#like the sudden rush of clarity as soon as i registered what i was seeing

[donaweasley]

Their Little Secret

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Plot: This can be read as a sequel to What If or even as a solo.

The reader and Loki have been best friends for long, but eventually realised that it was more than just friendship. As they secretly step into a new world, the entire team, unbeknownst to it all, makes it their mission to make the love birds realise and confess what they feel for each other.

Warnings: Fluff, slight angst in relationship, a happy ending! Oh! And late-night hazards and a long read. Sorry!

Read time: ~26 mins

“(Y/N), could you please take a look at this once?”

Loki waltzed in through (Y/N)’s door with a file in his hand. She was reading a book, when he knocked.

“It’s pretty late. I thought you said you’d go straight to bed. What are you doing with this poor old piece of rat-food now?”

“I did. But then I couldn’t sleep. So...I thought of doing something boring enough to lull me to sleep. But this old file actually turned out to be quite interesting,” he explained animatedly. “I just couldn’t understand one part. So, here I am!”

She eyed him suspiciously as he spread his arms to accentuate his royal presence.

“That, or you wanted to see me, and this file is a flimsy excuse,” she drawled.

“Come on, darling! I’m fond of you but not to the extent that I’ll have to make lame excuses to see you. Besides, why would I need to lie to you?”

After taking a moment to consider his words, she stepped beside him and asked him to show the file.

“It is here - this part,” he pointed at a chunk of printed information.

“This one is…” She pondered aloud. “That doesn’t make sense! Loki, w-where did you get this from? That doesn’t look like any mission report or anything. It looks like...an excerpt...from...a book?”

Before she could register, a kiss landed on her cheek. It was immediately followed by Loki excitedly wishing her, “Goodnight, darling,” and vanishing into a green glow.

She stood stunned for a while. Gradually, the tingling sensation where Loki’s lips had caressed her skin began to spread like wildfire through her face, and soon she was blushing and smiling like an idiot.

“Idiot!” She cursed him as she flopped back on the bed.

After a few seconds of fiddling with the bookmark, and staring at blurred lines on the page, she closed the book, and decided to call it a night. After what Loki just did, nothing else could compare to a happier ending to the day.

As she closed her eyes, sunny memories started flooding her mind.

It had all started hardly two months ago, when they were having their usual midnight snacks, casually talking the day’s stress away, talking nonsense - just the usual best buddy night.

But then something happened: a childish game of “what-ifs”.

It was fun, for the most part, until Loki had asked her about her intentions if she met the love of her life the next day. Already stained with painful memories of past relationships and with the hopelessness about her love life, she tried her best to evade the question. But Loki, being Loki, kept proding her until she gave him a genuine reason for her frustration.

And everything changed after that. Because in trying to save the other from falling down the emotional cliff, they had saved each other. They had found each other.

She laughed softly as she remembered the hesitancy in both their hearts as they had crossed the threshold of friendship.

That was the first time that she had kissed him. On the cheek. And that was even before she had fully realised that her feelings for him were no longer platonic.

That was the first time Loki had put an arm around her and pulled her close to him.

Another giggle escaped her as she remembered the moment when the soft morning light, and a stiff back had awakened her from her sleep.

Both were still sitting in almost the same position as they had been when they were chatting.

She had found herself cocooned in the arms of Loki, her legs tangled with his, both of them safe under the thin blanket that Loki had picked while preparing for their night. Her head rested on his chest, while his rested on the top of her head.

The last thing that she remembered from the previous night was them promising each other that no matter how things turned out, they’d always be beside one another. And then Loki had pulled her closer, and gently laid her head on his throbbing chest.

It was now peacefully moving up and down with his sleepy breaths. Before opening her eyes to reality, she stole a few moments to let this feeling sink in.

When she had closed her eyes the night before, there was an excitement so high in the air that Thor’s thunder would have been ashamed. It was the hammering of Loki’s heart that had eventually put her to sleep.

The morning brought a peaceful rhythm beneath her ears. It was beautiful, it was calm, it was...reassuring. She loved it more than the thrill of the past few hours.

But no matter how long she tried to soak herself in the feeling, the incidents of the night before still seemed somewhat unbelievable. How could something months long change overnight? Was it all a mirage then, cast by the treacherous night?

The darkness of the night sets the mind free to imagine anything, take any decision. But the clarity of the day brings logic to the forefront, which sometimes turns out to be good but sometimes not so good.

But...it had felt right. She took a deep breath to clear her mind. It still felt right. That was all the assurance that she needed for the moment.

As she turned in her bed, she remembered the raspy voice in which Loki had wished her a good morning.

The close proximity, the husky, sleep-laden voice, the sudden change in the air - everything made blood rush to her cheeks and ears. Loki had sleepily chuckled at her flushed state, though he was only slightly better than her in hiding his own flustered state.

Ever since, not a single day had passed when the two of them hadn’t thanked the stars.

She used to think that she loved Loki’s friendship more than anything. She was happy to be proven wrong when she experienced Loki’s courtship.

A different flower everyday, sometimes inside her room, laid carefully near her door, sometimes on her bedside table, and on some mornings, beside her pillow.

She was used to going out with her best friend Loki, but going out with her boyfriend Loki was an experience on a whole new level. Light brushes of the fingers, sometimes an arm around her shoulder, intertwining of fingers, occasional brushes of his lips on her temple, and not-very-occasional blushes that tinted both their skins.

Every day, before parting for the day, she was blessed with bear hugs from him - something that she had never expected him to be fond of.

It was the best time of her life! Almost every doubt that she had about this relationship not working out had evaporated long ago. It was - she dared to say - perfect!

Except for one small hiccup: they had to keep everything off the radar.

For one, they were still testing the waters. No matter how happy and confident they were with one another, their newfound relationship was still at its infancy, and they didn’t want to declare anything to the rest of the team right away.

Second, everybody in the compound had been teasing both (Y/N) and Loki about “getting a room” for a long time. They didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were finally correct. Well, figuratively.

Unfortunately, the team did not know that they had already confessed their feelings to each other. And so, they were desperate to make the love birds see the truth of their emotions. The Avengers, tough and stubborn as they were, never gave up. And Loki and (Y/N) simply decided to play along.

For instance, around a month and a half ago, Tony had thrown one of his usual parties at the compound, and had brought a line of apparent suitors for (Y/N) and a host of gorgeous ladies and lads to introduce to Loki.

Though the new couple was initially confused at the unbridled attention, they eventually understood what was going on: Tony Stark had decided to use the age-old recipe of jealousy to crack either one or both of them.

It was fun, they both admitted later, to dance to the tune, and give the host a frowning face when he realised that neither were biting the bait. Instead, both seemed to be enjoying themselves flirting or dancing with their respective “baits”.

What escaped the eagle eyes of the team were the furtive looks that both (Y/N) and Loki threw at each other from time to time. It wasn’t easy to masquerade those longing glances with playful teases that two friends might share. But they had to.

Late into the night, after the party was over, Loki teleported into (Y/N)’s room. The security cameras were still a threat to their little secret.

“Hello beautiful!” Loki purred when she didn’t turn all her attention towards him as she usually did, but kept herself apparently busy in making the bed.

“Is this my consolation prize for all your flirting this evening?” She tried to keep it casual but her displeasure seeped into her tone.

“Ooh, someone sounds jealous,” he drawled.

“Speak for yourself, God!”

Loki stepped towards her, and gently caught her hand, putting a pause to her actions.

“Look at me. Please?”

She smiled as she faced him, but he could easily catch the facade.

“I know what you're trying to do. You can’t fool me, (Y/N).”

“And what is it that I’m doing?” She tried to question with the same casualness but her voice kept betraying her.

“You are trying to make it look like it didn’t affect you - me being with all those lovely people. But in reality, you are hurt, even if it is a tiny bit.”

Her smile faltered. Of course, she couldn’t fool the God of Lies!

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, “I don’t know why you’re saying this Loki. I’m perfectly fine! Why would I-”

“You and I understand each other perfectly,” Loki gently cut her off. “Or did you forget that?”

He reminded her of the one line - of the one realisation - that had triggered the tiniest thoughts of them being possibly together, if at all.

Realizing that all doors were closed for her, she tried to turn away from him, only to be stopped by the trickster.

“If it makes you feel any good,” he resumed, “it did burn me a bit, too, to watch you dance and laugh with those clowns.”

At this, she burst into laughter. Loki was glad at the change of mood, and allowed a few happy creases around his eyes as well.

“Is that true,” she asked, “or are you simply trying to make me feel better?”

He shrugged, “What do you think?”

“I’d like to believe that it’s true,” she confessed shyly.

“It is.”

“Well then,” she said after suppressing a wild grin that tried to crack its way through, “I guess that makes us even.”

“Guess so.”

“I’m sorry, Loki,” she sighed, “I lied earlier because I didn’t want to put any kind of pressure on you or anything. I mean...jealousy? That’s the first stage of obsession. And...I don’t want you to think that...”

“Hey,” Loki held both her hands in his, “your feelings for me will never suffocate me. On the contrary, they help me breathe. You have given my life a new purpose. I thought I was happy being your best friend. But this...this is even better. Never think that you’re putting any kind of pressure on me. None of those men or women out there, or anywhere for that matter, can bring me what I feel with you, for you.”

Words seemed insufficient for what she wanted to say. So, she simply nodded, and wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Thank you,” she murmured into his chest.

He chuckled as he ran his hand on her head, “Being jealous actually makes you look cute.”

She unwrapped herself from him just enough to look at his face, “Says the man who just confessed being jealous himself!”

“I never said I don’t look cute,” he shrugged again.

Shaking her head and laughing, she pulled his face down, and placed a warm kiss on his cheek.

“Go now, before I punch that cute face of yours.”

“When you say ‘punch’,” Loki drawled, “do you mean…’kiss every inch of’...?”

Blushing furiously, she pushed him towards the door.

“Shut up, and just go!”

Loki laughed as he wished her a lovely night, and disappeared into his usual green glow.

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

But the Avengers were not the ones to give up.

Not many weeks later, Natasha planned an evening at one of her favourite nightclubs. While Steve, Vision and Bucky backed out of the plan, given their previous not-so-delightful interactions with the loudness and the crowd, Thor and Tony were adamant on dragging Loki with them.

“We thought you liked a little fun! Since when did you start wearing grandpa’s knickers?” Tony snorted.

“C’mon, brother, don’t embarrass me,” Thor’s voice boomed in Loki’s room. “(Y/N) has embarrassed me enough. She didn’t want to go either. Said she’d rather sleep than be tormented by the blasted noise.”

She said what? That means she’s going to stay back-

“Wait, what?” Tony turned towards Thor with a perplexed look, “She said that?”

He turned around to face Loki again, “Are you two planning something or have you both become boring?”

No, no, no! They’ll add up…

“I am not boring!” Loki declared. He decided to stay quiet on the other option that Stark had mentioned.

“Well, then join us,” Tony shrugged.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Loki agreed.

Needless to say, his eyes went wide when he saw (Y/N) dressed up and ready for the outing when he was expecting her in her pajamas. When she silently questioned him, he immediately realised that he had been tricked.

I have to be more careful.

The team’s plan soon became obvious when, after a few rounds of shots, everyone made a beeline to the dance floor, leaving behind a string of excuses, and Loki and (Y/N) at the bar. Even through the crowd, the duo’s trained eyes could catch glimpses of their teammates shadowing them.

“Do they really think getting drunk will make us confess?” She shouted over the sound of the music.

“I’m a God,” he shouted back. “Midgardian liquor doesn’t affect me anyway.”

“Well, it affects me,” she shrugged and drained another shot down her throat, “and I love it!”

Last one.

She had started feeling dizzy. Getting wasted could be saved for another moment when she wasn’t being spied on.

A few minutes passed in silence as neither was fond of shouting to communicate. (Y/N) bobbed her head to the music while Loki eyed the mass of bodies swaying and moving with the beats.

“Would you-” Loki began but stopped midway.

While her eyes questioned him, he silently slipped from the stool, and came to stand almost behind her.

His hot breath, dipped in a faint whiff of alcohol, hit the shell of her ear as he purred, “Would you like to dance with me?”

She was rendered immobile for a while. A small corner of her mind wondered if Loki knew what he was doing to her.

I bet he knows what he’s doing.

“I’d have loved to!” She drawled. “It’s a shame there isn’t room for a waltz here, and I wouldn’t want a God like you to hop like teeangers in the crowd.”

She felt his chest brush against her back.

“I was actually hoping that you’d be up for that dance,” he pointed at a section of the crowd where bodies were gliding against each other in the most provocative ways.

Her breath hitched again. She didn’t need to turn her head to know that Loki was smirking at his achievement.

But this time, she wouldn’t squeal, she wouldn’t push him away with a timid smile. Diffidence and boldness both tugged at polar ends of her heart until boldness won the war.

Not this time. Two can play the game, darling.

“So, what’s stopping you?” Her lips almost brushed his earlobe as she tilted her head to whisper in his ear.

Where did that come from?!

Loki wasn’t prepared for this.

It was usually him who threw mildly suggestive comments which she pushed away with a shy gesture. He never expected the tables to turn so quickly.

She did not even have enough shots to get drunk yet, he noticed.

“What happened, did the cat get your silver tongue?” She smirked.

“I-I...uh...”

While Loki continued to gape at her, an inkling of panic nudged her chest.

Did I take it too far? He obviously wasn’t ready for this, but…

It all must have been another prank for him, and I…

No!

With a cackle, she sliced the apparent tension in the air. “So, finally got you, ha? Mischief!” She winked.

Turning towards the bartender, she ordered another shot.

Loki’s brain was still trying to decipher her behaviour.

Did she really mean it…? It didn’t look like a joke though…

As she focused on her drink, he thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross her face, but the incessant dance of light and shadows made her features almost unreadable.

“You should get back to your seat, y’know?” She told him with downcast eyes.

“What?”

“The team might notice and...they might know.”

Did her voice just...tremble?

Loki hated the place: the noise, the dim lights, the secrecy - he hated the way everything seemed to veil her from him.

“I think I’ll go find them.”

Downing another drink, she hopped off her seat, and disappeared in the crowd, leaving Loki to his thoughts.

Once they were back in the compound, Loki went straight to (Y/N)’s room. This time he did not sneak into her room using magic; he knocked on her door. This wasn’t the moment to play a game of cat and mouse. If the entire compound was prying on him, he would gladly allow them to. Well, maybe not gladly.

“Hey! Hi, Loki!”

Her smile was as bright as ever.

Was it all in my mind then?

“Are you alright?” He tried to sound calm but his anxiety turned out to be more stubborn than him.

“Yes, I am. What- Come inside first.”

She stepped aside, allowing him to stride into her room, and flump down on the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he began honestly, “I thought...I thought you were upset. At the club… I thought I saw you...sad? I’m not sure. I just had this feeling that you’re probably not okay, and-”

“Loki,” she held his shoulders and gently hushed him, “I’m fine.”

Her assurance enabled him to breathe normally again.

Caressing his face, she placed a light kiss on his forehead.

“Thank you, Loki! For everything. For caring so much about me.”

“(Y/N),” he held her hand, “are you hiding something? From me?”

He didn’t miss the way she gulped before replying.

“Why would you say that?”

“Look, I’m sorry if I cross the lines sometimes. I know I tease you but those are… I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable or have hurt you.”

“You are an idiot! Do you know that? You’ve never hurt me or made me uncomfortable. Now, get these stupid thoughts out of your little brain, and give me that devilishly charming smile of yours.”

Despite all her compliments, his eyes did not light up as they usually did.

“Are you sure?” He asked her.

“Absolutely!”

“You’ll tell me if you’re upset, won’t you? Promise me.”

He took note of how she licked her lips before nodding.

Something is not right.

“Come here,” he pulled her in his arms, and buried his face in the crook of her neck. “And I’m not an idiot. I am smart.”

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

The next few weeks turned out to be more and more challenging as the team was now hell-bent on getting them exposed. What made them so sure of their relationship was still a mystery to the couple.

“Are we that obvious?” (Y/N) asked Loki one day.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “It is said that it shows on the faces of those in love. So, I guess...”

The words, coming from him, filled her with warmth. If that be true, and if everyone could see that they were in love only by looking at them, then she’d happily trade their secrecy for more obviousness.

But every time they came close to taking the relationship to the next level, she would find Loki backing away. Every time they had the opportunity to reveal their beautiful secret to the team, he would quickly shield both of them.

Why, Loki? Do you not want us?

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

It was a rainy evening when Tony had gathered everyone in the living room. At first (Y/N) thought that it was an urgent meeting for a new mission. But when she knew the actual reason behind it, she couldn’t prevent the snort that escaped her.

“Excuse me?” Tony pointed at her. “You got some problem, princess?”

“Truth or dare? Like, how old are we? Twelve?”

Tony spread his arms as if to silently make a point. “Since when did you start categorizing fun into ages? Ever since you started dating Rock of Ages?”

“Hey!” Loki made a tiny protest at his nickname.

“We are not dating,” (Y/N) deadpanned.

“And there goes my question,” Wanda sighed from across the room.

In response, (Y/N) simply rolled her eyes, and grumbled, “Kids!”

Once the game started, the team wasted no time in getting to the point: (Y/N) and Loki.

The first one to get attacked was Loki.

“No, no truth for you,” Sam chimed in just as Loki sucked in a breath to choose “truth”.

“He’s the God of Lies!” Sam announced, “He can easily slip away with any lie!”

“The bird’s got a point!” Tony agreed, followed by everyone else. “‘Dare’ for you!”

“This is not how it works,” Loki protested.

“Did you play this on Asgard? Thor?”

“No, we had never even heard of it until we came here,” the big brother responded.

“But-”

“Nah-ah!” Tony didn’t let him finish. “This is exactly how it is played. Who wants to give the God of Mischief a mischievous dare?”

(Y/N) wanted to protest; she wanted to tell Tony that he was bending the rules to get to them. But any word of support would further corner them both. All she could do was play along.

“Kiss (Y/N). And you know where I mean.”

Nat’s voice yanked her out of her thoughts. She watched in horror as Loki’s expressions changed from shock to anger while the entire team cheered.

“Nat!” (Y/N) jumped up from her seat, “do you even hear yourself? He’s my best friend! We can’t just...”

“Why not?” Sam questioned with a smirk. “You seemed to be enjoying it when I was asked to kiss Buck. He’s my best buddy.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky mumbled.

“C’mon, it’s just a game! Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Steve?? Et tu?

Rubbing her eyes, (Y/N) tried to find a way out of it. She knew well that if Loki kissed her, she’d melt into it. Everything would become obvious.

No, no, no!! This can’t be. They can’t just expose us like this. Loki would be so....

Wait, why isn’t he saying anything?

She opened her eyes to see Loki standing. His expression was unfathomable.

Oh no! Is he going to…

“This is outrageous!” Loki snapped and turned on his heels to walk out of the room.

Oh!

For reasons she did not want to explore then, (Y/N)’s heart dropped several feet. She was expecting a similar reaction from him but wasn’t hoping for it.

Quickly gravitating back to the situation in hand, she stammered an excuse or two for his behaviour, and followed his tracks to check on him.

Once both of them were out of earshot, Tony leaned towards the group, “Did we save it or kill it.”

“Looks like we killed it,” Sam sighed.

“Trust me,” Wanda smiled, “we saved it.”

“Vision? What do you think?”

“I still do not understand why you have to torment them like this. Let them come out when they want to. It’s-”

“Okay!” Tony interrupted him. “Sorry I asked! My bad!”

The door to Loki’s room was half open when (Y/N) arrived. Gingerly, she admitted herself inside.

Loki was standing at the window, with his back towards her. His head was bowed but his hands were curled into fists on both sides of his body.

“Loki?”

The name came out so softly that she couldn’t be sure if he had heard it, given that he did not move at all.

But before she could call him again, he spoke.

“I did not want this to happen,” his voice bore that particular kind of seriousness that usually preceded an unwanted or unhappy revelation.

What?

“I am sorry, (Y/N).” He turned towards her, and she realised in an instant that he wasn’t fooling around.

“What are you talking about, Loki? What did you not want to happen?”

Her chest felt tighter with every passing second.

Please, not what I’m fearing.

“This,” his hand vaguely gestured towards the hallway. “Whatever happened just now. I knew they would come down to this one day. I never wanted-”

“It’s okay,” she interjected. “I did not like that either. Although they meant no harm. It was just for fun… And I understand if you're having second thoughts. This entire thing between us was just something… y’know, a spur of the moment kind of thing. I totally understand if-"

"(Y/N)! Where is this coming from? What are you even talking about?"

She couldn’t make herself look at him, for if she did, he could clearly see the moisture pooling in her eyes. She needed to appear strong.

“Loki, you’ve always been my best friend. And I’ve loved that. You know it. And it’s okay if this new turn in our relationship does not turn out to be something that you had hoped for. It happens. It’s okay-”

“It’s not okay for me,” Loki grasped her hands. “What are you saying? Why? A-are you not happy with me? Have I done something wrong? Did I offend you in any way?”

What is he saying? I thought…

As she looked up at him, a couple of drops ran down her cheeks and on her shirt.

“(Y/N), please tell me. You had promised to tell me anything and everything that upsets you. So, tell me what happened. Why do you speak of our relationship as if it was a mistake?”

“It never was a mistake for me,” she breathed, “I thought you felt...I thought you...”

“What?”

The shaky way in which the question came out of him stung her more than any thought of Loki not wanting this relationship. It was then that she realised how badly she had hurt him.

He never wanted to leave! He always wanted me? Us?

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “I thought that you...didn’t want...this. Us. I-”

“Why would you even think so? Why would you bear such thoughts when I love you with every fiber of my being?”

Her head snapped up.

“You love me?” Her own voice became shaky.

“Of course, I do,” he gently placed a hand on her cheek, “always have. At first I thought it was a love for friends until that night, when I realised that I wanted to be more than just friends with you.”

More tears fell down her cheek as she rejoiced in the moment. Loki wiped them all, and placed soft kisses on each cheek.

“And all this time, I was afraid that you’re having second thoughts,” she confessed.

“And why is that?”

“Because...”

How do I say that it’s because you haven’t kissed me yet? And ran away from the one moment we had today, albeit in a not-so-comfortable situation?

“Because I haven’t kissed you yet?” Loki asked her.

Her heart beat so violently, she could have sworn that Loki could hear it. Her tongue felt too heavy to speak.

“I didn’t think you were ready,” he admitted. “That is the reason why I did not dance with you in the club either. I was teasing you, yes, but when you responded I was definitely taken aback. I wasn’t sure if it was you or the ambience talking. So…

You have always shied away from any comments that I make, and...I did not want to push anything on you.”

“Oh, Loki!”

She hugged him so hard that even the Asgardian had to take two steps back to balance himself.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she wept into his shirt. “I misunderstood your actions for… I pushed you away. I thought you weren’t ready for this relationship. I’m sorry!”

Tears of both apology and relief flooded her. He tried to sush her as he rocked her slowly from side to side.

After taking a moment to compose herself, she stood straight. Loki looked at her red-eyed, tear-stained face and tutted.

“Doesn’t suit you, darling. Show me your crazy, grinning face.”

With a chuckle, she gave him a funny face-splitting smile, making both of them laugh.

“(Y/N), I didn’t want to kiss you because of a game or under the watchful eyes of that insufferable bunch of imbeciles. But if you will allow me now, I-”

“Just stop being so polite for a change, and kiss me,” she tugged at the collars of his shirt.

Loki didn’t need to be asked twice.

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

In the hall, the Avengers were busy speculating the outcome of their little plan, when the couple in discussion walked in. Hand in hand.

“Yes, we had changed our relationship status around six months ago,” (Y/N) announced to a stunned audience.

“And yes, we kissed. Just now. And I hope you know where I mean,” Loki added before dragging his love away towards the elevator.

“What was that?” She whispered as she was being whisked away.

“What?” Loki asked innocently, although his eyes stated otherwise.

“You didn’t need to declare that we just kissed!” She laughed as the doors of the elevator closed.

He shrugged while jabbing at a button. “They wanted us to kiss anyway. So, I gave them the satisfaction of knowledge. Besides, they need to know who you belong to now.”

“Aha! Possessive?”

“No! I also made it clear who I belong to now.”

He smiled as the doors opened to the hallway that led to his room. And once again, his words had rendered her speechless.

Silver tongue!

***

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

You can read the backstory here.

And here's a song to sing along and keep the mood floating...

[matth1w]

Always You

Pairing: Roman Sionis/Black Mask x Female Reader

Summary: After years of separation, you finally reunite with Roman.

Warnings: Vague descriptions of sex

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,344 words

Note: Inspired by repeat listenings of Crystal Dolphin (I know). I imagined a camera circling around the two as their eyes meet, everything else fading into the background.

Second Note: Again, so stunned and thankful all the love Dancing for Daddy is still getting. 800+ notes!!!

