scenario. He wanted you to beat him back, hurt him so badly that he couldn’t hurt you worse. But… you just can’t.

“It’s me,” you croak, reaching your hand out to touch his face. “Bu-” there isn’t enough air in your lungs to finish his name. Through the growing haze, you see just a moment of horror flash across his face. Recognition. It’s enough. 

You find yourself sailing through the air, body careening with Romanoff, who was heading for another volley. She grunts under you, rolling you over and pinning you beneath her. 

“Who the fuck are you?!” She snarls. 

“No one,” you snap, butting your forehead into her nose and tossing her aside as a man sprints up the stairs on Bucky’s heels. 

He’s there, just beneath the surface, he’s trying. You just have to get to him.

Still gasping for air you pursue them. You try and fail to send your power out to the man but your head is reeling. Before you realize it’s happening you’re tangled in them as they tumble down a flight of stairs. 

The three of you right yourselves and you place yourself between Bucky and this man. He has to be enhanced, his blows coming rapid and fluid. Bucky doesn’t seem to be viewing you as an enemy any longer, instead, you both move together, fighting like one unit, deflecting his strikes with almost beautiful precision.  

He moves to attack you but Bucky catches it with his left arm. Impossibly the man holds him back. Head clear you push a blast of power between them. Bucky stumbles a bit before he jumps over the railing dropping down. As you move to follow the man lands a hard blow to the back of your skull. 

Blackness envelops you and when your vision clears and they’re both gone. 

Groaning you lift yourself up leaning against the wall—the weight of the last 30 hours thundering into you, threatening to suffocate you. The two of you should be at the farmhouse by now, curled together, getting ready for a new life. But no. 

Focusing on that was going to get you nowhere. You’d promised to take care of one another… 

Your eyes sting, “Mr. Goldstein,” you whisper to the eerily quiet air, “if you’re looking out… help me find him… Please.” Your voice cracks and you take a shaky breath before rising on trembling legs. 

Unsure of where to go next you head out into the courtyard, teeming with nothing but panicked people. Well… almost. 

A familiar-looking man hovers near the edge of the courtyard, a bastion of calm in the chaos, clearly observing everything happening around him. Finally, you place him, he’d been arrested along with Steve and Bucky in Bucharest. Even so, there is no telling if you can trust this man, but if he can get you to Bucky-

The crowd erupts in fresh screams as the sound of a crash echoes across the complex. Both of you rush to the edge of the river only to see the fractured pieces of a helicopter sink. 

Every muscle in your body wants to jump in. He’s in there! Your heart screams—but your gut says, Wait. 

Carefully, you slide your gaze over. The man doesn’t seem to have noticed you, but he seems to have seen something else. You glance back but don’t notice anything significant. He turns on his heel, walking purposefully from the courtyard. You cast a desperate glance back to the river before following him, your gut winning this fight. 

You follow him on foot on a long, winding, route. Each step, each moment you think he’s come to his destination only to continue on, each time you narrowly escape his keen observations leaving you more and more exhausted. 

You’re so close to breaking that when he finally enters a dilapidated building in an industrial complex and doesn’t exit you nearly weep—you may not know if Bucky is here but you do know your body cannot take much more. 

Ignoring the chill rising up your spine as you hear helicopters overhead, you slip into the building silent as a shadow, only the tips of your boots touching the ground just enough to allow you to pivot if needed. 

Steve and the man are in a room away from the main space judging by their raised voices. It was pure luck, there were few spaces to hide in the open building, had they been there you’d be seen. Still… If you’re going to wait them out you need a place to hide Thankfully, most people rarely, if ever, thought to look up. 

Praying your power holds out you push yourself from the ground and perching above the doorway to the room they occupy, listening. 

“He tried to kill us!” One of them bellows. “I get trying to repay some kind of old debt or something. But you pulled him out, I’d say you’re even.”

“I get it, Sam,” Steve says, voice low and thick with emotion. 

“Do you?” The person you assume is Sam growls out. 

“Yes. But I can’t just… He wouldn’t leave me behind, he’d never-”

“Steve…”

“I just need to know. I need to know if he…”

“The odds aren’t looking good man,” Sam sighs out. “You really think that’s gonna hold him when he comes to?”