Forever Friends: @captainrogerss​ / @commander-writergirl​ / @fics-not-tragedies​

Roman Sionis (Open!): @stardancerluv​ / @redspaceace​ / @darling-i-read-it​ / @tales-from-gotham​ / @vintagemichelle91​ / @ladyofhellhounds​ / @aliasimagines​ / @justauthoring​ / @daphne-fandom-writing​ / @ewanfuckingmcgregor​ / @troybcker​ / @ntlmundy​ / @21stcenturywitchcraft​ / @theblackmaskclub​ / @jokersdoll-blog​​ / @ryjo1992​​ / @highly-unknown​​ / @nighttime2am​​ / @hoefordarknessrecreated​ / @zodiyack​ / @obiorbenkenobi / @innuendocrescendo​ / @obitwo​

D O  N O T  R E P O S T  M Y  W O R K

You and Roman had always loved each other. Before you knew what love was, back when love was sweet and innocent. The love you shared was simply that of best friends who smiled wider when they held each other’s hands than anyone else.

As you stepped forward, patient and thankful for the line that let you try to simmer the bubbling anxiety within you, you took in a shallow breath. 

Your name only barely loud enough for the guard to hear. After a few moments of attention directed at his lists, no doubt, his eyes met yours again, a bit of a frown beginning as he looked back down at his tablet. 

“I see.” He gruffed. 

Unsure if you were hoping he would turn you away or let you forward, you stayed silent. 

After one more long beat of staring at you, he jerked his thumb to the door. 

“Inside for weapons check.”

As you crossed the threshold, you heard the signature beep of an old school radio being pushed.

In the club, Victor’s ear buzzed. “Tell the boss she’s here.”

He strides over to Roman who is thankfully in the middle of a very unimportant conversation. 

Only a moment after he leans down to relay the message, Roman jumps up from his seat. 

Manic excitement lights his eyes that leaves as quickly as it came, replaced by pure nervousness. 

He runs his hands through his hair, taking in deep breaths as he shakes his body and removes his sunglasses, and much to everyone’s surprise, his gloves, mindlessly throwing them into Zsasz’s hands. 

He turns on Victor with a start, seemingly realizing his friend is more than an accessory rack. 

“Do I look good?” He resists the urge to grab onto his shoulders and shake him when his answer isn’t instant. 

A nervous, too high pitched laugh bursts out of Roman before Victor can even reply. 

“I mean, of course I do.” He flits his head with his typically fake big smile.

Zsasz just nods with an unaffected look, hiding the concern underneath. 

“Course.” He says as he places a reassuring hand onto his boss’s shoulder.

Roman had been waiting for this moment his entire adult life. But now that it was here, that you were here, he felt so nervous. So insecure. 

Would you like him? The club? His clothes? Was it too much? Not enough?

The cacophony of thoughts continued to race through his head. 

‘Everyone out. 

… No stay. 

No one look at her. She’s mine. 

… But she deserves a sea of people adoring her. 

What do I do? What should I do?

Oh it’s too late to do any—’

Time seems to slow as you walk through the curtain leading into the main room. Everything quiets, even the song seeming to slip underwater. 

You’re unsure if it’s truly the music or just the effect this man is having on you. The air vibrates with the deep bass, electrifying your skin and moving you forward despite the echoing worry in your mind. 

‘What if he doesn’t recognize me?

What if he doesn’t remember me?’

You gather all the courage in your body as you let your eyes scan the room for the only one you could truly see. 

Had you not been holding onto something you would have certainly faltered in your step.

The way he looked at you instantly quieted your fears and confirmed you had not once left his mind.

You were expecting his looks. Roman was always fawned over as a child and truth be told, you had always found him attractive. And recently, you searched him online and realized he had aged like fine wine.

You expected the lavish suit. Dressed to the nines in a glamorous, almost campish style that seemed to be perfectly made to shine amongst everyone and everything else.

You had even expected the eyes, though they were more intense than before. Piercing through your skin and soul.

But lord. You did not expect eyeliner. 

And Roman himself was stunned. He had kept tabs on you and had even gone to see you once from afar but nothing could compare to how you looked only feet away from him.

He felt like a young child again, the moment he realized he loved you and would make you his one day. The emotions came crashing and he was frozen in his place.

You faintly register the music beginning to rise as the world seems to spin around you two.

You wanted to bottle this moment. Play it over and over again. The music, the lights, the touch of the dress of your skin, the warmth filling you. 

But most importantly, the way Roman looked right here. 

Right now. 

And how this man, your oldest friend, first and truest love, was looking at you. 

The music coming back to its full force makes you blink out of the trance and finally move. Your steps matching his cautious, unbelieving steps. 

You’re standing in front of each other, just staring, eyes roaming over each other’s bodies, taking in everything that was hidden by distance before. Hands hovering in the air, still in their instinctual yearning for the other’s embrace.

Neither of you dare to break the silence, the fiercest spell that had come over you both. 

With one last journey of his face, so close allowing you to appreciate every inch, you realize one of you will have to say something. 

“Hi—”

His lips jolt onto yours, closing the electrified distance, breaking the spell and instead creating something stronger - stealing the words from your mouth, breath from your chest, and heart from your very soul.

His lips are strong and firm and desperate in their movement like returning home to a place you had only been to in your dreams.

But you feel them pull away. Too soon. 

So you follow him and grab them again, sealing them with smiles as you bring your hands up and around to the back of his neck. Fingers flirting with the ends of his hair.

In a singular moment of clarity, Roman has but one thought tearing his lips from yours.

“They don’t get to see what I’m going to do to you.”

The sound of his rough voice stuns you, so different yet so similar to that which filled your memories. Not even taking in the words, you nod. Your head just barely moving down for a moment, still lost in your state of bliss.

With that, he leans away as if nothing had ever pained him more and takes your hand in his, rushing steps moving you through a parting sea of bodies.

Within moments, the sound and staring eyes disappear and his hands are roaming all over you, overwhelming your body so much that it can only respond in kind.

In the privacy of his darkened bedroom, you make slow, deep love. Staring into each other’s eyes as you give all of yourselves to the other. 

Deep kisses capture your moans - breathing them into each other’s mouths when you can hold them no longer. 

His touch always on you, never leaving your skin. 

Unsure where he ends and you begin. Both shaking, tensing, pulsing, releasing together. 

Finally laying together side by side, you’re both unable to stop looking and touching one another. The spell thicker than ever. 

You want to say something, anything, other than a cut off greeting and euphoric chanting of his name. But you continue to appreciate the moment in silence.

Roman kept his body closed off from the world. But not you. He wanted to feel everything you had to offer. With yet another thought pushing out to be voiced, he opens his mouth.

“Marry me.”

It was quick, sudden, and for a flicker of a moment, you thought impulsive.

Until you realized this was always where you two were meant to be. 

You had no other words than the one he repeated to you as a boy when you asked with innocent giggles if he would marry you.

“Always.”

[thosewickedlovelies]

AND THEY WERE WALLMATES: Brownies (part 4)

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: E for Explicit!!!

Summary: Javier reveals his knight-in-shining-armor side when Reader is in danger. Then Reader bakes brownies, and he reveals...something else ;)

Tags: Attempted mugging at knifepoint. Javi points his gun. Swearing. Inappropriate or maybe completely appropriate use of chocolate. Male masturbation. Exhibitionism if you squint.

Word Count: 4,634

A/N: Okay but consider: Javier has a competency kink.

Masterlist

--

The last three days had been exhausting. Long shifts at the hospital with your intensive-care patient had worn you out, but it was worth it to watch them steadily get better. Tomorrow somebody else was on duty in the morning, and you were greatly looking forward to sleeping in. Knowing that you wouldn’t want to leave your pajamas before your afternoon shift, you had plodded through the grocery store on your walk home tonight.

You breathe deeply, gratefully of the fresh night air as you turn into your building’s driveway. With the all-day shifts and your lack of motivation to do anything but sleep after them, you hadn’t been outside as much in the past few days. Idly you wonder if it’s too soon to ask Javier to take you to that bakery.

You glance reflexively up at his front window as you stop at the base of the steps outside. A light turns off as you rummage through your purse for your keys, but it’s far too early for him to be going to bed. Maybe he’s going out.

You set down a grocery bag, your keys evading your slightly constrained reach. With your head down and your vision narrowed to the inside of your purse, you don’t notice the man until it’s too late.

A rough grip where your neck meets your shoulder, thumb digging painfully into the muscle, and the cold press of steel against vulnerable skin- a knife blade, you register dimly. Every alarm in your body blares as a voice scratches in your ear: “Give me all of the money you have, and I will not use this.”

Adrenaline burns through you, and your hands tremble as it fights the fog of tiredness that had been smothering you. The man scrapes the blade of his weapon along your neck to make his point, then shoves you forward, into the metal bannister of the staircase. The breath whooshes painfully out of you.

Your skin flashes hot and cold with panic, but you force yourself to breathe through the pounding of your heart. You slowly turn around.

Your aggressor is a skinny, unassuming young man, like any other you’d pass on the street, but his eyes are hard, his hold on the knife unwavering as he points it at you. “Your wallet. Now,” he demands, eyes flashing, and you know he meant his threat.

The streetlight above gleams on the blade, a foot from your face. Your tongue feels thick and clumsy in your mouth. You can only nod, trying to communicate placation, that you’ll comply with his request. Your eyes never leave him as you gradually close your hand around your wallet.

Just then, the building door opens, and everything happens very quickly.

Light splashes on the man’s face. “What the- HEY!” Javier’s anger blasts over you, the sudden whip-crack sound of it the loudest you’d ever heard from him. He lets out a rattling stream of Spanish, but your mugger appears unconcerned until a second later, when you hear a sharp click above you. Alarm dashes the arrogance off his face as he flinches. Javi has a gun.

In his moment of distraction, you lift your foot and ram it into the man’s stomach, propelling him backward. He stumbles nearly onto his ass, wheezing, and in an instant Javi is in front of you, gun pointing at him. He shouts something else too fast for you to make out.

The man answers, cowering with his hands up, and Javier spits out one final statement before telling him to leave, jerking his gun in emphasis. Your would-be mugger doesn’t look back.

Javier holds his stance for another tense moment. You tentatively touch your fingertips to his shoulder blade, feeling the strength holding his muscles taut. He nearly shudders at the contact, bringing him back to himself.

He turns to face you, tucking his gun away against his back. “Hey, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His voice urgent, his eyes still dark and tense with rage. He holds his hands palms out, showing you he’s safe, begging you to believe him.

Adrenaline still vibrates beneath your skin. You look at him with wild eyes, shake your head. Abruptly your knees wobble, and Javier springs forward. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay now, Vecinita.”

One arm encircles your waist while the other props you up along your spine, broad hand splaying, fingers pressing into you with desperate relief. His rough voice smooths your lingering tension, the closeness of his body new but comforting. You let his warmth erase the other man’s violation of your space. Your hands clutch at the lapels of his leather jacket, a sigh shuddering out of you.

“Vecinita. Let’s get you inside, okay?” Javi gently prompts you into moving, keeping one arm wrapped around you as he guides you up the stairs. He directs you to lean against the wall just inside the door.

“Here, put those down, all right? Stay here. I’ll get your other one.” He eases the remaining bags off your shoulder and onto the floor, then disappears out the door, only to return in a flash with your second grocery bag in hand. He sets it down by the others.

You watch him, your head resting against the wall as you battle the exhaustion that had returned full force, aided by the rush of adrenaline and the subsequent crash as it left your system.

Javi approaches you again, worry clear in his face at your limp posture. “Vecinita? You okay?” His hand comes up as if to brush a stray hair at your temple, but he doesn’t touch you. His arm drops.

But you reach out for it, sliding your hand down his wrist to entangle your fingers; the touch as much a comfort for you as it is for him.

Surprise flares in his eyes at your gesture; something indescribably like longing crosses his face. He squeezes your hand.

You smile faintly at him. “I’m fine, Javi. Just...shaken. And tired,” you admit. “I’ve had long shifts at work the past few days.” Your feet ache just remembering, but you make no move to leave.

“Oh yeah, Connie told me,” Javier says without thinking.

Well, that was news to you. You look at him with sudden, sly interest. “Oh yeah? You two ladies talk about me?” Giving his own words back to him, from the second time you went over to check on his leg. It could have been a lifetime ago for how different things are now.

Javi looks dumbfounded for a split second. A helpless chuckle spills out of him, unconsciously swaying forward as if only this, your familiar teasing, had convinced him that you were fine, that he could finally let go of his own tension.

His face is so unguarded; you’re delighted to see his eyes crinkle with laughter. They’re so brown, so beautiful this close up, a rich spiral of shades that you could stare into for hours and still not find the right words to describe.

You smile fondly up at him, not minding his nearness in the slightest. You’re conscious, suddenly, of how overwhelmingly glad you are that you got to know Javier. Of how grateful you are for his company, his protection just now.

For once, you are the conflicted one, a thoughtful expression puzzling your brow. Because it’s your turn to consider how you could possibly thank him for what he’s done. What could be enough to communicate the depth of your gratitude?

--

Javier knows that you are okay, really. That he should get you inside your own apartment, let you sleep off the past few days. But he is utterly captivated. Held in place like an animal caught in the wrong trap, at the mercy of the hunter to decide its fate. Would you put him out of his misery by telling him that you’re not interested? Or free him from the trap of his clumsy uncertainty, grant him the clarity of your feelings so that he may choose his own course?

The press of your hand in his gives him hope, intimate and promising in all the right ways. He doesn’t want to let go, but this is unquestionably the wrong time to make any kind of move. He’s already standing too close to you, unable to resist your draw in the relief of the moment.

Time seems to thicken as your smile fades. He wants to smooth the furrow in your brow, chase off what’s troubling you. Of course, it could be me, he thinks sardonically. Despite his best efforts, his eyes flick rapidly down to your lips.

And he watches your expression shift again, those lips parting, and if Javier didn’t know better he’d think you wanted him to kiss you- but that can’t be right, you’re just in shock. His moral compass gets him into trouble at the best of times, but it’s swinging wildly now, leaving him utterly spun.

His tongue pokes forward unconsciously, just wetting his lips...but before either of you can move you hear a crash from Steve and Connie’s apartment above.

The spell is broken. You start, your head automatically turning in the direction of the sound. Javi straightens, putting some air between you, but his gaze never leaves your face.

“Sounds like they’re fighting,” he says. “Come on, let’s get you inside before one of them storms out.” He lets go of your hand only to slide his arm around you again. You let him help carry your bags, your limbs revolting at the idea of further movement.

Javier guides you into your apartment as far as the kitchen. He’s reluctant to let you go, but darts anxious glances at the back hall, not wanting to overstep (despite what had just almost happened outside).

He unwinds himself from you once he’s sure you’re holding yourself upright. Before he can leave, however, you grab his arm again.

“Javi!” You seem...afraid, but like you’re furiously trying not to be. “...What did you say to him?”

He’s not convinced that was your original question, but he answers. “I asked him who he worked for. He said no one, he just needed some money...you were a random pick, Vecinita, in the wrong place at the wrong time. He won’t come back.” A bitter taste fills his mouth at the memory, the sight of that motherfucker pointing a knife at you. But his rage softens when he sees the anxiety haunting your face.

“Hey. You want me to stay here tonight? I’ll sleep on the couch. Guard the door.” His attempt at levity sounds half-hearted, but your lips twitch upward in response.

“I..can’t ask you to do that, Javier,” you mumble, gaze shifting- until you remember something. “You were going out.” You look back at him questioningly.

He barely remembers his original plans for this evening. Drinks with coworkers? Javier shrugs dismissively. “Nothing important. Don’t worry about it. Come on- I’ll stay here tonight and drive you to work tomorrow. Deal?”

You bite your lip. “I don’t work until the afternoon tomorrow.” Another feeble attempt at protesting. He waits.

Finally you concede. “Thank you, Javi”, you whisper, nearly inaudibly.

Instead of speaking, he takes your hand again. Bringing it to his mouth, he presses a soft kiss to your knuckles, without a trace of his suggestive intentions from the first time. “Que duermas bien, Vecinita.” Sleep well.

--

You wake naturally the next morning to sunlight streaming through your curtains. You forgot to set your alarm! Your first thought has you sitting bolt upright, heart pounding; then you remember that you have the morning off. Your heart rate slows only marginally as the events of the previous evening return to you, including- Javier slept on your sofa.

Your pulse rockets right back up, flushing your whole body with nervous energy. Damn it, it’s too early for this. Your sleep-clumsy thoughts are tumbling and manic as you try to decide on a course of action.

Right, first- check your clock. Ten a.m.?! You stifle a groan. Who knows how long Javi has been awake by now, just waiting in your living room? Assuming he stayed- you wouldn’t blame him if he’s gone to his own apartment for food by now.

Wait, speaking of food- you frown, lifting your nose toward the door. Is that coffee you smell?

So Javier’s awake, then.

Abruptly overcome with giggles, you cover your face with your hands, grinning like a fool. Javier had stayed, and made himself coffee in your kitchen.

Well you couldn’t just leave him out there. You take a deep breath, willing yourself calm. Time to stop acting like a giggling mess with a crush. The thought makes you pause, wide-eyed. Holy shit, did you have a crush on Javi?

I mean, he did save your ass last night, you reason. Very superhero of him. And you kept finding more attractive things about him, and you’d spent some real time together now, and he...he had kissed your hand last night. After definitely almost kissing you in the hall. Mierda. You giggle to yourself again. So much for being calm.

Well, there was nothing to be done for it. You throw a light robe over your pajamas and pad to the kitchen.

Butterflies burst in your chest at the sight that greets you. Javier is sitting at your dining room table, a mug in front of him. Chin in hand, lost in thought, hair still adorably mussed from sleep.

You only have a second to appreciate it before he hears you approach. He stands with a start, guilty eyes flitting from his coffee to the kitchen before settling on you, hands fidgeting like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He clears his throat. “Morning.”

His voice is even raspier this early in the day, like a match striking heat inside you. A reaction you will definitely have to process later.

“Morning,” you return, smiling sheepishly at him. You go to the sink to fill a glass of water, opting to stay at the counter to drink it. “How long have you been up?”

His gaze flits to the clock on the microwave. “About an hour. I, uh. Made coffee. Hope you don’t mind.” His hand flies to his head as if only just now remembering the state his hair could be in, hurriedly smoothing errant curls (to your disappointment).

Javi’s shirt is rumpled, and you feel guilty as you realize he would have slept in his clothes. You’d been so dead on your feet last night, you don’t even remember if you gave him a  blanket. “Not at all,” you reply. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sleep this late. I didn’t even offer you pajamas or anything last night...” You’re about to continue apologizing when he cuts you off.

“Don’t worry about it, Vecinita. I’m not sure yours would have fit me anyway.” A teasing grin uncurls as he eyes the short pajama shorts under your robe, in a way that’s wholly different from how he might have looked at you before you fixed his leg (a time designation you find yourself referencing more and more often lately: Before-Leg and After-Leg). Now he’s earned such familiarity, and although unexpected, it’s not unwelcome. You still nearly gape at the joke and his once-over, feeling decidedly warm.

Oblivious to your internal temperature rising, Javi continues. “I could do with a shower though. What time do you have work?”

Right, work. “Twelve,” you respond. “Um, I can make breakfast? While you run home and shower. If you want. How’s pancakes? And I think I have bacon.”

Javier looks relieved to have a plan. “You had me at bacon,” he confirms. “I won’t be long.” He starts for the door, scooping up his jacket as he goes.

“No hurry!” You call after him.

True to his word, Javi is barely gone fifteen minutes before he’s back at your dining room table, a fresh mug of coffee cradled in hand. Conversation doesn’t come as readily as it did during your movie night, but the silence in between feels...comfortable.

Javier hesitantly brings up the night before, but only to compliment the form of your kick to the man’s stomach. “Self-defense classes before traveling,” you explain, which led to a continued interest in fighting skills. Your neighbor looks impressed and...intrigued, maybe. Something speculative in his eyes, like he’s reassessing his idea of you.

He drives you to work later, and arranges for Steve to pick you up.

“Heard you had to kick some ass last night,” the blond drawls in greeting.

Well, it was nice of Javier to tell such a flattering version of the story. You roll your eyes, even as you preen the tiniest bit. “Yeah, that’s how it happened,” you grumble. “It wasn’t just Javier swooping in to save my ass like fucking Batman with a shiny gun.”

Steve guffaws at your description. But neither man makes light of the incident. Steve drives you to or from work at Javi’s request when he’s busy, until after a few days you insist that you’re fine, plenty confident that Javi scared off your attacker. Even so, he walks with you to the grocery store the next time you go, swearing up and down that the timing is just a coincidence, that he needs a few things too.

Secretly you’re grateful for that. You feel safe with Javier, and it’s a nice feeling, being protected. You’re just as capable of watching out for threats, but you could never replicate the swooping, shivery feeling low in your belly when his guiding hand brushes the small of your back. Ever since you took his hand that night, he’s been slowly getting bolder with small, casual touches. And every time you let him, his eyes brighten a little more, his breath loosening like he’s afraid you’ll reject each one. As if you’d reject proof of his affection, or the glow of pleasure that smolders in you with every glimpse of it.

At the store, you mentally flip through your cookbook, tilting your head thoughtfully at the cocoa powder.

--

Javier doesn’t remember inviting you over to bake in his kitchen, but he’s sure as hell not complaining. Watching you competently twirl about the room, sifting and stirring and tasting things in various bowls, is stirring in ways he hadn’t anticipated. The graceful lift of your arms, your eyes narrowed in concentration. He almost wants to interrupt, just to see how you’d react.

He drifts over to see if he can help, when his senses are powerfully overwhelmed by the smell of chocolate.

You stand in front of him, the source dripping suggestively from a spoon in your hand. “Want a taste, Javi?” You lick the spoon slowly, holding his gaze as you close your mouth around it, cheeks hollowing with the effort of sucking it clean.

Javier swallows hard at the dizzyingly tempting scene before him, all but floating toward you.

You smile coyly at him, meaningfully lifting a chocolate-tipped finger. He doesn’t dare move. His lips part as it nears, not knowing what you intend but knowing that he desperately wants it. His breaths come quick and shallow. You trace your finger lightly along his lower lip.

The touch sizzles through him, the taste of your skin far more vibrant than that of the chocolate. Javi can’t help but flick his tongue out to chase it, catching just the tip of your finger before it retreats, and suddenly you look as lost as he feels, staring at his mouth as he works to clean the silky sweetness from it.

As if in a trance, you lift your hand again, your own lips parting. “Want another?” Your voice breathy and uneven. A fingerprint smudging your lower lip, you lift your chin-

And Javier is on you, sucking your lip into his mouth, tasting the chocolate on your breath, wanting more. He groans as you arch into the kiss, devouring you, sliding his tongue against yours. You clutch at each other like this is everything you’d been waiting for.

Javier loses himself in you. Just the sounds you’re making have him harder than he’s ever been, he’d let you lick chocolate off whatever you damn well want-

He jolts awake.

Gasping and sweating and so painfully hard he instinctively presses a palm to his crotch, choking on a groan. What the hell?

He is completely disoriented. The smell of chocolate still pervades his senses. He registers the muted sound of- music? Your singing.

He’d fallen asleep on the couch; the scent in his dream was you baking again. Maybe you dropped something and it woke him up. He can’t focus on anything else right now besides his absolutely throbbing erection.

His breathing is harsh in his throat as he shoves at the zipper of his pants. He wraps a hand around himself, his head dropping back and his mouth open in a soundless moan. His hips buck upward, head still full of you, you-

He snaps in less than a minute.

His release spatters hot over his hand and shirt. He slumps back down into the cushions, panting, spent. As the haze clears, he has only a single thought.

Fuck.

--

The sunlight is too bright for Javier’s thoughts the next morning. It dazzles him on his way to work, making it even harder to focus when his mind is still full of you. The softness of your lips, your sighs of pleasure, all of it conjured up by his apparently lust-addled mind- whose desperation would only increase the more he longed for a taste in real life.

It’s an immense relief when he finally arrives to the familiar office smell of musty files and weak coffee.

He’s here before Steve today- a rare occurrence, but he had to get out of the house. There’s some fanfare going on when he finally does catch a glimpse of his partner’s blond hair across the floor.

Steve is- holding something? Handing out something? As he makes his way over, the sounds of appreciation from colleagues grow clearer, but it doesn’t sink in until he’s nearly reached the door.

“Man, Steve, you gotta bring this neighbor of yours to the next office party so we can show our appreciation!” The agent’s chortle dies as he catches sight of Javier, who makes no attempt to regulate his steadily souring expression. “Peña.” The man gives him a quick nod and says a last farewell to Steve.

His partner sets the tray he’s holding down on his desk and slowly turns to face Javier. Steve’s gaze lingers over the look on his face, the way he’s zeroed in on the dish, lips puckered like he can’t decide if he should speak.

“Well good mornin’ to you, Javi,” Steve drawls, in that too-knowing way he sometimes had. “Brownie?” He gestures to the tray.

The smell reaches him then. Chocolate. Thick and rich and- a chocolate-coated finger hovering before his mouth, your eyes twinkling innocently up at him- Javier’s jaw clenches.

“What,” he grits out, demanding an explanation with the single syllable.

“Neighbor-lady dropped ‘em off last night. Said they were for us to take to work today. Apparently she tried you first, but you weren’t home.”