When he comes to… Those words light a fire in your veins, chasing away the bone-crushing exhaustion from a moment before. 

He is here. He’s right here. You almost rush down to him but sense wins—he was there, unconscious. Sure, you may be able to fight these two off but you couldn’t get you both to safety if he was dead weight. Plus… when he woke would he be himself…

You hear shuffling from the room. Panicked, you push yourself up a bit higher, using the old pipe as support, and guide yourself to a far corner, toes resting on the pipe, body curled against the rafters. And so you wait. 

Sam and Steve make rounds of the building a few times, never thinking to look up just like you suspected. As you wait you see two different versions of Steve Rogers. 

When Sam is around he’s solid, seemingly unshaken by what’s happened. Donning the mask of a leader without thought. The moment Sam goes into the other room though… the mask is gone. Steve looks smaller somehow, shoulders slumped, pace less measured. His fingers run through his hair over and over in a nervous tick. Just like Bucky, you think with a smile. 

It feels like an age before Sam calls to Steve sending your heart into your throat. Steve sprints into the room, following Sam. 

Silently you return to your place above the door. A small pained noise hits your ears causing your heart to seize. Bucky… Patience, you coach yourself to keep from doing something stupid. 

“Steve,” he says in a huff. 

“Which Bucky am I talkin’ to?” Steve’s voice is cold, the mask back on. There’s a pause and you don’t dare breathe. 

“Your mom’s name was Sarah…” Your body tenses. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes,” Bucky says, a soft laugh coloring his tone. 

Tears sting your eyes and you feel yourself breath just a little easier. It’s him. He’s alive and in control and… he is yours. Steve may want answers, may even be willing to help, but you don’t know them and don’t trust them. You’re going to get the two of you out of here no matter what it takes. 

Dropping down you fling Sam across the room, with a blast of power that surprises even you, before they even realize you’re there. 

Steve, caught off guard rushes you—he doesn’t get far. You grab his ankles and with a flick of your wrist, you send him to the ground, his own momentum working against him. Sam was up again but you pin him easily enough as you slam a wall of force down on Steve to keep him down. 

“Y/N!” Bucky gasps as you hurry to his side. 

You can’t speak, scared that you’ll lose focus, already feeling the tingle of pain in your skull from using so much power. His arm is caught in a vice of some sort. Groaning you use your hands to pry it open just enough for him to get loose. Steve slips your hold and lunges but you manage to push him back. 

“What the fuck is this?!” Rage rumbles in Sam’s words. 

“Bucky?” Steve looks at Bucky behind you, eyes begging for answers. 

“It’s ok,” Bucky says, voice steady behind you. His arms wrap around you, pulling your back tight against his chest. “It’s ok,” he says again, breath hot on your ear. “Let them go, Y/N.”

“No,” your voice steadier than you anticipated. “We need to go, we have to-”

“It’s ok, doll,” he coos, like you were waking from a bad dream. Steve’s eyes are on Bucky still, some silent communion taking place because Steve nods before Bucky says, “We can trust them, it’s ok.” 

But it wasn’t. Nothing was ok… Pain cracks through your skull, your power recoiling as it thunders back, and you shudder. His grip loosens and the other two men don’t move as you turn in his arms. 

“Bucky,” your voice cracks. 

“It’s ok,” he repeats, his kind eyes studying your face, “I’ve got y-” Gentle metal fingers trace the bruise forming on your cheek and wander down to your throat. “Who…” Realization dawns with horror on his face as he pushes you away stumbling back. 

“It wasn’t you,” your voice soft. It feels like the oxygen in the room has been replaced with tension. You place a hand on his arm and he pulls away, it hurts worse than any bruise. 

“Wasn’t…” he shakes his head, tremors tearing him as he collapses onto the floor, back to the vice that held him a moment before. He turns desperate eyes to Steve, “What did I do?” 

Steve looks at your own desperate expression, begging him to be kind. “Enough,” he says. Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut, his head hitting the metal behind him with a painful thud. You fall to his side, taking his face in your hands, trying to force him to look at you. 