Right. Because after staining his shirt with thoughts of you, he’d barely taken the time to throw on a clean one before stumbling out the door, sucking in deep breaths of fresh air as he walked to the nearest dive that served whiskey.

But- you had brought them to him first. Not Connie, or Steve, or anyone else. Him.

“Huh,” he replies distantly.

It’s all too much for Javier to process. He stands abruptly and stalks out of the office, making a beeline for the restroom.

His mind clears a bit after splashing some water on his face. He manages to be cordial once he returns to his desk, but it isn’t long before the emotional impact of his revelation fades, leaving him once more occupied by daydreams of the physical confirmation he craves.

It doesn’t help that apparently the entire fucking building was told about the brownies. Every time someone new comes in he gets a fresh whiff of chocolate, remembers dreaming of sucking the taste off your tongue and the needy noises you made when he did.

For the next several hours he glowers at the tray, perched innocuously on the corner of Steve’s desk. His skin feels hot and tight. It’s possible he smokes a few more cigarettes than usual in an effort to numb his tastebuds, or his olfactory sensors, or whatever the fuck keeps registering fucking chocolate.

Steve eyes him curiously. “You okay, man? You’ve snapped at nearly every person who’s come in here for a brownie. You allergic or somethin? I can move ‘em…”

Javier nearly snarls. “No, I am not allergic,” he says very calmly, the words clipped.

He manages to escape a little while before Steve, citing his early arrival as an excuse to head home. As he pulls into the drive, however, he passes your familiar figure on the corner.

His head thunks against the steering wheel. Steeling himself, he gets out of the car as you walk up.

“Hi Javi!” You beam at him, and his heart nearly beats right out of his fucking chest.

Tiredness lines your face from a long hospital shift, but it doesn’t stop you from looking all caring as you take him in. He doesn’t even want to imagine what you see: his shirt wrinkled from constantly shifting and tugging at it all day, his face pinched from scowling.

“Are you okay, Javi? You look flushed.” You bite your lip in a concerned frown.

It’s a struggle to hide his aggravation. “Long day at work,” he mutters, fumbling with the building keys, trying not to look like he’s hurrying.

Luckily you don’t seem to notice his temper. “God, me too. I’m gonna go take a nap. All I’ve been thinking about all day is getting back in bed.”

The mention of you and getting in bed and Javier about bursts into flame. He stutters out an excuse, all but bolting for his door. The lock clicks firmly behind him.

He stomps through the apartment to his bedroom, shedding clothing as he goes. His shoes and jacket dropped by the couch. His shirt yanked off and flung over a dining room chair. His jeans shoved down at the foot of his bed.

He stumbles to the wall you share, breathing ragged, resting one hand flat against it as the other finally wraps around the hard-on he’s been nursing for hours.

His lip nearly bleeds with the force he bites into it to stifle his groan. Every inch of his skin feels exquisitely sensitive, his blood racing hot in his veins from thinking of you all day. From thinking of you now, just on the other side of this wall. Shedding your scrubs, sliding amidst your bedsheets, unaware of the state you’ve put him in. Or maybe you are aware. Maybe you can hear him panting, strangling sighs of your name as he imagines your lips on his skin, your hand squeezing his cock. Encouraging him sweetly while he strokes himself higher and higher-

And comes harder than he ever has on his own. Shaking and gasping, there’s no way you don’t hear the sound which escapes him then. For a second he feels light-headed.

When his eyes open again, he grimaces at the mess on the wall. As his heart rate settles, his expression further contorts imagining the potential consequences for what he just did. For what you could have heard.

Maybe...he should do something about this.

--

Post A/N: Sorry for the negative implications about Steve and Connie’s marriage, I promise they’re fine! I’m just a simple writer in need of storytelling devices <3

Also someone pls tell me if I used the wrong form of the verb ‘to sleep’

Fic Taglist: @din-damn-djarin, @thirstworldproblemss, @remembertoreadthese, @knightowl247, @pamguini

[one-boring-person]

Alrighty! I know I’m late but to make up I’m going to send a B U N C H of requests! You don’t have to do all of em but I think they’re going to be fun!

Ok first off how bout a Dutch x Reader where they got separated in the jungle and meet up in the chopper, but Dutch was sure she died and it’s a nice little reunion!

I cannot wait to write all of these! I'm so excited!😅 I think I may have gone a bit overboard with this first one, but the idea has been going round my head ever since I read the request, so I hope you like it!

We're Alive!

Alan "Dutch" Schaefer x reader (Platonic)

Warnings: death, spoilers, injury, blood, gun use

Masterlist

"(Y/N)! GO!" Dutch bellows at me as he scrambles to get up again, his arm bleeding profusely from his newly acquired wound, the major's voice laced with pain and urgency.

"No!" I snap back, taking up my gun and firing off into the trees, aiming for the origin of the blast from before, going in a wild arc as the automatic pelts the surroundings with a volley of bullets.

"(Y/n), get to the chopper, now!" He tries again, climbing to his feet, his own gun clenched in hand as he backs himself with me, the two of us staring out at the area.

"N-" I go to respond, only to be cut off by another flash of energy coming between us, the heat of it burning away the skin and fabric covering my leg, a surprised cry of agony escaping me as I instinctively buckle under the intensity. 

Dutch is quick to grab me, forcing me to duck down slightly as we take off into the underbrush, the veteran pulling me along with speed. Vines and branches whip past my face, welts appearing on my grimy skin as I do my best to hobble after the broad-shouldered man ahead of me, his physical size easily parting the jungle for him. Behind us, I can hear the pounding footsteps and eerie clicking of whatever the hell is chasing us, my pulse pounding in my ears as my panic fuels my adrenaline, allowing me to ignore the searing pain in my leg. Each breath is harsh and fast, my legs pumping quickly to cover as much ground as possible. 

All of a sudden, Dutch's foot goes out from under him, his massive body falling into the sharp slope to the side of us. A shout of panic tears itself from his throat as he tumbles out of sight, leaving me alone on our original trail, our ruthless pursuer hot on my heels. 

"DUTCH!" I scream after him, briefly considering going after him, unsure of how well I'll fare without him.

A low growl behind me makes the decision for me, my instincts kicking in as I ignore my heart and push on, limping on into the dense jungle, eyes widening as I realise exactly how close the killer is. My heart jumps in my chest as I suddenly feel the quick brush of air as it swipes at me, blades just catching the back of my neck before I've gotten out of the way, my legs carrying me faster as fear takes over. Completely oblivious to any pain now, I thunder through the undergrowth, slapping wildly at vines, leaping over fallen branches and logs, heartbeat racing faster and faster with each step. There's a taste of iron on my tongue, blood from a bitten lip dripping down my face now, coating my chin in a thin layer of the stuff. 

And then my feet are no longer touching the ground.

Crying out in surprise, I throw my hands out in front of me to catch myself, my palms smacking harshly into hard rock as I smash into the boulder below me. Pain explodes in my chest as it collides with the solid surface, winding me even as my knees crack loudly as they bounce off of it. 

For a moment, I lie still, trying to regain my breath, before I roll onto my back, staring up at the slight cliff I fell off, expecting to be met with the sight of three red dots on my chest. Surprisingly, I see nothing, the forest around me mostly silent, except for the rushing of water, which I quickly deduce is from the river nearby. Groaning, I let myself relax, closing my eyes as I finally register the full extent of the pain coursing through my body, my newly bruised torso not helping at all with the stinging from my leg, blood now pouring down the limb in great streams, staining my skin crimson. 

Steeling myself, I push myself upright and take in my surroundings, glad to find myself at the river where there are many boulders I can use as cover, the ground much easier to move over here, meaning I can make a quick getaway if I need to. Somewhat relieved, I force myself to get up and go to the river, knowing I need to clean my wounds or they'll get infected, not that it makes much difference: I'll probably be dead by the end of the day. 

I shake these thoughts from my head, focusing on getting to the river as I limp over the uneven surface, coming to kneel beside it with a wince. Swiftly, I peel back my frayed trouser leg and manoeuvre myself so that the appendage lies in the water, the cool sensation bringing tears to my eyes from the harsh sting. It is somewhat soothing, but mostly painful, the blood washing away quickly, only to be replaced by more as the open wound continues to bleed, the inflicted area being large, not deep thankfully. Biting my lip, I run a hand over it, cleaning it slightly before finally pulling it out, swiftly tearing off my sleeve and wrapping it around my leg as a makeshift bandage.

Having done so, I hobble back to one of the boulders,  sitting at its base as I think over my options. 

My first instinct is to find Dutch, wherever he may be, but the cynical part of my brain tells me there's no real point. If the killer stopped chasing me, it's because it thought Dutch was the better prey, and if the fall didn't kill him, he'll be too beaten up from it to really be able to do anything against the creature hunting him. Then again, Dutch is a tough one to subdue, let alone kill, so he may well be alive and kicking, but I have no way of telling whether this is the case. 

Hopelessness floods me as I think through this, my head dropping to my chest, completely unsure of what the best course of action is. Naturally, I'd go find the pick-up point, but again, I have no idea where I am, and so would struggle greatly to find the allocated place, meaning I'm totally stranded here, alone with a killer stalking around. Lifting my head, I check over my body to see which weapons I still have, glad to find my knife still attached to my hip, though I curse colourfully when I realize I dropped my gun in my haste to escape the predator at my heels, leaving me defenceless, unless it comes into close-quarters, which I would rather it didn't. Chewing my lip, I toy with my knife a bit, before deciding to try and locate the pick-up point, think over the possibility of retracing my steps. I would've left a trail through the jungle from my panic, so it shouldn't be too hard to follow it back to where Poncho was killed. 

At the reminder of this, my heart twists painfully, my chest tightening from the realisation that all of my closest friends, possibly bar one, are dead at the hands of this otherworldly killer, all because of some mission Dillon managed to get us mixed up in. When Dutch had first told us about it, I'd been sceptical, not quite believing that our team was needed for it, rather than another military branch, but I'd gone along with it in the end after a particularly snide comment from Dillon himself, finding myself with the need to prove him wrong. A bitter chuckle escapes my lips at the thought, reflecting on where his antics eventually got us, and him, though I scold myself for being unfair; it's not his fault there's a predator trying to kill us.

Climbing to my feet, I push aside the idle thoughts, ignoring the pang in my heart at my own callousness, limping stiffly back to the small cliff I fell off, glancing up at it to determine how I should get back up. Deeming it appropriate, I slide the knife back into its sheath and find myself a hand hold on the hard rock, beginning the tough climb up. Agony shoots through my battered body, but I simply grit my teeth and push past it, forcing my body to haul itself higher and higher, fingers scrabbling at the tough stone, leaving them raw and grazed, the skin chafing away with each movement. My muscles scream at me in protest, grimaces contorting my face with each pull, relief flooding me as I reach the top of the cliff. Dragging myself up onto it, I hastily scramble to my feet and observe my surroundings, wary of what might be hiding in the trees, my body tense and ready for action.

By now, darkness has fallen on the jungle, a bright moon shining down onto me from above, lighting up the trees before me slightly, casting them in a ghostly light. The dreary appearance puts me on edge, knowing that the new shadows provide all sorts of effective cover for any predator, especially the cruel one hunting me down. Breathing deeply, I start off into the dense shrubbery.

The going is slow, my leg now hurting me badly as I drag my body through the jungle, doing my best to head in what I think is a familiar direction. My eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness, allowing me to see in minimal clarity where I'm going, making the navigation somewhat faster than it could be, though I'm still painfully aware of how disadvantaged I am in this current state. Every sound and noise around me makes me freeze in place, terror stiffening my joints every few seconds, my hand reaching for my knife with each rustle of the leaves. Mentally, I know that if the creature was anywhere nearby, it would've killed me by now, but the weapon at my hip gives me some reassurance in any case.

Something heavy drops from the canopy to land in front of me, branches snapping under the weight, the sudden sound drawing a gasp of fear from me. Stopping still, I stare at the misshapen form on the floor, already dreading going closer, though my curiosity gets the better of me. Unfortunately, I regret this decision as soon as I look over what I now know to be a body. 

Before I can stop it, a cry of horror tears itself from my throat, the outburst horribly loud to me as I fight the urge to hurl, quickly looking away from the mangled body at my feet.

And then I hear it.

Clicking.

Whirling on my heels, I draw my knife and look around me, adrenaline pumping through me, my hand shaking uncontrollably as my wide eyes take in the surroundings.

The clicking continues, seemingly all around me.

Terrified, I jerk my head around, unsure of where it might be, breathing ragged now as I struggle to focus.

Suddenly, the knife goes flying from my grip, my wrist snapping painfully as it is twisted back against my arm, a surprised scream of pain leaving my parted lips as I can only watch the limb become disfigured, the invisible blow dealt to it having a lot more force than I expected. Taking a step back, I feel my heart pound in my chest, still unable to see where my attacker is, as well as who it might be. 

Agony explodes around my jaw as a camouflaged fist connects with it, blood filling my mouth from the strength of the punch, knocking me to the floor. Catching myself, I scramble in the dirt for my knife, ignoring the tears that have sprung to my eyes, spitting out mouthful of blood with each breath, my face aching badly. I don't get a chance to recover properly, before I've been thrown into a nearby tree, an invisible hand clamped tightly around my neck, holding me a good foot or two off the ground. Gasping, I grasp at whatever is holding me, feeling dark spots take over my vision, but not before I catch sight of what exactly is holding me captive. 

Eyes widening, I bat at the metal mask, hoping to knock it off guard before it can choke me to death, but I can feel my throat beginning to constrict, air struggling to flow through it as it used to. My pulse races, body now aware of its dying state, my arms weakly slapping at the huge creature holding me, darkness flooding my vision. Dizzy and light-headed, I feel my conscience starting to leave me, allowing me to fall into the blackness I so desperately want to give in to. 

Vaguely, I register the predator's head snap round, clearly distracted by something, before I finally succumb to the darkness.

*

A low beating sound draws me from the fog in my brain, my conscience coming back to me slowly. Blinking, I push myself upright, yelping in pain as my body aches and throbs, my neck feeling completely useless as the bruising agony there kicks in. Everything rushes back to me, confusion flooding my mind as I recall the predator choking me to death, explaining the pain in my neck, though it does not explain why I'm still alive. 

Frowning, I glance upwards, realising that the beating sound I can hear is the steady whir of helicopter rotors, my heart soaring as I recognise that I may still have a chance of getting out of here alive. Ignoring the agony in my body, I throw myself to my feet and start limping as quickly as possible in the direction of the familiar sound, elated at the thought of getting out of here, though I feel my heart twist at the thought of it only being me. Hope gives me some speed, allowing me to charge relatively quickly through the undergrowth, all thoughts of the predator forgotten as the sound gets louder, the aircrafts now visible in the sky from where I am, though only in the distance. 

A deafening explosion somewhere to my left jerks me from my feet, a shockwave from the blast easily throwing me to the ground. Covering my head with my hands, I instinctively keep myself small, knowing full well how to stay somewhat safe in the midst of an explosion, though I can feel my hope slowly draining away. What if the blast took out the chopper?

Minutes pass before I climb to my feet again, taking note of the thick smoke now shrouding the jungle, making it harder to see where I'm going. I decide to go towards the sound, knowing that the explosion will have drawn the pilot's attention, meaning it'll be much easier to see me if they fly over to explore it. As I thought, the beating of the rotors gets steadily louder as I delve deeper, glad to find that it is much more cacophonous here. 

Bursting out from behind a tree, I feel my spirit soar as I see the smoke in this area being whipped up and away from the clearing, allowing me to see in a large radius around the lowering aircraft. With it, however, I notice that the rotors have revealed something else. 

Immediately, my heart skips a beat.

Clumsily, I stumble forwards, tears coming to my eyes as I recognise the figure standing a little way away, the muscular man turning to me in surprise.

"(Y/n)?!" He exclaims, shock and relief lacing his accented voice as he sees me.

"Dutch!" I call back, running towards him even as he runs towards me, his arms outstretched towards me, the filthy major bloodied and beaten, but still alive. 

Upon reaching each other, Dutch wraps me into a tight embrace, crushing me into his muscular body even as I bury myself into him, clutching at his waist, leaping into his arms. Picking me up, he presses his face into my hair, muttering things to me, voice breaking in emotion, his grip tight around me, knees buckling out from underneath him as it overwhelms him. Tears fall freely from my eyes, my face pressing into his bare chest, ignoring the blood and mud, relishing the feeling of his body against mine, my hands pulling him closer to me as he falls to the floor, my form still wrapped around his. One of his hands comes up to press me head into the crook of his neck, allowing me to inhale his familiar scent, the smell comforting me and reassuring me as I sob in joy. Reluctantly, he pulls his head back so he can look down at me, his grey eyes meeting mine, their surfaces wet with tears.

"I-i thought...I thought you died…" He stammers out, voice breaking with emotion, his cheeks stained with his tears, my heart throbbing for him as the usually stoic man holds me close to him.

"I'm here, Dutch, I'm here." I reassure him, before continuing, "I thought it got you, too…"

I have to fight through the choking emotion, but I manage to get it out, laughing in giddy relief as he pulls me back into him, crushing me into him, his arms locking me in place.

Dutch keeps his arms around me even as we climb into the chopper, the veteran pulling me so that I lie against his chest in my seat, his hand resting on my back as if to keep himself grounded. I stare up at him, unwilling to look out at the jungle even as he stares at it, face blank as the grief and exhaustion finally catches up to him. Anna sits across from us, the guerrilla girl thankfully still alive, glad to see us in a similar state. 

"You have no idea how glad I am that you're still alive...I don't know what I would've done if…" Dutch murmurs to me, the man rambling a little as the emotions assault him, his grip tightening with every word.

"We're alive, Dutch, and I'm so, so happy we are." I respond, nuzzling into his chest, uncaring of the fact it is covered in a layer of mud.

Exhausted, the two of us drift off, sleep finally catching up to us as the trauma of the past few days sets in, our consciences unable to keep going after so long of simply running on survival instinct.

[sternbagel]

I’ve been a little stuck on some of my other projects so I decided to flesh out another thing about my RDR OC that’s been sitting in my head for some time.

Notes: set in October 1898

TW: canon-typical violence, period-typical racism, probably incorrect translations Spanish phrases, very little editing

Companion to this

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winter is on its way. She feels it, icy tendrils creeping into the October air as it whips around her, through the brush and the trees. It’s worse here, up in the westernmost part of the Grizzlies, where the many rocky cliffs provide little to no buffer against the high winds. No snow has fallen yet, too early in the season. But even when it does, it’ll continue to weigh heavy on bare branches long after the lowlands have begun to bloom again. 

She’ll return to lower altitude soon, ride out the worst of the winter somewhere warmer, like New Austin, maybe. Visit some friends, maybe. Take a break, definitely. But first, she has to finish the business that brought her up here in the first place. 

“There you are.”

Behind her, a horse snorts, impatient. She knows what’s coming, been through this enough times. The horse doesn’t enjoy the extra weight placed on her rump during the ride back to the sheriff’s, but she does appreciate the extra sugar cubes and apples she gets afterwards. And the nice, fresh stable she gets bedded down in that night while her rider gets a room at the closest hotel. It’s only ever one night before they’re back in the wilderness. Sometimes staying just outside town, but for that one night, they live in as much luxury as the area allows.

“Easy, Moonbay,” she whispers, standing up from the frozen tracks in the dirt. “Let’s go get him.”

She mounts the dapple black Thoroughbred and combs her fingers soothingly through her white mane. Her legs squeeze Moonbay’s sides three times, urging her into an easy canter. The mare’s got long strides, meaning it isn’t long before they come up on the rider’s target: a nasty piece of work she’s been tracking for three days. He’s only worth fifty dollars, one of the cheaper bounties she’s been after in the last seven years, but once she read that he killed a mother and two children while robbing their small homestead, she’d set off immediately. 

He’s riding with three other men, but she’s not worried. She’s faced far worse odds before and come out with only a few new scars. She just hopes she doesn’t kill the bastard by accident. Giving them shit while listening to them squirm and curse her out on the long ride back is the best part.

She pulls Moonbay to a stop and pats her neck before dismounting, not bothering with hitching her before crouching and continuing forward. Moonbay’s a brave horse, and even when the gunfight startles her, she doesn’t wander too far off, always returning shortly after the firing stops, with or without being whistled for. 

The men have stopped at the roadside, one of them standing amongst the trees to take a piss. She’ll deal with that one first. Removing the bow from its place over her shoulder a few moments later when she’s creeped close enough, she nocks the arrow and makes her slow, silent approach. He’s whistling some tune, completely oblivious to her presence.

One, two, three deep breaths, she peeks around the side of the tree acting as her cover, and draws back the string. A fourth breath leaves her lungs, and the arrow flies. The string flicks against the few strands of her black hair that have come loose from the braid, and she blows them out of her face at the same time the body thunks against the leaf-covered ground.

“Jim? You smack your head again? Dumb bastard.”

They’ll discover her soon enough, so she throws the bow back over her shoulder and reaches for her two LeMat revolvers. Her thumbs run over the AT engraved in the grips of both of them as she waits, still concealed by the trunk.

“Jim? The hell—” He stops once he sees the body, arrow embedded in the temple. “What the hell—Carl, Clyde, we got a problem!”

The echo of her revolver immediately follows the man’s exclamation. He, too, falls to the ground to never get back up. She stands quickly and rushes towards the shouts from the other two men at the road. Emerging from the treeline, she spots both of them. Both of their guns are raised, but they’re facing the wrong direction. Clyde, the actual bounty, is atop his horse. If he doesn’t fire at her after she kills his lackey, he’ll surely take off. So she aims one gun at the horse’s feet—not to hit it, just to spook it into hopefully bucking Clyde off—and the other at the lackey’s head. She pulls each trigger at the same time. The lackey’s death is instant, but the horse doesn’t spook quite as much as she thought it would. The other three horses, however, do, bolting off in different directions while voicing their sudden fear.

She’s quick with her guns, but not quick enough. Once her shots are fired, Clyde turns in his saddle and fires off a shot of his own. She can’t raise her guns to threaten him before a bullet whizzes into and then out of her left arm. The gun in her hand clatters to the ground.

Retaliation is swift on her end, as she lets out a swear of “¡Chingado!” while firing off a shot at his shoulder. Anger and pain tear through her, along with the thought, If I kill him, I kill him. She’ll have to visit a doctor now, so a quiet ride back might not be so disappointing at all.

It doesn’t kill him, but it does knock him back off his horse, who then takes off with a scream. 

Oh, ahora quieres cooperar.

The gun she’s still holding is holstered before being replaced with the lasso attached to her hip as she strides purposefully to where he’s landed in the dirt. Her left arm screams and throbs with the pain, and she faintly registers the blood rolling down and off of her hand, but she has work to do. The man rolls around, pulling his knees up under him to attempt to stand up, looking frantically for his own dropped gun. His heels are just digging into the ground and he’s almost stood back up when her lasso tightens around his torso. A hard yank, and he’s stumbling towards her before landing on his back again.

“Bitch!” he spits. 

She keeps the rope taut as she approaches. “Heard that one before.”

“Greaser cunt! Fuck you!”

Baring her teeth and sucking in a furious breath, she yanks the rope again. He grunts painfully and she halts her approach, his head in easy kicking distance. “Better watch your mouth, asshole, or you’ll be headin’ back to the sheriff’s as a corpse.”

A devious grin that she does not like spreads across his face then. “Only place I’m headin’ is out of here, after I finish with your corpse, that is.”

The rope instantly becomes slack and in a swift movement—swifter than she figured he’d be able to move after being shot in the shoulder and thrown off a horse—he stands up, charging at her with a knife drawn in his right hand. He’s smart enough to come at her left side, but she’s also smart enough to throw her right side forward. There’s not enough strength in her left arm to be able to fend off the knife, so she reaches for it with her right arm instead. Her left fist collides with his stomach, though it’s not much help, only forcing out a quiet grunt and leaving a bloody fist print on his jacket. Then she grabs his left wrist with her own; two weakened arms wrestling with each other. He sneers as they struggle, and it only makes her madder. 

Anger in most situations actually helps her, gives her some clarity and more power behind her movements. In this one, however, it proves to be a detriment. Rather than use the rest of her body to throw him into the ground and wrench the knife away before grabbing her own, or her gun, she reaches for her knife with her bloody hand. It’s enough of an opening for Clyde to yank his arm back, away from their bodies. Her fist is still clenched around his wrist, so she’s pulled off balance. Wrapping his weakened left arm tightly around her neck and pulling his back flush against his chest is a task, as she’s not going down without a fight, and she’s stronger than she looks. She hasn’t let go of the wrist holding the knife, but while having the tables turned on her, he was able to position the knife less than a foot from her head. The rising pressure around her throat forces her to choose between the immediate danger of the knife or trying to loosen his arm with hers, still throbbing and leaking blood.

Her knife is sheathed on her right side, and the gun that belongs in her left holster is laying uselessly on the ground, far out of reach.

Fuck.

He opens his mouth to say something, no doubt some terrible snark or string of curses at her, but at the same time, they notice the wagon caravan come into view. 

Thankfully, he seems just as surprised as her, so it’s not his backup. Plus, he swears, “Shit,” under his breath and in her ear as he continues to struggle with freeing his hand from her grip. 

There are two riders in front of the first wagon, and neither of them look happy about the scene they’ve stumbled upon. The white man is in a brown leather coat barely hiding his burly frame with a worn black leather hat sitting atop his head, a few strands of dirty blonde hair peeking out from underneath. His dark bay Andalusian stamps its feet underneath him, smelling the blood, but doesn’t move otherwise as he dismounts swiftly, carefully. The other man to his left also dismounts his gray Appaloosa, who only snorts and throws her head, not moving either. He’s brawny as well, though his shoulders are broader, and he’s wearing a thick hooded black sweatshirt, no hat. She thinks he might be mixed race, black and Indian, maybe, long raven hair tied into a loose ponytail similar to how some of the Navajo men she’d met years ago wore theirs, but skin much darker than them. Closer to Josephine’s, she thinks a split second later, along with I need to write her when I get out of this.

Both men approach slowly as Clyde flashes the knife in his hand. He struggles to push the knife closer to her face, but she keeps it still, muscles whining with the strain.

“Easy, partner,” the one in the brown coat says calmly, accent something close to a southwestern if she had to guess, holding his hands out and away from his guns. There’s an underlying threat in his tone. “Let her go, and we’ll let you go.”

There’s very little in this world that she hates more than being a damsel in distress and being used as a bargaining chip or hostage. If he lets her go before she frees herself, there’s no way in hell she’s not shooting the bastard right in the face. 

She bares her teeth again and spares a glance at the other man. He’s already watching her like a hawk with deep, perceptive brown eyes, and shakes his head subtly as if he knows what she’s about to do. 

“And why should I trust you bastards?” Clyde asks with a sneer.

Slowly, so as to not alert Clyde, she shifts her weight onto her left leg. Then, once satisfied that she’s anchored enough, she makes her move. Throwing her right foot back quickly, she tucks it behind his ankle and kicks forward, throwing him off balance this time. Her left hand joins her right and she pulls his arm downward, her shoulder digging into his chest as she throws him to the ground, hard. The dirt beneath her boots shudders with the impact and she hears the breath leave his lungs. In a swift move, one she’s practiced many times for moments such as these, she reaches for her right holstered gun with her left, pulling the hammer back before it’s left the holster, then shoots him in the face, point blank, before he’s able to even begin trying to scramble to his feet.

A beat passes while she pants and slowly holsters her gun. “Fucking bastard,” she says between pants.

“Huh,” Brown Coat breathes. He grabs his gun belt, suddenly the picture of a relaxed cowboy. “Nice move.”

She looks at him, nodding silently, before turning to grab her discarded gun and lasso. She whistles loudly for Moonbay.

“Ma’am,” the other man says, taking a cautious step forward. Only when she looks at him, brows raised, does he continue, voice deep and baritone. Soothing, in a way. “Can we ask what that was about?”

At first she doesn’t answer, just regards them warily. They are dangerous, that much is apparent in the way they carry themselves, the way they dress, and the weapons they carry. But they don’t seem to present her much danger at the moment. The threat in Brown Coat’s voice was gone when he spoke. Nothing but worry, confusion, and intrigue show on either of their faces. So she relaxes. A little. “His head’s worth fifty bucks.”

Black Sweater chuckles lightly and Brown Coat opens his mouth to say something, but he’s cut off by two other voices as they come up beside the men. The first belongs to a much older white man with deep lines but bright perceptive eyes, the second to a white woman in a plain dress, blue eyed, her black hair pulled into a high and tight bun. 

“Arthur, Charles, you two okay?”

“What happened?” 

Brown Coat turns to them and holds up a calming hand. “Everyone’s okay. ‘Sides the bounty she was after.”

The woman perks up once she lays eyes on the other. “Oh, hey, you been shot.” She sounds genuinely worried. About what exactly is unclear.

“Ma’am, you should go see a doctor about that,” the older man says gently.

“I will,” she replies with a one-shoulder shrug. “Gotta collect my money first.”

As if on cue, Moonbay appears in the treeline with a soft nicker. Once she sees the other people, she stops, ears flicking forward and nostrils flaring curiously.

Black Sweater takes another few steps forward, hands still raised harmlessly. “It won’t be easy to get him back by yourself.”

She can tell he means no offense, but it still pulls her lips into a slight frown. “No, but I’ll do it.” Then her mouth twists into something uncomfortable as a memory surfaces, but she quickly plunges it back under and pulls her face back into a neutral expression. 

“You don’t have to do it alone.”

A strange offer, from people she doesn’t know. It must show on her face, because the woman speaks up again.

“We’ve got some space in our wagons, and we can get ya stable until you get to the doctor.” The woman motions back to the wagon caravan, and it’s then that she notices the other four wagons and riders, hanging back at a reasonable distance but watching with interest. “And Arthur can stow your bounty on his horse.”

Brown Coat looks at her sharply. There’s no malice in his voice or face, rather amusement and surprise. “Why you volunteerin’ me, Abigail?”

“Why not?” she shoots back with a teasing smile. “You got experience takin’ bounties in, don’t’cha?”

“That’s true, but—”

“Just stow her on my horse, Moonbay,” she interrupts the two. She doesn’t notice that her mount has stepped closer, so she startles when the mare nudges her good shoulder, expecting a treat or checking up on her. Or both. “Hey, bonita.” As she reaches up to stroke Moonbay’s nose, a sudden wave of exhaustion rolls over her. The fight hadn’t been long or particularly bloody, but it’s been a long three days and the numbness in her arm is starting to fade away post-battle. Meaning all the pain will start to register, and she has no medicine that’ll ease the pain nearly enough. And this bullet wound is bleeding more than usual. 

“Okay,” Black Sweater—Charles, if she heard the name right—agrees, taking more steps forward until he’s at Clyde’s body. “Think she’ll be okay next to a wagon, or you want one of us to lead her?”

“I didn’t agree to go with you.”

Nobody seems convinced by her tone. 

“You don’t wanna bleed out on the way there, do ya?” Arthur asks.

She frowns more at that, like a petulant child. They’re right. They know it, she knows it. And something tells her that these people won’t bring her any harm. That their offer of help is genuine. She can’t deny that getting her wound tended to while sitting comfortably in the back of a wagon doesn’t sound enticing.

“Come on,” Arthur waves her forward before making a move to go to one of the other wagons. “I’ll go speak to Dutch. Uh, what’s your name, anyhow, ma’am?”

For the first time in a long time, her real name worms its way to the tip of her tongue. She quickly bites it back. Why, why now? Not that the name would mean anything to them, but still. It’s a part of her past she keeps locked away for a reason. These strangers have no business knowing her business. So she takes a deep breath, watching them for a moment, before relaxing her shoulders and nodding. 

“Alberta Taylor.”

“Well,” Abigail says, holding out her hands, “I’m Abigail Roberts. Come on, Alberta Taylor. Let’s get you taken care of.”

She nods again. “Just Al is fine.” Then she turns and announces over her shoulder, “Best one of you lead her. Moonbay, esta bien, hermosa. Buena niña.” 

Moonbay throws her head up once, snorts, then lowers her head as Charles approaches. She still seems a bit wary, but doesn’t flinch under his gentle touch and soft words. Satisfied that she’ll behave, Al turns back to Abigail, who is leading her past the first wagon. She’s uncomfortable with the many sets of eyes now on her, but ignores that feeling and the pain.

Besides, after they get her to the doctor, she’ll likely never see these people again. So she can stomach this unease for the time being. 

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Prompt: I feel bad for asking this but animal attack with wwx. I think you know what animal I'm talking about 🐶

Oh you’re a BASTARD, you can come sit by me.  Roughly based on a real thing I once saw a real live dumbass do.  For this H/C meme!

Wei Wuxian knows it’s ridiculous.  He does.  He’s a grown man, he fought in a war, he stood against the whole damn cultivation world with an army of the dead.  He should be past this.  He should be better than this.

He’s not.  He’s really, really not.

The kid doesn’t mean anything by it.  Fuck, he was raised by Jiang Cheng, he probably thinks that love looks like hitting below the belt.  

“Just get over yourself,” Jin Ling says without looking up from the papers he’s sorting through.  He looks tired--Wei Wuxian thought so when he first came to Koi Tower yesterday, and he knows Jin Ling worked late into the night.  He’d meant to help, today, for all Jin Ling’s skepticism--Wei Wuxian pointed out dryly that he was da-shixiong of a whole sect, once, and can probably handle scheduling patrols without trouble--but...

“A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian says, with his best pathetic smile, and it shakes something awful on his lips, “have some pity for this poor fragile senior, hey?”  He can’t--he can’t move, he’s pressed as far back against the wall as he can manage, behind the table Jin Ling pointed him to, and he can feel his hands shake, his breath rasp in his chest, and this would normally where he makes a performance out of it, makes a joke before anyone else can get there, but the stupid twist of hurt in his gut is making it...challenging.

“She’s harmless,” Jin Ling says.  He finally glances up, reaches out to scratch his dog’s ears with ink-stained fingers.  “See, look.  Fairy, open.”  He taps her muzzle with a finger and she opens her mouth--Wei Wuxian feels a lurch of blind terror, and can’t help blurting out a frantic “Don’t” when Jin Ling puts his hand fearlessly on top of all those sharp teeth.  Jin Ling rolls his eyes at him and takes his hand back, showing off the front and back as if to say see, all fine.

Wei Wuxian, actually, cannot see.  He’s pretty sure he’s about to gasp himself unconscious, actually.  Black dots speckle the edges of his vision, and there’s a roaring in his ears, and then, gods, and then Jin Ling is coming closer, and for some forsaken reason he is bringing the dog with him.

“Here,” Jin Ling says, and grabs Wei Wuxian by the wrist and drags his arm away from his chest.  And Wei Wuxian lets him, because if he tries to run, the shop owner will be angry, because if he fights back, he will hurt someone, because if he moves, he will never stop running.

He wishes Lan Zhan was here.

He thinks Jin Ling says “It’s fine, don’t be so dramatic,” but he can’t really hear him, he can only hear his own desperate breaths and a clutter of voices snarling out of the past and someone saying “Please, please, don’t, don’t--”

Fairy’s teeth are hard, cold points against his hand, pressure on the top and bottom of his palm, and--

Wei Wuxian’s self-control comes to a sudden, brutal end, and he yanks his hand back.

It’s not the dog’s fault--Wei Wuxian isn’t a fool, and he knows, he knows that holding still is the safest choice, he knows how dogs work, but he just can’t--he can’t do anything else.  And she’s well-trained, is the thing, with orders to hold his hand in her mouth, and he’s trying to get away, and--

He has a moment of clarity, as her teeth piece the skin and sink into the muscle of his palm, that he’s going to feel horribly guilty for this later.

Her teeth are gone almost as soon as the pain registers, and there’s chaos, rippling around him like standing in a gale wind, but Wei Wuxian has barely managed to pull his hand back into his chest before Jin Ling is in front of him with a frantic look on his face.

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian forces out, and tries for a smile.

“Wei-qianbei, you’re bleeding!” Jin Ling says, and oh, the kid must be really scared, he only gets civil with Wei Wuxian when something is terribly wrong.  “She didn’t mean to--someone get a doctor!”

“I’m fine,” Wei Wuxian repeats.  He blinks hard a few times, glances around the room, and Jin Ling must have send Fairy away at once, because there’s no sign of her save for the thundering of Wei Wuxian’s heart, and the teeth marks in his hand.  “I don’t need a doctor,” he says automatically, and forces himself to look at his hand.

It’s not so bad, really.  There’s one puncture where one of Fairy’s bottom teeth pierced the meat of his palm, below his thumb, and a matching one that seems to have glanced off the bone on top, with shallower indentations that don’t quite break skin.  But Wei Wuxian closes his shaking hand into a fist, ignores the burst of pain and the rush of blood and Jin Ling’s outraged squawk of fear, and his hand moves as smoothly as ever.

“Don’t do that, dajiu,” Jin Ling snarls, and grabs Wei Wuxian’s wrist again, hovers nervously over his fingers as if considering forcing them flat to get a better look at the injury.  “What if--I didn’t--why did you move?”

Wei Wuxian is--tired.  His hand is bright with pain, and his head aches, his chest heavy with the memory of old fear and new hurt, and he says, “You’ve spent too much time with Jiang Cheng.”  He musters what he thinks is a much better smile, because Jin Ling is kneeling in front of him and getting blood on his golden sleeve, with a scowl on his face and a trembling lip.  It’s a ridiculous amount of fuss over a scratched hand and an old fear.  “Hey, let me go, what am I, your prisoner?”

Jin Ling lets go like he’s been burned.  “I--I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay,” Wei Wuxian says, and his uninjured hand is still trembling but he reaches out anyway to stroke Jin Ling’s hair.  “It’s okay.  Don’t--don’t punish your dog, okay?  I just won’t--”

“I’ll put Fairy in the kennels when you come visit,” Jin Ling says, sharp and angry and definitely not leaning into Wei Wuxian’s hand.  “Don’t be stupid.  I shouldn’t have--come on.”  He shakes Wei Wuxian off and jumps to his feet, brushing at his robes irritably, and then he pulls Wei Wuxian upright with a kind of care that he would never admit to.  “I’ll get someone to look at your hand.”

“Okay, A-Ling,” Wei Wuxian says, and lets Jin Ling pull his uninjured arm over his shoulders, although he can feel long habit wrestling down the shaking and the sickness so that he stands steady on both feet.  “If you want.”

[monchikyun]

XX. blame

Have they really come this far? As he wanders through the endless corridor, this reality seems almost too impossible to be true, yet he feels it with the same clarity as when a glass shard split his nose in two. He tries to run at his full speed, frantically almost, all to reach his new-found soulmate who has suddenly disappeared in a whirlwind of white ash, the same one that has brought him here. But his feet are much too heavy and he uses all the energy he has just lifting them up, slowly as can be. 

Everything around him is strangely blurry and unfocused, though he doesn’t even notice, for his head is too preoccupied with its efforts to lose the heat making him imagine various inappropriate scenarios reserved only for two consenting adults, of which one of the two involved parties can classify as neither, technically. 

Gavin sweats, breathing growing rapid as he lugs his body towards the brilliant light that gets further away the closer he gets. It doesn’t make any sense, yet he’s only vaguely aware of this since there are more pressing issues to be dealt with. Like the overwhelming need making him push through this nonsense in the first place. He doesn’t think about what he’ll do once he finds Connor, just that his presence will most definitely help, somehow. Maybe the wrongness of it all keeps him from reaching that handsome android, the fact that they haven’t crossed those boundaries on the outside of this distorted world. If only his aching body cared about that at all, he wouldn’t end up in this mess then. Gavin stops his movement, although reluctantly, and sneaks his hand towards the place that’s causing him so much trouble. It’s something that he’s very reluctant to do, here of all places, in a state that knows no boundaries. Anything could happen. Countless variations of absurd events are waiting for him just beyond the veil of consciousness. That alone he could tolerate, survive too, if he’s lucky enough. But there’s one scenario that could very well end him. 

He could wake up. 

His eyelids twitch like they’re set to separate from the rest of his face, his mind returning back to the warm bed in some inexpensive motel room, and the sudden realisation comes knocking, bringing gifts of fear and anxiety. For several seconds he strives not to acknowledge any of this, but he can sense that this dream has had tragic consequences, ones which have unfortunately transferred into the waking world. Delaying the clean-up will only make matters worse, so he pries his eyes open and scans his immediate surroundings for a sign of his poor friend. 

As his sight adjusts to the dim lighting, he feels brave enough to call himself partly fortunate, for the bed appears to be empty - if he doesn’t count his sinful vessel. 

He runs his hands down his face, wishing he could just merge with the mattress because this might just be the most humiliating thing that he has lived through… since September, at least. If it were with any other guy he would just laugh and brush it off but when it comes to Connor, everything is just… different. He tries to be extra cautious with the one person he loves as if a single small mistake could sever their fledgling of a bond. It wouldn't, though, or at least he tries to wholeheartedly believe that their link can withstand almost all difficult circumstances and that he’s only overreacting because that’s just how his fucked-up mind works.

 He slides his hands away from his damp eyes and finally dares to scope the room in search of his friend, finding out that he’s the only person there. This development should be a blessing when he takes his embarrassing accident into consideration, though it worries him more than anything else. Knowing Connor and his legion of issues, he wouldn’t be surprised if the android has gone out of his way do something stupid. Especially after their little heart-to-heart of last night. His partner didn’t look so hot back then,... though only mentally, of course. Still, he chooses to implement all of the trust he holds for the person and opts to first tackle the predicament he’s been put in.

 He handles said issue with a record speed, thanks to the many years of practice he’s managed to gather. The last step is to change out of his sleeping clothes into something more appropriate, and when he finally gets to it and opens the wardrobe, he comes upon the hideous sweater that Connor threw at him a couple of days ago. He picks it up with a simulated contempt, briefly pondering whether he’ll ever be willing to put on such atrocity. To him, such a possibility is quite unlikely, though he doesn’t ever see himself discarding it. This ugly piece of garment is more valuable than anything within the endless black hole which is his closet. Maybe that’s why he can’t force himself to wear it, for fear of ruining it. Yes, that’s must be it. 

Shaking his head in disbelief of his ridiculous thinking patterns, he chuckles and chucks the sweater on the now clean bed. 

After he dons his jacket, the dread starts creeping in, faster than he’d prefer. He hasn’t had any clue of what he’s doing ever since he’s woken up from his strange dream this morning. Actually, it’s been like this for far longer. It seems like this December ushered in some kind of courage that has served as their willing matchmaker. 

He sighs and opens the front door, immediately regretting this decision. The cold wind assails him right as he takes his first step outside, but he’s too busy warding off the onslaught of snowflakes for his head to even register it properly. Maybe he should have just called Connor instead of venturing outside like the idiot he is. A few curses form on his tongue before he sets to walk away from the building. 

Something stops him in his tracks before he even has the chance to adapt to the current unfriendly environment, startling him out of his determination to brave the adjoining highway. 

His brain tells him that the sound coming in through his ears is a voice most familiar, information that supplies him with instant relief. 

When he turns his head towards the wall, his heart melts at the sight of a puppy-eyed android standing stiff, lips forming the slightest of smiles. He's covered from head to toe in snow since the small roof above them can't shield anyone from the unyielding blizzard. 

“What the phck are you doing here.” 

Gavin’s reaction is in direct dissonance with what’s going on inside of him. Frankly, he’s expected nothing less of himself. All he longs to do is to rid Connor of the unnecessary snowflake layer and warm him up. It makes him shiver just looking at the android-like ice statue. Maybe his partner can't feel cold, but Gavin, being a mere human, certainly can. 

He doesn't give Connor a space to answer, tugging him inside the moment he snaps out of the initial shock of realising he won't have to go all panic mode searching for the unpredictable tin can in this raw weather. 

“I thought you’d appreciate some privacy, so I went ahead and gave you space to… sort yourself out.”  

Gavin feels himself combust and wishes the flames would turn him into ash. Much more preferable outcome than having to confront his subconscious bodily reactions and their inevitable effect on his bed-mate. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, the last attempt to escape this uncomfortable situation or at least to postpone whatever is coming his way, ready to make him question his entire existence, he’s sure. It usually tends to go in that direction. Dealing with personal failures in a healthy manner is a skill he’s lacking, which in itself is just another of his shortcomings. His mind really does dislike him. 

“Sorry for that,” he mumbles, not facing the person to whom the apology belongs. He still has trouble putting his stupid flushed mug on display for anyone to see, but maybe he’s willing to grant an exception. There are many things he wouldn’t do for Connor, but showing him his true face, no matter how compromised, doesn’t have to be one of them. 

“I figured you’d be blaming yourself for it,” Connor says, not a speck of disdain in his voice. No pity or exasperation to be heard anywhere. 

So he turns to stand in front of him, trying hard to pretend that this doesn’t dismay him. 

“It’s a natural reaction caused by the close proximity of-”

“You don’t have to give me a presentation on how the human body works, I am very familiar with this subject.” He couldn’t help but cut him off, since the words were physically grating his skin. What a fucking joke this is. When he at long last thought that things are going to be fine, when he accepted that there’s not a better sensation than being held by a loved one, his thirsty mind had to go ahead and ruin everything. Connor won’t most likely want to sleep with him after this, a premise that stabbed him right in his aching chest. 

“I just wanted to tell you that I don’t mind. It’s only that I didn’t know how you’d react so I chose to leave instead of finding out. I should be the one to feel guilty.” 

“As if you don’t have enough guilt on your plate already.” 

Gavin dreads that this conversation will become a sex talk, something he wouldn’t be able to bear at the moment. It’s too soon. They haven’t even had a proper kiss yet, a fact that might just be one of the reasons for his intense dream.  

That doesn’t mean he plans to rush things, the pace they’ve set for themselves is surprisingly enjoyable. He’s never experienced something so cautious and yet intimate, and he doesn’t want to be the one to destroy it. 

Connor looks at him with eyes that betray just how tired he is of being reminded of the thing for which he blames himself so much. Some pleasant distraction seems to be in order. He waits for him to turn around and walk further in, a perfect opening for a surprise attack.

Gavin snakes his arms around the android’s waist, successfully halting his movement. Chest pressed to his back, he senses the outside chill that is still clinging to his body. Not for much longer, though. As he places his head on Connor’s shoulder two icy hands cover his own ones, and so he can finally share the heat that has been raging inside of him this whole time. Finally a suitable outlet,... of sorts. The problem is that the longer they touch the stronger burns the fire. 

After a minute or two of serving as a human heater, Connor sets himself free of his grasp and situates himself in front of him, taking his crimson cheeks in his now warmed-up hands. Gavin only just catches his tiny smile before he closes his eyes, getting himself ready for what might come next. 

“Gavin,” Connor whispers, which causes his heart to beat furiously like it’s trying to intimidate him into running away from this encounter. He doesn’t listen, though, too busy melting in the heavenly inferno that rages inside. 

“Go pack your things while I’ll clean the rest of the room.” 

A small peck on the forehead later, he’s left standing paralysed while the android’s already gone ahead to make the beds. He fiercely tries to cool himself down, feeling the tips of his ears still scorching, skin flushed red from the fruitless expectations. 

In all this discomposure of his, he forgot that today is their last day here. They have to leave and resume their day-to-day lives. But who says that they must go back their separate routes when all they really need is a caring family. He’s already invited Connor into his home, so now all they must do is to go through with it. It should scare him, the concept of giving so much of himself to another person, but no matter how much he dwells on it, the worry never appears. Perhaps the excitement has overshadowed all the bad and he can’t bring himself to think that it can still be lurking in a dark corner. 

Either way, he doesn’t care, since his mind is too busy admiring the view in front of him. 

He’s okay. This is okay. He’ll just smear some snow on the affected areas and his body will be fresh and ready to go. At least for a while.

[beauregardlionett]

it’s hard to breathe sometimes

AO3 Link

A/N: for @buckleystrand for this post :D hope you enjoy!

Eddie’s in the middle of drafting a petition letter to the city to ban gas stoves from homes in his head when it all goes to shit.

They had been on hour twenty of a twenty-four-hour shift that had been steady but uneventful when the alarm went off. It was just after four in the morning and apparently someone hadn’t turned the gas for their stove off all the way. One thing leads to another, hot burner catches dishtowel on fire, owner’s out on a morning jog—boom. House fire.

The team had the flames mostly under control in terms of not spreading to other houses nearby, but inside was a whole other story. The gas line had only just been shut off when Eddie and Buck were sent inside, so whatever lingering gas was still in the pipes only added fuel to the literal fire. It would likely be under control soon, since there wouldn’t be anymore gas adding to the issue, but it was still risky.

Buck and Eddie were only in here because the homeowner wasn’t sure if her daughter had left for work yet. She took the bus according to the mother, so checking the garage was pointless, and was not answering her phone.

Poking his head into the last room on his side of the second floor, Eddie peered through the smoky haze and called out.

“LAFD, anybody in here?”

No response, nobody on the floor, under or in the bed, or in the closet.

Ducking from the room, Eddie made for the stairs, nearly colliding with Buck as they met up.

“Find anything?” Buck called over the roaring flames and groaning framework.

“Nobody,” Eddie confirmed. “You?”

“Empty as far as I found.”

Eddie is about to suggest they check the kitchen and living room one more time when their radios crackle simultaneously. Bobby’s voice filters through a second later.

“Buckley, Diaz, we got a response from the daughter. She’s at work already. Get out of there and we’ll get this fire put out and wrap up.”

“Copy that, Cap,” Eddie responds for them both. “On our way.”

He sends Buck down the stairs ahead of him, far more content to have eyes on his impulsive partner. The steps creak with ominous protest under their weight, and Eddie can feel his heart like a lump in his throat as his heartbeat thunders in his ears. What if the steps give out? Will he be able to push Buck to safety before they both go down? What if the stairs give out under Buck first? Will he be able to grab Buck in time?

He finds something new to fret about with every step they take down until they’re only three or four steps from the bottom. Eddie glances to his right on instinct, knowing that the kitchen is just down a short hallway—the heart of the inferno.