“You didn’t-”

“I knew this would happen,” it’s barely a whisper, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “It’s all still there, everything Hydra put in my head.”

“And you’re still there too. You. Bucky Barnes,” your voice is strong now, needing him to hear you. “You stopped yourself from killing people, from killing me. You fought-”

“I hurt you,” his eyes finally met yours, the pain there threatening to swallow you both. 

“I’ve hurt you, remember?” Your hand rests on his abdomen where purple bruises once bloomed darkly after you lost control during a flashback. 

“This disfunction is touching but who the hell are you?” 

“Sam,” Steve says, warning in his tone. You glare at Sam over your shoulder before Bucky coaxes you to sit between his legs, clearly wanting you both to remain as non-threatening as possible. 

“What?” He gestures at you and Bucky. “It’s a fair question considering both of them have thrown my ass across a room today.”

“He has a point,” Steve looks to Bucky. 

You sigh, “Y/N. My name is, Y/N.” Silence hangs for a moment. 

“Like Cher? Just the one name?” Sam crosses his arms and cocks a brow at you. 

“Yeah,” you smirk up at him. “Just like, Cher.” 

Bucky’s arms tighten around you, his focus on Steve, “She’s my girl.” You see Steve’s face soften. 

“So the assassin has a girlfriend and I can’t even get a date?” Sam rolls his eyes shaking his head.

“Have you considered, or rather reconsidered, your winning personality?” You snipe back, watching Sam fight a smile.

“Are you both done?” Steve looks between you and Sam. 

“For now,” Sam sighs, sitting on the floor as well, his back to the wall. 

Steve runs a hand through his hair, “What did that guy want with you Buck? The doctor.”

“I… I don’t know.” A tremor runs through his body behind you and you give his forearm a comforting squeeze. 

“I need you to try and remember. He attacked some of the most powerful people in the world for the opportunity to get 10 minutes alone with you. We need to know why.” 

“He said he didn’t know,” you bristle. 

Steve doesn’t acknowledge you, “Bucky…” 

“He… He wanted to know about… Si-Siberia.” Bucky’s voice is strained, as though reaching for this information is painful. “Where I was kept…” You shift in his hold so your back is pressed against his inner thigh to be able to see his face. 

“Why?” Your brows knit. Of all the things-

“Because… I’m not the only Winter Soldier,” he says, eyes glued to the middle distance, unable to meet anyone’s gaze. 

Your body goes stiff, blood cold, as he lays out the story. Flashes fill your mind when he speaks on the serum they pumped into the agents—blue and burning and… running through your own veins. Without thinking your fingers wander to the track marks on your arms, tracing them over and over again while Bucky describes what these other soldiers are capable of. 

Sam and Steve huddle together talking. Bucky’s warm fingers catch your hand, “It’s because of me. Like I said. They were able to do this to you because of me…” 

“You were Hydra,” Steve turns on you both, voice dripping with venom. 

“No,” Bucky says. 

“You said those people were Hydra-” Sam starts.

“I’m not fucking Hydra,” your voice shakes. “I wasn’t one of them. They… they took me.” 

“Why?” Steve’s expression is cold, distrusting. 

Your jaw clenches as you send Steve stumbling back several paces. “That’s why,” you growl. 

“You trust her?” Steve asks Bucky. 

“With my life,” Bucky says. The certainty in his voice makes your heart sing. 

“I think the question here is do you trust him?” Sam asks Steve, voice laced with disbelief. 

“I do.”

“So some heartfelt sharing and just like that we’re supposed to be cool? That makes sense.” 

Sighing heavily you run your hand over your face, feeling the weight of exhaustion beginning to press in once more. “I think a fucking Hydra death squad being let lose is a more pressing matter than who trusts who don’t you?” 

“She’s right,” Steve says. He walks over to Sam, taking a seat beside him. “We need a plan.” 

“You plan things now?” Bucky asks, a note of humor coloring his words. Sam issues a knowing scoff causing Steve to glare at them both. 

“Whatever the plan we should sort it out in a better place than this.” You say, looking around the space. “Like maybe a place with a door that locks?” 