Buck gets to the bottom of the stairs and steps to one side to make sure Eddie gets down too.

Eddie gets to the bottom of the stairs. He looks to Buck and finds a familiar grin through the haze.

The stairs creak ominously, the wall chimes in. The ceiling roars its way into the melody as the trapped heat engulfs the drywall.

The next few seconds are a blur Eddie will never be able to untangle. He thinks Buck screams his name; he definitely sees the first moment of the rafters breaking through the ceiling. Then it’s just wood and flame, heat and jarring impact.

Everything spins for a moment, there’s roaring all around him. Bobby’s voice is a static, garbled alarm near Eddie’s ear.

Buck lies beside him on the ground. There’s something flashing on Buck’s turnout coat, a red light. Eddie knows it’s important, but he’s struggling to remember why.

God…it’s burning in here.

Everything snaps back into place with a sudden clarity that leaves Eddie dizzy. He sucks in a strangled breath and scrambles to his feet. That light is Buck’s oxygen indicator, and the red means it’s compromised. A quick glance of the situation gives Eddie everything he needs to know, and his heart rapidly descends from his throat to his stomach.

The beams in the ceiling had given way under the heat of the flare, and probably would have come down on top of them both if Buck hadn’t shoved them out of the way. But by putting himself between the falling debris and Eddie, it looks like one of the heavier beams caught Buck’s tank of oxygen.

Thankfully, Buck doesn’t seem pinned. Eddie isn’t sure if Buck himself got struck by anything, but he doesn’t have time to make that assessment here. With practiced ease, Eddie tamps down on every single emotion trying to rear its head and hauls Buck over his shoulders.

They exit the burning structure just as Bobby seems to instruct Chimney to head in after them.

“Cap!” Hen calls, rushing to meet them.

The team is on Eddie and Buck in seconds. Chimney and Bobby had the forethought to bring a gurney, so Hen helps Eddie deposit Buck as carefully as possible onto it. Hen tugs Buck’s helmet off the firefighter’s head and passes it off to Bobby. Chimney secures a c-collar around Buck’s neck seconds later. Hen’s already giving rapid-fire instructions to Chimney to grab an oxygen mask as she works Buck’s ruined tank off his back.

“Hen, take Eddie in the ambulance with you,” Bobby interrupts, face set in a neutral expression. They all know him better, though; know how worried he is. “He needs to get checked out, too. Contact me when you get there and I’ll meet you later.”

Bobby claps a hand down on Eddie’s shoulder as Chimney and Hen rush Buck’s gurney towards the waiting ambulance. The Captain gives Eddie a significant look before letting him limp after the rest of the team.

Chimney swings himself into the driver’s seat as Hen flits around the back over Buck. By the time Eddie climbs in and shuts the doors behind him, she’s already got an oxygen mask fitted over Buck’s face and is prepping other materials. She glances up at Eddie and gestures to the bench.

“Get your turnout gear off, okay? I need to check you over.”

Eddie’s quick to remove his helmet and oxygen tank, having nearly forgotten both were still on. Shedding his turnout coat and gloves, he glances up in time to watch Hen finish manipulating Buck’s coat away from his chest and arm. She attaches a line and slings the bag up onto a free shelf so she can keep working.

Buck blinks awake less than a minute later as Eddie helps Hen attach the ECG leads to Buck’s chest. He wheezes weakly into the oxygen mask and his eyes loll around in a daze before he blinks into focus.

“Hey there,” Eddie says, managing a grin down at Buck’s tired expression. “Welcome back, Buck. How ya feeling?”

“Smokey,” Buck whispers, sounding like hell. He looks a little pale, and Eddie is about to comment on his pallor when the machine registers the leads and starts giving them a reading. Hen frowns at the machine, and as Eddie scans over the numbers, he does too.

“Your heart rate’s a little high and pressure a little low there, Buckaroo,” Hen murmurs, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. She looks down at Buck and gives his shoulder a careful squeeze. “Anything feeling off?”

“My arm hurts,” Buck rasps, eyelids drooping.

“Which arm, Buck?” Hen says, already shifting back into action. He manages a weak indication to his right arm, the one without the line in it. Eddie reaches to tap at Buck’s cheek as Hen works at Buck’s turnout coat again to expose his arm.

“Eyes open, Buck,” Eddie says, raising his voice a little. “You know the drill, bud. We’re almost at the hospital, stay awake.”

Chimney’s racing through the near empty streets. There are scarce few cars out with them at just shy of five in the morning and thus eliminating the worry of traffic impeding them. Eddie sends up a quiet thanks to the universe for small mercies.

His thanks are abruptly cut off when Hen curses beside him.

Buck’s right arm is exposed, now she’s got the coat pulled away, and it’s soaked in blood. The dark, loose fabric had hidden the slash and the spreading blood from them until now.

“His brachial artery got nicked, he’s loosing too much blood,” Hen says even as she scrambles to grab a wrap for a tourniquet. “He’s going to need a transfusion when we get to the hospital, we don’t know how long that’s been bleeding. Eddie, can you—”

She’s cut off by the sound of the AED pack alarm.

Eddie looks down at Buck’s face, only to find him pale, still, and his eyes closed.

“We lost the pulse,” Hen says, voice strangled. “Chim, drive faster!”

Eddie throws himself into action as Hen starts aggressively tying off the tourniquet on Buck’s arm. His movements are on autopilot, repetitive hours of CPR classes take over as he fits one hand over the other and positions himself over Buck’s chest. He’s dimly aware of Hen moving away from Buck’s arm and grabbing an Ambu-bag and replacing the oxygen mask with it over Buck’s face.

The ambulance rattles and the sirens wail as Chimney picks up speed.

Eddie counts out his pulses against Buck’s motionless chest and begs the universe he had just been thanking to give Buck back.

He pulls his hands back after thirty and gives a breathless, “check,” to Hen. Eddie’s eyes take in Buck’s slack features, barely hearing Hen’s frantic denial.

Eddie’s back to pushing on Buck’s chest before he even thinks about it, muttering under his breath as he counts in his head. A steady, mindless litany he whispers like liturgy, like it might yield him something other than faith.

“C’mon Buck,” he says. “Come on, man, don’t do this. We need you. I need you, Chris needs you.”

Repeatedly, muttering in time to the thrust of his hands against Buck’s sternum. Eddie feels a rib give way under his fingers and chokes on a sob in the middle of his pleas. But he’s back to his whispers a moment later, a new warble to his tone.

“Still no pulse, get clear,” Hen’s voice cuts through Eddie’s mounting hysteria. She’s pressing shock pads to Buck’s chest with practiced proficiency even before he’s backed away.

“Charging,” Hen calls to the ambulance as Eddie sits back with shaking limbs. “Clear!”

Buck’s torso arches off the gurney as electricity courses through him. The AED takes a moment to read before instructing Hen to shock Buck again. She calls the same cues and Eddie dimly realizes his hands are numb and he’s unable to look away from Buck’s face.

Eddie’s ears are ringing as he watches Buck’s body seize up with the second shock.

They wait as the machine registers.

The AED beeps once, twice.

“We’ve got a pulse!” Hen cries.

The ambulance lurches to a stop and there’s suddenly a flurry of movement as the doors fling open. Noise and scrambling are the prelude, then equipment adjustments made, and then the gurney carrying Buck whisks away. Eddie’s still sitting on the bench in the ambulance, his gear scattered beside him and ears ringing with the sudden silence. The ghostly sensation of Buck’s ribs breaking under Eddie’s hands lingers in his aching knuckles.

“Eddie?” Hen.

“You with us, man?” Chimney.

He thinks they’re on either side of him, coaxing him to his feet so he can sit on the floor with his legs hanging out the back. They’re checking him over, hands careful and methodical. Eddie thinks they give him an all clear, but he’s not sure how much time has passed. He feels stuck in a loop of those few seconds where he realized Buck had slipped away under his hands.

“Eddie,” Hen tries again, but he cuts her off with a hoarse voice.

“He was gone.” Hen and Chimney share a look around him as Eddie continues. “He wasn’t there…and I almost lost him.”

“You know Buck’s a stubborn fighter, Eddie,” Hen murmurs. “He’s back, and they’re not going to let him leave again. None of us will.”

“Buck’s come back from a lot worse, Eddie,” Chimney says with a confidence Eddie wishes he had right now. “Knowing him, he’ll be running around the fire house sooner rather than later.”

Eddie nods numbly, wishing he believed their words as much as they did.

“Let’s head inside, Eds,” Chimney says, he and Hen tugging with careful coaxing at his arms. “We need to call Cap, and we’ll be there for Buck when he wakes up.”

When. Eddie clung to that word. Not if. When.

He glimpses the brightening horizon as they lead him into the waiting room and hopes it’s a good sign.

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

He’s really starting to hate hospitals. Eddie was never fond of them to begin with, but the amount of times Buck had landed himself in a hospital bed in the past year only amplified that hatred. The machines were redundant, the steady beeping of the heart monitor, the click and whir of the oxygen line, the paced inflation and deflation of the blood pressure cuff, and the ever so subtle drip from the IV were a reliable descant. One Eddie was far too familiar with and all too tired of hearing—like an overplayed pop song on the morning radio.

Bobby had come through about fifteen minutes prior, bearing coffee and a bland hospital breakfast pastry for Eddie. The Captain had taken one look at Buck laid up in the bed and sighed like the world lay upon his shoulders. Eddie could have sworn he watched Bobby age another five years in front of him.

“You kids are going to give me stress ulcers one of these days,” Bobby had said, running his fingers through Buck’s dirty hair.

Eddie hadn’t responded, and it was obvious Bobby hadn’t been expecting an answer.

“Take the day off, Eddie,” Bobby had said, patting Eddie’s shoulder on the way out. “Call us when he wakes up, okay? The rest of us are going in because I couldn’t get anyone to cover on such short notice. But we’ll come running if you need us.”

Eddie thinks he might have managed a strained acknowledgement, but he honestly can’t remember. The coffee cup sits cold in his hand now as he stares at Buck’s sleeping face. The pastry is all but forgotten on the table beside the bed.

Running a hand down his face, Eddie heaves out a heavy breath and reminds himself to call Carla later. She had already been taking Chris to school that morning, but he had called earlier to ask if she wouldn’t mind picking him up, too. Carla—the angel she is—had agreed even before Eddie explained the situation. He needed to keep her updated, along with the team.

“Eddie?”

His head snapped up, eyes wide, heart racing.

Buck’s eyelids were heavy, but they were open. Eddie was out of his chair and on the edge of Buck’s bed in a heartbeat, coffee set aside.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie said breathlessly.

“What happened?”

“You took a nasty hit when the ceiling came down in that house fire yesterday morning. Doctor said you were unconscious so long because of the blood loss, but it’s good to see you awake, man.”

Buck’s brow furrowed, nodding wearily as he flinched a little, hand drifting towards his chest.

“Ah, shit,” Buck hisses out. “Did I break a rib?”

“I did,” Eddie whispers, fingers aching with the memory. “You flat lined in the ambulance on the way here.”

“Oh,” Buck says after a moment, looking a little lost with the information. “I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks at Buck like he’s grown a second head, and Buck just stares at where his hands are resting on the bed. His fingers pick with idle attention at the tap securing his IV line and Eddie suppresses the urge to slap Buck.

“Did,” Buck looks up as Eddie falters. “Did you just apologize for flat lining?”

Buck doesn’t seem to have an answer, looking a little bewildered by the question.

“Because I’m sure I misheard you,” Eddie continues in lieu of Buck’s silence. “There’s no way you are apologizing for something you had no control over, right? I mean that just makes it seem like you think it was a burden for me to bring you back to life like I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat. Right, Buck?”

Buck, looking properly chastised, and fighting a tiny smile, nods.

“Good,” Eddie says, taking Buck’s hand in his own, running his thumb over Buck’s knuckles. A few of them are bruised from the tumble they took, and Eddie keeps his touch careful. His own knuckles still bear a phantom ache from breaking Buck’s ribs, but it’s easier to ignore that now Buck is up and talking.

Eddie catches Buck glancing at the coffee and pastry at the bedside table. He watches a knowing smirk quirk up the corner of Buck’s mouth.

“The team knows now, don’t they?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eddie says without hesitation.

“How much do you think Hen won from that?”

“Considering that I’m pretty sure Bobby already knew, I think they’ll be splitting the pot.”

Buck huffs a brief laugh, careful of his ribs, and squeezes Eddie’s hand.

“How long do you think they’ll tease us for?”

“Longer than necessary,” Eddie chuckles, brushing his lips across Buck’s knuckles. He doesn’t care what the team thinks, he’s just glad he has Buck here in front of him. They can handle whatever comes their way.

[bluesfortheredj]

Everyone was buzzing with excitement, you could practically see the energy in the room as you stood to one side and watched in amusement while nursing a bottle of beer, and the guys all stood together for a group photo that Lucy took.

“And now our turn,” she smiles as she hands her phone over to Rami and rushes over to you.

“Oh, no, not me!” you laugh, hiding your face with your hand.

“Hey, none of that now,” Lucy scalds as she brings your hand down to your side, “come on, say ‘Queen!’”

Rami snaps some photos as you two both giggle at the camera, then he steps towards you both and snakes his arm around Lucy’s waist as he subtly walks her away to a quiet corner, whispering in her ear.

Gwilym replaces Lucy within seconds of her leaving and he takes the bottle from your hand to take a swig before putting it down on the table next to you and wrapping his arms around you with a giddy smile. You can smell the beer on his breath as he dips his head down to nudge his nose against yours gently, and as you close your eyes and run your hands up the front of his shirt all you can do is think about how there’s no other place on earth you’d rather be than in his arms.

“Get a room,” Ben quips as he passes you both and playfully slaps Gwil’s arm.

“We’ve got one,” Gwilym replies, “but unfortunately you’re in it.”

“It’s time guys!” a voice calls out from the door to the little backstage room you’d been hanging out in.

“Oh my god,” you gasp as everyone shuffles towards the door.

“Are you okay?” Gwil asks as he moves forward with your hand in his but stops when he realises you haven’t taken a step.

“Yeah… I just… We’re going to see Queen, like actual Queen…” you say as if you’ve only just realised what you’re doing there, “I’ve grown up with these songs, I’ve sung them throughout my life, and now for the first time I’m seeing them being played live. It’s all a bit… overwhelming.”

“Wanna know what’s really overwhelming?” he asks with a smile as he steps towards you and takes your other hand as well, “I used to-”

“Come on guys! Jeez, now is not the time for snogging,” Joe calls from the door.

“Maybe later, then,” Gwil laughs, tugging on your hands, “come on, we’ve got a show to see.”

You’re all lead out to your seats which were in a small block on their own near to the front of the stage and you sit down while you wait for the show to start; Gwilym making sure his arm is firmly around your shoulders. Ben and Joe poke his arm from behind to get his attention and make kissy faces to tease him, and when you turn to look at them as well they suddenly stop to shoot you a mischievous grin instead.

“Not very subtle,” you say with a raised eyebrow before turning back to the stage.

The lights go down as shadowy figures appear on stage and everyone stands to clap and cheer loudly as the emotion of finally seeing this band live overcomes you and tears sting your eyes while you scream as loudly as you can. Gwil leans over to you to press a firm kiss to the side of your head as he claps, and when the lights finally come up to reveal Roger, Brian and Adam your breath gets taken away.

“Ready?” Gwil grins as he takes up position behind you.

All you can do is shake your head from side to side in shock and he laughs at your reaction as his hands slide around your hips while the first song begins. You sway from side to side throughout the first few songs but then soon jump forwards and out of Gwil’s grasp when Fat Bottomed Girls begins to play; shouting along with the words to the song you liked to call your own theme tune. There’s a playful smack on your bottom as Gwilym can’t stay away from you for too long, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Ben as he shouts in your ear when he dances around in front of you.

“Get a room!” he winks, and you respond with a quick middle finger.

Your arm snakes around Gwilym’s waist for the next song and he holds you close against his side as you look up at the stage in complete awe, trying to make sure you remember every single second of the night, and you hear Joe shout over the music at Gwil to ask whether you’re glued to one another.

“Go harass Ben,” he laughs in response as he pushes him away from the two of you.

Lucy and Rami keep quiet together as they stand there with their arms around each other, softly swaying from side to side in their own little world, and you can’t help but smile when you look over at them. It was truly the perfect place to be with the one you love, and your grip on Gwilym’s shirt tightens at the sight of another loved up couple enjoying the moment.

Your head falls onto the side of his torso with a quiet sigh just as Love Of My Life begins to play and your free hand soon glides its way up the front of his shirt to rest right above his heart, letting him know everything with only one embrace. Nothing else was needed right now as you looked up at Brian playing guitar so gently and unbeknownst to you, your man was tearing up as he held you. The song ends with Gwilym leaning down and capturing your lips softly, letting the kiss speak words he couldn’t even fathom right now, and before you know it the first few notes of the anthem both of you had before meeting one another sound out in the arena.

“Can… Anybody… Find me… Somebody toooo love...” you mouth up at Gwil with a grin.

He kisses you again but all you can do is laugh against his mouth when you feel him smile, so he moves around to your cheek instead, peppering your skin with open mouthed pecks which distract you completely from what’s going on around you.

“Stop it!” you giggle, “I’m trying to sing!”

He pulls away with what appears to be a sudden moment of clarity and he blinks twice before dipping a hand in his pocket and pulling something out. You’re too busy trying to look up at the stage to notice what it is, but only assume it’s his phone to take some photos, but as you look up at Adam belting out the high note, you feel Gwil’s face against the side of yours, his breath tickling your ear through your hair.

“Marry me,” he states loudly so that there’s no confusion in what he’s, quite literally, proposing.

You flinch away in shock and look at his hand that’s now at chest height to see a simple silver band with a single diamond, then your eyes take a few seconds to register everything as they flit from the ring to his expectant eyes.

“Yes!” you laugh as the song comes to a close, “yes!”

He takes your left hand and slips the ring over the correct finger before enveloping you in his arms so tightly that the breath is knocked out of you completely, and you gather fistfuls of his shirt in your hands when you wrap your own arms around his broad torso.

“Guys, seriously, give it a rest!” Joe shouts as he comes up to you both and attempts to pry you apart.

You let go willingly so you can lift your hand and wriggle your fingers at him, then his jaw drops open at the sight of the ring on your finger that definitely wasn’t there earlier, and he starts to jump up and down like a wild man as he gestures for the others to come over.

“He did it! He put a ring on it!” he yells with glee.

I love the photos of him and the bo rhap cast at the queen concert, so could you write about going with them? And obviously the boys tease you both about being so clingy to each other, gwil always holding your hand and keeping his arm around and being really cute singing and dancing together— especially when queen play somebody to love and all he wants to do is kiss you!

@painthatiusedto @winnielinleigh @queenslandlover-93 @excellentbecca @peachllobotomy @lovemarvelousfics @lovemelikeyou1997 @readinghorn @godohammers @timeandpixiedust @lv7867 @fuckyou-imspiderman @aynsleywalker @the-baby-bookworm @chlobo6 @tenement-funstah @rogmeddows @drivenbybri

[spiritdumbass]

Hieibara Week Day 3: Bed Sharing

[I wanted to write something lighter, and I completely failed rip. Sorry in advance.]

“Kuwabara!” Yusuke shouted even though he was right next to him, “I’m gonna funnel the tequila, you wanna help me?” He fumbled as he tried to connect the rainbow funnel with its matching tube.

“No one’s funneling hard shit in my fucking house!” Shizuru bellowed from across the room. She was definitely drunk and taking what had to be her fifth shot of the night with Botan. What a hypocrite.

Kuwabara sighed and finished his beer, “I think you’ve had enough Urameshi.” He, on the other hand, was nicely tipsy which, in his humble opinion, was the best kind of drunk. All the stupidity and fun and none of the hangover in the morning.

“Aw, you guys are so lame. I’m just trying to catch up with Hiei,” Yusuke whined, “You should drink more, dude. It’s your birthday after all.” He sang the last two words, and Kuwabara forgot just how tone deaf Yusuke was. 

Hiei was sitting criss cross applesauce on the carpet by the couch, wearing Shizuru’s bright red sunglasses and nursing his own personal bottle of Malibu rum. He leaned against an unbelievably patient Yukina, who was desperately trying to replace the rum with a bottle of water. Unfortunately for her, Hiei was even more stubborn than usual once he started drinking.

“Hiei’s not someone you want to beat, man. You’re gonna get alcohol poisoning trying to keep up with him.” Kuwabara tried to pry the funnel from Yusuke’s iron grip, and just when Kuwabara was making some progress, a hand pulled him back.

He turned his head, baffled, “Kurama, what the fuck?”

Kurama had probably 20 plastic bead necklaces around his neck and a tired smile on his face, “Yusuke’s fine. We should let him funnel something.”

“Kurama! See Kuwabara? He’s the smartest guy we know! I’m fiiine!” Yusuke chimed in. He was attempting to bop his head to the pop music Shizuru had put on, but he was incredibly offbeat. 

Kuwabara slapped his forehead and groaned, “Jesus, you too? How much did you fucking drink? Yusuke’s two drinks away from vomiting on the carpet and if he does that again Shizuru might really kill him this time.”

“I haven’t had nearly enough,” Kurama sighed and pushed his hair behind his shoulder, “But I’ve been the bartender all night. Yusuke could really use this.” Kuwabara was about to scream because Kurama was sounding absolutely insane, but then he finally noticed the tall glass of water behind Kurama’s back.

“You’re a fucking genius,” Kuwabara said in awe.

“I know,” Kurama nodded to the carpet, “You mind helping Yukina?” Kuwabara followed Kurama’s side glance. Hiei took another swig of Malibu from the bottle.

“Alright. You sure you can handle him?” Kuwabara asked. Yusuke picked up a third empty bottle, desperately trying to find more alcohol before he funneled an absurd amount of what he thought was tequila. As if on cue, Keiko came up from behind Kurama and Kuwabara and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I got this,” She said brazenly. Keiko was a warrior bravely venturing into a bloody battle. Kuwabara almost saluted her.

Kuwabara glanced over at Hiei again before he left. Kurama whispered to him, “He’s very touchy and mean right now. Be prepared.”

“So he’s normal,” Kuwabara grumbled. Kurama snickered, the little alcohol he drank making him giddier than usual. Kuwabara grabbed a beer on his way to Hiei and Yukina.

“Please, Hiei. You’ve already had so much. I’m sure you want something to eat,” Yukina begged quietly. She held a pretzel towards him. The pretzel dangled in front of Hiei’s face, and he didn’t even register that it was there.

“I want to be drunk,” Hiei mumbled. He pushed Yukina’s hand away, and the pretzel fell to the ground. Kuwabara noticed that the red shades Hiei was wearing covered his eyes, but not the Jagan. It was almost funny. Kuwabara thought briefly about how he should buy Hiei one of those three lens sunglasses for costumes. 

“Yeah, so do I, shortie. But instead I’m babysitting Urameshi and you. Just eat the damn pretzels,” Kuwabara responded, exasperated.

“Oh, Kazuma!” She greeted, “Can you help him for a bit? I need to use the restroom,” She smiled warmly and rushed off to the bathroom. Kuwabara stood, stunned at the sudden responsibility he was given.

“Great, now the oaf is going to try to tell me what to do,” Hiei huffed and tried to take another swig. Kuwabara was, for once, faster than Hiei. He did a very bad job of not trying to gloat. 

“Can’t drink if you don’t have alcohol,” he said. He looked at the Malibu bottle, took an experimental sip and was surprised when he didn’t wince, “This is really sweet. No wonder you’re drinking so much.”

Hiei stared at his empty hands, “That was mine.” He didn’t try to take it back from Kuwabara. Kuwabara shoved the Malibu in the cabinet that held all their DVDs and turned back to Hiei.

“And now it’s gone. Sucks. Eat the pretzels Yukina got you,” Kuwabara bit. He wasn’t good at babysitting drunk people. He wasn’t even good at being a drunk person. When he got really wasted, he would usually end the night sobbing about everything and nothing.

Hiei didn’t move or say anything and Kuwabara sighed and sat next to him on the floor. He still didn’t move.

“Hiei?” He leaned closer and heard his steady breathing and relaxed.  Kuwabara took off the red sunglasses and confirmed his suspicions. Hiei fell asleep.

“You did it!” Yukina cheered walking back to the two of them. 

“He passed out as soon as I took the bottle away. I didn’t really do anything,” Kuwabara said, and he downed the rest of his beer. It would be his last drink of the night, even if he did want to follow in Hiei’s example and just pass out drunk. 

Yukina picked her brother up, surprisingly easily, and turned to Kuwabara, “Can he stay the night? I don’t want to move him too much on our walk home.” The insinuation that Yukina could walk all the way to her house carrying Hiei gave Kuwabara whiplash. He constantly forgot that Yukina was a demon, and because of that, she was extremely powerful. 

“Yeah sure,” Kuwabara replied nonchalantly, ignoring his initial shock, “I’ll take him upstairs.”

“Oh, he can sleep on the couch. It’s not a big deal,” Yukina insisted, and Hiei shifted in her arms. 