“Open to suggestions,” Steve says. 

“I think I noticed some shitty hotels not too far away.” You try to think of the buildings you passed on your way here. 

“In case it slipped your notice we’re kind of being hunted,” Sam says. 

You grin, “You guys are being hunted. I’m not.” Steve’s smile mirrors your own.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky’s tone is no-nonsense. 

You spin on him, “Do you have a better idea?” His jaw flexes as you stare at him. “Didn’t think so. We need to get out of here to someplace where we can sort this shit out and I’m the only one here who’s face hasn’t been plastered across news channels around the whole damn world.” 

His eyes narrow, “What exactly do you think we’re gonna sort out? You’re going to get the hell out of here and we-” he gestures to the other men-“will find a way to-”

“The hell you will!” You shoot to your feet, staring down at him in shock. “You just said some psycho is planning to unleash a bevy of Hydra fuckery onto the world and you actually think I’m going to run off like some damsel?!” 

“Y/N-”

“Don’t. There isn’t anything to discuss. I’m in this. We are in this.” 

“Oh I like her,” Sam says with a smile. Bucky gives him a murderous look but doesn’t argue further. 

Despite Bucky’s protest you’re soon ditching the top of your stolen tactical gear in favor of Sam’s leather jacket and sneaking off into the growing afternoon shadows. 

First thing you need is cash. 

It feels like old times as you slide into a dim pub, already filling with patrons fresh off from work, and effortlessly slide a few wallets and money clips out and away from their owners. You ditch the wallets, cards, and IDs in the bathroom trash and move to head out before your reflection catches your attention in the mirror. 

The circles under your eyes are practically purple in the light, your hair a tousled mess. You sigh heavily, resting your hands on the sink as your stomach roars. No time for that now. Instead, you drink from the faucet long and deep, splash some water on your face, and get back to the tasks at hand. 

It’s full dark by the time you pull up to the warehouse. 

When you see Bucky he looks like he’s about two minutes from razing Berlin to find you. 

“What took so long?” He grumbles once you’re inside. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Could you steal cash, a car, get food, and find the most questionable hotel in Berlin faster? I’ll be sure to let you do it next time.” Behind you Sam snickers. 

Bucky pulls you into his arms. “I’m just happy you’re ok.” You look up, giving him a weak smile before resting your head on his chest, your eyes begging to close. 

“Are we clear?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” You nod toward the exit and they follow, Bucky taking your hand in his. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam says, gawking at the beat-up Beetle waiting for you all. 

“It’s a classic,” you say over your shoulder. “Plus, no one is gonna look for two super soldiers and a… Bird… Guy, in this.” 

“It’s Falcon,” Sam throws at you as he rounds the car to pry open the rusty passenger door. “Bird Guy,” he mutters under his breath, folding himself into the back seat. Steve chuckles a little as he somehow shoves himself in beside Sam. 

Before Bucky releases your hand you sway a bit. 

“Baby doll?” He steadies you, hands on your shoulders. 

“Just tired,” you say, doing your best to sound nonchalant. His eyes brim with concern. “Seriously. I’m ok. I’ve got you.” You place your hand over the steady thrum of his heart. 

He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth rising a bit, and lowers his lips to your forehead. A knocking on the small back window of the car hits your ears. 

“Not to ruin the moment but…” Sam says. You both laugh a little before climbing into the car. 

“You boys comfy back there?” You ask, looking back at them through the rearview mirror. 

“Yeah-” Steve’s knees jam into the back of Bucky’s seat- “plenty of room to spread out.” 

“Still a punk,” Bucky huffs pushing his seat back a little farther. 

The three of you stand in the doorway to the hotel room, giving yourselves a moment to acclimate to the stale smell. 

“Getting scabies is the perfect way to top off this shitty day,” Sam sighs out. 

“It’s been more than a day,” Steve says dryly. 

“Rogers. Shut up.” Sam shoulders past you all. “I’m taking a shower.” He’s in the bathroom for about thirty seconds before he exits. 

“On second thought, dealing with my stink is the least you all owe me.” He immediately face plants on the nearest bed, the cry of old springs filling the room. 