“That couch will break his fucking back, believe me,” Kuwabara shrugged, and Yukina raised an eyebrow, “It’s not a big deal. I’ll just use a sleeping bag.”

She nodded and carefully handed Hiei off, trying not to jostle the fire demon too much. Hiei felt warm and so ridiculously small in his arms. He wanted to bring him closer, feel more of that warmth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have had that last beer.

Yukina gave him a smile and waved him off, going towards Shizuru and Botan. He walked carefully to the stairs. Yusuke drunkenly whistled at them on his way out of the living room, and Kuwabara felt his face heat up.

“Shut up, Urameshi,” he muttered.

Surprisingly, he made it all the way up the stairs and into Kuwabara’s bedroom without Hiei waking up. He carried him to the bed, and gently placed him on it, bringing the covers over him. Asleep, Hiei didn’t look nearly as aggressive or intimidating. He looked innocent, almost cute. Almost.

Kuwabara sat at the edge of the bed, “Happy birthday to me, I guess.” He sighed and went to stand up, only to be stopped by a hand on his arm. He turned around, “Hiei?”

He had a dazed look in his eyes. His little nap didn’t sober him up at all. Great.

“D-oh…” He groaned, his voice gruff from the alcohol, “Ugh.”

“Go to sleep. You need it,” Kuwabara was dumbfounded with just how out of it Hiei was. He was almost a different person. 

“Don’t go,” Hiei finally got out. 

Kuwabara felt his jaw drop, “What?”

Hiei grimaced, still disoriented, and practically whimpered, “Don’t leave me.”

Kuwabara snapped his jaw shut, speechless. This was Hiei saying that he didn’t want to leave Kuwabara. He barely even liked Kuwabara, but he wanted to spend alone time with him? Hiei must really be wasted.

“You’re drunk, Hiei,” he said, his face still the dictionary definition of bewilderment. 

Hiei frowned, “I know that.” He moved slowly on the bed and leaned against Kuwabara and practically fucking purred. Kuwabara pinched himself, and it stung. Not a dream.

“Then, you know that that’s a stupid thing to say.” Kuwabara said. He just wanted to grab his sleeping bag, and sleep this whole night off because there was no way this could be happening.

“You’re the stupid one. I want you here with me,” Hiei said, and his words were a bit slurred but confident. Drunk Hiei really wanted to spoon with him all night. What the fuck. Sober Hiei didn’t even want to be in the same vicinity as him.

“W-what?” He was nervous. Why was he nervous?

“Hm?” Hiei growled and buried his face in Kuwabara’s shoulder. The hand on his forearm crawled its way to his bicep, and it was so, so warm. Jesus, was he really that touch starved?

“You don’t know what you want. You’re drunk,” Kuwabara reasoned. 

“You’re a fool. You haven’t made a move,” Hiei breathed into his shoulder, and Kuwabara shivered. 

“What are you even talking about?” He asked. 

“You’ve been looking at me,” he whispered, and Kuwabara froze, “You haven’t made a move.” Drunk Hiei was pretty fucking coherent, and Kuwabara couldn’t help but wish he wasn’t. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, “No, I haven’t.” He didn’t think there was any reason to. He thought it was pointless. Hiei would just write him off like he always did.

“Why not?” Hiei asked, and his lips brushed against Kuwabara’s neck. Kuwabara swallowed thickly, and pulled Hiei off him, looking him in the eyes.

“This is dumb,” He sighed for what felt like the millionth time that night, “You’re drunk. I’m not having this conversation until you’re sober.”

There was a sense of clarity in Hiei’s eyes as if, underneath the fog of alcohol, his brain grasped onto what Kuwabara said. He nodded, unwilling to say anything more.

“I gotta grab my sleeping bag,” he said to himself. He got up.

“Please, don’t. Stay,” Hiei said, quiet and begging. Kuwabara didn’t turn around to look at Hiei’s expression, afraid of what he might see. Afraid to get hope. Hiei was drunk. He wasn’t in his right mind.

“You don’t want this. Not really, anyway,” Kuwabara choked out. He was barely holding back a dam of tears. Damn, he really drank too much tonight. He shouldn’t be crying. Not over Hiei. Not over someone who can’t and who won’t love him back.

“I do. Please, stay. Please,” Hiei was really begging now. Kuwabara hadn’t heard him beg for anything, not even his life, “I can’t be alone. Please.”

Kuwabara’s heart broke. Hiei sounded desperate.

“Just to sleep?” Kuwabara asked.

“Anything. Please,” Hiei repeated.

Kuwabara said good night to the remaining partygoers downstairs and changed his clothes in the bathroom, and when he returned, Hiei was already fast asleep on his bed.

“So much for needing me to stay,” he said fondly. He crawled in bed anyway, leaving plenty of room between them. Hiei was so small that it wasn’t difficult even though Kuwabara’s bed wasn’t particularly big. 

Despite drinking, he found it very difficult to sleep. He faced Hiei (so peaceful, so perfect), and thought about what would happen in the morning. More than likely, Hiei would find a way to sneak out and avoid him for weeks, maybe months. He’d pretend like he said nothing tonight, that they were still practically enemies. Kuwabara would play along because that was easier than trying to get Hiei to talk about his feelings. It would hurt, and he would bury his feelings as much as he could.

Still, something in his mind insisted that even though Hiei was drunk, he was honest. Hiei really did want something more between them. Kuwabara only hoped that, in the morning, he would stick around long enough to talk through this.

Kuwabara watched Hiei, curled towards him, still not touching. His breath was steady and almost silent. 

He wouldn’t allow himself to touch Hiei, no matter how much he wanted to. It was a violation of Sober Hiei’s space, and he wouldn’t do that. After all, he was still a man of honor. He would willingly lie next to Hiei, not touching, for the rest of his life, if Hiei would just talk to him openly while he was sober.

But he did allow himself to whisper one thing to Hiei’s sleeping, unaware ears. He was only human, after all, and what Hiei couldn’t hear wouldn’t hurt him. It would only hurt Kuwabara, and he would willingly hurt himself just to get it off his chest. 

“I think I love you.”

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 1: Delirium

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter One: Delirium

“A fathomless and boundless deep,         

There we wander, there we weep; 

On the hungry craving wind 

My Spectre follows thee behind. 

 ‘He scents thy footsteps in the snow 

Wheresoever thou dost go,       

Thro’ the wintry hail and rain. 

When wilt thou return again?”

-William Blake

-~-

It was winter. 

The air held it’s chill in silent occupation as the light breeze kissed the powdered snow below his feet. Between his eyes, his hair stuck to his face. How uncharacteristic of him to sweat in the snow, especially with no jacket. The tall cypress trees proved to be a lively contrast to the towering evergreens that the shared space with, gently scattering leaves in every direction. They had been falling, much like he would be soon enough. It would either be here or at the hands of his pursuers.

During the time preceding this waking nightmare, everything had been silent. Simplicity and serenity had been all that he had sought out in this place in the first place, and much to his elation, he’d found it. But after a brief honeymoon period during which he’d grown quite fond of this little hamlet, everything had come crashing down around him like it always did. In the place of silence, there had been a sudden rush of sound. He hadn’t been able to hear it from where he’d been, but he had seen it, and the growing guilt that he now felt as he stood at the precipice of his likely demise consumed everything inside him. He had been spared their fates only to meet his at the bottom of the rocks.

He told himself that it was thin ice. It was rushing water, after all. Somewhere beneath the surface was a small glimmer of hope that perhaps if he only dared to take the plunge he would have his liberation. He had to for the rest of them. After all, that was why he was standing there in the first place. Their sacrifice had been profound and selfless, and now he had a responsibility as the only one left to bring justice to those who had paved the path before him with their very blood. 

With a last tentative breath, he glanced back fearful, and then felt air rush past him. His descent had begun. As he approached the glowing white below him, everything went black. And then he opened his eyes.

Just a dream. The same dream. Would it ever just be a part of the past, something he could bury deep or burn and leave behind? Every dream found its way back to this place, and the rapture provided by the fact that his dreams were as infrequent as they were was enough in of its self to make him question his mental stability. It was nothing new, but it wasn’t any less unpleasant. The viewpoints seemed to change as he lingered in his subconscious thoughts again, whatever message he had yet to glean haunting him; forever leaving him with the sensation that more had happened back then than he could recall between the brief intervals of sanity that peppered his mind whenever he dared sleep.

But the frequency of it all…

He’d dozed off again, the allure of sleep proving once again to be more than he was capable of overcoming at this juncture. It had only been for a moment, but it had been a terrible mistake. The ceaseless pressure relented for a moment, allowing him to come back to his senses and assess his surroundings. He felt as though he was being pulled back into some nameless abyss, the edges of his consciousness blackened and unclear. Everyone was where they had been the last time that he checked, though several gazes fell upon him, more than likely taking note of his less than desirable complexion and the thin layer of clammy precipitation that had formed on his skin. He seemed to take on an eerie glow in the dim light the train car provided, the implications of something none of them fathomed clearly present and unmistakable. Something had been wrong with all of them since they’d left on this trip, little things that nagged at the edges of their subconscious. It was something that they all actively took note of, but none of them seemed to comprehend precisely what was happening to V.

As the team sat in quiet contemplation, silently assessing their available options, the quiet and predictable rhythm of the train was the only sound to penetrate the void. There was a tension to the air around them as if the very space they occupied possessed a viscosity all it’s own. Every breath felt heavy, every blink lingered; the sound of his pulse was all that he could hear. How long would they toil in this madness? How long had they already? Every second felt like an eternity at the mercy of a vengeful deity, and a part of V felt as though he was actively contributing to the nightmare that had become their natural habitat.

V tried to remember as he tried to forget.

Reality it’s self was becoming a technicality, a fleeting thing that he failed most days to grasp. And much the same he failed to comprehend the reasons behind it all. The nameless dread had become all-consuming. Air. He needed to leave this room and breath the air outside of this locomotive, however urban and polluted it might be. It was more than an urge. It had become a necessity, something intrinsic to his very survival. It had been easier to breathe when he was submerged underneath the waters of the bay that day at the ocean side, his body refusing to obey him.

A short breath and a heavy blink were what it took to finally comprehend his surroundings. The sound of footsteps and muffled voices suddenly pulled away, and he found himself slowly coming to a stop, taking in his surroundings for what had to be the first time since they’d departed, the fog had lifted and he saw everything around him with the utmost clarity and precision. There was a certain vibrancy to his surroundings again, not the dull haze that he’d once occupied. Had they mistaken his distress as mere silence, something so typical of him that no fuss was made of it?

Eyes were deceptive things, much like memory. Fleeting like dreams themselves. He rooted himself to the spot, exhaling a breath that he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding before that moment. He could see it, subconsciously noting that it wasn’t natural to be able to view his breath in such a humid environment. There was no cool air here, only dense trees and vegetation. In fact, the environment they were in was practically tropical, much to his fascination and horror. V didn’t remember coming here, but since he was standing there, that had to be the case, didn’t it? What was going on?

His sudden sense of awareness drew the gaze of those that he was traveling with, the lot of them seemingly pausing for a moment to assess his condition. They spoke amongst themselves, but he didn’t hear them, though this time it was due to the fact that he was more focused on trying to comprehend the existential horror that he felt towards his predicament, and not because of the situation itself. He felt his blood run cold as he realized that he genuinely had no comprehension as to where he was or how he had arrived here, and he didn’t truly understand how much time had passed. He grasped at faint memories of what had happened last that he could remember clearly, and nothing specific came to mind. Once he’d boarded the train, it was as though he’d totally lost his place in reality for the foreseeable future. He’d blinked and opened his eyes only to find himself where he now stood, confused and barely hiding the growing sense of panic that he felt rising up from deep within him, ready and eager to overflow.

Could he make himself speak? Did he dare?

“... Where are we? What… what’s going… on?”

Elation overflowed from Nero as he let out a sort of wispy wheeze, shrugging and allowing his arms to flop uselessly against his sides. He seemed to be in a state of disbelief while simultaneously expecting such a response. But in truth, the younger of the two was simply glad to hear him speak. It had been a while…

“Ya know, I was starting to think something was wrong with you. Looks like I was right.”

V registered the sound of Dante’s voice, but he couldn’t make himself physically turn to face him like he wanted to. Instead, he managed to slowly turn his head in his general direction in a gesture that wasn’t at all as benign as he’d hoped it would seem. His intention hadn’t been to give him the impression that he was glaring, but he could practically feel the sideways look that his uncle had given him, even though he didn’t fully comprehend why at that moment. His mind was working fast and slow at the same time in a strange hodgepodge of functions and fluidity that he found both exhausting and oddly calming all at once. But he got the impression that there was a darker reason for his seemingly placid demeanor.

Nero shared a look with Dante as they both gestured towards a small house that they were standing in the doorway of. It seemed to be some kind of stone and wooden cottage in a more rural area, though that was easily a mistake due to V’s current cognitive capacity and his lack of experience on such topics. At the moment, everything was hazy, and his stomach churned unsteady as he attempted to force himself to move towards the doorway. With every perceived movement that he made, he physically felt himself move backward despite the fact that he was somewhat sure he was going forward. That sense of stasis that had once been there having returned with a brutal vengeance, and he was less than able to contend with it, try as he might.

He took another tentative step forward, and everything went black again much the same as it had once before that day. He felt a rush of movement as a sudden warmth enveloped him that he couldn’t quite explain, voices encompassing him from every angle regardless of the fact that he couldn’t place their precise owner or locations. For a moment, he felt as though he were floating.

And then he came crashing down.

With violent efficiency, the world around him suddenly became crystal clear again. He could hear, see, touch, and feel everything around him again in the manager that he was meant to, but that served more to disorient him than it did to bring him clarity. His breath grew heavy as he realized that his pulse was more than slightly elevated; the sound of his heartbeat a dull throb in his ears and chest. He’d felt this sensation before, the overwhelming panic of it all rendering his mind and body utterly useless as he was seised by mindless terror. The only difference was that this time it lasted longer before it wore off.

The moment he finally regained the ability to more, he glanced around the room in a blurry rush, not entirely sure what it was that he was trying to locate. But just as he lost his footing, something ceased him, steadying him as he teetered over the edge of something. Until that moment, he hadn’t even noticed that he’d been standing. As his eyes came into focus, he realized that Vergil was there, steadying him with an expression somewhere firmly between irritated confusion and what seemed to be genuine concern, but he could have easily been mistaken. Had he always been there, or was this a new edition to his delirium? Considering the way that everything was spinning around him, there was no telling. And while there was no way of knowing just yet, he had the feeling that he’d find out shortly. One thing at a time.

“Oh, well that should do it. At least for now.” An unfamiliar voice spoke slowly and clearly to someone behind him, drawing his attention as he attempted to stop shuddering and stead himself. V felt a powerful desire to sit down, even if it was on the floor.” It is best that we keep this away from him. Such an unpleasant effect that it seems to have on him. I have never seen anything like this.”

V turned to face the woman he heard speaking, only to discover that he wasn’t hallucinating and it was indeed an unfamiliar face. Or if he was hallucinating, this particular aspect of his surroundings wasn’t part of the equation. Before him stood an elderly woman of diminutive stature, at least when compared to him. They were almost at head height despite the fact that he now sat on the floor. Vergil stood only a few feet behind him, seeming watching his every move with silent trepidation. His agitation was only matched by his abject dismay towards the entire situation, though it hid it very well under a thick layer of what would appear to be apathy to the average person. That alone was enough to rattle V’s already very fragile nerves.

“Yea, it didn’t do that when I carried it around either. Maybe the cult that took it did something to it?” Dante gestured towards the box that sat on the mantle across the room, the small box now chained shut and locked with a small lock. The devil hunter then spared V a glance before turning his attention back towards her. He seemed sympathetic towards whatever had happened to him, at least from what the young summoner could tell.” If we knew it was gonna do that, we wouldn’t have asked him to carry it. Hell, it would be in a led lined box or somethin’.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” She looked over at V, giving him a friendly and reassuringly warm smile.” Still… such an odd reaction for an Arcana.”

Dante looked between the older woman and the rest of the room, leaning back on the couch in an effort to make himself more comfortable.” Well, it’s over with now, at least. As long as we don’t take it out of the box around him again, we should be fine, right?” She nodded slowly, seemingly unsure but willing to go with the assumption for the time being. Dante looked at his brother and younger nephew before turning to gesture towards her, clearly indicating that he would be referring to her as he spoke.” Oh yea, almost forgot. Granny’s got a name. Matier, meet my V and Nero. The one with the constipated look on his face is my brother, Vergil.”

Nero waived in a friendly manner as he scooted off of the couch and onto the floor next to V. It wasn’t every day that he got to meet someone who knew Dante, especially this far from home. V simply nodded, suddenly in need of a restful night’s sleep. He didn’t feel physically tired in the way that he was accustomed to. No, instead he felt utterly drained. It was as though something had siphoned the very essence from his body. Vergil gave her a neutral look but nodded quietly, regarding her silently. His mind was elsewhere, but he was not so lost in his thoughts that he couldn’t acknowledge her. After all, they were in her home. Spending a lifetime in the underworld hadn’t rendered him that uncivilized.

“It is wonderful to meet you all. Always nice to have guests. It’s just my daughter and I most days.” She smiled softly, taking a moment to look at the box again.” It could be a form of corrupted sorcery, but I have no way of knowing for sure, Son of Sparda. You should all keep a close eye on him for now. These powers are beyond my understanding, at least for now.”

The Youngest Son of Sparda nodded in agreement.” Speaking of that daughter of yours, I might go see what’s keeping her soon. Being late isn’t really her style.”

Nero turned his attention back to V giving him a more serious look than the eldest of the two was used to receiving from his normally lackadaisical sibling. It wasn’t like Nero to seem so worried, at least from his experience. That being said, they seemed to have a soft spot for one another in that regard. V found himself thinking of Nero’s wellbeing more than the rest of the people around him, and it was for no particular reason that he could truly pinpoint. He cared if the rest of their family was harmed. That was a no-contest stance… but when things got bleak, he just found himself instinctually turning to his younger sibling. They had been through an awful lot together, and their shared experiences had brought them closer together. Simply having him there at that moment helped put him at ease, even if only a little.

“So what’s going on? And don’t tell me it’s nothing, because I can smell bullshit a mile away and you know it.” Nero said quietly, not trying to cause a scene. It was hard enough to get V to open up as it was. The last thing he needed to do was cause his reclusive older sibling to clam up.

Much to his ire, the rest of the room fell silent and everyone present turned their attention towards V, clearly curious as to what he was planning to say. The white-haired summoner gave Nero a tired look and exhaled under his breath, internally cursing himself and his brother and unison. He knew that he’d eventually have to talk about this, but that didn’t exactly make him eager to do so. Had no idea what time it was, but this had been a long day for him, and he got the feeling it was about to get a whole lot longer.

“I… recalled something that I had tried…  very hard to forget. In vivid detail.” He turned away for a moment, resisting the temptation to simply stop talking and find a way to escape. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to talk about something personal, but this was easily one of the most unpleasant.” I have no reason to believe it is relevant but I think it may be time to tell you something about my past.”

-~-

Welcome back, everyone! It’s so wonderful to see you all here again! Sorry again for the delay. I just needed that extra two weeks to take care of some things and breath a little. Were in 2021 now, and the word count has officially surpassed 200K! I can’t put into words how much your support and kindness has meant to me over the last eight months. I hope this year turns out to be everything you want it to be. Stay safe and let’s get through this together! 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the new fic and the series up until this point. It’s been a blast hearing from you!

[freddiesaysalright]

Beautiful Mess Part 6

A Brian May x Reader Fic

Summary: Reader works in a bookshop. She meets Brian May and they have an instant connection. It seems to be a fairy tale romance. But, things are seldom what they seem.

Word Count: 2.9k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @mrs-jack-murphy, @not-john-watsons-blog, @simmisblog, @mirkwoodshewolf, @assembledherethevolunteers, @thosequeenboys, @lv7867, @maymacca, @rethought, @brianslittlepet, @jinxy93, @stephydearestxo, @mrcleanisthicc, @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls, @readinghorn​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: I only got this chapter out this fast because I actually wrote it first! I’ve been dying to share, and I hope y’all enjoy the suspense!!!

Warning(s): Mild gun violence

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5

Part 6 here we go!!!

Brian spent the remainder of the morning like a ghost. Going through the motions of dressing and going to the studio. He didn’t remember actually getting there, and while he was there physically, his mind and heart were wrapped up in you. Emotional whiplash was hitting him hard. The whole night was perfect - everything he’d hoped for these past few weeks - and then the morning came and you were engaged. His heart felt small inside his chest.

When he entered the studio, Freddie was shockingly the only one there. Brian nearly sighed with relief. Freddie would understand this sort of hurt and confusion. He just had that sort of emotional intelligence. Also, he knew Brian better than most people.

“Morning, dear,” Freddie said brightly. “Rog and Deaky are getting some food. Did you -” He stopped himself as he took in Brian’s appearance. “Good lord, darling, are you alright?”

“No,” Brian said, voice gravelly from the emotion welling up inside him. He met Freddie’s gaze. “She’s engaged, Fred.”

“Oh, no,” Freddie returned sympathetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Brian broke down. Freddie took his friend into his arms and helped him over to the couch. There, Brian explained the whole thing. Freddie listened carefully.

“I just don’t understand,” Brian finished. “One minute, we’re making love and the next day she’s crying and leaving. Telling me she’s engaged. But she doesn’t even wear a ring or anything.”

“Maybe it’s not something she wants,” Freddie said. “It appears to me - from what I’ve seen and heard - that she wants you.”

“I believe she wants me too,” Brian replied. “Which is why I’m so confused. I’ve got so many questions.”

“You must speak to her then,” Freddie said simply. “She’s the only person who can give you any clarity.”

Brian opened his mouth to respond, but then Roger and John returned. Roger took one look at Brian and his face darkened.

“What did she do?” he demanded.

“Nothing!” Brian insisted. “She just told me the truth. She’s engaged.”

He went over it again for them. Roger was fuming by the end of it and John just shook his head.

“She’s been lying to you this whole time?!” Roger cried. “What the hell is wrong with her?!”

“Don’t be like that, Rog, I’m sure it’s very complicated,” Freddie said.

“I’m with Roger,” John said. “If that’s the case, I think you’re well shot of her.”

“Well, I’m a hopeless romantic, darling,” Freddie said. “If you want your closure - or perhaps your second chance - you should go after it.”

“Thanks, guys,” Brian said, looking at all of them. “I think I will ask her and get closure. But at the end of the day. For now, I could use a distraction.”

“We’re happy to oblige,” said John, handing Brian some new sheet music. “You’re gonna hate this one, so it’s perfect.”

Chuckling, Brian looked it over. Then he frowned.

“You’re right, Deaky, what the fuck is this?”

You anxiously watched the clock, hoping you’d be able to close the store before Brian got over to see you and question you. You knew you owed him some answers, but you were in no rush to give them to him. Just another half hour and then you’d be able to lock the door and hurry home. Your heart jumped into your throat when you heard the tinkle of the bell, but you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw who came through the door. It wasn’t Brian. It was a stranger. Just an ordinary man.

“Hello,” you said. “Just so you know we close in a half hour.”

He didn’t say anything. He just nodded before disappearing into the history section.

You sat on your stool behind the counter and watched the clock. It felt like each tick lasted an hour. And each tock went on for a week. Perhaps you really would get lucky and Brian didn’t want to know. It made you sad to think you might never see him again, but it was for the best. The time you’d shared was really more of a fantasy. You were silly to indulge it at all.

A soft ding made you look at the door. Your heart constricted. It was Brian. Part of you was thrilled to see him and part of you dreaded it. You didn’t know whether to smile or wave or say something. You decided on just looking until he gave you some sort of indication of his emotions. He looked displeased but also very sad.

“Y/N,” he said, walking up to the counter. “I’ve got to speak to you.”

You sighed. “Brian, what else is there to say? I told you I’m engaged. We can only be friends, nothing more.”

“You told me you love me,” he reminded you.

Tears stung your eyes. “And that’s true. But we can’t be together.”

“Can’t you end it with your fiance?” he asked, taking your hand. 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I could never leave him.”

“Why?” he pressed.

“It’s complicated,” you said. “But I owe him too much. I won’t betray him by going back on that promise.”

“But you don’t love him,” he said. It was a statement, not a question.

“You’re right, I don’t,” you admitted. “And honestly, I’m sure he doesn’t love me as anything beyond a dear friend. But we’re bound to each other.”

“Explain it to me,” he requested. 

“I can’t, Brian, it’s too much,” you said.

You got to your feet and pulled your hand away, heading for the door. Brian followed.

“It’s not too much,” he said. “I’ve got time.”

“You’ve got to be back at the studio, I’m sure,” you returned, locking the door and turning to face him.

“Not for a few minutes,” he insisted. “Please, Y/N. I’ve got to understand. I’ll lose my mind if I don’t.”

You turned around and looked at him. Both your and his eyes were shining. It made sense. Even though it was clarity he would gain, it was also goodbye.

“Just let me lock up the back door,” you told him. “Wait here.”