“Maybe the other bathroom is better,” you say opening the door to the adjoining room, Bucky silently trailing behind you. It’s equally musty but the bathroom doesn’t look like someone died in it recently. You’d certainly showered in worse. 

“This one isn’t so bad, Sam,” you call out to him.

“Nope,” he says, voice muffled. “Too late.” 

Steve shakes his head at Sam’s prone form as he sits on the edge of the other bed. Relief floods his features as he lifts the receiver on the old phone, it must actually work. His eyes run over you and Bucky, hovering by the door to the other room, then back to Sam. 

“I’m gonna make some calls. You guys get some rest and I’ll get you when we’ve got enough intel to start putting together a plan.” 

“You sure?” Bucky asks, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. The two of you turn to leave. “And, Y/N…” You turn back to Steve. “Thank you.” His words are filled with sincerity and hold so much more than their simplicity would suggest. 

“I think I owe you at least a few.” You glance up at Bucky. Steve pulled him from the river and likely did more that you didn’t know. Something tells you that you’d have lost Bucky today was it not for him.

“I’d say we’re even.” He sighs, “Rest up. We’re gonna need it.”

Bucky closes the door behind him and your legs finally give out as you collapse on the edge of the bed, your head held in your hands. Suddenly your breath is ragged, body trembling, you don’t have an ounce of will left in you to control either. 

The sound of angry springs tells you he’s perched on the opposite bed. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, his voice rough. You look up at him, his expression is bereft. “You don’t have to do any of this, Y/N. You don’t. This doesn’t have to be your fight.” 

You’re too tired to be mad at him but you bristle all the same. “It is my fight.” His brows knit and you press on. “He came for you. That makes this my fight, even without Hydra being involved.” Venom drips from your next words, “And if I get my hands on him first. I swear I’ll break him in every way I know how.” 

Bucky rises, kneeling on the ground in front of you, gathering your hands in his. It reminds you of when you first met, how he’d kept you from being crushed under the weight of your grief, even after you’d attacked him and tied him to a wall. Your eyes sting with tears and you try to swallow the lump in your throat. 

“Y/N…” His thumbs run over the ridges of your knuckles before he lifts your hands to press a kiss on the back of each. “You’re my whole heart. The one good thing that’s come from the nightmare that the last 70 years has been… And I need you to promise me something.” 

All you can do is nod, unwilling to say anything too committal. 

“Promise me that if…” He swallows hard looking away for a moment before turning his focus back to you. “That no matter what happens to me… Promise you won’t give up.”

No matter what happens… The implications make your chest seize. You look away, trying to pull from his grip but he holds you tight. 

“Y/N,” his voice is calm and steady, “look at me.” Begrudgingly you do. “We don’t know what may happen, we never did. But now…” Now the threat was more tangible. You close your eyes, trying to fight back the tears. 

“I just need to know that you’ll keep going,” his voice cracks on the last word. You open your eyes—tears, breaching their banks, flow silently down your cheeks—and study the face of the man you love. 

He was so beautiful. Those eyes that told his story often better than his perfect mouth ever could. The lips you loved to feel on your skin, hiding a smile that you knew could shame the sun. You pull your hand free from his and trace his strong brows, the crease between them that formed when he was worried or thinking too much. Your thumb dashes away a lone tear that sneaks out of the corner of his eye and take a deep, shaky, breath. 

A part of you wants to give him what he wants—promise him that you’ll be fine, thrive even, no matter what. A part wishes you were that unbreakable… but you’re not. A world without him… It wasn’t unimaginable, you’d lost too many people to be that naive, but it was a nightmare to consider. You can’t promise him much but you can give him something. 

“I promise I’ll try…” 

His smile is soft, a little sad, as he pulls your hand from his face to press a kiss to your palm. “That’s enough.” 

“You have to do the same though.” His eyes narrow, body tensing a bit. You knew he’d only seen one side of this, the one where he’s taken in or down—but he wasn’t the only one heading into this situation, there was enough risk to go around. 

His jaw flexes and you think he’s going to protest but instead, he says, “I promise, Y/N.” You give a small nod, face contorting as you press down a sob, too scared to fall apart now. 