He nodded. You went to the back and left him waiting at the counter. You turned the deadbolt and went to head back to Brian when you were startled by the man who’d come in before him. You jumped and gasped softly at his sudden appearance behind you but quickly recovered, hand over your heart.

“Oh, sorry, sir,” you said. “I forgot you came in. Here, follow me to the front door and I’ll let you out.”

“Shut up,” he said harshly.

In a swift motion, he retrieved a handgun from inside his jacket and pointed it directly in your face. Your heart began pounding wildly with panic and you swallowed a scream.

“Please,” you said, shakily. “You don’t have to do this. You can have whatever you want. The money in the register, my jewelry, anything. Please, just don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t have to hurt you if you do exactly as I say,” he warned. “Where’s the phone?”

“Behind the counter,” you said.

“Let’s go,” he urged.

He grabbed you by the arm and put the barrel to your temple. You winced at the cold of the metal. Then the man forced you to walk forward, which was difficult on your shaking legs.

“Y/N?” Brian called.

“Who’s that?” the intruder demanded, yanking you to a stop.

“Just a regular customer,” you lied. “I don’t know him well.”

“Bullshit, you don’t,” he spat. “He’s waiting for you after closing time.”

“P-please, I -”

He forced you forward, placing the gun at the back of your head now, so you were a few paces ahead of him. As you came around to the counter, Brian’s brow furrowed. You had more tears in your eyes and you were quaking. Then he saw it and his eyes went wide. The gun emerged first, followed by the man pointing it.

Brian lunged for the phone.

“STOP!” the man bellowed, and Brian froze where he stood. “Or I’ll shoot her. Turn around and put your hands where I can see them.”

Brian obeyed, holding his hands above his shoulders as he glowered at the assailant.

“What do you want?” Brian asked.

“You’ll see soon enough, curly,” the man retorted.

He pushed the muzzle with bruising pressure into your scalp. A terrified whimper left your mouth.

“Go to the phone,” the man said. “Call your fiance.”

“H-how do you -”

“Don’t question me!” he barked. “Just do what I fucking tell you!”

“I’m sorry!” you returned meekly and went past Brian to where the phone sat on the counter. 

The man ordered you to turn around and face him as you dialed. Your hands shook violently and tears clouded your eyes. You were grateful you knew the number so well. As you pressed the final button, the man took the barrel of the gun and place it at the hem of your sweater. He used it to push it up, running the cold steel over your stomach and then your bra until he was pointing it directly over your heart.

You had no time to worry about it being indecent. The phone rang several times and for a moment, you feared you would get no answer.

“What do you want from her fiance, anyway?” Brian asked.

“Don’t you know?” the man returned. “Her fiance is Richard Kimball. One of the richest men in all of the UK. He’s got more money than the royal family if I heard right.”

You weren’t sure if that was true since Richard never discussed finances with you. You knew the Kimballs were incredibly wealthy, but they were new money, making their fortune post-WWII. 

Brian looked at you, appalled. It all came together now. He just never expected you to be betrothed to Richard. He thought surely they had secured some heiress for him, but it was you. 

“Is that true?” Brian breathed. “You’re engaged to Richard Kimball?”

“I am,” you choked out. “I’m sorry, Brian, I should have told you -”

“Enough!” interrupted the intruder. “Focus on your task. I want two million for his precious fiance’s safe return.”

You nodded and finally, you heard Richard’s familiar voice.

“Hello?”

“Richard,” you said. “It’s me.”

“Hello, darling,” he replied. “Sorry it took so long to pick up. I’ve already sent my secretary home.”

“That’s alright,” you assured him. “Listen, I need you to come to the shop.”

“Is everything alright? I know we were supposed to talk, but I’d really prefer somewhere we have plenty of time and...”

He kept talking but you stopped listening. You took a deep breath. You locked eyes with the intruder. Your heart was beating so fast, you thought it might tear out of your chest. With a sudden burst of bravery, you changed course.

“Richard, call the police!” you shouted.

“Fuck!” the intruder cried.

“There’s a man holding me at gunpoint, he’s white, tall, blue eyes, dark hair, tattoo on his left wrist and -”

BANG.

In under a second, the man had removed the gun from its place on your chest, turned it on Brian, and fired. You screamed. Brian collapsed on the floor, clutching his arm. Blood was staining his sleeve and hand. 

“Y/N!” Richard called, but you couldn’t answer him. You couldn’t tear your eyes from Brian and your ears were ringing. “Y/N, are you hurt? What’s happening?!”

You started to answer but then the intruder wrenched the receiver from your hand. While he faced the other way, you flew to Brian. His breathing was heavy and he rocked back and forth on the floor.

“Brian, I’m so sorry!” you cried.

“You did the right thing,” he grunted. “Don’t be sorry.”

“Get to the shop,” the intruder said to Richard. “You have one hour to be here with two million or I kill them both. And don’t even think about calling the police.”

He hung up.

“Is it very deep?” you fussed over Brian.

“I don’t know,” he returned. “I think it just grazed me.”

You started to respond, but yelped when the intruder yanked you away by your hair. 

“Please!” you begged, struggling against him. “Let me go to him! Let me help him!”

Frustrated by your newfound resistance, he threw you to the ground. You fell forward, nearly on your face, and then crawled over to Brian again.

“Any more stunts and I’ll give him worse,” the man warned.

You ignored him and started tugging at Brian’s jacket. You needed to see the wound and make sure it was just a graze. Although, considering the amount of blood, you doubted it. He hissed when you moved his arm, but he didn’t try and stop you.

“I’m sorry,” you told him. “I’ve got to see it.”

“I know, it just hurts,” he winced.

He had on a t-shirt underneath and the injury was just below the sleeve. It was a graze. But it was deep and bleeding heavily. Already the wooden floor was stained red. Brian’s blood was on your skirt and hands and you frantically wondered what you could possibly do for him. Your eyes landed on his face and tears rolled down your cheeks. He was already struggling to stay conscious and you weren’t sure if it was from shock or if he was really losing that much blood. Or perhaps it was the pain.

“Oh, Brian, I’m so, so sorry,” you said. 

He took a deep breath. 

“No,” he replied stiffly. “S’alright.”

You turned to the intruder. 

“Please,” you said weakly. “Let him go. Hold me hostage, but you don’t need him. And he needs help.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Brian protested through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be a hero, Brian, you’re hurt,” you replied.

“Doesn’t matter,” said the intruder. “Neither of you are going anywhere until I’ve got the check in my hand.”

“You won’t get a penny,” you told him, though it sounded less impressive with the sniffle at the end. “The Kimballs don’t negotiate.” 

The man didn’t answer. You looked helplessly at Brian. His breathing was shallow and short, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. You stood up, kicked off your shoes, and slid your stockings down your legs. You knelt down again, moved his hand out of the way, and then wrapped them around his arm tightly, hoping that it would be enough pressure to stop the bleeding. Or at least keep it at bay until help arrived.

You helped him onto your lap, and he relaxed into you, murmuring your name and his gratitude. You felt terrible. The weight of this was overwhelming. What if he ended up with serious damage and couldn’t play anymore? All because he wanted to see you, and you had been careless enough to forget that the other man was inside. You opened your mouth to apologize again, but the sound of a siren cleared your mind.

You knew the intruder was going to grab you, so you quickly stuffed Brian’s jacket under his head and let him gently lay on the floor. The intruder yanked you up by the arm and walked you over to the window. Brian moaned a little as you were taken from him, and you whimpered. Then the intruder forced you to face the window and you saw it - several police cars, a couple news crews, and a gathering crowd.

Back at the studio, Freddie, Roger, and John were all waiting for Brian. Freddie smoked a cigarette. Roger twirled his drumsticks. John plucked at the strings on his bass. Roger was getting perhaps the most impatient since he had a date that night and did not want to be late. John heaved a sigh.

“I s’pose I’ll go ahead call Veronica to tell her I’m missing dinner,” he said, putting his bass to the side and striding over to the phone.

“Let me know when you’re done so I can call Kate and cancel drinks,” Roger said.

John only nodded and picked up the receiver.

“Do be patient, darlings,” Freddie said, getting to this feet and taking the phone from John to hang it up. “He went to speak to Y/N and I’m sure he’s in a great deal of pain.”

“We can’t wait around for him all night,” Roger said.

“Just give him five more minutes,” Freddie insisted. “If he’s still not back, you can both go home and I’ll wait up for him.”

“Five minutes,” John repeated, looking at his watch to begin timing.

He took a seat beside Roger, who lit a cigarette of his own and took a long drag.

Minutes ticked by. Freddie could sense the irritation coming in waves off of Roger and John. Suddenly, Jim Beach burst into the room, making them all jump. His face was flushed, his forehead gleamed with sweat, and his suit was disheveled. It looked as if he’d run all the way to the studio.

“Where’s Brian?” he demanded through his deep breaths.

“He’s at the bookshop,” Roger answered. “Why?”

“Oh, no…”

Jim’s face fell and the bandmates exchanged worried glances.

“What’s going on?” John demanded.

“I’ve just had the news on,” Jim explained. “There’s a gunman at the shop. Someone has already been shot and it’s become a hostage situation.”

All four of them raced out the door and hurtled down the street, hoping they would find Brian safe.

[afarcryfromreality]

A Burning Sensation

A/N: This is my first fan-fiction ever! I probably won’t write another. Just scratching an itch. 

Warning: Violence & graphic descriptions

Rook was cruising down one of the main roads that snaked through Holland Valley when she spotted a telltale white van parked on the verge with two peggies attempting to hog-tie a rather distressed civilian.

“These bastards just don’t give up” She sighed.

It had been a week or two since Rook and John had battled it out in the skies, stray fighter bullets soaring through the atmosphere like lost shooting stars. The fight had ended when John’s plane crashed into the river. Rook parachuted to his rescue, ditching her own plane in the process. She’d managed to pull him from the wreckage before he drowned. She hoped sparing his life would play in her favour against the Seeds. Perhaps make them realise how close they had come to losing their little brother and maybe, just maybe, scare them into toning down their antics for a little while. Her message was clear when she hopped on the radio.

“Joseph, I’ve spared your brother on this occasion, but I’m more than happy to come back and finish the job if you or your siblings continue to commit crimes against the people of Hope County. He’s wallowing in his own self-pity on the river bank. I’ve set off a flare so you can find him. I’d hurry, not long left before he bleeds out.”

John could be heard coughing in the background, muttering about the world being on the brink, questioning Rook’s actions. She left soon after knowing every peggie in the area would be on route. Peggie activity had declined quite significantly since that day but it seemed not everyone had got the message.…

She slammed the breaks on and grabbed her handgun from the dashboard, launching herself out of the driver’s door and slamming it intensely. Rook charged up the road, approaching the two poorly-groomed men who were man-handling a young woman. She was crying out intensely, begging to be spared.

“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” Rook yelled, a scowl spreading across her face.

The men looked up at her. Initially confused. “Sinner!” one shouted, raising his assault rifle as he registered who she was.

Rook lifted her handgun and put a swift bullet between his eyes. His lifeless body dropped to the ground as the second man dove behind the van. She fired a couple shots at the van, just for fun really, and to scare that ugly-ass peggie shitless. As she continued to approach, the man broke his cover and attempted to fire a few shots of his own. One of Rook’s bullets quickly found itself embedded in his shoulder and soon enough he was the one crying out.

“Didn’t you get my message?” She asked, finally catching up to the whimpering man and towering over him.

“W-what message?” He asked, in between painful cries.

“This message.” She lifted her gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

By this point, the young woman had stopped crying and all that left her mouth were repeated words of thanks and praise. Rook removed the ropes from the young women’s wrists and ankles, helped her up and offered to drive her back to Fall’s End. However, the woman insisted the Deputy had done enough and instead chose to hop into the white van and take off.

“Thank you once again Deputy, you saved my life.” She said with great gratitude as she pulled away. Rook held up her hand as a sign of acknowledgement, smiling humbly as she made her way back to her truck.

All of a sudden, the loud and unmistakable sound of a gunshot from a high-calibre rifle rang in her ears. Rook’s leg trembled underneath her weight and she fell to the floor. A burning sensation took over, immense pain rushing up her leg. She screamed out an almighty “Fuck!” She managed to break her fall with her hands and knees, but rolled onto her shoulder to shift her weight off her injured leg. Rook looked down at her thigh and saw blood pouring out of a small, circular wound. She had been shot.

She pulled her gun from her holster and held it out to scan the surrounding area, looking for the assailant. Whoever it was she couldn’t see them. She was about 10 meters away from her truck which happened to be the nearest cover. Out in the open she was easy game. Thoughts raced through her mind.

Do I play dead? No... they know I’m not dead. Either they’re a shit sniper or they want me alive… Mother fucker.

She tried to stand but the agonising pain made her fall to the floor once again. She began crawling, wincing and grunting in pain. Once she got to the truck, she propped her back up against the side panel and struggled to pull open the driver’s door. It was only when she had succeeded that another shot was fired, this time narrowly missing her head. Again, the sound rang in her ears and she flinched harshly, ducking for cover under the truck. She looked around, looking for anything that could help her. It was then when she saw the trail of blood she had left behind. It had soaked a bold strip into the tarmac. She felt herself getting weaker by the minute but it was in her panic that she had a moment of clarity. She realised the bullets had come from one direction. One side of the truck was under fire but the other? That was out of the line of sight. She pulled herself out from underneath the truck on the passenger’s side, propping herself up against the door. She dared to look over the edge of door, desperately trying to spot who was shooting at her. Another bullet landed a few inches from her head. Again, she ducked down. She seemed confident that whoever it was they weren’t trying to kill her, but it wasn’t something she was about to bet her life on. She opened up the passenger door and grabbed her med kit, keenly getting to work on her leg. She focused her efforts on trying to stop the bleeding and wrapped every bandage she could find tightly around the wound.  

A few minutes had passed and the bleeding hadn’t stopped. The bandages were becoming saturated with blood quicker than she expected. It was then she heard an unnerving sound that made her heart drop. Footsteps. Getting louder and louder, closer and closer. She dove back under the truck in a desperate attempt to hide. There she lay on her back, under the bed of the truck with her feet facing the assailant, ready to kick out if need be.

Suddenly two large hands wrapped around her ankles and pulled her from underneath the truck in one quick but smooth motion. The sudden tug caused her top to ride up and her skin skidded against the tarmac. The burning sensation made her cry out as the tarmac removed her skin like a cheese grater. That, combined with the shooting pain coming from her leg from the sudden tug, made her almost forget she was about to come face to face with her pursuer.

Once her head emerged from underneath the truck the large hands grabbed at her top, scrunching some of the material to reinforce their grip and then slamming her against the tailgate of the truck. Her back arched over it slightly as she instinctively leaned back to get away from her attacker. Her leg felt like it was on fire as searing pain rushed up her leg – a consequence of being forced to stand on her wounded limb. An intimidating figure towered over her; a bright red sniper rifle strapped to the figure’s back.

“Deputy.” Smirked Jacob. “Got you good, didn’t I?”

Rook looked at him horrified, unsure what to say in her weakened state.

“You look surprised. Y’think I was just going to let what you did to John slide?” Jacob chuckled.

“Y’see Dep, I’d suggest you start praying ‘cause you’re going to be far worse off than John when I’m done with you.” He said with gritted teeth, a menaced, evil look washing over his face.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Spat Rook, her hand reached down for her gun, her fingers wrapped around the handle ready to lift it up.

“Bad move” Snarled Jacob as he released her and rammed his knee into her injured thigh with great force. Rook screamed out in agony, falling onto her hands and knees.

“Y-you sick F-“ She growled, looking over her shoulder as she looked up at him. She didn’t manage to finish her sentence before Jacob slammed the butt of his rifle into her head, knocking her out.

“Oh Deputy.” He chuckled “This is going to be fun.”

[devnny]

A PRELUDE.

JTRM — THE “R” STANDS FOR RECOVERING!

Here’s the backstory to the AU I’ll keep referencing in art on this blog! I have no idea if I’ll write any more of this, but it’s good to have this as source material... Enjoy my suffering.

A paintbrush rolled slowly between Devi’s thumb and index finger as she contemplated where she wanted to pick up on her current project. The layer of paint near the eyes of her subject was still a little tacky, and despite her want to continue blending in the shadows of its face, she thought she might rip off one of her own pigtails if she had to redo the eyes again. So, she decided on detailing the rough shapes behind the figure’s head.

It was a nice little reprieve to have Tenna come over and watch stupid game shows over dinner, but as always, a little voice in her head demanded that she continue her work as soon as possible – and no, not that little voice. Here eyes drifted toward the doorway that lead from her art room to the living room, where she knew her backpack that contained her little parasite’s “eyes” was sitting somewhere.

“Little fucker.” She mumbled, a touch smug, as she continued painting.

A sudden rapid knocking at her door startled the brush out of Devi’s hand, and she cursed at the unruly smudge it left on her canvas. Her teeth grated.

“TENNA, for SHIT’S SAKE.” She yelled as she stormed to the door. “If this is about that dance club—!”

Devi swung open her front door, but instead of her shorter friend’s gleaming, mischievous expression, she was met with a pair of wide, staring eyes, marred with the bruising of countless sleepless nights. In an instant, any oxygen in her lungs vanished, leaving her in a vacuum of her own breathless horror. Her stunned fear only amplified the longer the man standing on her doorstep stayed unnervingly silent, eyes boring into her own with an overwhelming intensity, anxiety, urgency.

Johnny.

She slammed the door hard, pressing her back and palms flat against it with a dismayed grimace. The rapid knocking started right back up, and Devi’s eyes darted around the room for anything that she could use as a weapon, should her visitor manage to find a way inside.

“DEVI.” Johnny’s voice called from beyond the barrier. “DEVI, DEVI, WAIT!”

The clacking of every lock she had bolted to her door was a strict answer, but she thought she should make it clear.

“NNY, YOU SICK FUCK!!” She braced the door, pausing a moment to keep her voice from shaking. “What the hell happened to LEAVING ME ALONE, HUH? Where’d THAT go!?”

His insistent banging on her door made her stomach even more nauseated.

“I KNOW, but it’s different now!! Something very bad is happening to you Devi, you must listen to me!” He shook the handle. “I only came to warn you!”

Devi hesitated, contemplating which string of curse words would correctly express her feelings at the moment, when a brief wave of clarity hit her. She knew well now of what plagued Johnny nearly a year ago when he made an attempt on her life, as her dear Sickness had kindly informed her of his failed battle with the voice in his head. Devi wondered then, if Sickness knew of Johnny’s “demons”, so to speak, did his know about…

“…Warn me about what, Nny?” She kept her footing as she held the door still, and did her best not to think about if he had the physical strength to thrust a weapon through the meager shield between them. The sudden calmness in her voice confused Johnny, and he pondered if she was loading a gun, or something else, that might give her some peace about his presence.

“Uh.” Throughout his frantic rushing to her apartment, he had failed to practice what exactly he would say that might convince her to believe him on a topic so ludicrous. “Uh, well, I…”

A pause.

“Well you see, um, I used to be plagued by two Doughboys, er, not real Doughboys – well, I mean they were sort of real, eventually – BUT, UH, that’s not totally relevant. But they had my voice! And they tricked me into thinking it was me talking to myself, but it was something else… You see, they were a product of an eldritch horror living in my walls, and they had me do a lot of bad stuff…! Not like Nailbunny, though, sometimes I think he’s still with me—”

As he rambled, Devi’s panic melted into mild annoyance. She only had half an idea of what he was babbling about, but her suspicions that it had something to do with their shared “ailment” was confirmed at least.

Johnny cut off his explanation at the sound of multiple door locks clicking and whirling. The door opened enough for Devi’s irritated green eyes to glare at him. After a second of anxiety at seeing her again, Johnny offered a nervous, quick smile.

“You’re here about Sickness.” Devi spoke pointedly. Johnny blinked in reply.

“Oh, uh, well I suppose yes, you could call it a “sickness”, of sorts.”

“No, not a sickness. Sickness.” Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what mine’s named. Didn’t your voice, and or voices, tell you that, or just that I had her?”

Johnny blinked again, befuddled by her casual tone about being haunted by some other-dimensional creature.

“W-well, uh, WAIT.” He stopped himself before he started another tangent. “Wait, why – HOW do you know so much!? I’m supposed to be the one filling you in on all of this! No one told ME any of this crap!”

Devi waited and watched him a moment. There was something different about him. He looked different, mainly his hair, which was short aside from two oddly shaped chunks of it that stuck off his forehead like antennae, but she thought it was more than that. He looked… lively, if one could say that. He used to look more like a corpse, haunted and tired. He looked awake now. She debated if that change was enough to trust that he wouldn’t try to murder her if she opened the door past the width the chain-lock would allow.

“She told me. I guess she wasn’t strong enough yet to know how to shut up.” She watched his body straighten, watched his hands for any sudden movements.

“SHE… TOLD YOU?” His voice raised in upset. “BUT… I don’t understand that! When I first started hearing the different—”

Johnny’s voice cut when the door closed again, and he felt a new wave of insecurity as Devi opened it up fully.

“Get in here before you wake the neighbors. The psychic fat lady blew up last month, but I don’t need any more write-ups.”

--

A SHORT WHILE PREVIOUS:

“Come on, Johnny. That diner looked really good, didn’t it? And it was so cheap, even you could afford a full meal there.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP.” Johnny screamed at the Bub’s Burger statuette that was currently strapped into the seat beside him. His boney fingers gripped onto the steering wheel harder, as if that might help him concentrate. “The last thing I need is food.”

“Untrue! Humans need food to function, it fuels their body and mind.” The ceramic argued.

“And isn’t that sad.” Johnny furrowed his brows. “Eating just leads to evacuating one’s bowels, and since I hate excrement, and I hate doing that, and I definitely don’t like doing that outside of my home, in a filthy, stinky, public bathroom, I won’t be eating.”

It was silent for awhile after that, and Johnny felt smug that he’d won the argument… with himself, but that was beside the point.

He had been traveling for a few months now, and had decided that he would return home soon. Even with the “conversations” with his new companion, Reverend Meat, he felt very self-aware, self-assured. The future was a confusing thing, but it was his now, supposedly. The only people he’d killed since the Doughboys demise were people he really felt deserved it. Well… there were a couple of scummy guys that maybe could have just used a couple of whacks to the head, and then he did take a tire iron to some rude people at gas stations… never mind. It was a work in progress, no harm no foul, right?

“There’s quite a bit of harm there, Johnny boy.” Meat replied.

“SHUT UP.” Was the answer again. “Stay out of my thinky-thoughts, you repugnant little Doughboy-wannabe.”

“Don’t be angry Johnny, I told you I’m only trying to help you.” The whites of Meat’s eyes slowly began to swallow up his pupils. “You need the essentials Johnny, food and sleep, sure, but you need emotional unburdening. This fruitless running from desire is just that, FRUITLESS! Once you return home, you should call that girl again. Maybe stop in for a visit.”

Johnny’s forehead crinkled in frustration, and he twitched at the passing mention of Devi.

“WHY in the Hell would that be a good idea!?” He straightened against his chair. “You heard what she said to me over the phone! That she—AND IT DOESN’T MATTER, ANYWAY! I’ve severed any feelings I have for ANYONE. I’m a husk, dammit, a HUSK!”

The silence that followed this time was dampening, and Johnny suspected Reverend Meat was going to say something that would upset him. If only he could get a handle on his anger, that would be the end of all these emotional outbursts.

“I suppose I don’t care who you go see, but I think you’d want to see her.” He smiled wider. “She’s sick.”

Johnny’s thin eyebrow pricked up at the comment.

“Sick?”

“Yes, she’s very sick. You got her sick.” Meat’s voice lowered a bit. “She’s been staying in a lot, having problems working, you know. Talking to herself.”

The car suddenly came screeching to a halt, stopping in the middle of the deserted backroad with a shake. Johnny didn’t register that he was the one that had stomped on the brakes.

“ARE YOU… SAYING?” He stared out at the darkness beyond his headlights.

“Yes, she’s grown a new voice in her head, if that’s what you’re asking.” Meat chuffed. “Caught it from you.”

Johnny gripped the steering wheel impossibly harder, ringing the ruined material under his palms in one slow motion. Devi, innocent Devi, who he had promised his nothing to, was in imminent danger because of him. His promises to feign ignorance over her very existence, his promises to cut away his feelings for her, it was all in vain – she was ruined the moment she took his company.

His wide eyes bore into the dash of his car as he tried to take the information in.

He remembered his conversations with Devi, about literature and art. He remembered on their date, what she said about her ability to paint – “immunity or death”, she had said. If she couldn’t create, she would cease to exist. Devi was so confident about that, that there was no possibility she would ever lose that part of her. Johnny gritted his teeth – she was going to, and it was his fault. He brought her to his home, exposed her to the shitty air he breathed, and then scared her so bad that she refused to leave her house. It was the perfect mix to stew one of those horrible creatures inside her mind.

“Damn it.” He shook. “FUCK, DAMN IT ALL.”

Reverend Meat’s smile remained.

“Maybe you can still help her, Johnny. But you don’t want to see her, don’t want to interact with her.” A small laugh. “As far as your plans go, it’s better for you if you ignore what I said, and leave her to her own devices, right?”