Bucky takes your face in his hands, pressing his lips to yours with an intensity that takes your breath away. Your chest fills as though you haven’t truly taken a breath since you’d last tasted him. His fingers tangle in your hair, his tongue sliding between your teeth. A small sob finally breaks free from you, but he catches it and the pain it carries with his kiss. 

A hurricane of love, fear, relief, and exhaustion rages through you. Rather than fight it, you let it come, let the tears flow, let him gather you in his arms and carry you into the tiny bathroom, setting you on the sink. 

Your kisses taste like the sea as your hands clumsily tear at each other’s filthy clothes until they reach purchase on the flesh they crave. Everything slows then. Each touch becoming less desperate and more reverential, memorizing the dips and curves of each other because… Because maybe this is the last time. 

You won’t give that thought any space to take root. 

Bucky turns the water in the shower on, steaming hot before lifting you in his arms again. You wrap your legs around his waist feeling the length of him brush against you. Once in the enveloping warmth of the shower he slowly slides inside you. 

For a few minutes, you remain connected like this, staring into each other’s eyes. You want to remember this, remember how he feels, how his eyes are always so blue when they’re wide with wanting. 

Under the heat of the water the two of you make love as though there isn’t disaster dangling just beyond your line of sight—unhurried, sighing love between kisses, whispering it into ears, saying it with your bodies as you both come together, quietly.

You’d just slipped your teeshirt back on when a knock sounds quietly on the other side of the door between the rooms. Bucky answers, still roughly toweling his hair in only his jeans. 

“Hey, sorry,” Steve says somewhat awkwardly. “I got through to some folks faster than I thought I would.”

“That’s great,” Bucky says. You come up behind him, handing him his white undershirt, as you both head to the other room. 

Sam smirks at the two of you, “How’s the shower?”

Bucky makes a small noise and you laugh, “Passable.”

“Good.” Sam looks to Steve, “Lay it out, Rogers.” 

Steve leans by the window, arms crossed. “Sharon is going to meet us an 0700. Thankfully she’s not one to hold grudges.”

Bucky’s face drops, “Did I-”

“Pretty blonde?” You ask taking a shot in the dark and cutting him off from falling into that guilt trip.  

“Yeah,” Steve nods.

“No worries there babe, that one’s on me.” You pat his shoulder and sit on the empty bed. Bucky raises a brow before joining you. 

Steve shakes his head, “She’s got mine and Sam’s gear and agreed to grab a few things for the two of you as well.”

“That’s generous,” Bucky says with suspicion. 

“It wasn’t hard to convince her after I explained what was going on.”

“And Clint?” Sam asks. 

“Yup. He’s on board and is gonna reach out to Wanda and get your guy, Lang.”

“Wouldn’t call him my guy,” Sam says, groaning as he sits up. “But if he can get the drop on me I say he’s a good addition.” 

Steve looks at you, “Assuming you’re in too?”

“Absolutely.” Bucky takes your hand in his, holding tight. Steve nods in approval. 

Steve gives you an approving nod, “Then we rendezvous at the airport. Clint is covering transpo. From there we head to Siberia and hope we can stop him before he topples whatever empire he’s aiming for.” 

“Alright.” Sam stands to stretch. “You two cool with switching rooms? I need to shower.”

“Fine with me,” you look at Bucky and he nods in approval. 

Once the guys leave you lay on top of the dingy comforter. It takes all of one minute for you to fall into a deep sleep. 

-

Bucky counts your breaths, hoping they will lull him to sleep. Instead, he finds himself studying your face, the little sounds you make, the way your lashes just barely graze your cheeks. 

He almost lost this. 

Like a memory from a nightmare he recalls his left hand tight on your throat, the look of terror and determination in your eyes, your hand reaching out, calling his name. He can still feel the shock through his skull as your name thundered into his consciousness then. You had been enough to pull him back, even if only for a moment. 

Just before dawn he’s restless, body humming with anxiety and anticipation. 

Delicately he extricates himself from the bed, hovering for a moment to make sure you’re not awake. He heads out into the hall, propping the door open with the latch to make sure he’ll hear any sign of you waking. 

“Had a feeling I’d see you out here eventually,” Steve says from his spot on the floor just down the hall. “You never could sleep the night before a mission.”

“Neither could you.” Bucky slides down the wall across from Steve. 

Steve’s gaze is focused on his palms, forearms resting on his knees. He doesn’t look up when he says, “How much… How much do you really remember?” 

Bucky sighs, “I…” His mouth goes dry suddenly, unsure of how to quantify this. Then he remembers the stories he shared with you, a smile rising to his face. 

“I remember that one time we got caught sneaking into the pictures and hid out in a dumpster.” Steve laughs a little but still doesn’t look up. “I remember DumDum always challenging you to a drinking contest knowing he’d lose every time. And…” Bucky swallows hard, smile falling, “I remembered… I remembered what I said when your Ma passed.” This causes Steve to look up, eyes big and glassy. 

“The end of the line,” Bucky says, voice thick with emotion. Quickly he dashes away tears threatening to fall, not wanting Steve to ever see him break. “I’m so sorry, Steve. I tried-” He doesn’t finish, cut off by Steve’s bone-crushing embrace. 

It takes him a minute to realize that Steve keeps repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” like a chant under his breath. 

“Pal-” Bucky pats his back firmly- “you’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I do,” Steve barely manages as he pulls back, Adam’s apple bobbing hard in his throat. “I couldn’t save you. All the times you backed me up, saving my ass, again and again, our whole lives and… when it mattered-” 

Bucky shakes his head, “You’re impossible.” Steve leans against the wall next to him, wiping his nose on his arm. “Did you forget pulling me, hell the lot of us, out of that facility? Thought I was the one with memory problems, man.” 

Steve throws him one of his signature sidelong looks. Bucky grins, knowing that means he’s getting through. 

“Do you remember it?” Steve takes a shaky breath, “The train?” 

“No.” 

Steve sniffs hard, nodding and clearing his throat. 

“Y/N, must be somethin’.” There’s nothing false in the smile he throws Bucky’s way. “Don’t think I ever saw you look at a gal like that.”

Bucky huffs a small laugh, casting a quick glance at the cracked door. “I don’t think I ever did.” 

“You deserve that, Buck.” 

“Not sure about that. But I want to…” 

Steve claps a hand on his shoulder, “You do, brother. I promise.” Bucky manages a half-smile.

“Steve…” He rubs his hands together, unsure if he has any right to ask this, but knowing he has to. “If anything happens to me…” 

“I’ll have her back.” Bucky looks at him, a little slack-jawed. “You’re my family, Bucky. That makes her family too.” 

“Thank you, Steve.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He shoves his shoulder into Bucky’s. “But, let’s both try to make it out of this one.” 

“Deal.” Bucky sighs, leaning his head back against the wall. 

“I lost her… Peggy,” Steve says after several minutes. Bucky had figured as much but his chest tightens all the same. “They buried her two days ago.”

“Oh, Stevie…” The old nickname slips out and he cringes a bit, remembering Steve hated it. He’d assumed Peggy, everyone, had been gone for some time by now. 

“It’s ok.” A sad smile fills Steve’s face, tears threatening. “You did say that I’d regret waiting. You were right.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say, he just rests what he hopes is a comforting hand on Steve’s knee. 

“Don’t waste any time you have together, Buck.” Steve stands suddenly, shaking off the sadness like it was nothing. Bucky knows its bullshit, just a front Steve Rogers was good at putting up. He holds a hand out and pulls Bucky up. 

“Get your ass back in there. We’ve got almost two hours until we leave.” 

Bucky smiles tightly and nods before heading into the room.

You’re still asleep when he closes the door quietly behind him. He slides up next to you, pulling you tight to his chest, pressing kisses to your brow. 

“Bucky,” you say in a groggy voice. 

“Mhm,” he hums. 

“Is everything ok?”

“Yup. We have a little while before we roll out.” 

You nod, “Good.” 

“Kiss me,” he says low. That’s all he wants to do until you run out of time. Kiss you, hold you. Pry one more good moment from this mess of a situation. 

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