If Meat said anything further, Johnny didn’t hear it. There was an insistent ringing in his head, almost like the bzzz of a bug zapper, that now drown out all outside noise, leaving him to his frenzied thoughts.

The stupid little statuette was right – he had said that. It was for his own welfare that he closed off his emotional connections – but who gave a fuck about that when Devi was in active danger of wasting away into a murderous, controlled little cretin, the way he was for years. Arguably still was, even.

It couldn’t be helped. At the very least he had to warn her of what was happening to her, then she might at least stand a fighting chance. He would tell her all the things that he wished someone had shared with him at the fuzzy beginning – to fight the voices, to push forward with his creative endeavors, and refuse to relinquish the reigns of his sanity so complacently. The voices are not her conscience, she must know that!

Tire screeched as he peeled away, intent on hurdling toward his final destination much faster than before.

--

CURRENTLY:

After some finger twiddling, Johnny had taken a seat on Devi’s couch to continue their conversation. He half-expected his host to sit on the opposite side of the sofa, but wasn’t surprised when she remained standing. The aluminum bat that she took up like a walking cane was a bit more unexpected, though.

“So.” Devi tapped the bat on the floor a moment before setting her palm flat on it, leaning her weight into it. “You came to “warn” me, huh?”

Her voice had some distaste it, with her suspicion toward her guest openly seeping out. Johnny swallowed, beady pupils darting around the corners of her living room before returning to her figure with a nod.

“Yes.”

A stretch of silence ran between them as Devi squinted at him questionably.

“Why?” She finally asked. Johnny seemed surprised at that.

“What do you mean why? I told you over the phone that I liked you immensely, so, even though I promised I would no longer bother you, I had to break that vow in order to make sure you didn’t end up a raving, murderous lunatic, like, well, me!” He huffed amidst his earnestness. Devi popped an eyebrow up at that.

“So, it was a thing like Sickness that turned you into a mass murderer, huh?” She stepped closer, which in hindsight seemed stupid as those words left her mouth, but there was no way in Hell she’d stumble back and show him any intimidated fear now. Johnny seemed to slink away as she moved toward him, like a magnet being propelled away from another.

“Well, sort of.” He brought his spindly hands up in a shrug. “I had three.”

Devi’s eyes widened at that.

“—but now I’m unsure what the real cause was. Maybe I was just really afflicted, but there were two that were kind of a duo, the Doughboys, and I think they were attached to what was in my house, and then there was Nailbunny… he was always a standup guy. Really tried to help me. The wall-thing controlled the Doughboys, so after I died-or-whatever, they disappeared.”

“D… died?” She asked.

“Oh, well, maybe-died, I don’t know. It could have been a crazy dream. ANYWAY, that’s not the important thing!” He hunched closer despite his previous apprehension of doing so.

“Devi if you start getting the urge to paint a wall with blood, don’t do it! That’s the wall-thing!! It made me commit such horrible atrocities you know, and it even convinced me I liked doing it! But I DIDN’T, I HATE blood! But I thought I liked what I did at the time!!” His chest heaved.

“Those shitty dough-turds convinced me to do all kinds of nasty shit! Disembowelings, mutilations, eviscerations, beheadings – all to get stupid blood for a stupid wall! But it wasn’t always about that, it got so bad that even when things were good they’d MAKE ME ruin it, just to keep me writhing under their thumbs! Mr. Fuck, the ASSHOLE, was the one that told me to, to… er… “immortalize” that night with you… as it were…” Johnny lowered his head into his shoulders as he finished, moving his attention to the floor between his boots. The mentions of his carnage made her ill, but Devi scowled further at the reference of their failed romance.

“So you’re innocent in all this, eh?” He could tell just from her tone that the implication pissed her off.

“NO, no, I’m not saying that… I shouldn’t have let them convince me, is the thing.” He pressed against the back of her couch urgently, still looking around at anything but her. Devi’s brows furrowed as his attempts at showing passivity.

“No, you shouldn’t have.” She bit out before straightening up. “I didn’t let Sickness win.”

Johnny’s attention snapped back to her immediately, and he stared up at her in shocked awe.

“What!?” He stood, suddenly close to her. “You mean to tell me – that – that you’ve already dealt with it all??”

Devi pressed the head of the bat to his chest, eyeing him firmly as she stepped back. She dropped her would-be weapon to her side again when the distance was to her liking.

“Yes. Sort of.” She looked toward her backpack that was sitting offside the coffee table. “What’s left of her is in there.”

Johnny gaped at the bag her eyes led him to. A feeling of nauseating rage flooded over him as he realized he was duped, again.

“BASTARD!” He yelled suddenly, startling Devi, who crossed her bat over her chest should she need to whack him with it.

“MEAT, you lying sack of crap – HE LIED TO ME!” Johnny’s arms swung around in front of him as he stepped in circles toward the front door. “YOU JUST WANTED ME TO COME HERE, TO SEE HER. ALL LIES, DECIETE, DECIETE!! ALL A PLOY TO—!”

As he turned back toward Devi, he was stopped by the sudden cold touch of metal under his chin. Devi pressed the bat closer to him, forcing his head back slightly as he froze in place.

“Nny,” She spoke sharply. “who are you talking to right now?”

Johnny gulped, unaccustomed to being the fearful one in situations.

“Um… Reverend Meat.” He spoke cautiously, hoping to placate her. “He’s my newest… voice.”

“A fourth voice?” She asked aggressively. Johnny sweated in reply.

“Yes???” He hoped honesty was the best policy here. Devi grunted a surprised scoff, retracting her weapon away from him with wide, disgusted eyes.

“Nny, how the fuck did you let it get this bad?” She stared at him while he rubbed his jaw. He cast his eyes downward again.

“I don’t know.” His voice grew quiet. “Ugh, I don’t know – I shouldn’t have come here Devi. I’m sorry.”

Johnny’s head swiveled back and forth uncertainly as he spoke, before he turned and hurried to the door.

“Wait.” Her voice stopped him in his tracks, and he hesitantly turned back to look at her.

“Are you just going to get worse again? Are you going to keep fucking killing people, Nny?” Devi stared at him, and he felt like he was under a microscope.

“I’m trying my best not to. Meat’s annoying, but the only thing he’s tricked me into doing so far is visiting you.” Johnny turned to face her again.

“Why would the parasite want that? He wants you to kill me for real this time?”

Johnny stayed quiet at that, knowing the answer was more disgusting than murder in Devi’s eyes.

“No. Meat doesn’t want me to kill, not yet anyway. He wants me to… live. Consume. Consume to excess. And he knows that as far as my… “feelings” go, the only person I’d want in excess is,” He hesitated. “you.”

Devi’s nostril curled at the implication.

“He wants to use me as your distraction this time, huh? That I’ll be the one to preoccupy your mind while he eats away at what’s left of your creativity?”

“I guess.”

“The fuck he will.” She growled as she walked toward him, and Johnny braced himself a moment, preparing to dart in any direction should she move to bludgeon him. Instead her hand settled on her door, pressing it firmly shut before locking the main deadbolt.

“I’ve mangled one parasite, I have no problem mangling another.” Her eyes met his again, and his knees wobbled at the intensity. “I’m tired of these things fucking with me. Sit your ass down, we’re going to talk more.”

Johnny could only hurriedly do as she said. 

--

NEXT.

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

40 (I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you) 80 (I’ve always been honest with you.) and 92 (You make me happy) for Moceit? Or like, any ship you like with Deceit? Please?

you: any ship you like with deceitme: 

it gets a readmore because it ended up over 2200 words, which hopefully makes up for how long it took to write

warnings for characters getting kidnapped/drugged and injuries because that was the mood i was in, oops

ETA: this is on ao3 too

prompt list

Patton wakes upalone, but that doesn’t upset him too much. He may not know exactly where his partners are, but Dolion won’t havegone far without telling him something, and Roman should be returning from hisroyal duties before very long.  Just a couple more days!  That’s what Patton keeps telling himself, atleast.  Anyway, he and Dolion have eachother, so it’s not too lonely while he’s gone.

He shakes himselfout of his thoughts of missing Roman, despite all attempts to convince himselfhe isn’t sad, and realizes he should probably get out of bed.  Judging by the sun visible through thewindow, it’s getting late in the morning. He stretches and sighs, not wanting to leave the nice warmblankets.  … Wait… He can take theblankets with him, duh.  He wraps himself up in a way that willhopefully minimize tripping and makes his way out into the hallway.  Maybe the kitchens will be empty enough atthis point that he can get away with making his own breakfast?  He’s still not used to the part of the whole“dating a prince” experience that involves people wanting to do everything forhim all the time.  He knows it’s theirjob, but it makes him feel a bit weird.

Preoccupied as heis with thoughts of food, Patton doesn’t even notice when he passes someone inthe hallway.  It’s unlike him not to waveand greet every single person he encounters with enthusiasm.  Unfortunately for Patton, it’s also veryconvenient for this particular stranger. He lays a hand on Patton’s arm as he walks by, as if to get hisattention.  Patton finally turns toacknowledge him—only for the man to grab him and slap a hand over hismouth.  He registers too late the sharppain where the man touched him, injecting him with something.  His mind already feels fuzzy.  Patton tries to call for help, but- that’swhy his mouth is covered, right. Fighting would have been fairly useless even if he weren’t drugged.  After a very brief struggle, he lets his headdrop, giving up.

And nearly fallsover when the man lets him go, collapsing to the floor himself with a dagger inhis side.  Dolion appears out of nowhere,and Patton thinks he much prefers swooning into his arms when it’s on purpose.

“Where’d you comefrom?” he mumbles, fighting to stay awake. “Y’could’ve got hurt if he saw you…”

Dolion readjustshis hold and starts half-leading, half-carrying Patton back to their room,where he’ll be able to let him pass out safely and then call for guards.  He can’t quite resist a sappy line,though—that must be Roman rubbing off on him. “I wasn’t lying when I said thatI loved you.”  Patton smiles andrests his head on the other’s shoulder. He knows it’s true: Dolion wouldn’t have done something as possiblydangerous as that for just anyone, after all.

The moment isbroken when the first man turns out to have three associates, who come aroundthe corner looking to find out why a simple kidnapping of the prince’sboyfriend is taking so long.  Doliontries his best, but he can’t fight three people and protect a half-consciousPatton at the same time, especially now that he’s unquestionably lost theelement of surprise.  It’s not longbefore the world goes dark for both of them.

Patton wakes upalone, and as soon as he remembers why, he curls up in the unfamiliar bed andcries.  He doesn’t know where he is, orwhy, or where Dolion is and what ifthey’ve killed him?  The last thing heremembers is the fighting, but he passed out before he could see how itended.  And now…

He sits updespite the aching of his head and looks around.  Now he’s in a room—locked in, he assumes—andit’s… surprisingly nice.  He’s aprisoner, yes, but at least they seem to care about making sure he’scomfortable.  A cup of water has beenleft for him on a table by the bed, and he doesn’t hesitate to drink it- it’snot as if they really need to drug him more than they already have, after all,and he’s thirsty.  Shortly after hefinishes it, the door is unlocked and some sort of guard enters, while anotherremains outside to guard the door. Patton begins to stand, but falls back onto the bed when he realizes howweak his legs still are.  “Why am Ihere?” he asks cautiously.  “What do youwant with me?”

“Don’t worry, wehave no intention of harming you,” the guard says.  “We only need you here as… insurance.  You can go home just as soon as yourboyfriend gives us what we want.”

Patton feelsslightly guilty about how relieved he is to hear that.  Roman will surely get him out of here as soonas he can, one way or another, but he hates the idea of being the reason thesekidnappers get whatever they demand.  Itwouldn’t be right.

“Here, you’reprobably hungry.  You were out for awhile.”  He places a tray on the bedsidetable and turns to leave.  “If you needanything else, knock on the door or just shout. There will be someone outside at all times.”

“Wait!”

He turns backaround and gestures for Patton to speak.

“What, uh… whatdid you do with Dolion?”

“Who- oh, youmean the guy that stabbed Keith?  What ishe, your secret personal guard or something? We put him in the dungeon.  Because he stabbed Keith.”

Patton’s eyeswiden.  “How- how long?”

“Well, he’s beenthere about as long as you’ve been in here… a good few hours, I’d guess?”

“Oh no, you have to bring him up here- youdon’t understand,” he pleads when the guard gives him an incredulous look,“he’s, he was cursed, years ago- he’ll dieif he gets too cold, you can’t leave him there! I’ll… I’ll fight you, if you don’t, and you’ll have to hurt me, andRoman will never give you what youwant if you hurt me.”

The guard blinks,taken aback by Patton’s sudden shift from rather passive to fierce.  “Alright, fine, I’ll have him broughtup.  But if either of you causes trouble he’s going right back.  Got it?”

Patton nods aboutfifteen times in a row and falls back against the pillows in relief.  “Thank you, thank you so much.”

Twenty minutespass before the door opens again.  Pattonhas been working on getting his legs to work in the meantime, and he pusheshimself up to help Dolion as soon as he stumbles into the room.  Just as Patton had feared, he’s freezing, notto mention the bruises and other injuries from the fight.  He pulls him over to the bed and cocoons themboth in the blankets.  “I’ve got you,hon, you’ll be okay.”  Dolion justshivers, burrowing into his chest.  Itdoesn’t look like he’s in any shape to respond yet, so Patton goes on rambling,telling him everything is going to be fine, Roman will get them out of heresoon and he’s definitely not about tolet anyone return him to the dungeon.

“As much as Iknow you’re only saying all this to make me feel better, I have to admit it’sworking.”  Patton nearly cries when hefinally hears Dolion’s voice, confirming he’s at least closer to okay.

“I’m not justsaying it,” he counters, pulling the other closer and laying them bothdown.  Even sitting up for very long istiring, and he imagines Dolion must be exhausted too, after everything he’srecently been through.

“Patton,honestly, you don’t need to-”

“I’ve alwaysbeen honest with you.” Patton presses his face into Dolion’s hair.  He can’t help it, he needs as much contact ashe can get to reassure himself they’re not separated anymore.  “And I’m telling you now, honestly, we’regoing to be okay.  Ro wouldn’t leave ushere.”

“You’re right,”he sighs.  He shoves his own face intoPatton’s shoulder and doesn’t bother resisting the urge to slip his hands upunder Patton’s shirt, getting that tiny bit closer to the warmth he so needs atthe moment… and the fact it’s coming from his boyfriend doesn’t hurt, either.  “…Sleep now?”

Patton nods.  Never mind the fact that he only woke up anhour ago, he could still go for a nap. “Are you warm enough?  And comfy?”

“Getting there…‘s not dangerous anymore, don’ think.” Judging by the clarity (or lack thereof) of his speech, he’s half-asleepalready.  Poor thing… Patton wishes hecould personally fight whoever decided to lock his clearly part snake boyfriend in a cold dungeon cell.  Just because it’s a fairly obscure cursedoesn’t excuse them acting like it doesn’t matter.

“Thank goodness,”he breathes, continuing to comfort him in lieu of actually trying to fightanyone.  “Go ahead and sleep, baby, I’llbe here.”

Patton quicklyloses track of how long the two of them have been here.  Dolion tells him it’s been no more than a fewdays, but… well, it takes one to know one vis-à-vis saying things just to makeeach other feel better.  One would thinkthe regular delivery of meals would make it easy to track how much time ispassing- and it would, if they didn’tspend so much time sleeping.  Patton is fairly sure at this point they have been drugging the food, making surethey’re too sleepy to try escaping.  … Hehas to admit, though, it’s not so bad spending the better part of every daydozing in his boyfriend’s arms, as long as he doesn’t think too hard abouttheir circumstances.  At least they haveeach other, right?

Amusingly enough,it’s turned out these people genuinely had no idea Dolion was part of therelationship thanks to his discomfort with PDA, and now they seem to believePatton is having an affair or something. Well, good.  If they were torealize they actually have two peoplevery important to Roman, they might increase their demands.  They can go on thinking otherwise, and Pattonand Dolion will go on providing each other all the comfort and affection theycan.

Which is whatthey’re doing when the door slams open and several guards rush in, shouting toget up and follow them.  “We have to moveyou for security reasons,” one of them explains shortly, pulling Patton out ofthe room as he tries to stop and grab a blanket (he’s sleepy, okay?).  “I’m sure the situation will be resolvedsoon.  Nothing you should worryabout.”  Patton clings to Dolion’s arm—aswell as he can, when they’re both practically being dragged down the hall—andexchanges a hopeful look with him. Maybe… maybe.

The most secureplace for keeping someone out, it appears, is the same as the most secure placefor keeping someone in, and they endup in the same cell Patton earlier begged to get Dolion out of.  “You won’t be here long, calm down,” a guardsays, walking away and ignoring Patton’s shouting.

A door closesdistantly and Patton slumps in defeat, going to sit on the wooden bench thatserves as the room’s only furniture. “I’m so sorry.”  He wraps his armsaround Dolion, who he can tell is already feeling the chill.  “I know I promised you wouldn’t have to behere again…”

“It’s fine, love.  There’s nothing you could have done.”  Dolion nuzzles into him.  “Besides, you’re here to keep me warm.”

“I am,” Pattonagrees.  He leans his forehead againstDolion’s and sighs.  Please let them beout of here soon…

Half an hour goesby before the door is thrown open again. Patton looks up, holding his cold-blooded boyfriend close and ready togive the guards another piece of his mind, and sees-

“Roman!”

Roman throws downhis sword and rushes into the room. “Finally,” he breathes, hugging both of them at once.  “I’m sorry it took so long to find you, mydarlings, please believe I haven’t stopped searching for a minute since youwent missing- are you hurt- let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

Dolion blinks athim- the temperature is doing bad things to his processing time.  “Ro?”

“Yes, Doll, it’sme.”  Roman scoops him up in hisarms.  “Shall we go?”

“I can walk,” heprotests quietly, not that anyone listens. Patton attaches himself to Roman’s side, practically wrapped around him,and the three make their way outside.

It’s not untilthey’re all the way out, sitting on the grass in the warmth of a spring day,that Roman cries.  The carriage is rightthere, waiting to take them home, and he sits down on the ground with the lovesof his life in his arms and cries.

“Roman!” Pattonexclaims, cupping his face.  “Are youokay?  Did you get hurt?”

“No, no,” Romanshakes his head.  “I’m okay.  I’m okay now, it’s happy tears, I promise,I-I just missed you both so much!  Youmake me happy… it was hell being without you, even just for the few days Iwas gone, and then I came home and youwere gone and-”  He takes a deep breathand finishes, “I love you two.  I loveyou.  I don’t ever want to lose you likethis again.”

“Rest assuredwe’ll do our best not to be lost,” says Dolion with a half-suppressedsmirk.  Roman laughs wetly, and hugs hisboyfriends even closer because he lovesthem so much, and maybe his driver can just wait for a bit while they sithere and make up for their time apart.

[tex-treasure-chamber]

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Working Through The Grief

Featuring: Bruce & Tex

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CW: alludes to the topic of Parental Death

Everything was fine, or, well, fine enough, as it always was until Bruce casually glanced at the photograph of himself and his late father. This wasn't a rare occasion although it could've been if he'd had his way but Alfred had long ago enforced a rule that no, they weren't to hide the memories of Martha and Thomas Wayne no matter how painful it sometimes was to see them smiling like everything was fine, like nothing had changed.

Everything had changed.

It had been a year and some time since the tragedy and as he stared at the photograph Bruce truly realized, with sudden and potent clarity, just how much he looked like him.

Everything promptly went to hell after that and, in a fit of grief, Bruce broke the mirror in his bedroom and scared Alfred nearly half to death. After several failed attempts to get Bruce to talk to him over the course of the next couple days, Alfred broke down and called the only other person he could think of to try and coax the emotionally reclusive boy out of his shell.

"Talk to him, please, I beg you." Alfred whispered.

Tex spared the tired man a concerned look and pressed her lips into a thin line- Alfred, as much as she loved him (and oh, did she love him) had a tendency to try and fix things for people he cared about instead of letting others work things out themselves. Whatever was going on with Bruce, she reckoned he didn't need her to talk to him more than he needed her to listen to him but she didn't voice that. She found Bruce sitting on the sofa, staring into his tea, and cleared her throat.

"Howdy cowboy," she drawled, "may I sit with you?"

Bruce smiled softly and nodded. As soon as she was comfortable, he said, "Alfred asked you to talk to me, didn't he?"

Tex sighed and sipped at her own tea. "He did ask, but I'm not here to talk if you don't want me to."

Bruce nodded and spared the portrait a glance. "I've just had a lot on my mind lately."

Tex followed his gaze, registered the people in the photo, and felt her throat close up. "I see."

"Alfred told you I broke the mirror in my bathroom, right?"

"Yes sir."

Bruce smiled, despite himself. Barely sixteen and she called him 'Sir'. "Aren't you going to ask why I did it?"

"Not unless you want to tell me."

Although Bruce felt himself cruel for what he was about to do, he still did it anyway because he had nobody else who would understand like he inherently knew she would.

He cleared his throat and met her eye, briefly, before staring down at her hands holding her teacup. "I look like him. My... My dad, I mean." He paused as he watched her set her tea down, "And, and I don't know, I just panicked I guess, when I realized that." He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "I... I don't know."

"May I touch you?" Tex asked softly.

"Yeah."

Tex took his hand, gently squeezed it, and said just two words, her voice broken and soft but firm in the quiet of the room.

"I know."

Bruce opened his eyes and stared at her hand. "I'm sorry for bringing this up-"

"No, Bruce, it's okay, I promise," Tex rushed earnestly, "stuff like this... it festers if you don't air it out sometimes. I'm here to listen."

Bruce worried his lip and furrowed his brows as he continued to stare at her hand holding his. "It's just... Really strange," he said slowly, "I know I'm supposed to look like him to some degree, but. Well. I really do. The papers don't let me forget it either. But still, it's hard having that sort of reminder to carry around all the time, you know?"

Tex nodded.

"Do... Do you. I mean. You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but do you look like him? Your father?"

"Yes," Tex answered softly, "I do."

"How do you feel about it?" Bruce asked, "Again, don't feel pressured to answer-"

"It's... You know my situation is different than yours."

Bruce nodded. "You didn't grow up with him."

"That's right. He was... It all happened before I was old enough to form memories of him, let alone a relationship with him." She paused and nodded to the photograph, "Which is why I'm so grateful you got that time with yours. Alfred told me you used to hike together sometimes, right?"

"Yes, we used to." He hung his head for a moment, "it was a scheduled trip. When it came up after, um, well... Alfred went with me."

"That was good of him."

"I originally hadn't wanted him to." Bruce admitted, "I felt... I felt like maybe I was betraying my dad somehow, by letting Alfred come. But..." He let out a deep breath, "But maybe I wasn't, y'know?"

"I don't think you were, if it's any consolation." Tex said gently, "You were doing something to honor your memories of him and what's more, you let Alfred, who I know was indeed very close to your father, honor his memory too."

Bruce picked his head up to gaze at her. "I never thought of it that way."

She said nothing and merely squeezed his hand.

"When did you first realize you looked like your father?" Bruce asked.

I think I was around twenty six when I realized just how similar we looked." Tex admitted.

Bruce reeled back a bit to stare at her. "Really?"

Tex laughed, albeit weakly, "I mean... My mother is White, and I'm very brown like he was, so I've always known that I looked like him in that regard but as to physical characteristics... Well, I didn't grow up with pictures of him scattered around the house like you've got here," Tex paused, "it took many years before I got to see any photos of him, let alone rare video footage, and many, many more years after that to realize what you're realizing now about your own father."

Bruce didn't say anything for a long time, busy regulating his breathing. When he felt in control, he whispered, "Is it awful that I wish I didn't look so much like him?"

Tex shook her head. "No. Not at all." She lowered her voice and stroked his knuckles with her thumb, "It's your grief, Bruce, nobody can tell you what to feel, especially when things like this happen."

Bruce sagged in his seat, "I just wish the papers would stop mentioning how much I look like him."

"Until you make a name for yourself, they'll always compare you to your father." Tex said, not unkindly, "Things like this just take time, unfortunately."

"Yeah..."

"Bruce, if I may?"

He looked at her and raised a brow.

Tex smiled softly at him. "You honor him by looking so much like him, but please remember that anyone who knows you knows you're not him- none of us want you to be him either, okay?"

Bruce smiled back, just as softly. "Okay."

"Also, please remember this- you honor him in everything you do, by being the person that you are- both of them. They would be so proud of you and the young man you're turning out to be."

Bruce swallowed hard and nodded, "So... So would yours."

Tex smiled and turned away and Bruce, all too aware, looked away too to give her a moment. She squeezed his hand when she was composed once more and smiled, "Thank you."

"Thank you too, Texie."

"I'm always here for you," she promised, "so please, no more breaking any mirrors. Not just for Alfred's sake, but because that's just inviting bad luck, cowboy."

Bruce laughed, "Alright, fine. You got yourself a deal. Speaking of Alfred, I think I smell dinner. Want to come with me to see what he's making?"

Tex hopped up and offered her hand, "You bet."